Winter Fire Read online

  He grinned at me. “Not true. Because eventually, it’s no longer too steep, or too icy. Right?” His grin widened.

  “Nice, Buddha.” For a moment, my irritation at him began to slide away. Then he said, “and that’s why I don’t help weakness and failure by poisoning myself.”

  New anger burst inside me like a firework.

  “I said I do not drink. I took a few sips of beer tonight and that was all. And anyway,” I went on, feeling scolded and trying to keep a note of maturity in my voice to offset the pettiness of what I was about to say, “Brianna was drunk and heading for sloshed, and you don’t seem to mind her at all.”

  He laughed, heartily this time. I crossed my arms over my chest and raised my eyebrows at him. We stared at each other like this through the lazy snow until finally, letting his amusement wind down, Bren shook his head back and forth, his cheeks and lips still blushed with humor.

  “You don't hold yourself to a higher standard than Brianna?”

  And there it was. What Dillon had said about Bren making all of his answers questions. I cut around this one and tried another route.

  “What about Skye?” I said.

  He pulled his head back and frowned, and a point of hope jabbed at me like an icepick.

  “Aren’t you two together?”

  “Have you hooked me up with every girl in the place? I thought you said I was with Brianna.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t.”

  “I did,” he said. He took a step toward me and ran his hand through his hair. I watched the tufts slide between his fingers and remembered the smell of smoke and herbs. In that gesture I could have forgotten everything, but I kept my head clear.

  “And Skye?” I moved on. Brianna was a mess to sort out at another time.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Ever.”

  “Then who is she?” It just seemed natural to me that they would join forces and take over the universe.

  “She’s like us,” he said.

  “Does she live with you?”

  “Sometimes. She’s a bit of a free spirit. She does what she wants.”

  I hated the idea of Skye living in the apartment with Bren - sleeping there, showering, flaunting herself all over the place.

  “So she never had feelings for you?”

  He hesitated and my stomach tightened. He tilted his head to the side, seemed to consider, then made small counterclockwise circles in the air with one finger as if he were backing up a car. At first I didn’t get it. I watched his hand, trying to figure out if maybe he was writing something he didn’t want to say out loud, but then it dawned on me. I looked up at him.

  “The other way around,” I said. “You never had feelings for her.”

  He nodded and gave me a flat, embarrassed smile.

  In one moment, he had informed me without the slightest self-consciousness of his own awesomeness, and in the next, he was too humble to admit that a beautiful girl wanted him and that he didn’t want her back.

  He slid his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt, glanced down and then back up at me. His smile was gone. I realized then that I was no longer angry at him, or afraid of Tyler, or worried about my mother.

  “I think Skye hates me.” I told him.

  “She doesn’t hate you,” he said softly. “She just doesn’t travel well.”

  “Well, she saved my butt either way,” I said. When his expression didn’t change, I went on. “I don’t even know what she was doing there. The glades are closed at night, aren’t they? And she was on her board. Besides,” I paused until I was sure I had his attention. “I saw a fire in the woods further up the hill, and I thought you’d all be up there together.”

  “Did you?” His voice was silk. His lips curled up at the corners. “Well it’s a good thing we weren’t.”

  We stared at each other, the night growing colder, bits of white lace sailing aimlessly in the air around us. Over Bren’s shoulder, the lights of the resort promised warmth and shelter and comfort. But those little hearth fires were nothing compared to the blaze in Bren’s eyes, the warm, lulling whoosh of his pulse.

  I felt his hand slip into mine.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Bren walked me all the way to the sliding glass doors off the main hotel. I glanced in to make sure my mother wasn’t at the desk and turned to face him. His eyes searched mine, and I could not imagine a way to turn away from this, to brace myself for the moment when the indoors would rush around me in a cruel gust. I didn’t know how to ask what I wanted to know, but the uncertainty was maddening.

  “I’m not sure when I’ll see you.” I felt my cheeks flush and looked down at our feet.

