Brad wished Cal would shut the hell up. It was his first Saturday off in weeks and he was happy to waste it napping on the couch. The football game had provided the perfect background noise until the third quarter when Cal’s shouting and cursing became almost constant. 

​

“I can’t watch this.” With a quick jab, Cal silenced the announcer’s booming voice and the cheering crowd, then hurled the remote at the wall. 

​

“Hey!” Brad ducked before it hit him in the head. “What the—”

​

“I gotta get outta here, man.” Cal pressed his hands to his skull as if he were securing a helmet and paced the condo’s small living area. 

​

It wasn’t just that his one-rung-below-Ivy League alma mater was getting their asses handed to them in this bowl game, it was more that it was the latest in a string of losses for Cal.

​

Brad studied the remote that had fallen beside him. A few buttons were missing and the battery cover was cracked from Cal’s previous temper tantrums.

 

“How much you got riding on this one?” 

​

Cal didn’t hear, or if he did, he didn’t answer. He was in his room getting into his gear. They’d agreed to ski the backcountry as soon as they were off on the same day. After working at Wyndmere Crest for two years, Brad was pretty much over it. But for Cal, who’d only arrived in early-September, the mountain’s pull was strong as a bright white magnet. The slopes in their home state of New Jersey were ant hills by comparison. They’d been to Vermont, of course, but Wyoming was different. Wilder. Vaster.

​

Muscling his way into a long-sleeve thermal, Cal stepped back into the living room. “We doing this or what? Let’s go.” 

​

He sounded upbeat. Brad never understood how Cal could shift gears so quickly. Brad tended to get stuck in a single emotion and spin there indefinitely like a tire stuck in the mud. 

​

“C’mon, man. Get up,” Cal tried again. “It’s already two o’clock.”

​

Brad stretched and felt that familiar ache in his knee. Beyond the sliding glass doors, fat, white flakes the size of cotton balls fell. It was supposed to turn to ice later. Brad tried to recall when it was expected to start. There’d been a weather advisory at the bottom of the screen warning it could get bad fast.

​

“I’d rather just hang here,” Brad said, brushing Dorito dust off his sweatshirt. “Storm’s coming. Plus, my knee’s been acting up.”

​

“Acting up?” Cal laughed. “Dude, you’re not even twenty-four. You act like you’re ninety. I’m gonna start calling you ‘Nana.’ You’re in worse shape than my grandma. Want me to buy you a cane? Maybe compression socks?”

​

“You can’t afford compression socks, remember?” 

​

If Cal heard, he ignored that too. He was back in his room adding more layers. 

​

Brad thought about getting off the couch but then music filtered into the living area as Cal strummed the guitar he’d picked up at a yard sale. He only knew a couple chords but that didn’t stop him from acting like he was the second coming of Jimi Hendrix when the girls from the condo below stopped by. 

​

Brad shut his eyes. Maybe Cal would get distracted and it would be too late to bother heading out. But just as quickly as it began, the music stopped and Cal walked into the living room, holding his phone, its screen black. “You take my charger again?” 

​

“Yeah, sorry, left mine in the truck.” Brad didn’t know why he was apologizing. Cal borrowed shit from him all the time. “Borrowed" was generous. “Took” was more like it. 

​

“It’s in my room. You can get it or charge it on the way.”

​

“Fuck it.” Cal whipped the phone at a couch cushion. “Probably better off leaving it here.” He pulled his black wool Canada Goose hat over his face before folding the excess material ’til it lined up with his eyebrows. “I don’t want to see the messages I’m about to get.”

​

Brad knew what he meant. There’d be people looking for Cal. Again. He didn’t want to think about it—the trouble Cal was basically having delivered right to their doorstep. Brad stood to carry his sandwich plate into the kitchen, knee throbbing as he put weight on it. Crusty orange egg yolk stuck to the stovetop. Cal had taken over the cooking in exchange for Brad shaving money off the rent. 

​

“Lose a few more games and you’re gonna be doing my laundry and wiping my ass,” Brad had joked before a skinny guy in a thin leather jacket came for the keys to Cal’s Jetta.

 

“I’ll get it back,” Cal had insisted. That was three weeks ago. 

 

At the sink, Brad submerged the plate in a sea of cloudy water that grew deeper by the day. They wouldn’t be able to ignore the clogged drain much longer.

​

“We need to do some serious cleaning before Ivy and Olivia get here,” Brad called. 

Their families—friends since Brad and Cal met in kindergarten—planned to fly out for the holidays. Brad imagined it was part ski vacation, part Come-to-Jesus lecture aimed at convincing them—particularly Cal—to return home and get “real jobs” when the season ended in April.

