Buried Alive Page 4

  I was tearing it up. Carving and cutting the snow as if it were butter. Everything in my body hummed, and the ride flowed like I was destined to do this. I went up for a Michalchuk, a back flip while twisting. I dropped down, hitting the packed snow with all my weight.

  Pop!

  Daggers of agony blasted through my knee, shredding my nerves as though a bomb had gone off.

  Fuck! No!

  I was so close, just one more trick and I was done with the only good run of the day. I could imagine Shaun screaming at me to stop, that I still had enough points to qualify for the finals in a month, but I couldn’t. No matter the damage, I wouldn’t quit.

  Squatting low, I grabbed the front of my board. My body rose over the wall for a Double McTwist, spinning and rolling in the air with ease before I descended. The front of my snowboard slipped down the wall, returning me to the pipe.

  The moment my knee bent taking on the brunt of my landing, a cry pushed over my tongue, my teeth clenching together until I heard my jaw crack. Tears of pain gathered under my lids, and bile filled the back of my throat.

  My head spun as I crossed the line, a buzz filling my ears. Instantly I went down, my ass slamming into a snowbank, pulling my knee to my chest. It took me a moment to realize the buzz was the crowd cheering. Flashes of cameras sparked off my goggles. Hands came down on me, pounding my shoulders from over the rope line. Pulling off my goggles, my gaze lifted to see everyone going nuts, jumping up and down and screaming.

  “Rhys!” Shaun was in front of me, his face crinkled with concern. “Your knee?”

  I nodded, the craze of the crowd slightly ebbing away the pounding pain.

  “What the hell is going on?” I mean, I’ve always received a lot of cheers and excitement, but this was way beyond that.

  “You didn’t see your score?” Shaun leaned back, pointing at the board. Up in glowing lights my score for my last run blinked at me. “You did it, son. You’re in the lead for the qualifying round.” Shaun’s smile engulfed his face. He patted my arm, pride lighting his eyes, his voice softening, “He’d be so proud of you.”

  I blinked, trying to keep back the emotion. My path to the Olympics suddenly felt more attainable.

  Shaun unbuckled my snowboard, shoving it out of the way. He got a shoulder under me, lifting me onto my one good foot, my other curled underneath me.

  The crowd’s excitement doubled when I stood, signs bouncing around, people screaming my name, reaching out for me. A group of girls in the front had my name written across their T-shirts, flashing me when I peered over.

  “Damn.” My mouth split into a mischievous smile.

  “Don’t let your head get too big, son. You have enough trouble. And you still got a long way to go. Even more now since you fucked up your knee.”

  I bounced as Shaun moved me forward, trying to keep weight off my hurt leg.

  “But I could use a nurse or two…” I trailed off, still watching them over my shoulder.

  Shaun snorted. The girls quickly dropped out of sight, overtaken over by TV cameras and reporters stuffing microphones in my face.

  “Rhys! How does it feel to get this win? To know you are the clear front runner going into the finals in January?”

  How did they think it felt? Sometimes the questions were so moronic. But I smiled and answered the best I could.

  “You looked as if you really hurt your knee. Will you be ready?”

  I fucking hoped so.

  “Your brother won this one as well. How significant is this right now? Is he what pushed you to keep going?”

  It felt like a hand clamped around my lungs. My muscles coiled along my shoulders.

  “All right, thank you all.” Graham pushed through the throng of reporters, appearing on my other side. His assistant hustled behind him, grabbing my snowboard. “Rhys needs to get his leg checked out. He will answer all your questions at the press conference once he’s been seen by a doctor.”

  Graham and Shaun maneuvered me out of the crowd. A snowmobile, big enough for me to lay my leg out, waited for me. Medical staff ran toward me the moment they caught a glimpse.

  This was bittersweet. I should be celebrating by getting drunk at some club and going to bed with that string of girls at the rope line. Instead I would be tending to an injured knee, spending most of the night in an exam room, with Shaun as my nursemaid. But even the thought of Shaun in a nurse’s uniform did nothing to ebb the excitement flaming in my veins.

