Snowbound Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue: Vik

  Chapter 1: Elena

  Chapter 2: Vik

  Chapter 3: Elena

  Chapter 4: Vik

  Chapter 5: Elena

  Chapter 6: Vik

  Chapter 7: Elena

  Chapter 8: Vik

  Chapter 9: Elena

  Chapter 10: Vik

  Chapter 11: Elena

  Chapter 12: Vik

  Chapter 13: Elena

  Chapter 14: Vik

  Chapter 15: Elena

  Chapter 16: Vik

  Chapter 17: Elena

  Chapter 18: Vik

  Chapter 19: Elena

  Chapter 20: Elena

  Chapter 21: Vik

  Chapter 22: Elena

  Chapter 23: Vik

  Chapter 24: Elena

  Chapter 25: Vik

  Chapter 26: Elena

  Chapter 27: Vik

  Chapter 28: Elena

  Chapter 29: Vik

  Chapter 30: Elena

  Chapter 31: Vik

  Chapter 32: Elena

  Chapter 33: Vik

  Chapter 34: Elena

  Chapter 35: Elena

  Chapter 36: Vik

  Chapter 37: Elena

  Chapter 38: Vik

  Chapter 39: Elena

  Chapter 40: Vik

  Chapter 41: Elena

  Chapter 42: Vik

  Chapter 43: Elena

  Chapter 44: Vik

  Chapter 45: Elena

  Epilogue: Vik

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2015 by CJ Martín

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of CJ Martín. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  All characters and storyline are property of the author and your support and respect are appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  ASIN: B015M2IUIY

  Cover Design: Hang Le, By Hang Le Designs

  Edited By: Bree Scalf, Vivid Words Editing

  Formatting By: Stacey Blake, Champagne Formats

  For those of us who to dare to dream –

  Anything is possible.

  Busted. I count the ceiling tiles as I sit in my coach’s office. It’s a better option than watching his face get redder and redder as he screams at me. When his voice increases in volume my eyes drift back toward his face. His lips curl back, baring his teeth. I almost laugh at how ridiculous he looks. Back to the ceiling tiles.

  “What the fuck are you doing, boy? Throwing everything you worked for away.” His eyes narrow when he realizes my inattention. “Look at me.”

  When my eyes meet his gaze, he demands. “Vik, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

  I expel a forceful breath. “I already told you.” I bite out. “That shit’s not mine.”

  He pounds his fist on the desk. “Try again.”

  I don’t know what more I can say. I have an idea who planted the drugs but I can’t prove it. Besides I’m not some crybaby narc who’s going to run off tattling to his coach because of some dickhead. He reads my silence as guilt.

  Taking a gentler approach, he sits. “Vik, you’re talented. His voice softens a bit. “You have the world by the balls. I get it; I was young too.” He nods his head at me as if he has my life all worked out. “Have fun. Enjoy the parties. Enjoy the pussy. But…” He blows out a breath. “Don’t fucking take drugs. The SSC drug tests. All. The. Time.”

  The SSC. Ski and Snowboard Commission. My experiences thus far haven’t been pleasant.

  I can’t remain calm anymore. If I fuck up, and believe me I do, I take full responsibility for my actions. But I’m not okay with anyone, not even my coach whom I respect as much as my own father, accusing me of something I didn’t do. His lack of faith in me hurts more than anything.

  “I know.” My angry voice vibrates in the room. “I fucking know.” I surge forward and the chair topples over behind me. Standing, I tower over his seated form. I use my stature to my advantage. “Fucking test me. Test. Me.” Pressure increases behind my temples and my voice rises with my temper. “I don’t do drugs,” I say through gritted teeth. I leave out the anymore.

  He comes around his desk to stand in front of me so we stand toe to toe. “Believe me. You will be tested. Multiple times.”

  My jaw ticks in anger, frustration, but I don’t say anything.

  “I’m sending you to Seven Pines.”

