CHAPTER ONE
DIEGO
“Can you repeat that?”
The lengthy silence makes me check my phone to ensure the call hasn’t been disconnected. Coach Wilson’s name is still flashing on my screen, and I sigh as I balance the device on my knee. My gaze finds the blank ceiling, my fingers curling with annoyance atop the armrests.
“Coach?”
“You’re fucking with me, Diego.”
“I’m not,” I protest grimly. “Just wanted to make sure I heard that right . . .”
I’m keenly aware that my diversion tactic of playing dumb isn’t working in the slightest. I’m also certain Coach is busy pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep inhale – just like he always does when he’s trying not to snap at me.
“Drop the act,” he tells me, a bite to his tone. He’s been coaching me for the past eight years, and there’s a ringing sound ricocheting in my ears that screams I’m in deep shit.
I groan. Again. “You can’t send me back there.”
“Oh, watch me, kid.” The last word makes me grit my teeth. “You’re out of the game for the next three months.”
“So you said.” Just like that, the pain in my leg shoots through my body. It’s a constant reminder that I screwed up. I’m banned from training, and the thought of not being able to mount my snowboard is fucking killing me. Absently, I massage my knee, but it’s no use to soothe the pain.
I still have yet to fathom the severity of my punishment because, if I’m being totally honest, I don’t understand at all. Sure, flashbacks from that day still haunt my dreams, and, sure, the pain isn’t something I joke about, but it was just a stunt that went wrong. I’ve made it clear that being this harsh is unnecessary, but, clearly, Coach thinks differently.
“You hurt your shoulder,” he says, as if I don’t live with the constant pull every time I try to put my clothes on.
“Thanks for the reminder.” He’s truly annoying me. Why is he pointing out the obvious?
“And your knee is pretty fucked up. Do you think you can get back on your board and take part in tournaments like nothing happened?”
A heavy sigh escapes my mouth. “I wish.”
Luckily, my knee and shoulder didn’t require surgery, but I know what’s coming, and it’s weeks and weeks of rest and recovery. Translation: endless time in hell, a torture that’s meant to kill me, because how am I supposed to survive without snowboarding?
“Look,” he continues gently. The sudden softness only makes my irritation spike further. “I need you to recover. Need you to think about your reckless actions. We just signed a million-dollar deal with big sponsors – how do you think they felt when they saw you fall down that slope and not come back up? We can’t flush that down the drain.”
“They’re not going to drop us,” I assure him. “It’s not even that serious.”
“It’s not even that serious?” he echoes, but shouting. I flinch,aware that I’ve struck a nerve. “Are you insane? Do you ever take things seriously?”
“I do!” This sport is the only thing I’m serious about and he fucking knows it.
“Really? Because, right now, all I’m hearing is my most talented rider whining like a little boy because he doesn’t want to face the consequences of his actions!”
Mierda. Coach Wilson is rarely this furious. He has every right to be, but, again, I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. I’m not dead. My injuries could have been worse. The team hasn’t lost the sponsorship. He’s overreacting, but that’s an opinion I keep to myself.
“Ah, come on, Coach . . .”
There’s a beat of silence. Another one. Then, I hear a heavy exhale. “I’m going to say this once, and once only. This is your last chance. I’m not going to tolerate this behavior again.” Before I can ask what he’s referring to, he continues, with an edge to his voice that makes me wince. “Remember that time in Zermatt when you refused to participate at the press conference after you performed poorly? Or that time in Aspen when you got in a heated argument with a judge after your qualifying run? And, after that, you had the nerve to snap at a reporter when he pointed out that you’d lost your cool! I’ve been patient with you, Diego, I really have, but I’ve had enough of your impulsiveness and nonchalance.”
I gulp. He’d promised not to bring up those days again, but I knew it was too good to be true for him not to hold a grudge. Admittedly, my reactions had been terrible, but they were valid. Plus, I haven’t had any slip-ups since then, and I know he’s just bringing up every single time I’ve messed up to dig the knife deeper in my wound.
But that was last season!are the words resting on the tip ofmy tongue. Thinking better of it, I bite the protest back. I still think he’s being irrational and unfair, though.
“So, what? The miracle solution is to force me to spend three months in Blue Ridge Springs? That’s how you want me to reflect on my mistakes?” I roll my eyes. I’m thankful we’re not sitting in his office right now, because, if that were the case, he would not only be giving me shit for my lack of seriousness but also for my attitude.
Okay, maybe I understand where he’s coming from and why he’s so completely done with me.