  Tense and waiting, I listened to him breathe. Finally, he reached out and pulled me against him. I sunk into him again, closed my eyes. He buried his face in my hair and inhaled.

  “I’ll find you tomorrow,” he said, his breath hot on the top of my head. Then he released me with a gentle push, turned, and walked away.

  I watched him until he reached the bottom of the stairs, until the space he left around me froze and there was nothing left to do but go inside. I found my way to the suite and was relieved to find it empty. My last conscious thought before sleep pulled me under was of his scent. Pine and mint. And cinnamon.

  Chapter 10

  Sunlight flooded our suite on Saturday morning. I was up early, anxious to get out on a board for a little while. The night with Bren seemed like a dream on this new day, and I wanted to do something to feel connected to him, to his world. I was sitting at the kitchen table in my snow pants and sweater and munching a bagel when my mother walked in.

  “I didn’t see you last night,” she said, filling her mug with coffee, “what time did you get in?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure, I was so tired I just came up here and went right to bed.”

  “Did you have fun?” She turned to face me, nodding as if she were trying to answer the question herself. She looked too hopeful to disappoint, and I had decided that I wasn’t going to tell her about Tyler anyway. It was over.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Some of my friends were there. It was fun.”

  “Good. I’m so glad. And what are your plans for today? Anything exciting?”

  I finished chewing and gulped. “First tracks start in a few minutes, and I like getting out before the place gets crazy. I’m trying to learn my turns.”

  She slid out the chair opposite me and sat down, warming her hands around her mug. “I hear learning to snowboard is very difficult.”

  “It is,” I nodded, eyeing my next bite.

  “And painful. I’ve seen you limping around this week.”

  I nodded again. “I’m probably the worst case though. Being athletically challenged.”

  She ignored this. She never agreed to any negative statement about me. “Well, I was thinking, would it be easier for you if you had your own board? One that was a good size for you and had the right bindings and boots?” I froze before my teeth hit the cream cheese. “I mean,” she went on, “I can’t afford anything brand new right now…I wish I could. But I was telling Mr. Neil that you were learning, and he signed a coupon for a very big discount at the pro shop. He said they have some slightly used equipment downstairs and he thinks you can find something there.”

  I stared at her. “Really? I mean, can we afford that?” The idea of having my own stuff, of feeling like I belonged here, was something I hadn’t hoped for.

  “We can afford that.” She smiled. “I’ll give you the coupon and the credit card, and after you’re finished you can go down to the shop and find Jeff – Mr. Neil said he’s the best person to help you – and get yourself some equipment.”

  I stood up, too anxious to eat anymore, dropped my bagel and threw my arms around her neck. She laughed and patted my hands.

  “Thank you, Mom. Thank you so much.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy,” she said, then turned in my arms to look up at me. “I really just
want you to be happy, Jenna.”

  “I know,” I said, holding her gaze for a moment. A surge of guilt passed through me then…for not telling her about Bren, or about what happened with Tyler, and for getting myself into that mess in the first place.

  “I love you.” I kissed her on the cheek and ran to get my jacket, leaving her laughing behind me.

  Jeff in the pro shop was somewhere in his twenties and thoroughly ungroomed, his hair a straw nest atop his head and a matching soul patch lying like a worn bath mat on his chin. He spoke in a laid-back, surfer drawl, but his eyes were sharp and he darted around the shop with purpose. After ascertaining my level of experience – none - and my intentions – survival - he eyed my baby blue coat and white pants, nodded once to himself, and got moving. In less than half an hour, he had rustled up a barely used board with blue and white paisley designs curled against a black background. He said it was a good size for me, and could be used on the slopes or in the terrain park. I told him I didn’t anticipate doing any rails or jumps, considering that those things required an actual death wish, and he laughed and said a lot of people said that at first. He also dug up some shiny, baby blue bindings with very few scratches and slightly chewed up padding, and white boots which were new in the box, but discounted because they were left over from the previous year. He topped things off with a blue hard-shell helmet. It was pretty beat up, but I thought it looked kind of cool with all its battle scars. Before I left, he waxed and sharpened my board.