  “What?” My mouth gapes open.

  “Until this shit blows over. If the media gets wind of this, they’ll have a field day. Beth is already working to smooth things out with your sponsors. Burbex are threatening to pull their support. Same with LuckySnö Gear.”

  Fuck. “How did they…?”

  “Good news travels fast, Vik.” He shakes his head. “You leave tomorrow. Already worked it out with Jensen. You can stay there as long as you commit to some free publicity for the resort.” As if that blow wasn’t enough, he adds, “And I spoke with your father.”

  He called my father? What the fuck? Am I twelve? My mind flashes back to my principal’s office in the seventh grade when I pulled the fire alarm because I didn’t want to take my algebra test. Waiting as Fru Lizzbarg called my father. The same knot forms in my stomach now as it did then.

  Unbelievable. “How long?” I grit.

  “As long as it fucking takes. Now get out of my office.” He walks back around his desk and sits.

  The anger boils deep within me. I didn’t fucking do anything. Why am I being punished? Fucking test me. Give me a lie detector test. Something. My hands ball into fists. I’m about to explode.

  “That’s all.” Coach says with finality.

  And no one questions the respectable Albert Motu. No one. Not even me.

  I’ll handle this ordeal my own.

  “This is fucking bullshit!” I roar as I fling open the door, and it hits the wall with a loud bang. Yep. That definitely left a mark.

  Five. That’s the number of layers I’m wearing. I can’t move. I can’t walk. I waddle. Waddle. My face is numb. And I lost feeling in my fingers hours ago. How did I let myself get talked into this? Go, they said. It will be fun, they said. You can’t be alone all winter break, they said. What the hell was I thinking? I don’t even like the snow. I never did. I really need to get better friends.

  I’m on top of a grand mountain (truth: I’m on the bunny slope) with about 20 five-year olds who demonstrate more skills on a pair of skis than I ever will. My legs bow on my skis as I wait in line for my turn to descend the slope. As I amble forward I lose my balance and face-plant in the snow. The majority of my group (aka the five year olds) burst out laughing as a little brat boy yells, “The old lady fell!”

  Grrr. I never did like kids.

  Erika, our instructor, skis over to me. “You okay?”

  No. I’m not okay. Does it look like I am okay? I can’t fucking move. I can’t stand up with these two gigantic sticks attached to my feet. What kind of sick individual came up with this sport? Like it is ever a good idea to glide down a giant, slippery mountain strapped to two pieces of wood in the freezing cold while the wind bites your skin and snow pelts your face. Yeah, no thanks.

  But of course I d
on’t say any of that. Instead I say, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  Seeing my struggle, she bends and holds her hand out to me. “There ya go.” She smiles warmly as I finally stand back up. When I’m back vertical, she turns her attention to one of the kids. “Bend your knees a little bit more, sweetheart.”

  Gag me. I stand very still and hold my arms out like two airplanes, teetering in place before I find my footing. Balancing my weight on either foot, I think that I may actually be getting the hang of this ski thing, but something feels wrong. I slowly turn around and that’s when I see my two ski poles splayed in opposite directions.

  Unreal. How am I supposed to retrieve the poles? I can’t ski with the poles let alone without them. I bend my knees and angle my skis in the direction of my poles. Then in a moment of utter humiliation I swoosh my arms behind me in an effort to gain some momentum. Thank God no one is here to see me.

  Maria and Rob would be laughing their asses off right now. But no. They’re on the Diamondback trail skiing like motherfucking pros. While I’m stuck on the bunny slope with snotty, rude five year olds. Best. Winter. Break. Ever.

  After a minute when I’ve still made no progress, I break down and decide to ask a kid to help me. A short boy glides off the ski lift looking like a straight-up advertisement for Northface. I mean, seriously, from the black snow pants and ski coat, to the matching hat, gloves, and ski goggles. I didn’t think it possible for a kindergartener to look so stylish. I call to him. “Hey.” He ignores me at first so I call again. “Hey! Northface!”

