Shredded - Wolff Tracy (книги бесплатно без онлайн .txt) 📗

I can’t stop what I’m sure is a goofy grin from taking over my face.

“Seriously?” Ash says with a roll of his eyes. “That girl’s got you whipped.”

I don’t try to defend myself. How can I when he’s right? I’m turning into a total pussy about her. The thing is, I don’t give a shit.

“Why don’t you stop worrying about my love life and start worrying about your own? Oh right. Because you don’t have one.”

“Out of choice. I’m focused on the Olympics right now.”

I snort. “Yeah, which one of us is the pussy here?”

He flips me off, but I just laugh. I’m doing a lot of that lately.

“You ready to do this?” Luc asks a few minutes later, clapping me on the back as he comes up to join us.

“Hell, yeah,” I tell him, my standard answer to that question, but this time I grin when I say it. Because I mean it, and that makes the difference.

“That’s what I want to hear.” He’s jonesing for the rush. I can tell by the way he’s fidgeting, his hands checking everything again and again because he can’t just be still. I’ve been there—we all have—so I recognize the symptoms.

I knock into him with my shoulder as we walk, shoot him a grin. “You solid, man?”

He nods. “Hell, yeah, man. Let’s take this bitch so we can get on to the good stuff.”

He means the half-pipe, since that’s always been where he scores best.

As we get to the lift, there’s a section of media behind a rope line. They’re taking pictures of everyone on their way up, hoping to get some quotes, all on the chance that one of us is going to be the new winner.

Normally these competitions aren’t so media heavy, but it’s an Olympic year and this is the last major North American competition before the Dew starts—and with it, the Olympic trials. So of course everyone is watching, trying to see who stands out. Trying to put together in their heads what is going to be the next winning Olympic team.

Again, not really my thing—I’m just in it for the adrenaline—but a lot of people really fucking care about the selection. Which is why the media, the fans, and everyone else are at a fever pitch today. Well, that and the stupid video that seems to have made me big news in the snowboarding world overnight.

There’s a part of me that wishes I’d never let Ash do shit with that ride down the mountain. I wouldn’t have if I’d known it would lead to this feeding frenzy, reporters and fans and sponsors in my face all the time, all wanting something from me. And while I don’t mind talking to the fans, signing a few autographs, the media are something else entirely. As long as they stick to the boarding questions, I don’t mind. It’s when they get to the more personal stuff that it fucks me up, makes me nervous. There’s a lot of shit in my past that needs to stay in my past, and the last thing I want to do is explain it to a bunch of assholes who don’t know me and don’t know anything but the superficial aspects of the sport.

Ash and Luc wave as we pass the reporters, so I do the same. Ash even deigns to stop and answer some questions—something I’m not the least bit interested in doing. But as Luc and I hang there, waiting for him, it’s kind of hard to avoid the shouts being leveled at me. In the end, I walk over and the three of us pose together for the cameras while we answer the questions they keep throwing at us.

Most of them are pretty easy. What tricks are you planning on doing? Do you feel prepared? That video was insane, man. After throwing that out there, how do you cope with the pressure? Do you feel ready for this?

I give my standard answers, wait while Luc and Ash do the same. But just as I’m getting impatient to get to the top of the fucking mountain so I can lay down my first line, one of the reporters shouts out something that I don’t quite hear.

But I can tell it’s bad, from the way Ash reacts and the way the other reporters all kind of stiffen, too. It gets my back up, and deep inside I know that I should just walk away now. Get on the lift, go up to the top of the mountain, and put in the best ride of my professional career.

And yet there’s another part of me, the self-destructive core of me that’s right there under the surface just seething with the need to get out, that tells me not to run from this. That I need to handle it right now before it gets out of hand.

I search for the faces of the reporters until I find the one who’s staring at me, an intent, self-satisfied look on his face. I know the look—hell, I’ve worn it often enough—so I head toward him even as Ash curses beside me.

“Come on, Z.” Luc grabs my arm, tries to drag me away. “Let’s go.”

“In a minute.” I shake him off, then nod to the reporter. We’re close now, only a few feet separating us. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you had any comment about your role in your sister’s kidnapping and subsequent death.”

Though a part of me’s been expecting that question from the second the video went viral—reporters are nothing more than trained snoops—it still hits me hard. And wrong. I want to tell him to go to hell, to mind his own fucking business, but there’s a part of me that’s paralyzed by the words. By hearing them said like that, plain as day. By my worst nightmare, the worst fucking thing in my life, being dragged out for the whole world to see.

“Fuck you, man.” It’s not me who says it this time, but Ash, who looks angry enough to kill. “Get your facts straight.”

“Oh, I have my facts straight. And I’ll be running an article later today with this story. I just wanted to give Z a chance to comment on his side before I publish.”

“There’s no story, man. Z was ten years old. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Is that what you want me to write, Z? That you don’t feel any responsibility for what happened to your sister?”

“You son of a bitch.” Luc launches himself at the line, leading with his fist.

I step between him and the reporter, take the weight of the punch on my own face before he can stop. Still, I’m glad I was there. Luc’s got a temper, and the last thing that needs to go out over the newsfeed today is that he attacked a reporter who was just following a lead on a story.

“Shit, Z. Are you okay?” Ash tries to get a look at the side of my jaw where Luc landed the punch.

“I’m fine.” I shove him away. Cameras are going off all over the place and I don’t want to give the fucking bloodsuckers any more ammunition than they’ve already got. At least not about Ash and Luc, who are only trying to protect me.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, man.” Luc looks sick.

“No worries.” Once he’s calmed down, I make sure my face is totally blank when I turn back to that fucking bottom feeder. “Print whatever you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

“Feel free.”

And then I’m turning, walking away with Ash and Luc hot on my heels.

“Hey, man, don’t listen to him,” Luc tells me. “He’s just trying to get in your head.”

I nod, keep walking. Keep putting one foot in front of the other.

“We’re serious.” Ash now, scrambling to keep up because I’m walking fast. “He was fishing. He doesn’t know shit.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Ash agrees as we get seated on the magic carpet for the ride up the hill. “He doesn’t matter. Just do your thing up there, okay. Just ride and …”

He keeps talking, but I tune him out. All I can see is the reporter’s face twisted up with a mixture of glee, canned remorse, and triumph for getting the scoop. All I can hear is his smug voice blowing my fucking world apart.

I should have told Ophelia. It’s the first thought that comes to my mind, even before I think about April and my mom. I should have told her so she wouldn’t be totally blindsided by this shit when it hits the news.

But I didn’t. I let myself be convinced it was all going to be okay, even after that fucking video hit the Net. Let myself think that things would work out, even though I knew better. When have they ever worked out for me? When have I ever deserved them to?