Chapter Seven
Luke
“Your speed is good,” Michael said after timing Luke down the Cirque. They were standing at the foot of the SBX course, waiting for Luke’s turn. “About as fast as the bottom end of the men’s team, and on less training.” He laughed. “You know some of the best guys up there barely ride, maybe twice a week? They don’t have to—they train in other areas. But really, they’re just that good.”
Luke fought to keep his frustration from showing on his face. He could do this—he could own the mountain. Someone just needed to give him a chance. “I can be that good.”
“Yeah, you can, but you need to fix some things. For starters, I want you in the gym doing core work, Pilates, and anything else to shred your upper body. You’re heavier and taller than the best of the elite. That’s a disadvantage and an advantage all in one. We’re going to eliminate the disadvantage and turn you into a wrecking ball.”
Michael had a point. Being big wasn’t always better in SBX. The elite guys on the U.S. team ran about five-ten to six feet, and the heaviest was right at two hundred pounds. Most of the world’s best weighed one ninety or less. Luke had put on a lot of muscle the last few years. If he could whittle his frame down to less than 8 percent body fat at two fifteen and six-one, he’d have physics on his side. But only if he could manage his board as well—or better—than the rest. Upper body strength only got you so far in this sport.
Luke heard the starting buzzer go off, and he turned to watch a pair of guys start their run. One was Kit Morgan, number two in the world, the star of the current U.S. men’s A team and practically a lock for captain after this season. The other was a rookie, Tucker Sommers, and based on the talk, a hotdog jackass of a boarder, a phenom who’d made the U.S. B team out of nowhere in his first year. Luke believed the rumors within twenty seconds of their run. Kit was all discipline, riding his board on a razor’s edge, picking out the very best line effortlessly. Tucker, more fearless, but less refined, used brute force to do his work. He cut inside on Kit, forcing him up the embankment. Kit hung on to the turn, but barely, and took the first kicker on the outside, slowing him down. He caught Tucker again, though. The kid was sloppy, but that didn’t stop him from hip checking Kit hard, sending him careening into the hay bales at the edge of the course. Tucker finished his run, whooping for finishing first, and blowing off the red-faced coach bellowing into his ear.
“Damn, what an asshole,” Luke said. “Someone needs to teach that kid a lesson.”
Michael shook his head. “I thought Kit would do it, but he plays it safe, focusing on his own run and staying out of the pack. Usually pretty smart, but not with Tucker. And you’re right. He’s an asshole. I hope he gets knocked out of the heats before you run up against him, but if you make it to finals next month, he’ll be there. Keep that in mind. He’s aiming to be the youngest member of the U.S. men’s A team in history.”
It’d be sweet to deny Tucker’s hopes for being on the team. Maybe he’d learn something. “How big is he?” Luke asked.
“Five-seven and one sixty.” Michael flashed him an evil grin. “He has a Napoleon complex. Fast, but surly. What do you expect from an eighteen-year-old? Not old enough to do anything but wag his dick at everyone.”
“Uh-huh.” It wasn’t a surprise, though. When you did a sport that was combination roller derby, horse racing, and obstacle course, only the tough survived. Luke had had his share of bone bruises, ankle sprains, and hairline fractures over the course of his career. Then again, he wasn’t willing to play it safe or act beta on a course. Kit was damn good, but he should’ve put the youngster out of his misery.
“What can you expect?” Michael asked. “Guy that green shows up thinking he rules the course, it’s going to be rough.”
Luke choked back a laugh. “Most of these guys are closing in on thirty. I’ll probably get the same treatment.”
“Nah, you can go to the bar for a beer with them. You pass the test. Plus, you’ve been around the development circuit for years. They know you understand how the pecking order works. And they’ve seen enough of you to be very wary.” Michael checked the time. “Your turn is coming up. Head to the top.”
Luke’s pulse quickened. He shouldered his board and headed for the lift to the starting gate at the top of the course. Snowmass had created a sweet course, at eleven hundred meters long and a two-hundred-meter drop from top to bottom. A course like this made him feel alive.
“Yo!” Luke turned to find Tucker shoving his hand between the gondola doors as they were closing. “Thanks for waiting, jackass.”
Luke stared the kid down. It wasn’t hard, since he had six inches in height on him. “Sorry. I must not have seen you there.”
Tucker scowled and dropped onto a bench, putting his boot on the other available seat.
Luke’s hackles rose, but he played it cool. Fine, if that makes him feel like a big man, I’ll stand. Only little pissants have to have their way all the time.
“Who are you, anyway?” Tucker asked.
“I’m Luke Madison.” At the kid’s raised eyebrows, Luke smirked. “You’ve heard of me, then.”
