The Winter Games

by Sharp, Dr. Rebecca

  Silence.

  I hazarded a glance at my older sister, her eyes wide with shock. “Is that all?”

  “Well, the important parts.”

  I could practically hear the wheels spinning in her head.

  “So, you and Emmett…”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought you hated him.” Her hand covered her mouth. “God, I am so bad at these relationship things. Sorry. Ok. So, you and Emmett… Why were you in Denver?”

  “Because of his mom.” I didn’t know how much she knew; it wasn’t my sadness to share.

  “And then you came back…”

  “Chance stopped in at work to see me, I’m assuming to apologize for stealing Tyler the night of my party—“

  “I wondered why he was so insistent on getting Tyler out here… how he even knew about him in the first place…”

  “Emmett flew him out for my birthday, but he ended up leaving with Chance and Nick for the night, which was fine because I ended up at Emmett’s anyway.”

  “Wow. Ok, continue.”

  Yep, Chan was shell-shocked.

  I quickly explained the situation that occurred when I got home and Chance saw Emmett and me together. Punching. Broken nose. Jessa kicking him out.

  Yeah—I think that hit about all of the high points.

  “Son of a biscuit… I go away for a few weeks and this is what happens…”

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about, Chan.” Because one more person getting involved in the situation was exactly what it didn’t need. “Chance will get over it at some point—at least with me. I-I don’t know about with Emmett. But that will be that and it will be fine.” Wow that was so not convincing.

  “Why isn’t Emmett talking to you? I don’t understand that.”

  “Because Chance flipped out. He… we… already struggled because of their friendship. Well, mostly Emmett did. Which, I understand brotherly love and all, but I’m a grown woman. I can date and kiss and sleep with whomever I want. So, we finally just got past that and then his mom… Well, let’s just say that he just got back from feeling like he failed one person to being accused of failing another; he didn’t even fight back, Channing. He just let Chance hit him.”

  “Well, that’s because he’s a moron. They both are. I swear to God.” She huffed. “How serious—“

  “I told him I loved him. I still love him. I’m trying not to, but I think it would be easier to just stop my heart from beating.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “Oh, Al…”

  I wiped away a tear that managed to get by. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’m used to being left by now. It’s kind of my thing.” I tried to laugh it off before prying the door unlocked. “Seriously, Chan, don’t say anything. Don’t chase down Emmett and scold him into coming back to me. I… I don’t want that. If I’m not enough, then I’m not enough.”

  “I understand,” she said softly.

  I opened the door, hopped down, and grabbed my bag from the back. “Alright. Tammy can bring me home, so I’ll see you later.”

  “Love you, Al.”

  “Love you too, sis.” I tried for a smile—tried and failed.

  Pain and apprehension grew around me like vines as I stepped out of Tammy’s car when she brought me home that night, squeezing tighter when I saw not only my sister’s Jeep, but my brother’s in the garage.

  At some point, I was going to have to forgive somebody. I might as well start with the family that I was stuck with.

  For some reason, I expected to hear yelling when I opened the door, but instead I walked into a mass of silence. I set my bag down and wandered into the kitchen.

  Familiar blue eyes on eerily almost-identical faces turned on me. It still struck me when I saw them like this how similar, yet different they were. At least Chance had decided to grow some sort of scruff on his face; it diminished the likeness.

  “I have some stuffed meatballs in the oven and a pasta bake. I hope you’re hungry.” Channing spoke first and with a small smile.

  “Who made them?” I knew better than to agree if it was either one of them. She may have given me crap for my chicken noodle soup—which was not made from a box—but both of them were pretty horrible when it came to anything in the kitchen.

  “Harsh,” she sighed, “but Wyatt made them, don’t worry. I’m not trying to poison either of you. Not yet, at least.”

  Chance sat in a brooding silence, his stool pushed back so he could rest back on the freezer door while sipping a glass of whiskey—if I had to guess.

