Shooting for the Stars (2 page)

“God, why?” Hank
never
took a rain check on partying. He’d earned his nickname “Hazardous” both on the snow and off.

“I’m flying back to Vermont tonight for the exhibition event.”

“Oh, shit,” Stella complained. “That’s this weekend?”

“Yep. I’m really sorry.”

For a second, she was disappointed. But then Stella realized two things. First, her brother had come to Lake Tahoe for no reason other than to watch her compete. And, secondly, for the first time in years, she was going to have an evening alone with Bear.
Well then
. “I’m sorry to see you go, but I totally understand,” she said.

“You do? Aw.” Hank ruffled her hair. “Will you still be this nice about it if I ask you to drive Bear back to South Tahoe? Then I can take my rental straight to the Reno airport.”

Stella laughed. “Fine.”

“I didn’t check out,” her brother added. He fished a key card out of his pocket. “You can have my room tonight, and it’s awesome. I got upgraded.”

“You always get upgraded.” Stella took the card. “For once, I’m going to be the lucky beneficiary.”

“The room is penthouse number one. Just like your standing.” He cocked his head toward the leader board. Then he hugged her one more time. “I’m outie. Got a flight to catch.”

“Bye, Hank!” Stella called after him. As she watched her brother duck under the roped-off boundary, a swarm of people descended to ask him for an autograph. That always happened, and not just on mountains. In shopping plazas and airports, people recognized her Olympic champion brother.

Stella shook her head. “Think I’ll be mobbed like that later?”

“I’ll fight ’em off for you,” Bear offered. He lifted his snowboard off the ground and mimed bashing heads with it.

She gave him another gentle punch to the bicep. “I knew you were good for something.” Weirdly, Bear actually flinched. Then his mouth drew into a tense, straight line. Stella watched him, studying his silver gaze, trying to figure out what she’d said to make him frown.

Bear turned away. “Let’s ride down,” he said. “I mean, if you’re ready. Is there a press conference?”

Stella sighed. “Nope. The back-country events don’t draw many journalists. And I already spoke to
Outside Magazine
and
Snowboard
today. Which way do you want to head down? I was thinking the Rock Garden.”

He hesitated. “There’s always Dead Tree.”

“Bear, you know where this is leading right?” Stella stuck out a fist. The two of them had always been competitive. Since they were preschoolers inventing stunts on their tricycles, he’d had a bossy, alpha-dog personality. And Stella could admit she was just a wee bit strong-headed herself. Their entire childhood had been a long series of petty disagreements which needed settling.

Even though they hadn’t seen each other in months, Bear knew exactly what to do. Removing his glove, he put his fist across from hers. In unison they chanted: “
Rock, paper, scissors, SHOOT!
”

Stella was about to protest that Bear had hesitated when she realized she’d won. “Scissors cut paper! Rock Garden it is.” She hiked her board under one arm and ran toward the cornice.

Two

T
OGETHER
, B
EAR
AND
S
TELLA
jetted
down the mountain.

Bear was glad for this little respite from his own churning mind. Edging hard, he chased Stella’s dark ponytail as it flapped in the breeze. It was like flying, really. The silver-blue of Lake Tahoe appeared and disappeared as they wove and bounced through the terrain.

Stella liked to go fast, and Bear liked pursuing her. For twenty minutes, it didn’t matter that Bear was having a really shitty day. Chasing her downhill, everything was a simple balance between friction and gravity.

His best friend’s little sister had never been the sort of girl who stopped to admire the view, so the whole thing was over too soon. At the base, they bent over their boots to unclip. And Bear had to work to keep himself from panting like a winded old dog. “I’m happy to drive,” he said when Stella turned to face the parking lot.

Stella removed her helmet and shook out her ponytail. “You do know that people with boobs are capable of operating a motor vehicle, don’t you?” She studied him with one hand on her hip, flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

He got trapped for a second by all that loveliness. Stella was one of the most beautiful girls he’d ever met. And she always had a challenging glint in her eye. It was comforting, really. On this day when people he trusted had let him down, he could count on at least one person in his life to remain constant. “Easy, killer. I just thought that since I knew where the hotel was, because I
came from there a few hours ago
, that driving would make your load lighter.”

