Shooting for the Stars (6 page)

Stella knew the truth all too well. Being a professional athlete meant always hanging by a thread. And unless you happened to be a superstar, there were always people in your life ready to cut the thread and watch you fall. They used words like “selfish” and “impractical,” to describe your lifestyle.

And there were days when it all really did feel selfish, if Stella was honest with herself. Her win today felt great. But there was no denying that there was one person it benefited most: Stella. But when you win, you’re allowed to stop feeling selfish for a little while. Obviously it was all worth it, right? Because the trophy or blue ribbon collecting dust on the shelf proved it.

Ack
. She was thinking too hard.

No sooner did Duku knock back another Scotch when the young bartender refilled it. Deep in his cups, he got a little sentimental. “It just won’t be the same around here without you,” he complained to Bear. “You and Hank? You two are legends.”

A flicker of discomfort crossed Bear’s face, and Stella wondered if she would have to intervene and change the subject. Duku’s heart was in the right place, but it wasn’t making Bear feel any better. Stella was probably the only person alive who understood how the specter of Hank’s success hung over Bear’s career. She got it, because she felt it, too. Her whole life, Stella had measured herself against her brother. It wasn’t intentional. It was just that everything worth doing, he’d done first.

That was true for Bear too, though the two of them never said those things aloud. Hopefully leaving the tour wouldn’t drive a wedge into the two men’s friendship. Bear was already losing so much.

The male bartender set another little glass of scotch down beside Duku’s skinny elbow. The snowboarder looked up to give the guy a slow smile. “Thanks, man.”

“My
pleasure
.”

Stella nudged Duku. “
Somebody’s
going to hook up tonight.”

“Don’t you know it.” He took a sip from his fresh drink. “I think we need to get Bear laid, too. That will take his mind off his troubles.” Duku sat up a little taller in his seat and swiveled his head. “Ladies!” He beckoned to a pair of girls who had just entered the bar, and were scoping the place out, trying to decide where to position themselves.

“Don’t,” Bear pleaded.

“This is exactly what you need,” Duku argued.

Bear muttered into his drink. “Because I’m feeling so fucking friendly right now.”

“Some friendly fucking it is, then.” Duku waved the girls over.

Stella tried not to scowl too deeply when Duku introduced her to the new arrivals. She didn’t commit their names to memory, however, because she hoped their stay would not be long enough to warrant it. Duku made small talk while Stella bit her lip. Then, turning her back, she checked her phone for messages. She shouldn’t be thinking about sponsorships during happy hour. There was very little chance she’d find good news in her email inbox so soon. But hope was a stubborn bitch. So Stella swiped the screen to look.

Nothing.

Figures
.

When she turned around again, Duku was talking up Bear. “Do you know who this is, ladies? A legend. He’s been a pro snowboarder since you were playing with Barbie dolls.” He swiveled to look up at the bartender. “Could I have a couple more glasses? Thanks, man.” Stella tuned out the conversation. A few feet away, it looked as though Bear had tuned it out, too. He was polite when the girls asked to take a picture with him, though. She didn’t think the beleaguered expression on his face was only wishful thinking, either.

But then the more aggressive of the two girls put her boobs practically in Bear’s face, which made Stella feel quite stabby.

“You can have my seat,” Bear offered, standing up to get out of the woman’s strike zone.

“I’m fine right here, honey,” she said.

Yeah
. If the girl got any closer to him, Stella was going to have to evacuate. She would
not
watch Bear hook up with some stranger on what was supposed to be her victory night.

On the other hand, the other young lady provided some comic relief to the situation. She was working it pretty hard for Duku and not getting anywhere. Stella kept an eye on them, wondering how long it would take the girl to realize she was going to crash and burn.

When the girl finally stooped to rubbing herself up and down Duku’s body, like a cat in heat, he said, “You’re not my type, Sweetie. It’s not personal.”

The young woman looked instantly offended. “Who is your type?”

“He is.” Duku jerked a thumb at the surfer-dude bartender. The kid didn’t make eye contact, but his expression grew smug. He was probably happy to hear all that free whiskey wasn’t going to be in vain.

