Tracy Wolff - Shredded

The bastard. He could have died. He could have died. It’s all I can think of, all I can wrap my head around right now. That he’s relatively okay, but that he could have died. The fucking, fucking, fucking bastard.

They’re taking him off on a stretcher now, and I see Cam waiting for him on the sidelines. She grabs his hand, holds it tight, but even from this distance I can see tears sparkling in her eyes. The son of a bitch. He’s torturing all of us, holding us all hostage to his mood swings and crazy-ass death wish.

My phone rings again, and I pick it up because I know it’s Cam. “How bad?” I demand.

“Don’t know yet. Paramedics think he dislocated his shoulder, which is actually good. Better than a torn rotator cuff. They think he might have either bruised or cracked a couple of ribs as well, plus his wrist is swelling pretty badly. They’re taking him to Aspen Valley Hospital, and what happens there will determine whether he has to be sent somewhere else.”

“Why would they send him somewhere else?” I ask, alarmed all over again.

“Aspen Valley’s a small hospital. Twenty-five beds. They can deal with a dislocated shoulder and stuff, but if he needs surgery, it’ll have to be done at a bigger hospital.” She pauses. “Do you want me to come get you? You can ride in the ambulance with him.”

I should say yes. I know I should. But all I can see is Z tumbling down the fucking snowboarding course. Z, and Remi in those moments when we plunged over the railing and freefell into the Mississippi. Remi, when they pulled his lifeless body from the car. Somehow it all gets mixed up in my head, and I know I’m going to lose it if I don’t shut all that shit down quick.

“You go ahead,” I tell her. “I’ll catch a ride. Aspen Valley Hospital.”

“It’s the only one in town.”

“Okay. I’ll see you there.”

I hang up from her, dial Ash. He answers on the first ring and I tell him everything Cam has said. I hear Luc in the background, asking questions, but I don’t have the answers. I didn’t think to ask them. I hang up so they can call Cam.

Todd puts his arm around my shoulders and says, “Come on. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

I nod, start to walk with him. But then I remember. “Ash. It’s almost his turn.”

Gemma smiles. “We’ve seen him ride before and we’ll see him again. He’ll be riding later today in the half-pipe and then tomorrow in the finals. We can catch him then.”

“No,” I tell her, moving away. “You stay and watch Ash. I’ll catch a cab to the hospital.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Todd says. “We’re happy to take you. We want to see Z, too.”

Yes, but they shouldn’t have to miss out on seeing their son just because my boyfriend is a selfish prick who doesn’t think of anyone but himself. “He’ll still be there after Ash competes. Stay, watch him, and then I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“Are you sure?” Gemma seems reluctant, but Todd wraps an arm around her shoulder and whispers something to her. She smiles at me. “Of course, Ophelia. We understand if you want to spend a little time alone with Z before the horde descends.”

“No, that’s not—”

But Todd’s patting my shoulder before moving away. “Do you need cab fare?”

“No! No, of course not. I’ve got it.”

“Okay, then.” Gemma gives me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll see you at the hospital in a little while.”

I nod, because really, what else can I do at this point?

In a daze, I head back to the hotel and grab one of the waiting taxis to take me to the hospital.

The whole ride I’m thinking about Z and Remi, Remi and Z. I’m thinking about Remi dying and how close Z keeps coming to it, too. It all gets mixed up in my head until I can barely see, barely think. Remi. Z. And me, caught in the middle. Again.

By the time I get to the hospital, my emotions are a volatile mixture of fear and anger and sorrow and pain and a bunch more that I’m not even sure about. My head is all confused and I want to cry. I just want to throw myself down on the pavement in front of the hospital and sob at how wrong this has all gone.

I don’t do that, though. Instead, I calmly pay the cabdriver. Walk inside the hospital. Check on Z at the front desk of the emergency room. And then, after they assure me that he’s being taken care of and give me directions to his cubicle, I turn around. And walk right back out the front door of the hospital.

I’m done.

I’m so fucking done.

She’s not coming.

I tell myself I didn’t expect her to, that I didn’t want her to, but deep down inside, I know the truth. I’ve been waiting for her to walk through that door ever since I got here. Waiting for her to walk in and tell me that she loves me, even though I’m a total and complete fuck-up.

Except she never comes.

Cam comes. So do Luc and Ash and Ash’s parents. Logan. Mitch. A bunch of guys from the competition come by once it’s done. Even a few members of the press camp out outside, waiting to hear what my prognosis is. But Ophelia never shows.