She tipped her chin up, considering his argument. Bear had wisely stopped short of pointing out that Stella got lost more than anyone else he’d ever known. She’d probably give in. But first, she would draw out the moment, deciding whether or not to be offended by the suggestion. And that was fine, because he could look at her all day.

With an eye roll, Stella dug a set of rental car keys out of her pocket and handed them to Bear.

Thank Christ
. The real reason he wanted to drive was that he didn’t think he was going to be much good for conversation. If he was behind the wheel, his poor mood might be less noticeable.

“Omigod, look!” Stella squealed.

On a digital screen at the bottom of the ski lift, there was a picture of her. It had to be three feet tall. “WINNER of the Women’s Mountain Masters: Stella Lazarus.”

Bear yanked his phone out of his jacket pocket and took a picture. “Wait, Stella, go stand beside yourself.” Giggling, she dropped her board on the snow and ran to stand next to her oversize image. He took another shot. “I don’t know if the world can handle
two
of you,” he said.

“Right?” she agreed cheerily.

When Bear went to stash his phone again, he found a crisp bill hanging out of his pocket. That was odd. He didn’t keep money there.

“Careful,” Stella said. “That’s a c-note.”

Bear pulled it into his palm and saw that she was right. He looked down on the snow and found another hundred dollar bill, quickly trapping it under his boot before it could blow away.
What the fuck?

Oh
. Hank
.

Bear felt a hot spark of irritation. He didn’t want his wealthy friend’s money.

Scowling, Bear bent down to collect the bill off the snow. The universe had obviously conspired to humiliate him today. The first blow had come just as Bear and Hank had pulled into the parking lot here at Squaw Valley. Bear’s phone had rung, and he’d found that the caller was his biggest sponsor. “It’s Rafe from Bungee Brands. I’ve got to take this, but I’ll only be a minute,” he’d told Hank. “Hi Rafe,” he’d said, picking up the call.

“Bear. How are you man?”

“Good. What’s happening?”

There had been a pause on the other end of the line, but Bear hadn’t really noticed. He’d been watching Hank pull their gear out of the back of the car. And he’d been feeling lucky that they were standing in this beautiful place, with a crystalline lake on one side, and one of the burliest resort mountains in America rising up before them.

“I’ve got some bad news,” Rafe had said into his ear. “We can’t renew your contract at New Year’s.”

New Year’s? That was only three weeks away. “What?” he’d asked, stupidly. The Bungee Brands sponsorship was forty thousand dollars, and by far the largest source of Bear’s meager income.
 

“Things are just really tight this year. I’m so sorry. I wanted to explain in person, but I’m not going to make it to any of the tour events until January.”

Reeling, Bear had done the math. Bungee Brands would be spending all its efforts — and its money — on the Olympic qualifying events. New champions would be crowned. And even now — weeks before the first flights left for Europe — the whole world had already decided that he was yesterday’s news.

“I see.”

“I’m putting a little something in the mail for you, though,” Rafe had said. “We’ve been friends for a long time, man. Hope that doesn’t change.”

Bear hadn’t even had a response to that. “I have to run,” he’d said. Hank was standing there, his boarding boots already on, watching Bear with a question on his face.

“Call me later, if you want.”

“Thanks,” Bear had said before ending the call.
Thanks,
he’d repeated numbly afterward. He’d just thanked the guy for canning him.
Thanks for nothing.

He’d shoved his phone into his pocket again, still stunned.

“What’s the matter?” Hank had asked.

“Bungee dropped me,” he’d answered.

“What? They cut you back?”

That was the moment when numbness had turned to anger. “They didn’t cut me back, they just fucking cut me.” But how could Hank understand, anyway? Bear had felt a surge of resentment for his friend of more than twenty-five years. Hank had never lost a sponsorship. Not once. He was one of the highest paid athletes in winter sports.

They’d ridden the lift in a rare uncomfortable silence.

Eventually, Hank had turned to him with a sheepish expression. “Can I ask a favor? Take Stella out tonight? I feel bad that I can’t do it myself.”

“Yeah. Sure thing,” Bear had said.

“And maybe you can take your mind off of… you know.” Hank had cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I know,” Bear had grumbled, his mood plummeting immediately.