  This gets his attention. He stops expertly on his skis. Not even a wobble in his perfect form. Really? I mean, really?

  “Yeah?” His high-pitched voice sounds unsure.

  “Can you get my poles for me, buddy? I seemed to have dropped them,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster, which let’s face it is right about zero at this point.

  “I’ll give you a push.” He says skiing around me so he stands behind me.

  “No, don’t!” I say nervously. “Please. That’s not a good idea.” My voice rises as the panic is sets in.

  Too. Late. Before I know what’s happening, Northface shoves me from behind and I’m set into motion. My body lurches forward and I’m hurtling down the mountain (okay, slope but whatever) at top speed. A silent scream escapes my throat and I honestly think I see my life flash before my eyes.

  I can’t ski.

  I can’t ski.

  I can’t ski.

  I. Am. Going. To. Die.

  As I near the bottom of the mountain, my panic escalates as I realize that I have no poles. I can’t stop. What was the instructor going on about earlier? Something about pizza? What to do? Tuck and roll? Will the skis pop off?

  I’m going to break my fucking neck. I can see the headlines now. Young, promising, soon to be college grad killed in freak ski accident on the bunny slope.

  As I contemplate my imminent death, a snowboarder glides right into my path. He’s looking in the direction of the ski lodge and can’t see me approaching.

  “Move!” I scream and wave my arms frantically, knowing there is no way in hell I can maneuver out of his way. We’re seconds away from a full-on collision.

  He jerks his head in my direction. Responding with lightening quick instincts, he bends his knees and leans back, effectively angling his body away from me. He whizzes by still fully erect.

  I, on the other hand, am not so graceful. With my arms thrown out in front of me, I turn my body away from him, but overcompensate and lurch to the side. My foot twists under me and I fall forward.

  Of course I don’t stop right away. No. Gliding forward on my belly, I plow the snow as I go, until I come to a stop at the end of the slope. I lie there stunned for several seconds, face still in the snow. Rotating my head to the side, I spit snow out of my mouth. I am ski-less and pole-less. How am I going to explain this to the rental attendant?

  First things first. I need to get up. In push-up position I maneuver myself up to all fours. I begin to push my weight back into my feet but a stabbing pain shoots through my right foot and I fall back down. I turn my face to the side again and try to roll onto my back. With all my layers it’s difficult to turn and it takes several attempts until I gain enough momentum before I land on my back. My gloved hands rest behind my butt and I lean back onto my elbows.

  Okay. Now, where to go from here? I grab for my knees, curling up so that I can use my core to pull me up. Hmmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have blown off all of those Pilates classes Maria was always rambling on about.

  As I sit there contemplating my next move, Northface skis down the mountain with his perfect outfit, perfect skis, and perfect form. He stops in front of me, spraying me with snow dust. “You fell.” His tone is mocking as he looks down at me.

  “Nothing gets by you,” I say, gritting my teeth. I’m two seconds away from cursing out this five-year-old ski prodigy. One. Tw—

  We both turn our heads at the sound of crunching snow. “Vik!” the boy says with admiration.

  The boarder nods his chin before holding up his gloved hand for a high five.

  “Cool!” Northface swishes toward the ski lift, leaving me literally in the dust.

  “You okay?” the man asks in a bored voice.

  He’s already turning to leave when I speak. “No.” I say, tears beginning to form in my eyes. “I can’t get up.”

  The boarder curses under his breath. “Unbelievable.” There is a moment’s hesitation before he holds his hand out to me. I grip it and he pulls me up smoothly.

  “You good now?” His eyes drift back toward the lodge.

  “Yeah.” But I stumble forward as I try to put weight on my right foot. “Ahhh.” I grimace and grab for him. “Sorry.” I sound weak. “I think I might’ve twisted my ankle.”

