Pride

by Robin Wasserman

“You come here often?” she asked, her tone more serious than she’d intended.

  He nodded. “Something about it—” He looked over at her, then looked away. “We can go, if you want.”

  “No, I want to stay for a while.”

  And she was surprised to discover it was true.

  They sat there side by side, not talking, not touching. They sat for a long time, just staring at the old building, at the desert that lay beyond it. Kaia shivered once and, wordlessly, Reed tucked his jacket around her shoulders. It was heavy and warm—and smelled like him. Not pot this time, but a deep, rich scent, like dark coffee by an open fire. It fit here—he fit here—strange and dark, like the ruins, with a quiet dignity.

  She was about to take his hand when she felt the first spatter of rain.

  Rain? In the desert?

  Before she had time to be confused, the skies opened up. It was as if bucket after bucket of icy water were being dumped from above—the rain fell fast and hard, pelting their skin, turning the desert dirt around them into rivers of mud.

  “What the hell is this?” Kaia complained as they both scrambled back into the truck. “It s not supposed to rain in the desert!”

  “Sometimes it does,” he said simply, hoisting her into the passenger seat, then rushing around to the driver’s side, finally throwing himself in and slamming the door.

  They looked at each other—both sopping wet, their hair and clothes plastered to their bodies—and burst into laughter.

  “This is, by far, the weirdest date I’ve ever had,” Kaia said, wringing out the edge of her shirt as best she could.

  “Who says it’s a date?” he retorted, but with a smile.

  “We should probably wait for it to let up before we drive home,” Kaia said, gesturing toward the opaque sheet of water flooding down the windshield.

  “I guess we should,” he agreed. “Cold?”

  “What?”

  “You re shivering.”

  She was cold, she realized. She hadn’t noticed. She nodded and, hesitantly, he put an arm around her. She inched to the left, resting herself against him. It wasn’t much warmer—but she stayed.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder and they listened to the rain pelting the truck, spattering against the soft ground. She shivered again, and he held her tighter. His wet hair was still dripping, and she watched the drops of water trace their way down his face. They looked like tears.

  They sat there together, motionless, for a long time.

  And then the rain stopped. And they drove away.

  chapter

  5

  “Beth, did you really think I’d be coming to ski school with you?” Kane asked, laughing.

  She blushed and shook her head. “That was silly. I guess I thought maybe you’d teach me—”

  He snapped her ski boot shut and helped her latch it to the ski, then grabbed his board and began guiding her toward the bunny slope.

  Kane laughed again. “Me? Only if you want to land in the hospital. Trust me, you don’t want to pick up any of my bad habits.”

  The hospital?

  Beth’s heart plummeted as she pictured herself in a broken heap at the bottom of a snow-covered cliff.

  “It’s going to be fine,” Kane assured her, catching her look of terror. “I just want you to learn from the best. This way, I can get some good boarding in—and then we’ll have all afternoon to spend together.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. She leaned over to try to give him a quick kiss through his ski mask, and practically toppled over into the snow. “And Kane?” she asked as he steadied her. “I’m sorry again about last night.”

  “No apology necessary. And I’m glad I got the chance to go to bed early, for once. You were right—we have a big day ahead of us!” he said heartily, and with that, he grinned and glided away, waving in farewell as he careened down the slope.

  Beth took a deep breath and inched her way toward the sign marked WHITE STONE SKI SCHOOL: BUNNY BEGINNERS. If she was having this much trouble on flat land, she wasn’t too eager to find out how she would fare on the slopes. But she supposed she didn’t really have another option.

  Beth took a place next to Miranda, the only person in the lesson she recognized. They exchanged a quick glance—the disappointed Oh, it’s you vibe was palpable.

  But there was little time for disappointment or hostility, not when the instructor, a chipper young woman in a fluorescent orange ski suit and matching skis, had already started rattling off instructions at lightning speed.