And now? Finding two hundred of Hank’s dollars in his pocket did not boost Bear’s spirits. Although he understood why Hank had done it. He’d asked Bear to take Stella out for the night. Bear would have happily done it anyway. Bear didn’t like talking about money, ever. And he didn’t like thinking about it, either. Unfortunately, it was about to become the biggest problem he had.

On that glum thought, he followed Stella toward the parking valets.

“Here goes the winner of the American Masters Cup, putting on her sunglasses,” Stella said as he loaded their boards and boots into the back of the Jeep she’d rented. “…And here goes the winner of the American Masters Cup, asking you whether you’d rather have the Snickers, or the peanut butter cups.” She opened her backpack as she slid onto the passenger’s seat.

“The peanut butter cups. Easy choice.” He knew Snickers was her favorite. When they were kids, she’d always traded for them on Halloween, when she and Hank and Bear would dump out their booty on the floor of the Lazarus family room to paw through their new wealth.

That was before Bear understood what wealth really was. That it was bigger than a pillowcase full of fun-sized chocolates. And that some people had it, and others never would.

Bear got into the driver’s seat, or rather he tried to. Stella was nearly a foot shorter than he was. Adjusting the seat, he warmed up the engine, then maneuvered the Jeep through Squaw’s vast parking lot and out onto the roadway.

He was alone with Stella Lazarus. If that couldn’t lift his mood, then nothing could.

“Where shall we have dinner?” she asked while fiddling with the radio.

“It was your big day. So you can pick. Anything you want. I’ll even dress up if you want to hit one of the nicer places.” After all, someone should be happy tonight. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be him, but so far he was doing a decent job of hiding it.

“You’ll dress up, huh?” Stella asked, and he could hear a smile in her voice. “You’ll wear your
good
flannel shirt and jeans without holes?”

Since his eyes were on the road, he didn’t look at her. But he really didn’t need to. He’d been watching Stella smile his whole life. It started with a quirk of those perfect lips. And then those big brown eyes lit up.

“I could whip out a dress shirt, buddy,” he said. “Try me.” Though hers was a fair question. They’d known each other literally forever. And Stella could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him dress up for something. The whole state of Vermont was strictly casual. The snowboarding world was, too.

“Okay, as much as I would like to see that, a fancy meal isn’t what I want tonight.”

“No?” He should have been relived, since he really wasn’t in the mood for formality. On the other hand, if they went somewhere casual then he’d miss out on the rare sight of Stella wearing a dress.

“What I want is to sit in the hotel bar, and order all the fattening appetizers that I usually avoid. Tonight nothing is off the menu.”

“Nothing, huh?” As soon as he said the words, he wished he could take them back. Because Stella was the one girl on the planet that he wasn’t allowed to make sexy jokes with. Usually it wasn’t an issue because Hank was nearby. Hank’s presence always reminded him to keep it on the straight and narrow.

“Not a
thing
,” Stella said, arranging the fingers of one hand into heavy metal horns. “Tonight we’re going to party like Vikings. Vikings who like tequila.”

“You got it.”

Bear wound Stella’s rental car down highway 89, which was one of the most gorgeous roads in America. The startling beauty of Lake Tahoe, its frigid waters framed all around by mountains, flashed in and out of view. On the other side of the road, an endless number of evergreens rose into the air. Their trunks performed a visual trick as the car passed by. If Bear turned his chin a few degrees toward the passenger side, the spaces between the tree trunks seemed to gap open in rows as the car flew past. It would make a cool shot for one of the videos he liked to stitch together in his spare time.

Stella fiddled with the radio, settling on a bluegrass station. And Bear drove on in silence, the scenery calming him.

He loved this. Pro snowboarding wasn’t glamorous in the traditional sense. Very few athletes actually got rich in terms of dollars and cents. But there were dividends all the same. Bear never sat his ass in an office cubicle and watched the clock for lunchtime. Instead, he passed his days on the most beautiful mountain roads on earth. He breathed the cleanest air. And when he closed his eyes at night — even if it was on the scratchy pillow of a cheap motel — on the inside of his eyelids, he saw aspen trunks framed against the blue sky, or the black cut of the High Sierras standing dark against the clouds.