  “Now it’s going to feel slick because of the tune-up,” he said, “but don’t let the speed throw you. Just make your turns and you’ll be chill.”

  Which meant I would not be chill. But as I walked out into the sunlight and gazed out over the snowy landscape with my own board under my arm, I felt a surge of pride overshadow my fear. I may not be chill, but I’d look good.

  Jeff was right. On my first run down the bunny hill, my board felt like a blade on ice. Each time I gained momentum, I reached a speed I hadn’t before, got scared, and hunkered down until I dropped safely onto my butt. I stuck to the falling leaf technique, afraid that if I tried to turn while the board was moving that fast I would catch an edge and slam to the ground, probably knocking myself unconscious before I had a chance to identify which bones were broken. Although I tumbled into a middle aged-guy getting off the lift – he tried to help me up and kept falling until I finally scuttled far enough away to get up on my own – the second run was better. I had to bring myself to almost a complete stop to make a turn, but I pulled it off a few times and managed to remain upright all the way to the bottom.

  Sliding to a stop on the flats, I bent down and unbuckled, then pressed my gloved hands against my waist and rotated my sore ankle.

  “Jenna!” It was a small voice, female, and so far away that I couldn’t decide where to look. I scanned the lift chairs above me, but saw only the backs of people’s heads. I glanced up the hill, my eyes roving over the line of skiers and riders preparing to take their runs, but there was no one waving or even looking in my direction.

  “Jenna!”

  I spun around and squinted over the wide strip of snow, flanked on both sides by evergreens, that led to the north face of the mountain and the lifts for the raceway and terrain parks. There, I saw a huddle of riders near a lift. One had her back to the others, and was waving emphatically at me with one hand while she clutched her board with the other. Her orange braids bounced on her shoulders. Frieda.

  I did a fast search of the group behind her and found Bren’s hair, his mirrored sunglasses, his helmet wedged between his arm and his side. Inhaling a sharp breath and holding it to control my nerves, I unbuckled my other foot, grabbed up my board and started trudging my way toward them. Frieda dropped her arm, set her board on the ground and straightened up, waiting for me.

  Bren didn’t even glance at me. I tried to keep my eyes on Frieda, a smile stiff on my lips, but I couldn’t help watching him. He was talking to Frey and Dag, the three of them rambling in amused voices between bursts of quiet laughter. He wore a royal blue sweatshirt that made his skin and hair glow like no colors in the natural world. Today he was zipped up and his sleeves were down, so I figured they were headed to the terrain park. Frey wore a tan hoodie that matched his sandy helmet, but Dag actually had on a coat, dark green with a pattern of thin, gold lines that reminded me of a Christmas tree. Frieda was like a negative image of him, her jacket gold and set off by forest green gloves and a scarf, the fur trim on her hood wreathing her pink face like a mane. She took a few steps forward to meet me as I approached.

  “We’re going up to the terrain park,” she said. “Come with us.”

  I bugged my eyes at her. “I can’t,” I said. “I’m just learning. I haven’t even been up on the mountain.”

  She waved a hand at me. “I saw you. You’re good enough to come up and mess around. Besides, it’s really no different that the bunny hill. The runs are just longer.”

  “And steeper. No way.”

  “Only in some places. And you can control your speed and stops, so you’ll be fine.” She shrugged and smiled at me. Over her shoulder, I saw Dag’s eyes flick in our direction, his smile faltering.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea Frieda.” I felt a warmth in saying her name. I liked knowing her. “I’ll never be able to keep up with you guys.”

  “There’s nothing to keep up with,” she said sweetly, “the park has its own lift. It’s contained. And there are wide paths down the sides where you can ride through. Please come.”

  And before I could figure out how to refuse, Dag’s eyes flicked to us again. He turned, his long bangs falling across his forehead.