  I moved to the other side of the counter as Channing pushed a drink towards me. I didn’t care what it was. I drank it.

  “Alright, so who wants to go first?” Hands planted on the counter, she looked between the two of us. “No takers?”

  “Why?” My brother’s cold voice swept through the kitchen as his icy stare met mine. “Why Emmett?”

  I looked down at my glass. Maybe I wasn’t ready to do this.

  “Seriously, Chance? That’s like asking why does the sun rise? Or why does the snow fall?” My sister interjected. “Why Wyatt, then? Huh?” She huffed. “Don’t be a moron.”

  And there was that SnowmassHole smirk that they all seemed to possess—the one that suggested what was to follow would be casually cruel for the sake of being honest.

  “No, Lil. It’s not fucking like that. It’s our baby sister and King. You know, the same guy that I’ve seen fuck three dif—“

  “Chance!” Out of all of us, Channing’s eyes could cut through you the quickest and that’s exactly what she did to him. Too bad I already got the gist of what he was implying.

  “Both of you!” I pushed the glass of liquor away; that was the last thing I needed right now. Then, turning to my brother, I said, “Chance. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it was Emmett. I’m not sorry for you that it was Emmett, I’m sorry for me. You think—without really knowing him—I would have picked him from the start? Do you think Channing picked Wyatt when she found out he was your biggest competition? No. You don’t get to choose love; it chooses you.”

  His lip twitched; he knew exactly what I was talking about. But this conversation wasn’t about Jessa.

  “You’re my sister, Ally. I can’t pretend that it’s ok that asshole fucking touched…” He broke off and shook his head.

  “And what were you going to do about it?” I retorted. “Because when it started, Chance, You. Weren’t. Even. Here.” That got his attention. “That’s right. Look, you are my brother and I love you, but I didn’t move here for you to protect me. Just like you didn’t leave to hurt us. I love Emmett—in all of his fucked-up glory. And I’ll tell you what I told his mom—that it was surprisingly easy to love him in spite of how hard he tried to push me in the opposite direction—because of you, I might add.”

  “He told you about Miriam? You met Miriam?” He sounded like I’d met the Queen or something.

  “Yes… That’s why we went to Denver.” My gaze fell. “She passed away.”

  “Fuck.” I watched him pour himself another drink. Channing and I both waited for more. Glass half-empty, his calmly cool voice slipped through the silence. “None of us have ever met her. None of us even know what the fuck happened between them. Not really.” Was he talking to himself or to us?

  My brother’s demeanor completely changed. He sat back down and put his hands over his mouth in disbelief. “Is he ok?”

  My mouth dropped. My eyes said ‘you talkin’ to me?’ before I stuttered, “N-no. I haven’t seen or talked to him since…”

  “I didn’t know…”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  He paused. “Well, I might not have punched him so fucking hard,” he scoffed.

  “I’m sorry, Chance. I can’t help how I feel and I don’t expect you to understand, but I do expect you to respect it. Not that you’ll have to anymore but…”

  He at least had the decency to look guilty, albeit very faintly—a rare occurrenc
e for ‘Pride.’ The nickname fit him like a well-tailored suit—velvet vanity, wrapped in a coat of captivating conceit and tied off with a dash of silken—and to some, sexy—smugness; that was Chance Liam Ryder. Few saw the insecurities that lay beneath—even fewer since his accident.

  “Shit, Al. I do. I do respect it. I’m just… dealing with a lot of shit right now. And then to have to find out that you… and King… I lost it.”

  “I know,” I said sadly, because I did.

  “I’m still not fucking happy about it.” He pointed a finger at me. “But I wasn’t happy about the shithead skier either, so I guess I’m pretty much screwed no matter who you are with. I just… fucking King…”

  “Do you really think he’s that bad? He’s your best friend.” I would never act like he did if it were Jessa or Tammy, but then again, these were guys…

  “Which means I know he’s that bad,” he retorted and I rolled my eyes. “What? Too soon?” The rest of his drink disappeared. “Ahh… fuck. Well, at least it wasn’t fucking Frost.”

