Page 18 of The Groupie

I don’t trust her. She’s young and ambitious and always gives me the impression she has bigger fish to fry. Plus, she’s convinced that my appearance is my best attribute as long as I make the Olympic team. She insisted it’s a fact that pretty women can get lots of promotional opportunities whether they have gold medals or not.

I’m not so sure about that, or about her as an agent, but as a relatively unproven commodity, with only a year competing in the World Snowboarding Tour, I don’t exactly have hordes of top agents knocking down my door to replace her. Luckily, she wasn’t at the shoot and doesn’t know I insisted on doing my own stunt work—namely jumping from the copter. She didn’t see the fall and my ankle afterward. But I know her, and she’s going to talk to Chuck eventually.

Thank God, the swelling is down compared to when it first happened. I frown and wave a waft of smoke from in front of my face. Mamma turns on the television with the volume low, some re-run of an old cop show plays in the background.

Maybe I should thank Zak for taking such good care of me last night. Another sigh seeps from somewhere deep down. Too bad I can’t thank him. Because I have no idea who he is or how to get in touch with him, short of driving to his building and asking security which unit Zak and Ted live in. I know their apartment is on a high floor, but there are a lot of floors in that luxury condo tower overlooking Boston Harbor. Come to think of it, he must have a lot of money to afford to live there, even with a roommate.

My phone pings again, and I glance at it. Another text from Coach Chuck. That was the tougher phone call I made last night. I told him the same story about needing to go home to see to Mamma’s health emergency. But since Coach and I were an item for a few weeks—three to be exact—two weeks and six days too long—he knows me and has it in his head that we still might have something despite my best efforts to convince him otherwise.

He grilled me about the promotional shoot. My agent—or I should say our agent because Tanya reps both of us—must have told him. The little traitor. I knew having the same agent as him would come back to bite me in the ass eventually.

Of course, Chuck didn’t want me to do the shoot because he thought it was dangerous. I won’t lie—the danger part was what excited me about it. I wanted to jump from the helicopter onto the slope. It was the coolest thing I’ve done yet. It got my adrenaline going like nothing else except hitting a misty flip—an off-axis backside flip with a 540-degree rotation and a late nose grab on a clean pipe. And that’s saying something.

That sex last night was something, too—but no need to go there. One and done.

“Is that Coach Chucky calling?” Suzie asks. “You think it’s an official call, or is he still trying to convince you to get back with him?” Suzie doesn’t like Chuck, either. She probably has better instincts about people than I do, mainly because she tries harder, and I tend to keep people at arms-length. Which doesn’t explain why I wanted to befriend Sheila last night, but I did. I give a mental shrug.

Mamma takes a long puff on her cigarette, and I hold my breath to no avail. She coughs and then sucks in a ragged breath, launching her into a massive fit of rough coughing. I jump to my feet—big mistake because I almost scream with the shot of pain to my ankle. Shit. I go to Mamma anyway and massage her back. Suzie puts the glass of water to her lips. Mamma’s hand is shaky, and when there’s a break in her coughing, she manages a sip of water.

“That does it, Mamma. You need to see a doctor.” I squeeze her in a quick hug, my heart pounding as she settles down.

“I’m not going to the doc because it costs more than smoking cigarettes, and if I have a choice, I’d rather stick with a sure thing.”

“That makes no sense.” I contemplate giving her a pill and carrying her to the car, but even with Suzie’s help, my bum ankle rules that option out.

“When are you going to see a doctor for your ankle?” she asks.

Fuck. Mamma has me. I contemplate denial but don’t bother because I need ice and limp back to my chair.

“Tomorrow.” I haven’t called yet. I toy with the card the med tech gave me, taking it from my pocket and barely resisting the urge to crush it and toss it. “I already know what he’s going to say. Ice and elevation and rest for two weeks.”

“Go today.”

“You can swing by Mass General Medical Center after you watch some of my practice,” Suzie says.

“What makes you think my doctor is there?”

“It’s where all the best doctors are.” She saw the card. The brat always had eagle eyes. I slip it back into my pocket.

“How’d it happen?” Mamma asks.

“I refused to let the stunt double have all the fun jumping out of the copter.” That’s as much as I’m going to say about it, but Mamma is used to my smart-aleck attitude.

She grunts. Suzie shakes her head.

“I’m fine.” But as I glance around the place, I realize that maybe Mama isn’t so fine. She coughs again. A swell of responsibility and guilt assaults me. Shit. I need that promotional money and a whole lot more. I can’t lose my spot on the team because of this damn ankle.

“You’re going to the doctor for that cough,” I say to Mamma. She scowls at me, but I’m not going to let it go this time. “I’m making you an appointment.”

“Go for it.” She looks me up and down from behind her rhinestone glasses. “I doubt you can carry me out of here while I’m kicking and screaming.” She clears her throat. “And especially with that fucking sprained ankle of yours.” She raises a brow in challenge and triumph.

Fuck. “Who says I have a sprained ankle? It’s a minor twist. I’m resting it while I’m here.”

“You sure you’re not here because you need to rest it?”

Bam. She nails me. A flush of anger, mostly at myself because she’s right and I should be ashamed, makes me repent. “I’m here for you more than my ankle.” It’s true now that I see her condition for myself.

Her face softens. “I know you are, Rylee girl.”