When I get to the cabin alone, I pull it out of the closet I’dunceremoniously shoved it into upon my arrival in Ricochet Ridge.
Even now, the weight of it is familiar.
I know it’s stupid. I know it can’t hear me. I know it doesn’t have feelings.
But I give my board a pep talk and an apology anyway.
Running my hand along the smooth surface, I finger the bindings and trace the Vertigo symbol.
“Hey there, old friend. It’s been a while, huh? I bet you miss the snow and the feeling of gliding down the mountain. So do I.” My words get stuck as emotion clogs my throat, blocking their exit. I swallow hard, attempting to speak again. “I’m sorry for abandoning you. I just feel so fucking guilty. But I have a job for you, and I need you to perform the best you ever have, because he’s?—”
A knock sounds on my front door a second before the knob turns, and Vox pokes his face through.
“I’m sorry for interrupting. I just…wanted to make sure whatever was happening in here wasn’t a repeat of last night,” he says seriously.
I huff a laugh. “Seems that only happens when I try to ride one,” I confess. Cutting my speech short, I hold the board out to him. “She’s all yours.”
Chapter 17
Vox
Watching Connor hand his board to me is mind-blowing. Snowboarders who compete in multiple events, like me, have multiple boards. We all have our favorites, of course, and clipping into them is like sliding into your favorite sweatshirt: comfortable; familiar.
But Connor? He only ever used one board.
Thisboard.
It’s like he’s handing me a piece of himself. The longing and sadness in his eyes as he stares down at it make me feel both better and worse about the lie I told him.
Yes, I do want to ride this board. In fact, I’d give my left nut to do so.Yes, I want to check out its flex, camber, bindings, and hardware.
No, I didn’t ask Grey to close the easy slopes for a new trick.
At this point, I could get on any board and make it down just about any slope—not that it would be easy or smart, but I could do it. I wouldn’t need to ride a bunny hill unless I were recovering from an injury.
The bunny hill is for Connor…and this beautiful board I’m holding in my hands.
“Shall we?” I ask, hiking the board under my arm.
He nods, but stays quiet.
I realized sometime between last night and early this morning that I don’t have to know the gory details about what happened in order to help him.
Maybe we can help each other this season.
When we get back to the deserted bunny slope where I leftmyboard, I begin clipping into his. Connor’s board has rear-entry bindings—a name that always confused the hell out of me since you actually slide your boot backwards from the front, but whatever. One day, when I build my own shit, I’ll give it a name that makes fucking sense. These bindings allow for use with any standard snowboard boot, which I have on.
Looking up, I check in with him. To a lot of boarders, especially professionals, letting someone else strap into your board is more intimate than fucking.
“You sure you’re okay with this?”
He nods, but remains silent, telling me he’s probablyon the fenceabout it more than he’sokaywith it.
I hop up, and already the difference in this board is noticeable compared to my own. While my board is comfortable because it’s familiar,thisboard feels like it’s welcoming me home.
“Connor, this thing is incredible.”
A small, proud smile plays on his lips. “Yeah, I think so too.” Before I step on the moving walkway—also known as the magic carpet—that will take me to the top of the small hill, he adds, “Vertigo doesn’t make this board anymore.”
