Slashed, Page 2

  I reach for the waist of my board shorts. “Sure—”

  “No!” Z stands up abruptly, grabbing onto Ophelia as he does. “No, she doesn’t.” He’s picking her up in his arms and striding over to the side of the boat while I slip into the vacated driver’s spot.

  “You want to take a go?” I shout to him, but instead of answering he just steps onto the bench seat at the back of the boat.

  “Don’t you dare,” Ophelia shrieks. “I mean it, Z! You better no—” Her shriek is abruptly cut off when he jumps in the water, still carrying her.

  I glance at Ash, who’s just shaking his head like when’s she going to learn? I know exactly what he means. Z pretty much dares everything and telling him not to do something is a surefire way to get him to do just that.

  Logan and Cam are close to hysterical they’re laughing so hard, and when I glance in the water at Ophelia—who’s still so shocked that her mouth is opening and closing like a guppy’s—I can’t blame them. Especially when she finally seems to come around and starts smacking at Z, who’s laughing just as hard as the other two.

  Tansy keeps glancing back and forth between the lot of them like they’ve all escaped from an insane asylum. But when Ophelia finally stops beating up on Z, Tansy leans over the side of the boat and calls, “Here. I’ll help you up.”

  Ash heads toward her—to help, I’m sure. Tansy isn’t close to being as fragile as she was when we first met her a couple months ago and she was fresh off of chemo, but Ash still has a tendency to treat her like glass. But before he can get there, Ophelia grabs her hand and yanks.

  Tansy’s only protest is an astonished little squeak, and then she’s tumbling headfirst into the lake. Ash makes a dive for her, misses, and falls in after her.

  By now Cam and Logan are laughing so hard they’re practically crying, and I’m not far behind. Especially when Ophelia leaps on Z’s back and starts trying to drown him.

  It’s second nature for me to look at Cam, to try to catch her eye and share the joke. At least until I remember that we don’t do that anymore. We don’t do anything anymore. So, I look at Logan instead, and that’s when I see it. The wistfulness. The envy. He won’t say it—the kid never says it—but I know he misses being able to jump out of the boat without a second thought. Misses being able to just do what he wants instead of having to plan every little thing out beforehand. After running it by Ash, who we’ve already established has major protective issues when it comes to the people he loves.

  The boat is stopped, but I turn the ignition all the way off before I climb out of the pilot’s seat and head toward him. I pick him up easily—he may be long but he’s also super lanky—throw him over my shoulder. “Hold your breath,” I warn, then jump off the back of the boat without waiting to see if he follows directions. It’s exactly what I would have done a year ago, before the accident, and though there’s a tiny part of me that questions if it’s really okay, I tamp it down. Except for the paralysis, he’s all healed up. In as good a shape as any other fourteen-year-old boy. So to hell with it. He deserves to have fun, too.

  I hold onto him until we surface, making sure he can tread water using just his arms—which he does just fine despite the fact that he’s still laughing. Only then do I glance at Ash, expecting him to bitch me out. Which is fine. I know how he is and I’m prepared for it. Except when our eyes meet, his are filled with something that looks an awful lot like—shame.

  I shoot him a questioning look, but he just shakes his head. Mouths “thank you,” then moves over to dunk his brother a second time.

  Cam joins us after a couple minutes, and even though I know it’s totally masochistic, I can’t stop myself from swimming up behind her. From putting my hands on the silky skin of her waist.

  “Hey, don’t—” she says with a laugh, twisting around to see which one of us is going to dunk her.

  But dunking her is the last thing on my mind—even if I did start out with that as a vague plan—and when her surprised eyes meet mine, I don’t push down until she’s underwater. I don’t pull away, though, either. Instead I stay right where I am, hands lightly resting above her hips, thumbs gently stroking at the hard, flat plane of her abs.

  Her green eyes are huge as she watches me watching her, and then she smiles a little tremulously. “Hi.” It’s almost a whisper.

  “Hi,” I say back. It’s the first word I’ve said to her in weeks that hasn’t at least been partially for show.