  I nodded. Not that I knew much about their third counterpart, but I knew he was bad news covered in sinfully-sweet frosting. “You really love him?”

  I nodded. “And he loves you?” His hand came up, “Wait, did you say King hasn’t talked to you since the last time we were in this house?”

  “Correct…”

  “After everything I said, he just fucking left you?” And it looked like my dear brother had jumped to the complete other end of the spectrum. “I’ll kill him,” he swore.

  “Chance!” For a few minutes I forgot my sister was even there, patiently and silently moderating our dispute. “That’s it. You are here to fix this with her, not find more reasons to pummel Emmett’s face.”

  Our brother didn’t acknowledge her. He watched and waited for my response.

  “I love him, Chance. And he’s hurting. I don’t know if he loves me, but I certainly don’t want you to beat him into doing so.”

  No, if Emmett wanted me… needed me… he would have to find his own way back. On his knees. Preferably naked.

  His lip twitched. “I’ll think about it.”

  “It is safe to bring out the food?” Channing held up both her hands covered in oven mitts.

  “You know how to work those things, Lil?” he teased.

  “Shut up, Chance.” The smell of tomatoes and basil burst freshly into the air as she opened the oven.

  At least one relationship had been salvaged. I had a feeling that Emmett’s and mine wasn’t going to be so easy.

  I WAS A FUCKING IDIOT. OK, that was already universally acknowledged. And still, I found myself on the bottom of the mountain, suited up, high as a kite and about two-thirds of the way towards a blackout courtesy of my good friend, Jack.

  Seems like a pretty good time to go snowboarding, right?

  Right.

  I needed to be on the mountain. And not alone. In my house. In the dark. Haunted by my thoughts of her. I’d resorted to turning my phone off and leaving it—or throwing it—places so that I wouldn’t call her or text her. I’d resorted to drinking and smoking so that I was too intoxicated to get into my shit truck and drive to her and grovel.

  I was the King. I didn’t fucking grovel.

  Bullshit.

  I would have washed her feet with my fucking tears if that would bring her back to me.

  Under most peoples’ standards, I should have been suffocating in a pile of my own vomit by now. But, years of practice of both imbibing and riding made my marginally coherent state possible. I wasn’t wasted enough to not be able to board; I was never wasted enough for that.

  Worst case scenario, this would pass the time. Best case scenario, I would fall off the fucking mountain and not have to try to figure out how to fall out of love with someone. Or how to say goodbye to Miriam.

  After not answering her calls for days, Ruth had shown up at my place this morning. Her disapproving stare put a damper on my high.

  “I’ve been worried sick, Emmett. You just up and left without saying goodbye or anything. I thought… I worried…”

  “We didn’t talk for years and now we go a few days and you’re showing up here?” I returned to my chair—and my glass of Jack. “Why are you here?”

  “There’s not going to be a funeral.”

  “Excuse me?” I sneered, watching as she took a seat on my couch.

  “She didn’t want a funeral. I-I wasn’t thinking.” She held out a piece of paper for me.

  The contents? Miriam’s desire to be cremated and have her ashes spread on the mountain. By me.

  “Is this a fucking joke?” I should have felt bad for yelling. “Are you fucking kidding me? I finally come out. I finally make things right and then she leaves. For good. And now, she wants me to be responsible for putting her to rest?”

  Un-fucking-real.

  “Get out.” It was all too much. The thought alone had my regret ripping my insides to shreds.

  “I’m staying in town until Sunday. If you… won’t… then I will handle it, Emmett. I understand if it’s too much.”

  The sound of the door shutting told me she’d left. The swish of the whiskey in the bottle told me that I still had work to do.

