He shrugged. “Slope-ular, dude.”
“Don’t call me dude.”
We stopped by the car, and before I could open my door, he boxed me in, his breath turning to steam in front of my face. Suddenly my blood was running hot in the cold air.
“What should I call you?” he asked low.
I lifted my chin, meeting his eyes. “Yours.”
“I like the sound of that.” He kissed me slow, hard, saying a million words in the span of a few seconds, each reminding me how much I really was his. There would never be anyone else. Especially not if he kept kissing me like this.
Someone nearby cleared their throat. When I looked to the side, I saw a guy jerk his head toward his kids.
Jon gave me another kiss, then whispered, “They should see what love looks like.”
For me, it looked like his green eyes sparkling in the light reflecting from the snow.
He squeezed my arms, then opened the door for me and walked/swaggered/swayed to his side of the car. If the lifts weren’t so close, I would worry more about how he was going to drive in those things.
Somehow, he managed, and we got there alive. To be fair, we were only going about twenty miles an hour, so the worst that could have happened was a ding or two. We got out of the car, and Jon grabbed both of our boards. Everyone around us was walking the same silly way, talking excitedly to each other. I’d always dreamed of a beach vacation, but I was starting to like the vibe I got here.
Jon went inside the lodge to grab our lift tickets, and I stared at the lifts carrying people up the mountain, boards and skis dangling from their legs as they got farther and farther away.
“Maybe by the end of the day you’ll be ready for that,” Jon said.
I looked at him, and he held out a ticket and a zip tie.
“Stick it through your zipper,” he instructed.
I waggled my eyebrows. “What did you say about sticking it?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Hey, that’s my line,” I said, fiddling with the zip tie.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied.
Once I got the tie secured, Jon covered my hands with his and zipped my coat all the way up to my chin.
“You’re so cute,” he said, his eyes shining.
I couldn’t help but smile up at him. “It’s the helmet, right?”
“Oh yeah.” He knocked on it. “It doesn’t make you look dorky at all.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Grandma thanks.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
He chuckled. “Come on. Let’s get started.”
“Is it this humanly possible to fall on your butt so many times?” I whined.
Jon gracefully dropped to his knees. “I mean, it shouldn’t be.”
I glared at him, then realized I had mirrored goggles on. So I stuck my tongue out instead.
“Here’s what you do,” he said, popping back up. “Instead of looking at the ground like this, lift your chin. If you look down, you’re going to fall.”
“But how will I know where I’m going?”
He pointed at one of the little kids whizzing by us on a snowboard—the show-off. “See how he has his arm out in front of him? He’s following his fingers.”
I watched him slide to the bottom of the bunny slope and make the perfect stop before unlatching himself from the board.
“Okay, I’ll try,” I said. “But there better be some hot cocoa and a back rub waiting for me when we get home.”
“Sure,” Jon said. “I’m sure your gram will help you out.”
This time, I raised my shades so he could get the full glare-y effect.
He tossed his head back and laughed, his pink cheeks looking even brighter. “Get going. Unless you’re chicken.”
“If I was a chicken, I’d fly down the hill,” I grumbled.
“But you’re not. So chop-chop.”
I flipped my goggles back down and edged myself up to standing. My board began slipping underneath me, and my stomach bottomed out in a bout of pre-fall adrenaline. But this time, I looked up. I bent my knees and pointed. And then I slid down the hill—on purpose, in control.
Jon whooped behind me, and I tried to focus on the task in front me instead of who was watching, just like we were at a track meet.
I nearly wiped out a couple of times, but before long, I was at the bottom of the hill, cheering, forgetting I was strapped to the board and jumping up and down.
And then I fell.
Jon slid to a stop next to me, laughing harder than I’d heard him laugh in a long time. Eventually, I forgot to be embarrassed and laughed right along with him.
“You know what this means?” Jon asked, still smiling.
“What?” I asked.
He pointed a gloved hand at the big lift. “It means you’re ready.”
Chapter Nineteen
The lift swept us off our feet and carried us up the mountain. I clung to the handle, watching the snowy ground pass below us. Countless people made fast lines and lazy curves down the slope.
The farther we got from the bottom, the quieter it got, chatter getting replaced by wind and the whirring of the lift.
“What do you think?” Jon asked.
I smiled over at him. “I think this is what making the most of every moment looks like.”
He reached over and squeezed my hand. Even with layers of gloves between us, the gesture sent warmth radiating up my arm. “Good.”
For the rest of the ride, I turned my gaze back toward the passing trees and scenery, but the closer we got to the top, the more my heart began to race. “What if I fall?” I asked.
“Keep your board pointed forward and crawl out of the way.”
“That’s it?”
“They’ve seen it all,” he reassured. “If they need to, they can stop the lift.”
That made me feel a little bit better. At least instead of getting mowed over by a strip of wood, I’d be humiliated in front of people who actually knew what they were doing. Yay, me.
“Lift the toe of your board,” Jon instructed.
The lift crested the mountain.
“Get your footing,” he said.
I stood on the board.
“And go!”