  One step closer.

  I had gotten this close to my dream before only to have it torn away. This time nothing would stop me from getting on the podium next year, from feeling the weight of the gold medal around my neck.

  “Your brother won this. How significant is this right now? Is he what pushed you to keep going?” The reporter’s voice crept back into my head, nipping at my happiness. I knew the question would come. They couldn’t seem to help but compare us, to drive the knife in even more. For once, my brother hadn’t been there, his presence grating on my sanity. It had just been me.

  But it would never be simply me. I would always live in the shadow of the great Jonah Axton.

  Chapter Five

  Hannah

  I stared at my open suitcase. I engaged in a battle with myself to stay or go every few minutes over the last day. A few drinks with Siena the other night had calmed me enough not to flee during the night. But when I stepped back into the hotel the next day, the weight of his presence all the way up on the sixth floor danced over my head and made me sick to my stomach. After a suffocating nightmare, I even pulled out my suitcase. But the morning sun filtered brightly through my window, glowing off the snow, and wrapped around my soul the same way a warm blanket does. Now I wasn’t so certain anymore.

  I had never truly been at home in San Diego. I’d gone there as an escape to try to become another girl with another life. Lost as I was, though, I couldn’t move forward, and I definitely didn’t want to go back. I stayed stuck in neutral, with no direction.

  The amount of times I had changed my college major, you’d think I would have found something I wanted to do with my life. Yet the one thing that brought me pleasure was paddling out into the ocean and catching a wave. The thrill of cutting through water and the rush of feeling on top of a wave were the closest to happiness I got.

  Much as I loved the waves, nothing could replace the vibration of snow under your board. I used to know everything about snowboarding and winter sports, but I had cut myself off completely.

  Hannah Jennings didn’t talk about where she came from. And I was thankful not many people probed beyond the superficial.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Canada.”

  “You guys really like hockey up there, eh?”

  I would try not to roll my eyes. “You’re hilarious.”

  End of conversation.

  Exhaling, I shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, needing another cup of coffee. The house was silent, as my parents had left for the lodge hours ago. They were another reason I didn’t simply get into the car and go. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Having to do that and give them some fake excuse why cut through my heart.

  My parents didn’t deserve that. They had been through a lot too. Plus, it felt wrong to leave without visiting my brother.

  I filled my cup and wandered over to the table where a Whistler Daily was opened. The local paper shared all the latest on winter activities and competitions happening in the village. I flipped to the front page. My chest instantly clenched, my stomach dropping to my toes.

  “Pushing through injury, Rhys Axton wins top spot.”

  “Famed snowboarder injured. Will he be able to qualify for Olympics next month?”

  Injured? What happened to him?

  My gaze wandered down the print. Reports claimed he strained a ligament in his knee, putting him on bed rest for a week. My teeth sawed into my bottom lip; I understood the fear all snowboarders and skiers had of shredding
their ACL. It could end your career if you are not careful. The article went on and on about what this injury might mean to his future. Heat crept up my neck when it highlighted his past tragedy, coloring him the great underdog story.

  Rhys was never an underdog. He was always one of the best.

  Shoving the paper away, I gripped the table, my knuckles turning white, sensing a panic attack squeezing my lungs.

  Breathe, Hannah. In and out.

  Rhys wasn’t the only one who had made the front cover of the Whistler Daily. Once upon a time, my story had been on the front of local and national news and smeared across the TV, making my face very familiar. Thankfully, when I moved in with my grandma and altered my appearance and name, people stopped recognizing me.

  I lived nine years without notice. Yet I was guarded and defensive the whole time, waiting for the day someone would figure it out. I hoped the story would go away, but it hadn’t. Now it felt as though it never would.

  Sitting down, I put my face in my hands, taking in long pulls of fresh mountain air, centering myself. The ugliness of my nightmare the night before tapped at the base of my spine.