  Unfortunately, my attempt to escape my darkness into the solitude of the slopes was obliterated when I saw the woman with the white snow gear and sunshine hair heading towards the lift. Even as trashed as I was, I didn’t need to see that she was carrying the snowboard with the sun on it to know it was Ally.

  What in the living fuck was she doing getting on a lift by herself?

  I was surprised to see the board in one piece. I thought my little spitfire would have torched it by now and forgotten all about snowboarding and anything else that reminded her of the asshole that broke her heart.

  Christ.

  Next thing I knew, I was on the same lift, many chairs behind her, but still; someone had to save her from herself. What did she think she was doing? Was she trying to kill herself? Was she trying to get my attention?

  Was I really trying to save her? Or save myself?

  No, she didn’t even know I was here; I shouldn’t even be here. Already my body fucking ached for her and her softness.

  “Alice Daisy Ryder.” My voice echoed off the mountain. She froze. Well, to my mind, she still spun for a few seconds before coming to a standstill.

  At least she turned around slowly.

  It happens like that. Out of the blue sky, lost in her blue eyes, everything I’d tried to smoke and drink into oblivion came back ten-fold. I’d never not want her, not need her, not protect her. I’d never stop loving her

  Fuck Chance. Fuck Miriam. Fuck everyone and everything.

  I was the King of the Mountain and it was time for me to get on my knees and beg for forever with the Queen of my heart.

  It was a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart. Can pain cause you to hallucinate? Because that seemed like the most likely explanation for what was happening. I almost kept walking. He’d called my name a thousand times over the past few days. Every time, I’d looked. Every time, he wasn’t there.

  Who was I kidding? For him, I would always be looking.

  I’ll never understand how it was possible for a man to be wearing the baggiest clothes that existed on the planet, his face still sporting spots of yellow-green from being used as a punching bag, and yet still be the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen. It just never seemed possible for someone to look that good. Another reason for me to believe my delusions were getting worse.

  But then my heartbreaker-hallucination spoke.

  “What in God’s name do you think you are doing up here alone?”

  Relief became irritation. Irritation became anger. “Snowboarding.” My eyes narrowed. “Are you… drunk?”

  “You shouldn’t be snowboarding alone.”

  “You shouldn’t be snowboarding drunk,” I said sharply.

  His eyes flared and I figured it was time to make my es
cape. I didn’t have the strength to argue with him. I barely had the strength to keep myself together in front of him.

  A strong arm wrapped around my waist. “Don’t walk away from me.”

  “I wasn’t walking. I. Was. Gliding.” Now, if only I had a car hood that I could slam my hands down on like Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality. I wonder if slamming them onto his helmet would produce the same effect.

  “And I was talking,” he growled into my ear.

  I really should want to punch him or something after what he’d done to me—and my heart. Instead, all I wanted to do was jump him.

  His touch wasn’t much, but it was like water to my dry and arid body. Seeping into every crack and crevice. Cold, soothing, suffocating, healing. I didn’t move. I needed more.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I hadn’t had to ask this question in a very long time.

  “Because it’s not safe for you to be up here alone. You could fall and hurt yourself.”

  “So then call ski patrol and get me an escort, I’ll wait.” Gauntlet. Thrown.

  This time though, I was prepared for his retreat. For the reality of being left again.

  “Oh, is that how you think this is going to work?” He laughed cruelly. “What did you think you were going to do up here? Fall? Hurt yourself? Hope I’d come rescue you?”

  “No, actually. I came up here to forget about you and everything that I felt for you.”

  “Felt?” He growled. I’d struck a chord. A bad one. One that was off-key and twanging with danger. I heard something hit the snow before his hand threaded through my hair and pulled my head back. His lips brushed my ear, the warm musk of whiskey floating around me. “And how’s that working out?”

  “Fine,” I squeaked.

  “Have you forgotten what it felt like to have me touch you?” His hand on my waist slid under my shirt, resting on my stomach. “Have you forgotten, sunshine, how your body rises and sets beneath my hands?”