Double Up Page 8

  “Wow.” Dave’s jaw is hanging open. The other guys on the boat are hooting and hollering at Ridley, who throws us a wave and then goes back to his spins and grabs.

  “Ben used to ride like that,” Eddie speaks up. “Back when we were kids. He looked like a dancer or a gymnast out there on the water.”

  I glance down at my feet, a little annoyed with Eddie for crashing the moment between the brothers. But Dave doesn’t seem bothered.

  “I’d like to have seen it,” he whispers right in my ear before kissing my cheek.

  “Ben, you want to go when Ridley’s done?” Caden asks.

  I start to shake my head, but the eagerness in Dave’s expression stops me, and I nod. “Sure.”

  After his next trick, Ridley drops the rope with a wave and sinks down into the water. We swing around to pick him up. When the boat’s stopped, Caden starts handing me gear while we wait for Ridley to climb back aboard.

  I don’t plan to show off. I do a few spins; I don’t even grab them as hard as Ridley did. I do a simple Tantrum, and then I see Caden signal he’s gonna turn the boat.

  I don’t have to prove anything. There’s a freakin’ X Games medal in my apartment. I don’t need to hit that double-up, but when I see Ridley and Dave watching me expectantly, I want to.

  There’s a moment as you come off the wake when you’re starting a trick and you know everything is perfect. You need to commit to the stunt in that second or you lose your chance. I don’t hesitate. I don’t have as much air as I want to make the trick look badass for Dave and his brother, but I have enough for a front flip.

  Except I don’t. Or I grab too long. Or something. Because suddenly the far wake is right the fuck there and I have a choice—put my feet down early and try to absorb the impact with my back or crash my brains out.

  Like that’s a fucking choice?

  I know better. I teach my students that the crash is sometimes better for your body than a bad landing. But somewhere in my brain where my ego and instincts all hang out, knowing better doesn’t mean shit. I put my feet down.

  My board hits the water hard, and I feel the shock run up my legs to my spine. My knees aren’t bent enough, and the impact hits my lower back like a freight train.

  The pain is intense. Too intense.

  I drop the rope.

  I sink back in the water, trying to force the muscles to relax, but they’re spasming from the shock. When the boat pulls around, Dave and Ridley are laughing, cheering me, but Eddie’s face is stone hard. He knows.

  “What the hell did you do that for? You should have taken the goddamned fall, you fucking idiot.” He’s in the water next to me now, tugging my feet out of the bindings, and the panic must be showing on my face, because he stops yelling and asks, “How bad is it? Do I need to call 911?”

  I shake my head. “I just need a minute.”

  “You fucking idiot.” Eddie says again, in a softer voice, and then he’s cradling my head and kissing my forehead. That seems wrong, because it should be Dave kissing me, and then Dave is in the water too, and he takes Eddie’s place.

  “What’s going on?” he asks quietly. I can see the other guys standing on the boat like they aren’t sure what to do with themselves. I give them a little wave and a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. Then a wave of nausea hits me, and I clench my eyes shut hard. I move my right leg, then my left, pleased to see them both responding, but not happy at all about the pain shooting down my left leg when I try to pull my knees up to my chest. “What’s happened? Is it your back?” Dave is still cradling my head when I nod.

  “This idiot tried to land when he should have taken the fall.” Eddie swims around to my other side, his face is furious again. “And he has no business doing inverts. He knows this.”

  “Not now, Eddie,” I plead.

  “Why shouldn’t he do inverts? The accident was years ago.”

  “Eddie.”

  He ignores me. “Because the twisting of the body and going upside down like that makes a rider more likely to land not totally upright. Which is extra dangerous for Ben because he never had the final surgery for his back, so he’s at greater risk of reinjury. If he reinjures his lumbar spine, he could damage the spinal cord itself and lose complete mobility in his legs.”

  “Ben? Is that true?”

  “Can we talk about this when I’m not in the water?”