  “She said she doesn’t want to, Free. Don’t force her. What if she gets hurt?”

  Frieda pivoted just enough to see him from the very corners of her huge green eyes. Her smile was sweet. “Well, we are all instructors, so that would be pathetic, wouldn’t it? She’s not going to get hurt. Don’t scare her. Besides, I’m tired of hanging around with the boys all the time.”

  “What about Skye?” Frey said with obvious humor. Bren still hadn’t even glanced at me, and I thought I could actually feel my heart tracing a cold path into my stomach.

  Frieda turned back and tossed her gaze skyward, dismissing Frey’s comment. Then, focusing only on me, she said, “Don’t you think she should come with us, Bren?”

  I froze. Maybe he was just doing me a favor last night, walking me home and comforting me. I kept my eyes on Frieda and watched Bren walk toward me in my peripheral vision. When he stopped beside her, I shifted my gaze to his.

  “Yes, if she wants to,” he said. “Do you want to?”

  The space between us felt thick, slowed his words in my mind, made it hard to understand their meaning.

  “I don’t think I’m ready,” I said. But I wanted to be with him, with them, so much so that I felt myself strain with the weight of it.

  “The only way to be ready is to do it,” he said. Then, when I didn’t answer, he added, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  I still didn’t reply, didn’t know what I was waiting for until he said it.

  He tilted his head. “Come with us.”

  The knot in my stomach loosened. I took a deep breath and nodded. Then we all walked over to the lift to buckle in. I was finally heading up the mountain.

  Frieda made a big show of having to sit with both Frey and Dag, letting her head fall back and making hairball noises in her throat as she complained, but I knew she was just making it clear that Bren and I should ride up together. I was humming with nerves, and he must have known it because he held my arm as we sat down and lowered the bar for me. He slid his sunglasses up onto his head and we glanced at each other and away.

  He let out a whispery laugh.

  “What?”

  “What is this weirdness between us?” He asked, looking at me now, his maple syrup eyes soft and searching mine.

  “Y
ou barely even looked at me when Frieda called me over,” I said. I sounded like a pouting kid.

  He laid his arm across the back of the lift and turned to face me. “I didn’t know if you’d still want to see me today.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “You were kind of, you know, vulnerable, last night. After what you’d been through.” Jaw tightening now. “And I realized later that you might think I was taking advantage of that.”

  I absorbed what he said and relief washed through me.

  “If you hadn’t been there, I probably would’ve had a nervous breakdown on my way back,” I said. “I didn’t want to go to that stupid bonfire in the first place.” I glanced down at my gloved hands, curled around the bar. “You saved my night.”

  He waited until my eyes found his again.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said.

  I was still smiling when I caught the glint of a stream below us. I leaned over to get a better look. The flow of tumbling water, interrupted here and there by dark, jagged stones, cut through frozen snow on either side. Evergreens shadowed the banks.

  “That’s the raceway,” Bren said, gesturing to the wide run beyond the water on my left.

  I followed it with my eyes until I felt Bren’s hand on my back. When I looked over, he was pointing above the treeline to the left, where a huge expanse of ground had been cleared. Near the top were a few jumps marked with some kind of red and blue paint, and beneath them a half-buried car hunched in the snow surrounded by all kinds of boxes and rails. In the dead center of the run, a huge hill rose above everything, the approach side a steep ramp, the other side a cliff.

  “And that’s the terrain park,” Bren said.

  I held my breath. To me, it looked like a playground for the suicidal.

  “The pipe’s further down.”

  “Great.” I swallowed, and trained my eyes on the chairs ahead.

  Brianna was right, getting off this lift was nothing compared to the one at the top of the bunny hill. I made it without help and let my board come to a stop on its own. I looked out across the top of the mountain. It wasn’t as intimidating as I thought it would be. We were still on solid ground, and in truth, it didn’t look any different than the base area except for the fact that I couldn’t see the end of the runs.