  I start to say more—even though I don’t have a clue what words are about to come tumbling out of my mouth—but before I can, Tansy grabs onto her shoulders and shoves her down, hard.

  We’re both so surprised that we just let it happen, no struggle at all. And by the time Cam surfaces, several feet away, that one moment between us—whatever it was—is lost.

  We stay out there for a while longer, swimming and fucking around. It’s the best time I’ve had in a while—the most relaxed, certainly—and I kind of want it to go on forever. But, even as I mess around, I’m keeping an eye on Logan and I can tell, despite his game smile, that he’s getting tired.

  I don’t want to make a big deal of it, and I sure as hell don’t want Ash to catch on because he’ll make a gigantic deal about it even if he tries to be subtle. That’ll just get Logan’s back up, and the day will go to hell pretty quick from there—which will suck, because they’ve both been trying so hard to think first and get pissed later that I don’t want to see it all go up in flames.

  So, I quietly make my way over to Logan, bump him with my shoulder. He gets the offer of support without me saying anything else, wrapping his skinny arms around my neck from behind.

  “Want a ride back to the boat?” I ask him, not wanting to take the choice out of his hands. If he just wants to hang here for a few minutes and get his breath back, I’m good with that too.

  But he quickly nods, says “sure,” and I know he must be even more tired than I thought.

  I start swimming, and it turns out Ash must have been paying attention after all, because within seconds he’s to my left, pacing us. Maybe he really is getting the hang of giving his brother some breathing room.

  I make it back to the boat in a couple of minutes and by the time I climb up and Ash and I push/pull Logan out of the water, everyone else is right behind us. Leaving Logan in Ash and Tansy’s capable hands, I slide back into the pilot’s seat and—after hooking my phone up to play music through the boat’s radio—start the engine back up.

  “You want to board?” I ask Z, when he slides into the seat beside me.

  “Nah, I’m good for now. Why don’t you take us back to the marina while I get the food out?”

  I nod, and after checking once more to make sure everyone’s onboard, I start to move. Z leaves me to it after a couple minutes, and a quick glance over my shoulder finds him unpacking the coolers full of food and drinks we loaded up early this morning.

  We’re halfway across the lake when Cam slides into the seat next to mine. “Brought you something,” she says, holding out a cold orange soda. My favorite.

  “Thanks,” I say, grabbing hold of it. Wow, we’ve managed to exchange six whole unsupervised words at this point. It’s got to be a record for the month.

  “What are we listening to?” she asks after a couple of uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. “It’s cool.”

  “Imagine Dragons’s new album.”

  “Really? It sounds so different from their first one.”

  I nod, because it’s true. And because I’ve never been great at small talk with people I care about.

  When she realizes I’m not going to run with her conversation opener, Cam sighs heavily. “Are we seriously going to do this forever?” she demands. “Because it’s getting really old and boring and uncomfortable and I hate it.”

  I’m a ridiculously bad liar—part of the reason we’re in this mess—so I don’t bother pretending I don’t know what she’s talking about. “What do you want me to say, Cam?”r />
  “Anything! Everything! You’re my best friend, dude. I miss talking to you.”

  Yeah, right. Her best friend. That’s me. I’m that guy. The one who never stood a chance but was too stupid to realize that until it was too late.

  What a fucking mess. Still, it’s not her fault she’s not into me, any more than it’s Z’s fault that he was never into her. So, instead of brushing her off like the still-hurt part of me wants to, I force a smirk and say, “Nice weather we’re having.”

  “Oh, fuck you.” But she relaxes a little and so do I.

  Maybe things are going to be okay, after all.

  We spend the rest of the way back to the marina talking about nothing important—I force myself to give it a shot—and even after we dock, she seems reluctant to leave her spot next to me. Not that I’m reading anything into that. Been there, done that, and the T-shirt sure as fuck wasn’t worth it. But since I’m in no hurry to stop the first easy conversation we’ve had in months—even if I am starving—I don’t get up either. At least not until Z grabs my phone to change the music.

