His Last Hill by MEGAN MATTHEWS

Author:MEGAN MATTHEWS [MATTHEWS, MEGAN]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-26T21:28:49+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

My phone rings for what has to be the fifth time this morning. The ringer is turned off, but the little metal machine vibrates in my back pocket. It’s Cyrus’ race day, so I try to keep the interference to a minimum.

“You know if you don’t answer she’ll keep calling,” Cyrus says.

This is all his fault. I should make him answer the phone.

“My mom has been around long enough she knows you have pre-race rituals. She’ll stop eventually.” Maybe.

My mother, normally overbearing in general, has become even worse since Cyrus and I announced our intention to date. She hasn’t admitted it out loud, but I think the woman has serious grandchildren aspirations. She kept saying I was glowing even though I promised her I wasn’t pregnant multiple times. The woman does not listen. My dad patted Cyrus on the back and said congratulations like we were getting married or something.

Cyrus and I have been… well, Cyrus and me. Nothing much has changed in the twenty-four hours since we made our relationship official.

Well besides the relationship sex. There’s been a lot of that, but we both agreed we would wait until after we returned home to make our relationship announcement official to the media. So anything happening between us has gone on behind closed doors. For the most part, we’re still Cyrus and Charlie, two close friends both participating in the Golds.

“I can’t help it if your mother likes me. I’m adorable,” Cyrus says, not taking his eyes off of his bed where he’s laid out his equipment for today’s race.

There’s a slew of various snowboarding crap in nice little rows. His goggles, gloves, a beanie, and a bunch of other gadgets he doesn’t need but has anyway. For example, the gray little rabbit foot that always makes me think of a certain episode of Grimm, a TV show we watched together last year. He promises the extra weight doesn’t hold him down during a race, but I picture the poor little bunny who lost a foot to give Cyrus extra luck since he won it in a claw game in fifth grade.

I like to give him crap about his superstitions, but in reality, we all have them — the little things we do before a race to help our odds. Cyrus just has more than most.

“Where are my gray socks? I have to have those socks.”

“Here.” I toss a pair of socks at him from his top dresser drawer.

He turns in time to catch them. “No, not these. I need gray ones. The pair I wore when I competed at the last trial event.”

“You’re adding something to your superstitions?” Doesn’t he think he has enough?

Cyrus sighs. “They aren’t superstitions, Charlie. There rituals and they’re perfectly normal.”

“Uh-huh. I don’t see a pair of gray socks in here, Cyrus.” I paw around his drawer for a few more seconds, but the top drawer of his dresser is stuffed full of standard white socks. Nothing he would actually use while snowboarding.

“They’re gray and folded up together wrapped around a piece of tissue paper and stuck in a special Ziploc baggie.

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