Tucker shrugged. With his shaggy, dirty-blond hair and dark eyes, he looked like one of those D-bag skate-park trolls who always had to best everyone around. “You ride in minor regionals. This is the big time, slick. Not sure you’re ready for it.”
Luke stared him down. “I’m doing my practice run next. You want to try me?”
Tucker’s face broke into a nasty smile. “Bro, do I ever.”
The gondola stopped, and Luke made a mocking gesture to let Tucker out first, before following him up to the start gate. Once there, Luke strapped on his board, taking a few slow, deep breaths. Adrenaline was good, but nerves weren’t. He needed to be just in control enough not to lose it. Tucker, on the other hand, had turned more kinetic. The kid simply couldn’t stay still.
Shaking his head, Luke went to lane two and dropped in, keeping Tucker in his peripheral vision.
“You two ready?” the course master asked. When they nodded, he started the clock.
“Sixty seconds,” droned the automated voice.
Luke stared down the course, noting the turns, where the moguls were.
“Forty-five seconds.”
Turn two is going to be the make or break. It was sharp to the left, on his weak side, and his heavier weight could slingshot him off his line.
“Thirty seconds.”
The rollers are going to be a piece of cake, though.
“Fifteen seconds.”
Luke closed his eyes for a breath and said a prayer to the snowboarding gods.
“Five.”
His muscles tensed.
“Four.”
Tucker let out a whoop.
“Three.”
Luke’s hands gripped the rails tight, ready to push himself off.
“Two.”
This was it.
A horn blasted, signaling the start. Luke pushed off, staying low and gaining as much momentum as he could from the first hill. By the time he ran through the first set of rollers and hit turn two, he couldn’t even see Tucker in his peripheral vision.
Luke cut toward the inside a bit to tackle turn two. He was right—he had to use every bit of his core and knees to stay on track. His board skidded a little under him, but he pulled it back in for the next set of rollers.
The squeak of snow under a board was the only warning he had. Tucker, as he’d predicted, had sailed through turn two and caught up. As they came up on turn three, Tucker clipped Luke, throwing him off his line.
On the plus side, giving someone much bigger a little love tap had forced Tucker onto an inside part of the rollers that came out onto the straightaway at a funny angle. Luke cut hard, speeding after him. They hit turn four neck and neck and hit the final kicker. To Luke’s surprise, Tucker came down from the jump almost even with him, unusual because kickers were Luke’s strong suit. He had just enough reach to repay the bump with a hip check of his own. Tucker’s board went out from under him, sending him sprawling into the safety barrier, while Luke sailed across the line.
Michael was at the end, laughing his ass off. Kit Morgan was at his right, his hand covering what appeared to be a gleeful grin. Luke slid their way and cut hard to stop, sending up a spray of snow.
“I know time doesn’t matter—it’s win or die,” Michael said, once he recovered. “But that was damn fast, my friend. Good job.”
Kit was nodding. “You ride like that in competition, you’ll wreck us all.”
Luke stood taller. He’d impressed the best SBXer in the U.S. That didn’t happen every day. “Thanks, man. I doubt I’ll get around you, but a one-two finish is good enough for me.”
“Keep your confidence and avoid injuries, and you’ll make it.” Kit gave him a quick wave and skated over to the hordes of fans—mostly women—crowding the barrier for his autograph.
“That’s big praise, coming from him,” Michael said. “I’m pleased—”
Michael’s eyes widened, and a voice yelled, “You raging asshole!”
Next thing Luke knew, he was toppled into the snow with a body on top of him. Tucker took a swing at him, but Luke threw him off like the kid was bedcovers. “What the fuck, man?”
“You could’ve hurt me up there.” Tucker pushed himself up, shaking with rage. His face was purple, and his expression reminded Luke of a bully who’d been put in his place. “What were you trying to do, knocking me out like that?”
Luke put his hands on his hips. “Paying you back for bumping me and Kit. If you can’t take it, don’t dish it out.”
Tucker flipped him off and stalked away. Michael shook his head. “That guy either needs a blow job or put in time-out for a few weeks. Jesus.”
Luke took a deep breath to calm down. He dusted snow off his ski pants, knowing his back was probably pure white. “He’s too high-strung for his own good. Someone needed to show him we mean business up there.”
Michael shoved his stopwatch back into his pocket. “Enough snow for one day. I expect to see you at the gym at eight a.m. tomorrow. Eat clean and get some sleep.”
Luke picked up his board and saluted his coach. “You’re the boss.”
“And you’re paying me plenty to say so!” Michael called after him. “Make me earn it!”
Luke waved at him, thinking he’d take the gondola down rather than ride. His muscles were pretty sore, and overdoing it was as bad as being half-assed about training. He turned to go, but a voice called out, “Luke!”
The adrenaline spike he’d felt on the mountain returned full force. He knew that voice.
Luke turned, and there was Charlotte.