  “You need another surgery and you’ve been out here giving me lessons? You never thought that might be the kind of thing you’d share with your partner?” The look on his face hurts more than my back. Shock, betrayal, anger, fear. The soft feeling in my gut shrivels into something tiny and hard.

  Like that moment when you leave the wake and you have to commit to the trick, there are moments in a relationship where you have to do the same. You have to commit to it even if it means crashing your brains out. I never backed away from a trick, but when I see Dave hurting, it’s bigger and scarier than any wake I’ve ever hit.

  “Not fucking now, Dave. Okay? Just get me home.”

  The horrible hard feeling in my stomach keeps growing all the way back to Dave’s house.

  He and Ridley exchanged cell numbers, so that’s awesome, mission accomplished, et cetera. But all I get is a stony glare whenever he looks at me. Meanwhile, Eddie is on the phone with my physical therapist, who’s trying to get me to come to the hospital for an x-ray.

  “My back isn’t fucking broken,” I grumble, and that’s when Dave loses it. He waves Eddie over to take the wheel, and glares at me where I’m sprawled on the passenger seat.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouts. “You can’t just fucking … you can’t … God damnit, Ben!”

  “I don’t need a fucking x-ray.”

  “Is it money? ’Cause I’ll pay for it.”

  “Hey, back off. It’s not money. He has good health insurance. I know because I pay for that,” Eddie interrupts, glaring at Dave. “I take care of my—my employees.” He shoots me an apologetic glance.

  God, the two of them are like grouchy-ass mother hens.

  “It’s not money.”

  “Then what the fuck, Ben? Go get the x-ray.” Dave buries his hands in his hair. “And get the surgery you need. How can you even take chances with something like that?”

  “I’ve been trying to get him to have surgery for ten years. You’ve known him, what, a month? Good luck.” Eddie growls.

  “I’m not having another goddamned surgery. Just get me home to my apartment, let me put my feet up and put some ice on my back. I’ll take some ibuprofen and I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

  “Ben, please.” Dave’s face falls.

  “You don’t understand, Dave. I can’t do it. I can’t have that surgery. I can’t go to the hospital and let them ‘give me something for the pain’ so I can sit still for an x-ray. It’s not happening.”

  “Oh.” The moment understanding crosses his face, I have to swallow and look away. Shame heats my skin, and I want to be anywhere but here.

  “Stubborn fucking idiot.” Eddie glares at me this time. “I’ve been telling you for years that we’ll help you. Your friends will help you. Dave will help you.”

  “No. It’s my body. It can stay broken. It’s better than the alternative.”

  And that’s the end of it. Or so I think. We drop Eddie off at his place, then we go back to Dave’s. I start trying to help him with the gear but he just rips the wakeboard out of my hands. “Go inside and wait for me.”

  I know he’s watching me walk up to the house, so I try to make my gait as smooth as possible. The injury isn’t as bad as it could have been. I might not want to lift anything heavy for a couple of weeks, but I’m not going to be in traction any time soon.

  I’m waiting in the living room when he comes inside a few minutes later.

  “Please let me take you to the hospital.”

  “No.”

  He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “At least stay here and let
me take care of you.”

  “And pressure me to go to the hospital every five minutes? I can’t do that, Dave. I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “Would you promise me to think about it? For me? I don’t want to worry about you like this. It’s scaring the shit out of me how bad you could have been hurt.”

  I can’t promise that, not even for him. “I’m not having the surgery. There’s no guarantee it would even help.”

  “You can’t even say that you’ll think about it?”

  “I’m trying to be honest here, Dave.” I shrug helplessly.

  His face flushes angrily, and he balls up his fists like he’s fighting the urge to throw something. “You don’t think it might be a little late for that?”

  “Come on, that’s not fair,” I protest.

  “Not fair? We talked about building something together.” His face turns a splotchy, angry red. “Did you mean any of that, or were you just relieved I didn’t freak out about your addiction?”

  “I meant it. I mean it.”

  “What would you do if you reinjured yourself?” He juts his chin out.