  “If you don’t get some food soon, it’s going to be gone,” he warns us. “I swear, Logan could put away a side of beef if we let him.”

  Cam glances up at him, and there’s a sexy half-smile on her face that I’d kill to have directed at me. The reminder sours my mood, has me sliding out of my chair and grabbing a sandwich I’m suddenly not the least bit interested in.

  But I can play along with the best of them—it’s what I’m good at, after all—and it isn’t long before we’re spread out all over the boat, talking shit and hanging out. It doesn’t take long before the conversation turns to snowboarding because, seriously, when does it not?

  “So Mitch called yesterday,” Z says. “New sponsorship opportunity.” He’s lying down with his head in Ophelia’s lap and in all the years I’ve known him, he’s never looked calmer or more at peace. I risk a glance at Cam, wondering if she sees it, too. If she can tell how good for him Ophelia is.

  But she’s talking to Ash and looking pretty serious about it, so I lean in a little, tune out Z and the rest of them as I try to listen to what they’re talking about.

  “Of course we’re going to the Freeride World Tour,” Ash says, looking incredulous. “Why the fuck wouldn’t we?”

  Cam’s voice is too low for me to hear, but the way she looks up at me, then starts guiltily when she realizes I’m watching her, tells me something’s up. As does the way Ash ducks his head and suddenly gets real quiet, too.

  “Yeah,” he says after a second. “We could totally do Aspen instead. It’s cool.”

  The Aspen Second Invitational? As cool as the Freeride World Tournament? Not even close. So what’s up with Cam that she’s suggesting it? And why is Ash agreeing to it?

  Freeride is sick, man. The best riders boarding the most front mountains, doing the dopest tricks. Who the hell doesn’t want to be a part of it? Sure, it’s too hard for a majority of boarders, but—and that’s when, stupid ass that I am, I finally get it.

  Fuck.

  They’re talking about me. About the fact that they don’t think I’m good enough to do the Freeride Tour. About the fact that they’d rather get stuck in Aspen at some rinky-dink tournament than hit one of the biggest blasts in snowboarding because they think I can’t hack it.

  Maybe they’re right. Maybe I can’t hack it. Streetstyle’s definitely more my game than big, back country slopes. I can board rails with the best of them, can usually hold my own in the half-pipe. But slalom? Or big mountain runs? So not my strong suit.

  We all know it, so I don’t get what the secret is. Or why they’re suddenly so gung ho not to do something just because there’s a lot of the tour I won’t be able to compete in. Unless—unless they’ve always done this and I’ve just been too stupid to catch on before now.

  Fuck.

  The thought hits me hard, nearly levels me. I try not to let it, try to focus on the positive such as it is. Maybe I should be grateful that they’re good enough friends they don’t want to leave me behind. Maybe I should be grateful that they’re putting me over their own careers, their own goals.

  But fuck that, man. Fuck their guilt. And fuck their lack of faith. I don’t need it and I sure as hell don’t want it. I’m twenty-one years old. It’s been a long time since I’ve needed a babysitter.

  Not that it matters what I need—or what I can do. It’s all about their expectations of me, or should I say lack of expectations. And that shit gets old fast.

  I don’t say anything though. What’s there to say that won’t cause a fight? Or worse, ruin the whole fucking day? So I keep my mouth shut and try not to stew about it. I crack jokes, make them laugh, just like they expect me to. Just like I always do.

  Same old shit, different day. It’s the story of my fucking life.

  Chapter 3

  Cam

  There are some things in life you can’t unsee, no matter how much you want to.

  Your first horror movie.

  Blood gushing over the snow after a bad fall results in a wicked compound fracture for someone you care about.

  The boy you love kissing another girl.

  And now, for me, my father grinding on top of my mother—grinding—on my long-lost mother—on the family-room sofa. My father.

  Suddenly I know exactly how Oedipus felt when he jabbed those pins in his eyes.