  Knees locked, knees bent. Shift your weight. But not too much. Hold your balance. Ski poles down. Arms out—

  It was far more than Beth could take in, and by the time the instructor began offering tips for slowing down, Beth was half ready to throw her ski poles off the mountain and spend the rest of the day reading in the lodge. Somehow, the instructor’s suggestions—“Line up your skis like french fries to go fast”; “Angle your skis like a slice of pizza to go slow”—didn’t inspire her with much confidence that, when plummeting down the hill toward a giant tree, she’d be able to avoid it.

  “Okay, bunnies, time for our first run!” the instructor cheered. “Just push off—and … go!”

  As the students around her launched themselves into motion, Beth looked dubiously over the lip of the so-called bunny slope. It suddenly looked like a ninety-degree angle.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Miranda muttered under her breath. She looked about as confident in her abilities as Beth felt.

  After a moment, they were the only two students left at the top of the hill. Miranda gave Beth a half smile.

  “It’s going to be pretty embarrassing if we give up now, isn’t it?” she asked sheepishly.

  “Embarrassment never killed anyone,” Beth pointed out, “whereas skiing …” It was a long way down.

  “On the count of three?” Miranda suggested.

  Beth nodded and, hesitantly, quietly, they counted off together.

  One.

  Two.

  Threeeeeeee …

  I’m not going to die, Beth repeated to herself aloud as she hurtled uncontrollably down the hill. The wind whipped past her face, the bumpy ground skidding beneath her feet.

  French fries. Pizza. French fries—no, pizza, she mumbled to herself, trying to force her skis into the proper angle, whatever that was. But it was no use—her skis were going wherever they wanted to go. She was just along for the ride.

  It seemed to take forever—then, suddenly, miraculously, she was zooming toward the bottom of the slope, toward a crowd of waiting skiers, unable to stop or turn, snow flying from her wake, until finally, in desperation, she spread her skis into the widest angle she could and slowed to a stop, tumbling over into a blessedly soft mound of snow.

  Alive. And safe. And totally ready to do it all over again.

  “What a rush!” Miranda cried from a few feet away. She too was flat on her back in the snow, one ski lying by her side, but her face was flushed with happiness.

  “A few more runs and we’ll be ready for the Olympics,” Beth boasted, in a still shaky voice.

  Miranda, having picked herself up, offered Beth a hand. “A few thousand more runs, maybe,” Miranda corrected her. “I don’t know about you, but I thought I was going to die pretty much the whole way down.”

  “I’ve never been so happy to stop moving in my life,” Beth admitted.

  “So … you ready to go again?”

  “Again?” Beth brushed some snow off her face and planted her ski poles defiantly into the snow as if staking a flag into the ground of a newly discovered land. “What are we waiting for!”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to try a lesson first?” Adam asked again.

  At least he’s talking to me, Harper thought. It was a small but crucial step in the right direction, given that their morning had consisted largely of Adam refusing to meet her gaze. When he’d had to ask her to pass the salt over the cafeteria breakfast table, h
e’d first turned bright red, stuttered a few incoherent syllables, and finally spit the words out only by looking fixedly down at his lap. Suffice it to say, they hadn’t spoken yet about the equipment malfunction of the night before. Fine with Harper. She was more than happy to put the episode far behind her. And judging from the look on his face after it had happened, when she’d tried comforting him (“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone”), he was eager to do the same.

  The thing was: It didn’t happen to everyone. Or, at least, not everyone who was with Harper. No one had ever had any problems in that department when it came to her—so what was going on with Adam? Was there some part of him, deep down, that didn’t want to be with her?

  Stop obsessing, she told herself. Once they’d gotten out of the lodge and onto the slopes, Adam had relaxed, grateful for the chance to focus on something other than their nonexistent sex life. Harper forced herself to do the same. Unfortunately, that meant focusing on skiing … and for Harper, that was proving to be almost as unpleasant a topic.