  White.

  Bones crunching.

  Screaming.

  Suffocating.

  Icy hands wrapping around my throat and body, strangling the life from my lungs.

  I had woken up screaming, my sheets tangled around my legs and arms.

  Breathe, Hannah. It’s all in your head. The room spun, my lungs grappling against the imaginary barrier blocking them. Random anxiety attacks had become a norm for me. Sometimes going into the walk-in freezer where I had waited tables, or thinking I saw a familiar face out of the corner of my eye, would trigger my past, raising it back from the dead.

  Buzz.

  My cell vibrated on the wood table next to me, and I jerked, turning to the name flashing across it. Dad. I took in one more breath, grabbing my phone.

  “Hey, Dad. What’s up?” I kept my voice even, hiding the tremors in my chest.

  “Oh, good, you’re up.” He huffed with relief. “Two staffers called in sick…aka hungover, probably. I need you to come in for lunch. Can you get here in fifteen minutes?”

  My mouth parted, wanting to say no, that I was leaving this place, but nothing came out. The thought of letting him down wrenched my gut.

  “Sure, Dad.” I peered down at my red plaid pajama bottoms and white tank, my knotted hair falling out of a loose ponytail down one shoulder. “Let me jump in the shower and I’ll be right over.” The smell of last night’s alcohol and restaurant grime still lingered on my skin. Another night catching up with Siena consisted of four strong drinks and two shots before I had stumbled back here and passed out.

  Until my nightmares woke me in a cold sweat.

  “Thank, Bren. I really appreciate it.”

  I set my jaw and put my phone down. I could do this. I would just not do any deliveries to the sixth floor. Lucky for me, I knew he wouldn’t be making his way down to the restaurant anytime soon.

  If I stayed away from him, everything would be fine.

  “Hannah, we have five deliveries already.” Neil pounced the moment I entered the restaurant. Damn. I hoped I’d be put in the back, chopping vegetables or making bread. “Too much partying last night after the competition, I guess. No one wants to move too far.”

  It was always like that after a competition or holiday.

  “Caleb can’t get here until five, so you are on deliveries alone.” Neil handed me the order slips. “I was going to have to pull someone off the floor, and we’re already one short. Thank you for coming in.”

  My hand went around the food orders, fanning them out, my gaze locking on the last one.

  Hell no.

  Six-o-six.

  His room number all but glowed at me from the rest of the no-name tabs. Since reading about his injury, a part of me expected to see his room number. He couldn’t exactly go out to eat, but I’d still held out hope I wouldn’t have to cross paths with him.

  No such luck.

  “Brennley!” A man’s voice boomed from the entrance of the restaurant. “I can’t believe you haven’t come to say hi yet.”

  I whipped around to see a large man wearing black slacks and a purple dress shirt. He hadn’t lost his love for vibrant colors. Tall and wide, with a graying mustache and thick dark silver wavy hair, Oscar Bilotti was a big teddy bear—until you crossed or disappointed him. His dark eyes glinted with joy against his olive skin, dimples appearing in his smile.

  I’d received nothing but kindness and love from him while growing up here, like a second daughter, though I had seen him unhappy with staff and even his own daughter. His temper had frightened me enough to know I never wanted to be on the receiving end of it.

  “Oscar.” I grinned, running to him. His arms engulfed me. He gave the best hugs, completely consuming me. His musky cologne that I remembered from childhood stung my nose.

  “Look at you.” He pulled back, holding my arms out. “You have grown up to be such a beautiful woman. You are breathtaking. While I’ve grown fat and old.”

  “You look the same to me.” Besides the graying in his hair, he really didn’t look any different.

  “You never were a good liar.” He winked, squeezing my arms before dropping them. “Siena wouldn’t shut up last night about you. She’s so happy to have you back. And so am I. Things feel complete with you here. We missed you.”