  Slamming my own eyes shut in a frantic attempt to block out the image of my parents writhing together on the dark blue couch, I turn back around and start to fumble my way out of the room. But I only make it a step or two before dropping the glass in my hand. It hits the wood floor hard, explodes into a thousand small shards as water splashes over the walls, the floor, my bare feet, and the bottom of the jeans I pulled on over my swimsuit before leaving the lake.

  Shit. What a fucking mess.

  “Don’t move, Cam!” my dad calls as he leaps off the couch—and my mother. My mother. Just the words—just the reality of her—is enough to have me making a mad dash for the front door, despite the broken glass that litters the floor around me.

  The pain doesn’t stop me, even as I feel the shards cutting into my foot. Pain I can handle. After all, I just spent the afternoon trying to learn enough new wakeboarding tricks that I can keep up with Luc—and slamming into the water again and again and again as I failed to master the really complex ones. And I did it all while Luc, despite our small, short-lived truce, looked at me like I was something he scraped off the bottom of his snowboard.

  A cut foot doesn’t begin to compare.

  Besides, I’m desperate to escape, desperate to make it to the door, to my car, so I can get the hell out of here and pretend that none of this ever happened.

  I’m good at pretending—God knows, I’ve had enough practice.

  Too bad I don’t make it out of the house. Just as I reach for the doorknob, my dad’s hand hits the wood directly above it. I’m strong, but I’m no match for a man who’s spent his life doing physical labor. The door doesn’t so much as crack open.

  “Cam, honey, just settle down. Let’s get you sitting down somewhere and I’ll clean up your foot.”

  “My foot’s fine.” Again, I try to pull the door open. Again, I fail.

  “No, it isn’t, Cameron.” I stiffen as she speaks for the first time, her voice soft and butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth sweet. It makes me want to puke. Even worse, it makes me want to cry.

  How can she still sound the same? It’s been seventeen years since I last heard her voice and everything has changed since then—everything. So, how can she still sound exactly like she did when I was four years old? Soft and floaty, like wind whistling through pine trees? And how—why—do I even remember that? “Go into the kitchen and sit down so your dad can figure out how bad the cut is.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” It’s a kneejerk reaction, the words tumbling out before I even know I’m going to utter them. I don’t regret them thoug
h—she was definitely giving me an order and that’s something she gave up the right to do a long, long time ago.

  “Cam.” My father’s eyes narrow, and his voice holds a definite warning. “Don’t talk to your mother like that.”

  “My mother?” I look at him incredulously. “I don’t have a mother.”

  “Stop it,” he growls to me under his breath. “It took a lot of courage for her to come back here after all this time and I won’t have you disrespecting her.”

  For a moment all I can do is stare at him, mouth open and mind whirling. This whole day has been just a little off, like everyone and everything is blurred at the edges. But to come home to this? To have my father defending that woman after what she did?

  “I’m disrespecting her?” I finally manage to get the words past my too-tight throat. “She’s the one who went to the grocery store to buy ice cream and didn’t come back for seventeen years.”

  Seventeen years, nine months, and twenty-six days to be exact—not that I’ve been counting.

  “Stop it!” This time my dad’s the one doing the ordering. “You’re acting like a child. In fact—”

  “Jake, I think I’m going to go see if I can find the first-aid kit,” she interrupts.

  He turns to her with a comforting smile. A smile, for God’s sake, when she’s the one who left him alone with seven kids and a pile of hospital debts. “Thanks, Lily. Cam and I appreciate it.”

  No, I don’t. I don’t appreciate anything about her being here. I have just enough self-control to keep from blurting that out, too.

  We both watch her walk away and when he turns back to me, my father’s face is filled with resolve. “I want you to settle down about your mother, try to be nice to her.”

  “Be nice to her? Are you freaking kidding me?”

  “No, I’m not. She wants to spend some time talking to you, getting to—

  “Oh, yeah?” I interrupt. “And how exactly do you know that?”

  “Because she told me.”

  “She told you? Really? How’d she manage to do that when her tongue was halfway down your throat? I mean, really, Dad.”