I took off down the small slope and immediately lost my balance. My arms flung out wildly, and I grabbed on to the only thing I could reach.
Jon.
We both crashed to the ground, and he yelled, “Abi! How about a warning?”
“Sorry!” I cried, scooting toward the edge of the path like he’d told me. “I was scared!”
He made it to the side, flipped over, and started brushing off his arms. “It’s okay. Just means you’ll be getting payback later.”
“What are you going to do? Make me fall?” I snorted. “I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been doing a pretty good job of that on my own.”
“True.” He laughed and popped back up.
I did the same, only not as gracefully, and followed him to the top of the run. From here, we could see everything. The basin we’d driven through the day before, the beginning of the trail down the mountain, the lodge, the pretty little town of Red River. “Wow,” I breathed.
“It’s amazing,” Jon said. “Just took eleven thousand feet to see it.”
“That’s how high up we are?”
“Yep,” he said and took in a deep breath. “Two thousand feet to go to get back to the bottom.”
When he put it like that, this seemed like a much worse idea. I could only imagine how much falling I could accomplish in two thousand feet. “Don’t remind me.”
“You can do it,” he said. “Remember when you first started running? You weren’t Upton-ready right away. We’ll take it nice and slow. Just tell me when you need a break.”
That was true. Why was I expecting myself to be amazing at snowboarding after only a few hours of practice? I needed to cut myself some slack.
�
�Okay, I’m ready,” I said. I nudged the toe of my board forward and began to make my own way. I’d done it before, and I could do it now.
I wiped out. Once, twice, three times. My thighs burned only a little bit more than my lungs. But I lived for those moments when the wind was rushing past me and little flecks of snow hit my goggles and melted away. This was what freedom and power and capability felt like. It was even better knowing Jon was right behind me.
After a particularly spectacular crash, I scooted to the edge of the trail and flopped back on a pile of snow left behind by the grooming machines.
“Tired?” Jon asked, moving toward me.
“Extremely.”
“I think we’re about halfway down.”
“Save yourself,” I said. “Leave me here.”
“Never.” He flopped down beside me, lacing his hands behind his head.
I pushed my goggles back on my helmet and turned my head toward him. Something about the snow and the gray sky made him look even more attractive. And I could only see his face.
“How are you so good-looking?” I asked for the millionth time.
“I have to be.” He pushed his own goggles back and met my eyes. “Have you seen yourself?”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “You mean it?”
“I’ve always meant it.” As he scooted closer, snow crunched in a soft rhythm. He bit a finger of his glove and pulled his hand out. His warm fingers caressed my cool cheek, making the touch that much more powerful.
I kept eye contact with him, wanting to know if our connection affected him as much as it did me.
Because I could live and die in this single moment where Jon looked at me like the sun rose and set in my eyes.
“I hope you know this is it for me,” Jon said. “You’re it for me.”
But I didn’t have time to respond because there was a black figure flying around the bend in the trail, too fast. Out of control. And he was heading right for us.
Skis and poles flew through the air, and a body crashed into us, screaming on the way. Jon let out a guttural cry that would forever be seared in my mind. And the cry didn’t end. Even after the person rolled to a stop in a crumpled heap, moaning.
Blood seeped into the snow. Covered Jon’s ungloved hand that was now gripping his leg, the spot where something that should not have been there protruded from his snow pants.
“HELP!” I screamed, knowing if I reached for my phone, which didn’t have service on the mountaintop, it wouldn’t do me any good. I didn’t quit screaming until an EMT was there with us. Strapping Jon to a board. Telling me to wait for another snowmobile. Leaving me alone on the trail by a patch of blood-soaked snow, wondering how, or if, Jon would ever be okay.
Chapter Twenty
I was desperately tapping at my phone, wishing for there to be service, when someone on a snowmobile arrived. I fumbled with my board, but it slid away from me. Crashed into a tree before falling down the mountainside.
“Leave it,” the man said.
He didn’t need to tell me twice.
I flung my body over the back of the snowmobile, suddenly ready to do whatever was needed to get to Jon. The snowmobile took us down the slopes faster than I ever could have managed on my board.
When we neared the bottom, my phone went off. Over and over again with voicemail messages. I didn’t dare retrieve it from my pocket and open them now for fear of losing my phone.
He dropped me off at the lodge, and I immediately dialed Grandma’s number. Everyone around me seemed to be going on like everything was completely normal and fine. I hated them for that.
Her voice was frantic. “Abi, what happened?”
“Someone crashed into us!” I cried. “Where is he?”
“They’re flying him to Santa Fe,” Grandma said. “He’s lost a lot of blood already.”
“Where are you?” I asked.
“In Jon’s car at the lodge. Right out front.”
I ran as fast as I could in those stupid boots, but the stairs fought me. I crashed down, banging my knee and shoulder on the way. But there wasn’t time for pain or clumsiness. I forced myself up and hurried to the car. Jorge was standing at the driver’s side, gripping the door.
He yelled, “Are you—”
“I’m fine,” I shouted. “Let’s go!”