 

“We’re fine.” Cal appeared in the kitchen doorway. “We’ve got two weeks.” 

​

“We’ve got ten days.” Brad pointed to a pile of black flecks as he closed a cabinet Cal left open. “And I think we’ve also got mice.”

​

“Pretend it’s pepper.” Cal turned back toward his room. “Let’s hurry it up, Nana,” he called. “Sun sets at six.”

 

In his drafty bedroom, Brad popped some ibuprofen, wrapped the knee brace over his thermals, and eased into his ski pants. Sometimes, as he was pulling on his gear, he wondered how he’d ended up there. Why hadn’t he gone farther west? All the way to California maybe. He could’ve been a lifeguard—a gig that required only swim trunks and a whistle. Working as a ski instructor meant piles of clothing and equipment, not to mention the increasingly real risk of re-tearing his ACL.  

​

But, of course, he knew how he’d landed there. When he refused to go back to college after winter break his sophomore year, he’d watched snowboarders on YouTube—an endless stream of dudes in neon-colored parkas all serving up the same, “Hey, what’s up guys? Today I’m gonna…” openings. Brad found it peaceful seeing them sail weightless over glistening white mounds, hovering between snow and sky. He wanted it—that lightness, that release from gravity, that grace. 

​

Ivy, his mother, had brought him smoothies and perched on the edge of his bed. “What’s going on, pal?” she’d ask, rubbing his good knee. “Feel like talking about it?” 

​

He didn’t. Not then. Not now. He wanted what the snowboarders had. But it turned out the brutal cold made his knee stiff, achy. He’d intended to move on, to distance himself from Cal and his mistakes. But here was Cal, nudging his bedroom door open with his boot. “Dude! My sister got ready for the prom faster. What the hell?”

​

Brad stood, the twinge in his knee easing thanks to the brace. “Guess I’m driving,” he said. 

He wasn’t the type to take shots at Cal, but Brad’s patience with his oldest friend was starting to fray, each day growing thinner than oxygen at the mountain’s summit. But they wouldn’t have to spend too much time together once they got there. Brad would use his knee as an excuse and they’d go their separate ways until inevitably they met up again to go home. 

 

Outside, the silvery air smelled like a mix of smoke and falling snow. Brad started the car, fuel light catching his eye. Cal had borrowed the Highlander and returned it with the tank nearly empty. There’d be enough gas to get them there and back—barely. Brad knew mentioning it was pointless. He and his bum knee had a better chance of making the Olympic track team than getting any cash out of Cal. If Brad were lucky, the most Cal would offer was a half-assed, “Sorry, man.”

​

On the drive, Cal pointed to a pair of moose in a snowy field. The beasts locked horns, their heads gently tussling back and forth like they were having a mild disagreement.

​

“We’re not in West Haven anymore!” Cal laughed, referring to the New Jersey town where he and Brad spent their childhood. During the past decade, the suburb where they were raised had become overrun with nail salons and dry cleaners, yoga studios, and yogurt shops. Condos and developments erupted on every free acre. It took ten minutes to drive three blocks up Main Street on weekends. “Think you ever get used to this? All this beauty,  I mean?” 

​

Brad shrugged and wondered briefly if his friend was high.

​

“Thanks, man,” Cal continued. 

​

“For what?” Brad asked.

​

“Inviting me here, you know, to come hang with you.” 

​

Brad chewed the inside of his bottom lip. That was the thing. He hadn’t invited him. Cal had called on a Sunday night in late August, complaining about his parents—his dad in particular—and announced he was driving out. Said he’d be there the following weekend.

​

Initially, Brad had reservations, but his former roommate left in late July, so he had the space. Plus, he and Cal hadn’t spent every day together since high school. Surely, they’d grown up a lot in the intervening years.  

​

“No problem.” Brad kept his eyes straight ahead because it was a problem. Being around Cal reminded Brad that, left unchecked, Cal’s issues spread faster than pink eye at summer camp.

As the snow changed to ice, the road became slicker, the back of the Highlander slipping around curves.

​

Cal picked up Brad’s phone from the center console. They’d known each other’s passcodes since high school: 112316— the date their high school football team, the Ravens, won states. 

 

“Unless you’re hosting a line dance, you’ve got way too much country music here.” Cal laughed before choosing a rap song and jacking up the volume. He flipped down the visor to look in the mirror as he chanted along about fast cars and cash. Mid-lyric he stopped, leaned forward, and peered past his reflection. 

​

“Hey, that car—how long has it been following us?” he asked, lowering the volume.

Brad’s eyes shifted to the rearview mirror. “No clue.”

​

Cal reached over and switched on the back windshield wiper. It emitted an angry scrape but made no difference. “You gotta fix the fucking defrost, man.”