  Well, shit. Honesty, Ben.

  “I try not to think about it. I put a wall around it in my head. It’s not a future I can see myself living.” I don’t tell him about the high rates of suicide in spinal cord injury survivors. Even if I never have a suicidal thought for the rest of my life, depression and self-medication are familiar. There it is, what I’m truly afraid of—not just loss of mobility. That isn’t the worst thing that could happen—my own failure to deal with it would be too terrible to contemplate. And when it comes right down to it, it’s the same reason I’m scared to risk the surgery. I’m weak, and my temptations are fierce.

  “Is it a future you could see us living together?” he asks.

  I swallow around a lump forming in my throat. What kind of life would that be? “I wouldn’t want that for you. If you even stayed with me, you’d do it because you felt like you had to.”

  He nods tightly then, and there’s so much sadness in his eyes I can’t look at him. “Right. Okay. I’ll take you home now.”

  We don’t talk as he drives, but I notice my gear is in the back of his Rover. I clench my jaw to keep it from trembling.

  Even though he looks like he’d just as soon throw my gear in the lake, Dave helps me carry it upstairs, and then stands there in my dark shoebox with the fluorescent light buzzing over the silence.

  “This is it then?” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “You’re kicking me out? No more dresser drawer?”

  He digs the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I don’t know, Ben. I need some time. You’re definitely fired as my coach though. If you’re going to keep riding, it’s not going to be because of me.”

  “Dave, you don’t need to do the double-up contest. You and Ridley have each other’s phone numbers now; you can hang out without putting yourself at risk like that.”

  He snorts and shakes his head. “I’m still doing the contest. I’m sure Ridley would coach me. And you’re really one to fucking talk, Ben. I can’t even believe the hypocrisy coming out of your mouth right now.” His voice rises as he speaks, and he’s practically shouting by the end.

  “So that’s it, no more lessons, and you’re still going to put yourself at risk. I ain’t the only hypocrite in this room.”

  “You were always at more risk than I was. You never told me. You may have told me about the addiction, but you didn’t trust me about this.” His hand shakes as he gestures at me. “And what really fucking stings, Ben, is that you can’t see why it matters.”

  “Why does it?” My voice cracks. “Why can’t we be lovers and have fun and just …”

  “Because I want more than that. I want to share my life with someone. And I want to share my life with someone who values his own life enough to take care of it.”

  “And you don’t think that’s me?”

  “I did.”

  “You said you wouldn’t throw me away.” I grind out the words. “What do think you’re doing now?”

  There are tears in his eyes, and I take the two painful steps that put me close enough to kiss him. I wrap my hand behind his neck and pull his lips to mine, and it’s good, it’s so fucking good, bringing that softness back to life briefly. I put everything I can’t say into that kiss. For a minute, he’s responding, kissing me back so sweet, and then he lets out a little sob and breaks away.

  “I have to go, Ben.”

  He lets himself out, and I stare after him with the taste of tears on my lips.

  call in sick to Eddie the next day so I can lie in bed and alternate heat and ice. I’m miserable. There’s not a damn thing to eat in the apartment because I’ve been practically living in Dave’s pocket the last month, and even though I can’t think of anything worse than boredom, I don’t even open the laptop or download a book to my e-reader. Instead, I replay the conversation with Dave over and over, trying to see how I could have done differently.

  This sort of self-scrutiny and flagellation is a bad idea, but I can’t help myself. When Eddie pounds on the door at quarter after five in the evening, I figure I’m in for it from him too.

  “Door’s unlocked,” I shout.

  He lets himself in, carrying a pizza and a two-liter of soda, and sits down on my decrepit recliner.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I shrug. “I’m sore, and my sciatic nerve isn’t happy, but I’m okay. I’ll be able to work tomorrow.”

  “You take anything?”

  “Of course not.” Didn’t he hear me yesterday when I explained to Dave why I couldn’t have the surgery? Did he really think I’d give up because I had a shitty day?