I slid into the back seat. Why wasn’t he driving faster already? I needed to see Jon. Needed to know he was okay. That his face contorted in pain and his strangled cry wouldn’t be the last thing I ever saw or heard from him.
“Hurry!” I said.
Jorge put the car in drive and took off.
“What happened?” Grandma asked, twisting in her seat.
I shook my head, trying to get a grasp on my breath. “We were just lying there, taking a break, and this skier came around the corner—crashed into us. He hit Jon first...” I closed my eyes against the blood on the ground and Jon’s cries. “Have they said anything about Jon? Will he be okay?”
Grandma reached around and gripped my knee. “All we know is that he has a ski pole lodged in his thigh. They’re taking him to the hospital in Santa Fe.”
I pressed the heels of my hands into my closed eyes. This was all my fault, thinking I needed to “live.” Whatever the hell that meant. Who said just being with Jon wasn’t living? It would be better than this. Every second not knowing how he was felt like dying. I would never trade slapping some plywood to my legs and sliding down some snow for this. Never.
Jorge started down the winding mountain roads, and all I could think was that this was too slow. I needed to be with Jon. Needed to hear the doctor say he would be okay. Instead, we rode in complete silence for more than two hours, without receiving a single call from Marta or Glen.
We finally arrived at the hospital, and as we stepped out of the car, Grandma commanded, “Go.”
She and Jorge wouldn’t be able to keep up with me where Jon was concerned. With her one-word blessing, I sprinted through the emergency entrance and skidded to a stop at the reception desk. “Jon Scoller. Which room is he in?”
She looked at her computer screen, no hint of urgency in her motions. “He’s in OR. You can wait in the ICU lobby.”
“Where?”
A door swung open to my right, and she half stood to point. “Around the corner, to the right. Follow the green line.”
My head spun as I attempted to walk straight. Operating room? Jon was in surgery?
I turned the final corner and reached the end of the green line. With their heads bowed in prayer and hands latched together, were Glen and Marta. A sob escaped my throat.
Marta caught sight of me and sprang to action. She came to me, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and walked me to sit beside them. I was still wearing those stupid snowboard boots.
I began yanking at them, desperate to get them off.
“Abi, Abi, Abi,” Marta said, her hands covering mine.
I collapsed over my knees, sobbing. “I’m so sorry.”
She took my chin and lifted my gaze to hers. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She’d never said he’d be okay.
She’d never said he’d recover.
Or that he’d run again.
All she’d said was that it wasn’t my fault. Whatever it meant, I wouldn’t find out until Jon came out of surgery.
Chapter Twenty-One
For the longest four hours of my life, we waited in the lobby, all huddled together, refusing food, drinking stale hospital coffee, dreading bad news and praying for good.
There were a couple other families who got word of their loved ones before us. I couldn’t help but listen to the prognoses given, watch the way they reacted. I desperately wanted to be one of the families who received a positive outcome. And when a doctor came out and said, “Scoller,” I dreaded what we were about to find out.
“Are you family?” he asked the group.
“Yes,” Marta answered.
He looked skeptical, but tucked his
clipboard under his side. “Jonathan suffered severe trauma to his right thigh that barely missed his bone. We had to remove the pole and do our best to reconstruct several muscles and ligaments. We want to keep him in the trauma unit until we can move him to recovery.”
“Do you know how long it will be?” Marta asked.
I was glad her mind was working, because mine was still stuck on “severe trauma.” On his leg muscles that had needed reconstruction. And on the fact that running was everything to Jon. Everything.
“We expect he’ll be here for a week, and then we’ll get him set up with a physical therapist local to you.”
She nodded.
“His attending physician will help sort that out.”
She nodded again.
“Will he be able to run after this?” I asked.
The surgeon cringed. “He’s a collegiate track athlete, am I correct?”
I nodded.
“He might be able to run for fun someday, but competitively? The odds aren’t great. His PT will be able to explain that more.”
My heart crashed to the speckled hospital floor and shattered. “Does Jon know?”
“He hasn’t been awake for us to tell him. Would you prefer to do that?”
“Yes,” Glen spoke up and gripped Marta’s shoulder. “When can we go see him?”
“He’ll be waking up soon, and then they’ll move him to his new room.” He scanned his clipboard. “4021. Feel free to wait up there or run some errands if you need to.”
It seemed cruel to use the word “run” in a moment like this.
He asked if we had any more questions, and when we didn’t, he turned tail and left. I wanted to be angry at him, but all I could manage was anger with myself. Jon wouldn’t have even been there if it weren’t for me.
As if she could hear my thoughts, Grandma laced her fingers through mine and squeezed. “Let’s go upstairs?”
I nodded, sending tears falling down my cheeks.
We all walked to the elevators together and pushed the button for the trauma floor. The doors opened to the louder chaos of this floor, which stood out against the quiet hustle of the ICU. There were families visiting in rooms, a patient screaming for help down the hall, and then there was Jon’s room, 4021. While no sound came from within, it might as well have been crying out at me.
Abi and the Boy She Loves Page 6