  “Christ.” He unbinds his boots from his board, circles around me, and grabs hold of my arm before hooking it around him. “Lean on me.” He instructs as he swings his board underneath his other arm.

  He walks slowly toward the lodge and I fall into stride beside him. I allow him to shoulder most of my weight, because honestly it really hurts. On our short walk I notice that everyone greets him. Some yell hello. Some tip their heads. Women openly stare.

  A few curls of dirty blond hair peek out from beneath his ski hat. Goggles are perched atop his head and he wears a bandana around his mouth. All I can see are his eyes, which are a very light blue, almost grey in appearance. When he glances at me, they’re narrowed and hard. He seems annoyed by this inconvenience. Annoyed by me.

  He stands his board outside the doors in a snow bank and then opens the door, pulling me forward with him. He’s not gentle, more robotic than anything. We walk toward the back of the building to a small desk with a sign above it that reads “Medic”. He sits me on a bench and I stretch my legs out. My right ankle is throbbing. I know, just know, that it is broken. I’ve never broken a bone. I’ve lived twenty-one years without a break, even though I am extremely accident-prone. Time is up, I think. Time to pay the piper.

  “Get that boot off,” he commands.

  I lean forward to unstrap the boot, but it’s useless with my gloves still on. I stop to strip off the first pair of gloves. The boarder stands to the side, watching me impatiently. When I get the first pair off, I begin on the second. Once off, I begin to grab the third, when he says, “Christ. How many pairs of gloves are you wearing?”

  “It’s cold,” I say feebly.

  “We’re not in Siberia.”

  I detect an accent, something European, but bite back the question. His voice lacks humor and I’m sure any conversation from me will only irritate him even more. Without further comment, I watch as the he makes his way over to the desk. He is dressed in boarding gear that looks expensive, but then again everyone here looks wealthy. It’s hard to tell with the bulky clothes, but his build suggests he’s lean and muscular. Across the back of his black jacket white lettering spells the name Vik. I’m guessing it’
s his name. But it also may be a brand of clothing.

  There are two people already in line, but he walks past them to the desk. The medic greets him with a smile, and I see him glance in my direction as Vik relays the information. Warmth floods my cheeks and I and glance down at my still-gloved hands. I quickly pull off my last pair of gloves and reach down to slip the boot off.

  When I look up again, a tall blonde girl has joined them. She pouts at Vik as his eyes sweep her body appreciatively. She’s beautiful in a snow-bunny, I-try-too-hard kind of way. Her fuzzy white sweater is stretched tight across her chest and her tight dark jeans are tucked into white snow boots that are laced up the front. Her blue eyes sparkle with mischief as she licks her lips suggestively. Vik’s eyes crinkle in approval and he slaps her ass. Without a backwards glance they both leave.

  Fifteen minutes later I’m still sitting on the same bench, having received no medical attention. I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Maria to let her know where I am, but she is probably still on the slopes. I’m scrolling through Facebook when the medic approaches. He parks a wheelchair in front of me, helps me into it, and rolls me into an exam room that looks an awful lot like the nurse’s station from my elementary school. In the center of the room there’s a vinyl bed covered by a flimsy piece of wax paper. A table is off to the side with supplies such as tape, gauze and bandages. The medic helps me onto the exam table and then sits in a chair at the side. The neon lights cast an eerie glow over the room, giving it that sterile feeling.

  “Please fill this form out.” He hands me a piece of paper, which requests my basic information. Once completed, I hand it back to him and he glances over it. “Okay Miss Espinosa. What brings you here today?”

  Well I really had nothing better to do. I love hanging out in crappy ski lodges on my winter break. It is the highlight of my year. Is this guy for real? “I fell on the slopes. I twisted my ankle.”

  “Which trail?” he asks, looking up from the paper.

  I lower my gaze and pick at the zipper of my jacket. “Bunny Slope One.”

  To his credit he doesn’t laugh, just marks the information on the file. “Okay, I’m going to examine your ankle. Lean back please and prop your foot up.”