  “I’m just checking, darling. You’re the one who made me promise to never trust your sobriety.” He goes and gets plates and brings them back, dishing us each a slice of pizza.

  “Well, I’m not so far gone that a little crash is going to send me looking for oblivion.”

  “No,” Eddie agrees, but he’s not looking at me. He hasn’t even hugged me.

  “No, what?” I ask around a mouthful of pizza. It’s plain cheese, Eddie’s favorite, even though he knows I prefer pepperoni. So, he’s definitely not here to coddle me.

  “No, it wasn’t a little wake crash, and no, that’s not why I’m worried about your sobriety.”

  I set my pizza down. “So what?”

  “You just broke up with your lover—the only lover I’ve known you to have since we met. And don’t look at me like that, I know you never wanted me the way you want him.”

  I flinch. “How do you know we broke up?”

  “Dave came over to my house last night after he left here.”

  “What the fuck?” I stand, wincing at the flare of pain. I don’t know what I’m going to do, the state I’m in, but I’m too pissed to take this sitting down.

  “Not like that.” Eddie frowns at me. “He just wanted to talk about you. I gave him the name of your diagnosis, by the way. I’m sure he’s going to be playing Dr. Google. He was pretty upset.”

  “Well, he’s the one who left me.” I sit back down, propping a pillow behind my back.

  “So, are you okay?”

  “Do I have any choice?” I shrug again.

  “You’ll definitely be back at work tomorrow?”

  “Yes, sir.” I don’t even try to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  “Good. By the way, the double-up contest organizers asked me to approach you about emceeing the event and providing voice-over commentary next month. I told them you’ll do it.”

  “The fuck, Eddie?”

  “You don’t get to sit around feeling sorry for yourself, Ben. Not on my watch. Boredom and pain are your demons. I won’t let them have you. Since you’re not giving lessons, you’ll inventory the shop, and we’ll do the books in the evening. I’ll find jobs for you to do at the dealership or the marina if you need more. This is me being your friend, but I’m also
your boss, so I’ll expect you to work hard and let me know if you’re in pain and need a break. Got it?”

  “Yeah.” It’s just gratitude making my chest feel tight, that’s all, not tears. Not again. I take a deep breath and pull myself together.

  “I love you, Ben. You’re my best friend.” Eddie picks up his plate and the pizza. He walks over to my kitchen and sticks the pizza in the fridge and his plate in the sink.

  “You too, Eddie.”

  “Seven tomorrow.”

  So I go back to work and begin to count the days until the double-up contest. The first two weeks—with the pain of the crash and the fight with Dave still fresh—are the hardest. But Eddie keeps me too busy to dwell. If I’m not manning the shop, he’s got me running errands between the boat dealership and the marina. In the evenings, he’s got me learning the background on every entrant in the Lake Lovelace Tournament and Double-Up Contest. And when he eventually runs out of shit for me to do, Tina calls asking if I can dog sit for her, and I know he put her up to it.

  “Can’t you board him at one of those dog-spa places?”

  “Please, Ben, Elvis loves you.”

  “Only if I can draw eyebrows on the little shit,” I grumble.

  “Deal.”

  So Elvis the beagle-dachshund-Labrador mix—and yeah, he’s every bit as weird looking as that sounds—comes to stay with me, and he keeps me busy for another week. Elvis needs to go outside constantly to pee—apparently that’s a dachshund thing. He’s terrified of water—apparently a beagle thing. And he loves to fetch—as long as the ball doesn’t fall in the water.

  Which makes him a darned good companion for me, ’cause I want no part of the lake right now and need lots of distracting. Even I’m not so ornery that a funny-looking dog chasing a ball can’t lift my spirits. When Tina comes to pick him up at the end of the week, he’s still eyebrow free, and I think I might even miss the little shit.

  With a week left until the contest, I’m reviewing my notes on the contestants, and I notice Dave’s entered the tournament in the beginner class as well as the open double-up contest. That soft, warm feeling curling in my gut again surprises me. God, I want to see him so bad.