Not that I blame her. I did exactly what I promised her I wouldn’t do, and she walked, just like she promised me she would do.

No harm, no foul. I just didn’t expect it to hurt this badly. Hell, I didn’t know I could hurt this badly. For years I’ve been certain I was completely dead inside.

When I fell for Ophelia, I learned otherwise, but still. I thought, after everything that happened with April, that I was inoculated against feeling this kind of pain. It kind of sucks to find out that I’m not.

On the plus side, despite my complete and utter stupidity, it turns out I’m not nearly as damaged as I should be. As I wanted to be in those few, crazy moments when I lost my shit completely.

I dislocated my shoulder—not the first time that’s happened—so they popped it back in and gave me some pain pills and strict instructions to get some PT when I get back home. I also cracked a couple of ribs and sprained my wrist, so I’m wrapped up pretty tight while the painkillers take care of all that, too. They’re keeping me for observation, just to make sure they didn’t miss anything, but other than that, I’m in pretty good shape. In good enough shape that, if I take care of myself, I should be able to still make the Olympic trials in a couple of weeks.

It’s more than I deserve, more than I have any right to expect. I fucked up. I know I fucked up. I let that reporter and all the shit from my past get in my head and mess me up. And now I’ve lost Ophelia before I ever really had a chance to have her. The Olympic trials seem like a really fucking poor substitute. Still, more than I deserve, though.

“Z? You okay?”

I turn to see Ash and Luc looking at me with concern, which means I’ve once again missed whatever they were saying to me. “Sorry, guys. The Vicodin makes me fuzzy.” I blame it on the pain pills instead of my own utter stupidity.

“No problem.” Ash pats me on the shoulder. “I think we’re going to take off, then. Let you get some sleep. My mom and dad will be here in the morning to pick you up.”

“They don’t need to bother. I can take a cab.”

“Yeah, ’cuz that’s so going to happen,” he tells me with a roll of his eyes. “As soon as I’m done competing, they’ll be by to get you.”

“Thanks, man. And good luck tomorrow. To all three of you. You’re going to shred it.”

He reaches a fist out, bumps it with mine. Seconds later, Luc does the same. Cam leans down and gives me a hug. Then they file out and I’m alone again.

As usual.

The TV is tuned to some old comedy, and though it looks funny, I’m not overly interested in it. Then again, I’m not overly interested in anything else, either.

Except Ophelia, and she didn’t come.

She didn’t come.

I close my eyes, start to drift. And try to think of one goddamn reason to keep breathing. The fact that I can’t think of one isn’t exactly encouraging.

There’s a knock on the door, and I jolt upright at the sound, jarring my shoulder in the process. Ophelia, is all I can think. She came. She—

“Hey, man. Sorry to wake you up.” Mitch is standing in the doorway, a bag of food in his hand. “Let me drop this off and I’ll come back later.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I’m not really sleeping. It’s just the drugs.”

He nods, walks inside. “I brought you some tacos. Figured it’s better than the shit they serve you in here.”

“Thanks.”

He grabs a seat in the chair closest to the bed, then spends a few minutes laying out dinner for the two of us. He bought me a Coke, but he’s drinking Dr Pepper. The sight of that damn maroon can sends a fresh wave of pain through me. Which makes me feel like an even bigger pussy, which in turn pisses me off all over again. Ophelia’s fucking ruined me. Even worse, I let her.

I shove thoughts of her deep inside, lock that shit up tight. I’m not going to think about her right now. I can’t. Not with all the other crap running around in my head. Maybe later, when I’ve got my shit together again, but not now. Not yet.

I reach for a street taco that I’ve got no desire to eat, polish it off in three bites. Mitch pretty much does the same, eating without saying a word to me about the damn elephant in the room.

Eventually I can’t take the crushing weight of the silence, though, and I say, “So what happened?”

“They’re not running the story.”

I eye him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When he doesn’t say anything else, I demand, “Why not?”

“Because I told them I’d fucking crush anyone who touches the story. Not to mention sue them for every penny their fucking magazines and newspapers are worth. Most didn’t even need the threat. It’s a fucking bullshit story, one only the tabloids would touch to begin with. And by the time my lawyer was done threatening them, even they wouldn’t go near it. It’s dead, Z. It’s going nowhere.”