Page 4 of Wilde About You

"Maybe he thought she was two-timing him with a slick blond snowboarder," Zander teased.

"Can we stop talking? You're making my head hurt."

"Suit yourself." Zander reached forward and turned up the tunes.

I stretched my leg out. The throbbing had slowed to a dull ache, an ache that always seemed to be there just to remind me about that shitty day on the slopes.

The trophy. One last run. I shook the thought from my head because it was fucking with my concentration. Concentration—my weakest link to a championship season. It was the same in school. ADHD. That was the label. First gate coming up. The ice is worn slick from all the riders. Boom, first gate passed and the clock is with me. Flying now. Feels like I'm fucking airborne. Everything working. Body in rhythm with the mountainside. Slipping past each gate with ease. Gonna be a good run but don't lose focus yet. Sun is bright. Sky is blue as paint on an old Chevy truck. Spectators lining the course are a blur. Heel, toe, keeping up the speed. A flash of neon yellow pulls my gaze toward the trees. Fucking ADHD. My board leaves the ground. I curl into myself to mitigate the impact. Nose of the board clips a gate and yanks the whole thing awkwardly to the side taking my foot with it. A sharp rip in my knee. I yell out in pain and brace for impact. I'm at the point of no return. The ice is hard. It knocks the wind out of me. Fuck. I'm done and so is my fucking knee.

"Earth to Colin," Zander's deep, chiding tone cuts through my thoughts. "Where'd you go? Out on the slopes?"

I nod.

"You were reliving that wipeout again," he said plainly. Zander was a self-centered asshole, but when it came to his brothers, he was also totally dialed in, a skill he'd learned early on. As wild and reckless as my older brother was growing up, he also spent a good amount of his time keeping his four younger brothers from getting into trouble and getting themselves killed. He had no choice except to step into the role of protector. Our dad was a shit parent. Talk about self-centered. With the exception of my twin Ronan, we all had different moms, and each was quick to walk out after a few years with Dad. He could woo them to the altar but then his true self came out and scared them off. Dad had too many powerful and cutthroat lawyers on speed dial for any of them to win a custody battle, and our behavior made it easy for them to take off, leaving us behind with the notorious Finnegan Wilde.

"Look, remember when I took that big jump on the dirt bike and wiped out both my ankles?" Zander asked.

"How could I forget? We all had to take turns waiting on you like you were some kind of diva." I had no idea where this was going.

"Well, I had some pretty shitty nights for about a year after that crash. I kept dreaming that I was falling out of the sky with nothing but hard ground to stop me."

He ended his narrative there. I looked over at him. "And?"

"Just saying, it took about a year to get over the trauma."

"You were twelve and you got to be homeschooled for two months. The only thing you missed out on was playing flag football and a school dance. I can't even train, and I have no idea when I'll get back to the slopes. Sponsors, my main source of income, are already getting cold feet. Not the same, Z." I sat back grumpily.

"Shit, you're really sore that the sweatshirt thief didn't give you her number."

I sat up straighter. "I told you—you know what? Never mind. Not going to be pulled into a Zander mind game." I slumped down again. "Asshole," I muttered.

My brother smiled proudly as he drove toward the pancake house.

three

. . .

Sadie

What a night. What a night! I clutched my beloved camera tightly in my hands and climbed the steps to my apartment. I knew something was off before I even hit the landing. Mrs. Clemin's flower wreath was crooked on the door, and someone had kicked over the plastic bucket of empty cans Hal always left out for the homeless man who collected them for cash. Cola and orange soda cans were strewn along the entire corridor. I started picking them up and hadn't really looked at my door until I neared it to reach for a can. I glanced up and stepped back with a gasp. It was ajar. I'd definitely locked it. I leaned my head close to the opening and listened carefully for any sound. The only thing I heard was the annoying airplane-like noise my refrigerator made. I pushed open the door, tiptoed to the light switch and dropped firmly back on my heels.

"What the fuck?" I didn't have much, but what I did have, an old couch, a shelf filled with books and a wall covered in some of my better photos, had all been ransacked. My apartment was trashed. The violation of my stuff sent a shiver through me. Could Gregor or Buck or their team have already figured out where I lived? I'd mentioned to the bouncer that I was with Sports World. A few minutes on Google would have given them a name and a few more would provide an address. Thanks, internet.

I willed myself to check the bedroom. The same mess, but this was worse because my underwear was thrown into the mix. Strangers had handled my panties.

"Shit. Those fuckers." I picked up the two expensive lenses and spare camera I had stowed in my equipment bag. They seemed to be intact. Hopefully, the creeps weren't coming back. I pressed a hand to my stomach. I felt sick. What if they did return?

I sent a text off to Gigi.

I've got to stay on your couch a few days. I'll explain when I get there.

I raced around the room, swept up some clothes and underwear and stuffed them into my empty backpack. The bag had traveled with me all over the world. I always felt better when it was on my shoulder. I tossed some of my bathroom necessities on top and hurried out the door. I locked it but realized just how meaningless that little tradition was when you had people who could just break in.

Gigi's text came back as I raced down the stairs. My camera was still around my neck. I would probably sleep with the damn thing dangling there. I needed to get to the darkroom at the office, but something told me my intruders were already watching the place.

I threw my backpack in the car and pulled the massive sweatshirt tighter around me. For some reason it felt protective, and I could smell the hot guy's nice soap on the worn fabric.

I got in the car and checked my phone.