​

 "Least I have a car,” Brad countered and stole a glance at the driver’s side mirror. A black SUV was maybe forty, fifty feet back—not even close enough to make out the model.

​

“Can you see the plate?” Cal kept his mouth in a comically tight line as if the SUV driver might be able to read his lips.

​

“Dude, you’re paranoid.” 

​

“Screwed is what I am!” Cal slapped the dashboard. 

​

Brad jumped and wrenched the wheel to the right, causing the back of the truck to fishtail.

“Jesus, don’t do that!” He ran a hand through his stiff blond curls. Cal had used up all the conditioner and now Brad's hair was wiry as a toilet brush. “How much are you down?”

​

“You don’t want to know.” Cal pulled his wool hat over his face again. “Trust me.”

​

“You gotta stop.”

​

“I know. I know.” Cal yanked off his hat, bit his thumb nail, and stared into the mirror. “I just need a couple things to go my way, then I’m done.” He knocked on the dashboard gently as if for luck and flipped the visor up. “For real this time.” 

​

They sat in silence for a moment, Cal’s left knee bouncing to its own nervous rhythm. He turned to Brad. “Tap the brakes.”

​

“What?”

​

“No, don’t tap ‘em. Jam on them and see if this asshole goes around us.”

​

“I’m not gonna—” Brad side-eyed his friend to see if he was serious.

​

“Do it!” Cal shouted.

​

“So he can rear-end us and then we have no car? No way to get to work? No thank you!” 

​

Cal threw his body toward Brad, arm stretching to the floor like he was going to reach down and punch the brake pedal with his fist.

​

“Dude, what the fuck?” Brad yelled. “Get off me!”

​

“Hit the brakes!” Cal’s hand was down between Brad’s boots. 

​

Brad grunted. “This is messed up. You know that, right?” 

​

Cal would be relentless until he complied. Pumping the brake, Brad watched as the SUV responded in kind before accelerating and blowing past them. Brad kept his eyes on the road ahead, certain the SUV’s driver—or passenger if there was one—would flip him off. 

​

“Now speed up again!” Cal barked. “Help me remember the plate. Just in case.” 

​

Brad saw part of what looked like a three and maybe a W but possibly a V. Snow and ice covered the rest. If whoever was driving that SUV was after Cal, hadn’t he brought it on himself? Wasn’t it his own fault for never being able to envision a scenario in which he wasn't a winner?

 

“Why am I remembering this exactly? You gonna tell the police, ‘I owe some bad guys money and they’re following me?” Brad was on the verge of laughing until he saw Cal’s anxious face as he twisted in his seat.

​

“Anyone else back there?”

​

Because he’d spent most of his life taking orders from Cal, Brad looked in the rearview. All he saw were soaring spruces, their branches heavy with fresh snow. “You’re losing it, man.”

 

“Sorry.” Cal put his head in his hands. “I’m just … you know … I’ve got a lot ….” His voice trailed off. He shifted toward the window, blew on the glass, and used his index and middle finger to make a smiley face. “I’m glad we’re doing this. Finally, right? How long we been talking about it? Skiing the backcountry. It really helps take my mind off…” 

​

Brad gripped the wheel tighter. “Yeah, man, glad we’re doing this,” he echoed, turning into the parking lot. 

​

Skiers and snowboarders, red cheeked from morning and early afternoon runs, were packing up their cars. As Brad opened his door, he noticed a black SUV backed into a parking spot off to the left. Headlights off, tinted windows, no skis strapped to the roof rack. Was it the same one? 

Cal had been in Wyoming three months. He wasn’t due to leave until March at the earliest. That needed to change. Once upon a time having Calloway Whitaker around made life more fun, but over the last few years, it only made it more complicated. 

​

Though it was just eight miles from the condo to the mountain, Brad's knee had tightened up on the way over. He groaned as he slid out of the driver’s seat and moved slowly toward the trunk.  

Cal’s skis rested on his shoulder. “Comin’ or what?” he called. “Use one of your poles as a cane if you have to, Nana!” 

​

Brad took his time and thought of all the things he wanted to say but Cal was already way ahead of him. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if someone knocked out one of Cal’s perfect teeth or left a purpley-black circle around one or both of his blue eyes. How many times had Brad wanted to do that himself? Would Cal even get the message? Probably not. He hadn’t changed a bit after everything went down that weekend he visited Brad at college. The memory of it mingled with the throbbing in Brad’s knee and sent pain sparking through his body like a lit bundle of firecrackers. 

​

Yes, maybe it was time Cal got what he deserved. 

​

Brad swung his head around to look for the SUV but it was gone. Only a cloud of exhaust hung in its place.