  I smiled, not knowing how to respond. Guilt over leaving would always sit heavily on my shoulders, but I had needed to go, even if my friends and family would never understand.

  “I stopped by to say hi, but also to be sure several of our guests get our full attention.” Oscar clapped his hands together, glancing between Neil and me. “Investors to help with expansion in the summer have come to check out the property for the holidays. They will be dining here tonight. I want the best server on them.”

  “I will put Jennifer on it. And I will also make certain they are happy.” Neil pulled at the bottom of his gray blazer.

  Oscar nodded and faced me. “And I need you on that kid, Rhys Axton. He really hurt his knee and is going to be laid up for a bit.”

  My mouth parted, the word “no” dancing on my tongue.

  “We have a champion staying here, which brings us more attention. I want his every need met.”

  “It will be done,” Neil responded.

  “Thank you.” Oscar took a step back. “So good having you home, Brennley.”

  “Hannah,” I corrected, but he was already halfway out of the restaurant, his focus on something else.

  “All right, get to work.” Neil waved toward the kitchen, his expression stern.

  I twisted for the door, my ribs compressing my lungs like a garbage compactor. I can do this. I can do this. Get through lunch. Caleb will be back, my mind repeated over and over. But I knew it was more than getting through lunch.

  Chapter Six

  Rhys

  My knee throbbed steadily along with my heartbeat as I readjusted myself on the bed, watching the replay of the video from yesterday. Shaun sat on the sofa at the end of the bed facing the TV in my large suite, rewinding and replaying different aspects of my run. He especially watched where I twisted, coming down on my leg wrong. Behind the helmet and goggles it was hard to see my reaction, but looking at it was as though I could feel it happen each time we watched it.

  “There.” Shaun paused the screen, pulling my interest back to the picture. “You overturned.” He was a coach; I understood why he wanted me to watch it—so I would not do it again. After two hours of it, though, I was done. I felt hungry, sore, cranky, and tired.

  I’d spent most of the night in the emergency room before the doctors told me what I already knew…I had strained a ligament in my knee. Not great news, but it could have been a lot worse. At least I hadn’t torn it. The doctor ordered me to stay off it for a week and let it heal.

  After fighting the press outside, we final
ly returned to the room. By then I just wanted to go to bed, my buzz from winning long gone.

  The phone lying next to me on the bed whined again. Carrie’s name popped on the screen. I jabbed at the decline button and laid back in my pillows. She had been calling nonstop since last night. Her first message congratulated me and expressed worry. Then quickly the voice mails shifted to her wanting to see me, saying she missed me. The last two were pleas to get back together, stating how much she loved me.

  Not going to happen. I was officially done with the back and forth.

  Shades of purples and blues reflected off the snow from my window as the sun lowered itself behind the mountains. I rubbed at my growling stomach. I had slept through breakfast and was napping when lunch was brought. The drugs upset my stomach enough, and I had only taken a few bites. Now I was about to start gnawing on the fuckin’ nightstand if dinner didn’t arrive soon. Shaun had put in orders about twenty minutes ago. Since then my attention was no longer on the TV but on the door.

  A tightness in my chest fluttered every time I thought I heard a knock. Two different emotions stirred me against the headboard: I yearned to see that girl again and hoped I never would. She meant nothing. I should be thinking about the throng of girls who had wished me well outside my window earlier. All gorgeous and eager to play nursemaid.

  I mean, the server was hot, but pretty girls were nothing new to me. My extra interest in her baffled me.

  A tap resounded on the wood across the large room, and I vaulted an inch off the bed.

  “Ah, dinner. I’m starving.” Shaun jumped up, strolling to the door, tugging it open. “Put it there.”

  My gaze locked on the doorway as a dinner cart rolled in.

  “Do you want this added to your room bill?” A tall, gangly guy with blond floppy hair pushed the trolley in the room.

  My shoulders tightened in irrational annoyance. My foul mood plummeted several more degrees, settling somewhere between resentment and disappointment.