  “Who needs lessons when I’ve got you?” Harper asked, trying to ignore her clenched stomach and rapid pulse. Their chairlift swung gently in the wind, and Harper grabbed the metal guardrail a little tighter, refusing to look down to the ground below. Way below. Instead, she focused on how good the two of them must look together in their ski gear. Harper’s shopping expedition had paid off, and she was sporting a svelte, dark green ski jacket with matching ski pants. She looked good.

  In all her fantasizing about this trip, she’d almost forgotten about the whole skiing component—athletic endeavors were so not her thing. But really, how hard could it be? You just point your skis in the right direction and let gravity do the work. Any idiot could figure that out. She wasn’t about to be one of those wimpy bunny slopers that the real skiers just laughed at. No one laughed at Harper Grace. Besides, Harper planned to spend the entire day by Adams side—especially after last night. She didn’t want him to spend any time off by himself. Thinking.

  The ride ended far too soon, and Adam pushed her off the lift just in time. They paused at the top of the slope. Harper tightened her grip on her ski poles and focused on the little kids zipping back and forth across the mountain—if they could do it, so could she.

  “You ready?” Adam asked dubiously.

  She nodded.

  “You sure?”

  She nodded again.

  “Just remember what I taught you, okay? And I’ll be right behind you the whole way down.”

  “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I’ll be fine….”

  She pushed herself off down the hill and, suddenly, she was flying through the snow, her hair streaming out behind her, faster and faster. She shifted her weight to the left, to the right, to avoid crashing into someone, veered around an icy patch, and still, faster and faster—

  I’m skiing, she marveled, and I’m awesome.

  And that’s when she hit the bump.

  And her skis flew up off the ground, taking her with them. She soared through the air, her arms and legs waving wildly, helplessly, and for a moment she felt weightless—and then the ground returned.

  With a crash.

  A clatter.

  A thud.

  Silence.

  Kane was practically asleep on his feet. Riding down the same beginner trail again and again would have been enough to put anyone into a coma of boredom. And feigning enthusiasm every time Beth made it twenty feet without falling was wearing him out.

  “You’re doing great,” he lied, when they’d landed at the bottom once again. “Think maybe it’s time for you to try a more difficult slope?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She bit her lip and looked up at the mountain peaks in the distance. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

  “You’re better than you think you are,” he prodded her.

  She shook her head. “Not that much better.”

  He shrugged and began maneuvering his snowboard back toward the chairlift. “Whatever—we’ll just go again.”

  She grabbed him and pulled him to a stop, slightly off the trail.

  “Kane, if you want to go hit some harder slopes for a while, it’s okay.”

  “I’m not going to just leave you here,” he protested, imagining himself shooting down a black diamond trail, chasing the wind. It killed him to be out here in such fresh powder, stuck gliding down the same bunny hill over and over again, at snail speed. “But why don’t you come along—you’re really getting good now.”

  She laughed. “And what definition of good are you using? No, I’m staying here. But really, you go—have some fun. We’ll meet up later.”

  She was lying, that much was clear. She wanted him with her, and was terrified to ski by herself. He should stay. That would be the good boyfriend move. It would have been Adam’s move. But she’s not with Adam, he reminded himself. And who knew what she really wanted, if she wasn’t going to admit it. Why not take her at face value, enjoy himself? It was fresh powder, after all, and a new board. You don’t waste that. Not if you’re Kane Geary.

  “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look out here?” he told her. “Like a snow goddess.”

  She pushed him playfully. “You don’t have to butter me up, Kane. I’m not going to be mad if you go—you came up here to board. You should do it.”

  “That’s not all I came for,” he reminded her, pulling her scarf away from her face so he could warm her chilled lips with a kiss.

  “Well then, you’d better take care of yourself up there and make sure you stay in one piece … so you can meet me later,” she told him, with an uncharacteristically mischievous note in her voice. This was working out better than he could have hoped.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” he assured her.