When the girl’s eyebrows drew together in dismay, Stella felt a hit of glee, followed immediately by guilt. Stella had been shot down before, and it didn’t feel good. Especially when the shooter was the person she’d loved her whole life.

It
still
stung.

Unfortunately, the flirtmonster in front of Bear was only getting more aggressive. Worse, Bear had that glassy-eyed stare of a man who might be on his way to getting too drunk to fight her off. Someone would have to stage an intervention soon. And that someone was going to have to be Stella. But how?

Luckily, the two girls took a bathroom break together. Even though it risked sounding bitchy, Stella said, “Bear, I’ve had enough of this place.”

That woke him up a bit. “Let’s go then, buddy. I’m done here, too.”

“What?” Duku yelped. “You’re going to leave me alone to explain it to her?”

“It was your idea, man. Good luck.” He threw Hank’s hundred onto the bar. “Okay, Stell-Bell. Let’s go.”

Victory was sweet. Stella gave Duku a kiss on the cheek. Then she grabbed Bear’s hand and led him out of the bar.

Six

B
Y
THE
TIME
THEY
left the bar, Bear was drunk, which should have made him feel less depressed.

Should have. But didn’t.

He followed Stella into the hotel lobby where the cooler air woke him up a bit. “I gotta get a taxi,” he said. Driving right now was out of the question.

“No you don’t,” Stella said over her shoulder. “You’re coming with me.”

“But I have a reservation.” His hotel room was the dreariest place at Lake Tahoe, though. It wouldn’t help his mood.

“Not my problem. Come on.” Stella turned, heading across the lobby in long, graceful strides. Bear followed her, trying not to admire the view. But he’d have to be blind not to notice the way her jeans hugged her butt. Her walk had been making him half-crazy since high school.

They got on the elevator, and Stella pushed the button for the penthouse. Ah, well. At least that meant the room would have plenty of space and probably a couch to crash on if he didn’t sober up.

When the doors parted on the penthouse level, they emerged into a plush hallway. There were fresh flowers on the table beside the elevator doors and soft lighting. Because rich people demanded elegant details even before they made it into their suites.

Stella waved the key card in front of the lock, and then opened the door into an opulent room. It was a Lake Tahoe style of opulent — plush but unfussy. Everything was crafted from beautiful, natural materials with simple, rustic lines. It was the sort of look designed to make a guy want to sink down onto the nearest piece of furniture and laugh at his own good fortune.

Even though Bear didn’t come from money, he’d lived at the foot of it all his life. Literally. Henry Lazarus — Stella’s Dad — had built half the ski condos in Windsor County, Vermont. And John Barry — Bear’s father — had done electrical work in many of them. Bear had learned the rules for being a subcontractor’s kid from the very start: knock on the back door, not the front. Leave your dirty boots by the door.

Don’t let the boss’s daughter kiss you on graduation night, even if it practically finishes you off to say no.

Stella dropped her pocketbook on a table and marched over to the fireplace. Squinting at a control panel on the wall, she pushed a button.
Whump!
A fire jumped to life in the open-design chimney. Her face lit up more brightly than the flames. “That is so delightfully cheesy!”

Bear laughed, because it was easy to do that with Stella in the room, even if your life was crumbling around you. “You are a piece of work,” he said, not bothering to rein in his smile. His mood was like an injured bird, flapping ridiculously hard to stay off the ground.

“I am a piece of work who won the American Masters Cup today,” she said, stomping over to the sofa and throwing herself down onto it. “There goes the winner of the American Masters Cup, removing her boots.” She toed them off. Then she curled her knees up to her chest and turned to face Bear. It was quiet again, the fireplace the only audible sound. Stella’s face became very serious as she studied him. “You know you’re going to be okay, right?”

Thunk
. His mood hit the dirt. “I know,” he said, walking over to sit beside her.

“They’re
crazy
to let you go. We’ve already established that. But sometimes a violent disruption can be good. Maybe it will lead you to a whole new way of looking at things.”

“I think I read that on a greeting card once,” Bear said. He’d meant to be funny, but it came out sounding bitter.

