Page 75 of Something Like Winter
Tim shoved him. It was that or take a swing. Travis looked like he was about to charge, but instead he swung around and swiped at the table, sending a wine glass, cutlery, and a plate of lasagna smashing to the floor. “I don’t want any of this!” he shouted. “This isn’t going to be my life!”
“Right,” Tim shouted back. “You’re going to find a woman and get her knocked up, and everything will be picture-fucking perfect—aside from you getting drunk so you can sneak off to a cruise park to suck dick. I hope your future family likes living in the goddamn closet with you!”
“At least I won’t be alone!” Travis looked ready to kill. “I want out of here! Now! Drive me back to Austin.”
“It’s the middle of the night!”
“Then I’m calling a cab.”
“To drive you to Texas?”
Travis crossed the room, his face inches away from Tim’s, heat coming off him in angry waves. “I’d rather walk back than stay another minute here with you.”
“Fine.” Tim stomped into the other room for his coat, digging in one of the pockets until he found his keys. When he turned around, Travis was right behind him. Tim tossed the key ring at him. “Take my car. Drive yourself back to Austin.”
“I will!” Travis shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed his coat.
Then the situation got awkward, because Travis walked around the cabin, collecting his things. Why couldn’t he just go? But Tim didn’t really want him to, not like this. His temper cooled enough that by the time Travis headed for the door, he was sure they could get past this. Tim would ask him to stay, and they would talk everything through.
“Hey,” Tim said softly, touching his shoulder. “Wait a minute.”
Travis spun around, knocking away his hand. “Don’t touch me again. Ever! Don’t even fucking look at me!”
Then Travis was out the door, slamming it behind him.
“Don’t fuck up my car!” Tim shouted after him. The car engine revved into life, headlights cutting through the front windows before the sound faded into the distance. Then Tim yelled, primal and harsh, because he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t.
For a while he just stood in the living room, waiting for the engine sound to return. When it didn’t, he went back to the dining room, turned off the music, and sat at the end of the trashed table. Then he opened the bottle of wine, drinking from it directly and still listening for any sign of Travis returning. Surely he would come back. The dam had burst and Travis would break down and cry, finally admitting who he was. But when the bottle was empty and the candles had burned down, Tim knew hope was gone.
He shoved away from the table and went to the front room, taking his cell phone from his jacket and dialing Eric. He would understand. The phone rang and rang before a recording of Eric’s voice explained the obvious: He wasn’t there to pick up the phone. Tim left him a message, trying to tell him what had happened, how everything had fallen apart, and that Travis had gone. Then his time was up and the voicemail cut him off with a beep.
Tim tossed aside the phone and glanced around the cabin. He didn’t want to be here anymore. The TV was still blabbering from the other room, left on the last channel Travis had landed on. He needed to get away, maybe head into town for something more to drink. Tim was turning to retrieve his phone when he noticed a glint of moonlight on a slick surface outside. The snowmobiles were parked out front. Colorado Springs was what, ten miles away? Twenty? Snowmobiles were just as fast as cars. Tim would be in town in no time, and more important, away from here.
He put on his coat and snow boots, made sure he had his wallet, and stumbled outside, slipping once. The ground was icy tonight, but that’s what snowmobiles were made for. Tim revved the engine, hating the machine for being a part of his failed fantasy. Racing up and down the mountains with Travis seemed a million years ago already, a distant dream too bright and optimistic to have been true.
The snowmobile kicked forward. Tim headed toward the highway. He wouldn’t follow the roads, of course, or he’d probably get run over by some hick drunk on eggnog. Instead he would cut across to the nearest valley and travel parallel to the highway until he reached town. When he reached open space, Tim twisted the accelerator, the snowmobile’s engine snarling through the night’s silence. The speed felt like an escape, like he was getting away from his stupid mistakes, the pain, all Travis’s cruel words that kept bouncing around in Tim’s mind.
Once he reached the line of trees, he slowed, but only to adjust to the new environment. The snow on the ground glowed white in the night, the trees dark pillars, like that painting Eric was so fond of. Tim steered toward the white, zooming around dark obstacles. Maybe he deserved this. After all, isn’t this what he had done to Ben? Left him standing in the middle of the night just because he couldn’t accept who he was?
Karma was a bitch.
Tim twisted the accelerator, momentarily confused by the way the ground seemed to become a wall. A snowdrift! He hit the brakes much too late. The snowmobile slid up the drift like it was a ramp and went airborne. From this new height, Tim could see he had crested a hill. Even if he hadn’t hit the drift, he would have caught air. But he might have had a better chance of regaining control. The snowmobile twisted in empty space, and Tim could no longer see what was in front of him.
He was debating whether he should let go of the handlebars and take his chances with dropping to the ground when the world smashed into him. The snowmobile took most of the impact—a crunching noise followed by a terrible whirring from the engine—but the vehicle was rolling against whatever it had hit. Tim instinctively pressed himself flat against the vehicle as it rolled over him, but still the impact hurt. Something sliced into his right arm, leaving him with white-hot pain that ripped a scream out of him. Then the mess of vehicle and rider briefly spun again in free air before hitting the ground with a crunch.
The wind was knocked out of Tim as he skidded across the ground, tumbling sidewise like a rag doll until he landed on his back. Eyes wide in panic, he pulled and pulled and pulled until air finally sucked back into his lungs. His entire focus became making sure he could breathe, but his nose never cleared. Hand shaking, he reached up to touch it, his glove coming back covered in blood and dirt. That matched the taste in his mouth. Swallowing and then gagging, he tried taking stock of himself.
His body hurt all over, especially his right arm, up by the shoulder, but at least he was in one piece. As for the snowmobile… Tim lifted his head to check and found it had rolled further away. No smoke. No fire. At least it wasn’t going to explode. He hoped.
Cautiously, Tim sat up, testing each limb to see if anything was broken. Everything seemed to be working. With a stiff neck, he turned his head to examine his arm. He saw blood on the outside of his jacket and something red and wet sticking out from the flesh. Head swooning, he was sure it was a broken bone, but when his vision cleared he saw a little offshoot.
Like a twig? He touched it and the pain increased, but some bloody bark shed from it. Sure enough, a twig was stuck in him. He looked at the skid mark the snowmobile left when it hit the ground. Not far away was a tree, the snow below it covered in wood splinters and shavings. Tim’s arm must have been punctured by a branch when hitting the tree. Gruesome, but better than a broken bone sticking out.
Tim touched the twig experimentally a few times. He didn’t think it was in too deep, so after a few steady breaths, he yanked it out. Then he screamed, because motherfucker—it hurt like hell! He let the pain motivate him, forcing himself to his feet and walking in a circle. He was okay. Sore, but okay.
Tim hobbled over to the snowmobile, which hadn’t fared so well. A large piece of the fiberglass shell had broken off, as had one of the handlebars. Worse than that, the tread that gave the vehicle traction had torn loose. As much as he loved cars, Tim was no mechanic. The snowmobile was useless to him.
He patted his jacket pockets, searching for his phone before he groaned, remembering he had never picked it up off the floor. So much for help. Tim would have to walk, and he needed to start soon if he was going to stay warm. He hesitated, trying to decide how far he had traveled. His journey out here was a blur. He could be just a few miles from Colorado Springs for all he knew, but in the end, he decided he should retrace the path the snowmobile had made. If he tried going forward while disorientated, he might end up lost or dead. Limping over the hill, he found the drift that had launched him into space and began making his way back to the cabin.