  “And remember—” she called after him as he slid away.

  “I’ll be careful!” he promised.

  But really, what was the fun in that?

  Harper didn’t know what had been more humiliating. Lying on the ground, snow seeping through her clothes, as more and more curious skiers gathered to gawk? Being strapped to the back of a rescue mobile like a couch strapped to the hood of a car and then unceremoniously unloaded in front of half her school? Or maybe it was the fact that after thoroughly examining her, the doctor at the first aid station had concluded there was nothing wrong with her other than a few bruises and a twisted knee.

  Not that she wasn’t grateful. Imagine if she’d broken her neck—or, almost as bad, her nose. But the injury was just minor enough to make her feel like an idiot for making such a scene—and just major enough to keep her off her feet for the rest of the weekend.

  Adam had tended to her for a while. He was guilt stricken over his abject failure as a ski instructor, and she was only too happy to play his damsel in distress, letting him prop her leg up with pillows, bring her hot chocolate, and kiss her bruises until she had to smile. (And, if nothing else, at least all the commotion had taken his mind off their little “problem.”)

  He’d been so sweet, in fact, that she’d felt guilty about spoiling his fun. She’d told him to go back out on the slopes—he’d refused, she’d insisted. And finally, he’d given in.

  It was only when he’d gone, and she was left alone in the empty lodge, her hot chocolate turned cold, her knee throbbing, the cozy fire burned out, that she realized her stupidity. She was trapped in here, in pain, while Adam was out there alone, easy prey for all those desperate girls who would love nothing more than to steal him away from her.

  Easy prey for Beth.

  She could see it now.

  “Oh, Adam, you look so handsome on your skis!” In that simpering voice. “I’m so sweet and helpless—won’t you help me get down the mountain?”

  Harper would have been pleased to help her—right over the edge. But Adam, on the other hand, would be nothing but a gentleman, only too happy to lend his services. And once she’d sucked him back in with the needy routine, she’d never let him go. />
  Kane was nothing, no one, she’d claim. A horrible mistake. Adam was her one, true love.

  It was nauseating, even as a hypothetical.

  Adam would resist at first. He was nothing if not loyal.

  But Beth would beg and Beth would plead—and then, Harper knew, Beth would cry. And she’d look so beautiful and so fragile standing out in the snow, throwing herself on Adam’s mercy, that eventually, he would just give in. After all, he would surely reason, Harper’s tough, she can handle it. Beth is the one who really needs me.

  If only he knew.

  It was crazy, she told herself. Totally unlikely—certainly no more likely than a chance meeting in the halls of the high school or the cramped streets of their tiny town. But still, she couldn’t stand the idea of Beth out there having Harper’s dream vacation.

  Harper whipped out her cell phone, determined to get her mind off the whole horrible thing. But who to call? Even Miranda was out on the slopes, having fun. Harper was alone. There was only one person she could think of who might have time to talk, distract Harper from her living nightmare—and it wouldn’t have been her first choice. Or her fifth. But she was out of options, and sometimes you just had to play the hand you were dealt.

  She hit talk.

  “Hey, Kaia—yes, it’s Harper. Just thought I’d check in, give you the download on the trip so far … what? No, nothing too exciting—wait, I do have some hot gossip. You’ll never guess what our trusty chaperone’s been up to. Let’s just say he’s got his hands full. Or should I say, his lap….”

  He didn’t notice her until he’d sat down beside her on the chairlift—and by then, it was too late.

  This really wasn’t his day.

  They recognized each other at the same time, just as the lift swept their feet off the ground. Now there was no turning back—they were trapped together until they reached the top.

  “Hey,” Adam grunted.

  Beth nodded and looked down. Most of her face was hidden by a thick blue scarf—only her eyes were visible, and he couldn’t decipher their expression. Once, he’d been able to read her thoughts, just from the look in her eyes. It felt like a long time ago.