Page 38 of Love on the Tracks
Chapter Fifteen
Zane
By the time I make it back to my hotel, my phone’s blowing up. I’ve got texts, voicemails, and emails out the ass, a lot of which I ignore. I don’t want to talk to the press right now, I don’t want to talk to Stanley. I don’t even want to talk to my parents or my sisters.
I don’t want to talk to anyone, to be perfectly honest, but if I don’t talk to someone, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind. So I pick up my phone and hit one of the favorites in my contacts.
“Dude, are you all right? Where are you? We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for an hour.”
Benji’s voice is a balm on my raw heart, and I can hear the other guys in the background. “I’m back at my hotel, and no, I’m not okay.”
There’s some rustling and then a click. Benji sounds further away. “You’re on speaker now, we’re all here.”
“Is Rowan okay? We saw what happened. Well, sort of. Do you know?” Teague, and thank god for that. He’s probably the one who’s kept them all from driving to the airport and getting on a plane. As much as I’d appreciate the gesture, it would only stress me out more to have them here, and we wouldn’t be able to talk while they were in the air.
I collapse onto the couch, putting my own phone on speaker and tossing it on the coffee table. Elbows on my knees and fingers raking through my hair, I can’t seem to settle my body. “I don’t know if she’s okay, I don’t know exactly what happened. All I know is she could walk off the track. Her dad wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m guessing they’ll take her to what’s basically a private ER in the village, and hopefully she’s okay, but I don’t fucking know.”
“That’s shit, man. Why isn’t her old man telling you anything?” Leave it to Nicky to talk smack about the guy whose daughter was just injured.
“He doesn’t think I’m good for her, thinks I’m a distraction. Wants to call the whole thing off because he thinks it’s a stunt.”
“Is it?” Christian’s quiet, and I can picture him slightly apart from the others, his bleached hair falling over one eye.
“No. I mean, it was at first, and that’s all it’s supposed to be, but it’s not now. I think—and this is not the time to give me shit, okay, so I don’t want to hear it, but I . . . Guys, I think I love her.”
There’s silence on the other end and I can only imagine the looks they’re shooting each other, but I don’t fucking care.
“Well, we can’t wait to meet her. She seems pretty great.”
“Thanks, Benj. Appreciate it.”
Now here’s the hard part.
“So I had an idea of how I might be able to get to Rowan, even if her dad won’t let me within a hundred yards of her. The thing is, though, it could totally fuck things up for us. So I won’t do it if you’re all against it, but I have to tell you: I want to. I’m willing to put myself on the line for this, but I’m not going to hang you guys out to dry with me unless you say it’s okay.”
I can’t even breathe while I listen to the murmurs and rustling. I wasn’t lying when I said I wouldn’t attempt this suicide mission if they weren’t okay with it. These guys have been my family, my livelihood, my life for the past ten years, and as much as I think I could have a future with Rowan, I’m not going to turn my back on the four best bandmates a guy could ask for. I think she’d understand. But I’m hoping they’ll do this for me. Jump off a goddamn cliff.
“Do whatever you need to do, man. We’re all here for you. Let us know if there’s anything you need from us.”
I don’t think Teague would say that if the rest of the guys hadn’t agreed, but I need confirmation, know they’ve all agreed to me potentially putting our career in a dumpster and setting the whole thing aflame. “Does everyone feel that way?”
The chorus of yesses, and a hell yes from Nicky make my chest tight with gratitude. “I won’t involve you guys any more than I have to so you can claim ignorance if it comes to that, but thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now stop being so fucking sappy, and go get your girl.”
Then there are hoots and hollers coming through from Los Angeles, as if they’re at a frigging rodeo or something. “Will do.”
Rowan
My dad’s hotel room is nicer than my room at the village but not as nice as Zane’s suite. He wouldn’t hear of me going back to my room, and I haven’t heard a word from Zane. Was this a game to him? And when it came down to it, I was more trouble than I was worth? I know we fought, but I didn’t honestly imagine he wouldn’t come to my race. And yesterday I could’ve sworn I heard him, but then he wasn’t there.
I’m supposed to be resting, which is boring. Aside from a headache and a sore neck, I don’t feel bad. Mostly stupid. I knew it was a tough turn, I knew people had gotten into trouble, and still, I had to be aggressive. That run felt positively marvelous and I knew if I could gun it a little harder . . .
Turns out, what happens when you do that on that evil turn is you knock your head up against the wall, fight unconsciousness as hard as you can and then pass out right before you cross the finish line, and look like a sack of potatoes on the sled on worldwide television.Argh.
Despite all that, I came in fifth. Far better than the twelfth place of four years ago, but not quite good enough to displace the two Russians and one Italian who medaled. I might’ve, if I hadn’t taken that chance, and . . . Not worth thinking about, not worth beating myself up over. Not worth making my headache worse. Maybe next time. Will there be a next time?
Luge isn’t one of those sports where you’ve only got one, maybe two shots. Doesn’t have to be, at least, but there are no guarantees.
