CHAPTER FIVE
DIEGO
“Don’t be a dick today.”
At the sound of my sister’s command, I raise my brows and look up from the eggs I’m scrambling in the pan as she walks into the kitchen. “Morning, Gabs. I slept well too.”
She’s already dressed in all black, her job’s required outfit, on top of which she’ll add a maroon apron once she gets to the café. I love that Gaby is sticking around while waiting to start her new job instead of booking a no-return flight and traveling the world. She has done a fantastic job taking care of the family ever since I left, but the guilt coursing through me is a constant reminder that I should be more present.
Turning off the stove, I pile my eggs onto a plate, a haze of fatigue still clouding my senses. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, although I have to admit that my old mattress is more comfortable than the one at my Utah apartment.
Consider me stressed out. Frustrated.
I keep waking up every day thinking this is all a bad dream, but this is my reality now. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this – to working, following every step of Coach’s plan, and nodding like I’m okay with everything he’s putting me through.
“Has Mom already left?” Gaby asks, taking a box of cereal out of the pantry.
“Like ten minutes ago.”
Mom works as a concierge at the resort. Her days are long, exhausting, but she seems content enough to come back home with starry eyes and funny stories to exchange. As long as Mom and my sisters are okay, I can breathe. But that doesn’t stop me from wondering if I’m doing enough for them. I’m the man of the family now – I should do more, right? That’s exactly why I even went pro in the first place, to take care of them and make sure they don’t struggle.
I stare into emptiness as I shovel my breakfast into my mouth, listening to Gaby ramble on about her weird dream. When she snaps her fingers in front of my eyes, I sigh.
I meet her gaze. “¿Qué?”
“Can you, for once in your life, be nice?”
“I’m always nice.”
“Oh, really?” I swear, if she rolls her eyes one more time, they’re going to get stuck in the back of her head. “So you were as sweet as sugar last Friday when Alara trained you at the cash register?”
I grind my teeth together, my tongue poking the inside of my cheek as I replay the moment I snapped at Alara for helping me – a moment I deeply regret. If there’s one person who doesn’t deserve my anger, it’s her, and projecting all my frustration onto her was a terrible mistake. It just felt as though I couldn’t control the ball of unrelenting irritation that had been simmering deep inside my gut for the entire week, and when I let it slip it blew up. Not just into her face, but mine too.
I haven’t spoken to her since the day I walked out of Rock Snow with a large lump of anger straining inside my throat, even when she came over to have dinner with us on Saturday night. Ididn’t look at her. Didn’t speak to her. And it’s not like she tried to talk to me either.
As expected, I got a call from Coach Wilson bright and early on Saturday morning. I’d debated not answering and blatantly ignoring him, but that wouldn’t have done much in my favor.
He wassohappy to hear about my outburst . . . Not. For the millionth time, he emphasized the fact that I could lose everything if I keep fucking up. The reminder felt like having a bucket of ice poured over my head.
I don’t blame Alara for telling her dad about what I said and did. I was a total asshole.
I spent the whole weekend sulking in my room, reading, sleeping, and staring at the mountains and wishing I could be on those trails. On Sunday evening I helped Mom with making dinner, then retreated to my sanctuary in silence. I simply didn’t have the energy to pretend everything was fine. And I still don’t. I’m more irritated than ever, and I feel like the more I’m in Blue Ridge, the worse I feel.
Last chance, Coach reminded me. As if I’ve forgotten.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” I say, leaning back in my chair. Upstairs, I hear Valentina stomp towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She’s not a morning person.
“No, but you’re going to apologize to Alara.”
“I was planning to.” I scoop up my plate as I stand, and go to rinse it in the sink. “I have to leave soon if I want to see her before the skiing lesson starts.”
Of course I was going to apologize. I wanted to do so the moment I turned my back to her, but my pride is sometimes my worst enemy.
Do I want to help Alara with those lessons? Absolutely not. Do I have a choice? Not at all. But assisting her might also be theonly time I’ll be close to a snowboard for a while, so I’ll take it. I’ll do anything to finally get back on a board.
Even if that means crawling in the snow to beg for forgiveness.
Alara is my only shot at redemption.