Stella rolled her eyes. “Do you remember when those condos burned down, when I was in third grade?”

“Sure.” He’d been eleven and still young enough that it was a thrill to run a half mile to see all the firetrucks arriving to douse the flames lapping at six half-built units facing the ski hill.

“That was a terrible day for my father. It cost him a fortune. The insurance settlement wasn’t enough money, and it wiped out his profits for the year.”

“Ouch,” Bear said. Funny, but he’d entirely forgotten about that disaster. The Lazarus family he knew didn’t suffer misfortunes. They made deposits at the bank, never withdrawals.

“It was a total loss. And it even cost money to have the debris hauled away. Daddy was so pissed off.”

She stretched out her legs until her feet landed in Bear’s lap. He grabbed one of them and pressed his thumbs into the arch of her foot. “Here’s the winner of the American Masters Cup, having her feet massaged in the fancy-ass hotel suite.”

Stella closed her eyes on a smile and seemed to melt into the couch. When Bear kneaded her foot, she actually moaned.

Check, please
. He really did not need to hear that sound again. Rubbing her feet was meant as an innocent thing. But the sound she’d made filled him with very inappropriate ideas. “So, what’s the punch line?” he asked as a distraction.

“Hmm?” She was lolling against the arm of the generous sofa.

“The fire cost your daddy a shitload of money…”

Her eyes drifted open. “Right. The punchline is that he made it all back, times ten. Because the construction delay made him reconsider his design. Instead of just rebuilding those six little apartments, he put up three standalone houses with nicer finishes. They brought in a lot more money. And then his whole business plan was shifted toward higher profit dwellings.”

Bear swapped Stella’s right foot for her left one and considered this idea. “He had the capital to keep building, though. That kind of disaster might have wiped some guys out. He could have ended up working behind the counter at the copy shop, asking customers whether they wanted their documents collated and stapled.”
Ack
. That image was a pretty crystalline projection of his own fears. Hopefully Stella would be too blissed out by her foot massage to pick up on it.

But her eyes went soft. “You have lots of capital, sweetheart. You can do
anything
.”

Bear appreciated the sentiment, and he really didn’t mind the look on her face when she said it. If only it were true. Other guys his age had been to college. They had degrees in useful things. They had careers that didn’t end suddenly when they were pushed aside by nineteen-year-old whippersnappers.

Stella sunk a little further down into the couch cushions and let out a sigh. Bear admired her, even though she was just one more thing in his life which was close enough to touch, but completely unavailable to him.

“I think I’ll have to move back to Vermont,” he heard himself say. He owned a small condo in Park City. But that meant that his savings were tied up in real-estate. He’d need to sell.

The next few days were going to work just like this — uncomfortable details of his new reality smacking him in the face like fat rain drops. For example, the lease was almost up on his Land Rover. He’d expected to purchase the car after he made his final lease payment. But now that seemed like a bad idea.

“You’d live with your dad?” Stella asked.

“I think I’ll have to, at least until I figure out my next move.” Bear stopped the foot massage to reach the stiff muscles at the back of his neck. He dug his fingers in and frowned. “My dad is going to say ‘I told you so.’”

Stella sat up, removed her feet from Bear’s lap, and looked him straight in the eye. “He might,” she said. “But your dad has never ridden Dead Tree at Squaw Valley, or taken a helicopter into the Snake River Range. You don’t have to point that out to him, but if he’s giving you a lot of shit, telling you all the things you should have been doing these last ten years, I just want you to remember that.”

He got stuck for a second then, watching her big brown eyes positively glittering with indignation. “You are a very smart girl, Stella,” he whispered.

She lifted her chin. “I’m going to remind you that you said that next time we have one of our arguments.”

“You do that,” he smiled.

“Now spin around,” she said, giving his arm a nudge. “Because it’s your turn. I’m going to find the knot in your neck, because I’m sick of watching you paw at it like a dog with fleas.”

“Nice image, buddy.” But he turned around anyway. A moment later, Stella’s warm hands landed on his shoulders. And when her strong fingers began kneading, the buzz of stress inside his head got quieter. He let his eyes fall closed as she thumbed around his traps, searching for the knot.