The Winter Games

by Sharp, Dr. Rebecca

  “Ok, well if you need anything.”

  I reached over and hugged her tight. “Thanks for everything, Tam. And don’t worry about Lila, ok? No point in getting worked up over something until you know all the details—it does no one any good.”

  She nodded against my shoulder. I stayed a few more minutes to ask if she’d heard anything from the doctors; her answers said that there wasn’t much new information, her tone said Lila wasn’t the only thing that she was fearing the worst about.

  Finally crawling into my bed, my thoughts returned to the one thing that I’d managed to keep at bay for most of the afternoon. My hand slipped into my underwear and, biting my lip so my moans didn’t wake up Tammy, I closed my eyes and pictured Chance in front of me again; I felt his fingers on me instead of my own; I heard his voice rasp against my neck. And my body disintegrated all over again.

  I was the Hanged Man—one of the most mysterious cards in the deck.

  Simple, yet complex.

  The Hanged Man attracts, but also disturbs; it contradicts itself in countless ways. Just like I did. Slowly and surely, I was letting go of my control over my desire and my vulnerability; I was clawing for that emotional release. My concerns about Chance—and his intentions—slipping like sand right through my fingers; I should be holding on tighter, knowing he wanted to break my heart.

  Above all, this card shows the paradox of life—that we gain control by letting go; that we win by surrendering.

  I was the Hanged Man living in his paradox.

  Somehow, I would only be whole again by being broken. And Chance… that man knew how to break me like a promise.

  FROST POUNDED ON MY DOOR like he was trying to get a nut off. He never bothered me this early.

  Guest house was fucking PC for what this place was—two bedrooms, two baths. It was like how everyone referred to where Prince Harry lived as a “cottage”—he’s a fucking prince, you know that shit is no cottage. Well, that was what this place was—elegant, extravagant, and oozing wealth—the perfect disguise for a prison because what kind of cage has chandeliers?

  “What?” I half-yelled with a voice that felt and sounded like the coarsest sandpaper. I dragged myself from underneath the disheveled mess of covers and schlepped to the door. Habit now had me locking it overnight.

  What the fuck time was it anyway?

  I hoped he was alone because I was naked as the day I was born. Unlocking the doorknob, I turned back towards the bed—and my sweatpants on the floor next to it—as the door swung open.

  “Since when do you lock the door?”

  “Since some fucker kept coming in unannounced.” I ran a hand through my hair, picking the used joint out of the bed where I must have dropped it last night as I drifted off to sleep.

  “The same fucker who owns the house?” he shot back.

  Tugging my sweats up I turned and took a good look at my partner in crime; he didn’t look good. Cold anger brewed just beneath the stony surface—the kind of anger that would have him taking down the whole world if necessary.

  “Could be.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and running a hand over my short beard.

  “You need to leave.”

  “Excuse me?” I picked up my phone to realize that it was almost eleven AM on Friday morning. Maybe it was a good thing he was banging on my door—I shouldn’t have been so fucking lazy. Then again, I was sleeping like shit because I couldn’t get J-bird off my mind.

  “You broke your knee, not your brain, Pride. I need you to leave.”

  “I fucking heard you. What the hell is going on?” I demanded. “Did I do something? This isn’t about fucking Monroe is it?”

  He ran a hand over the top of his head before turning and slamming his fist into the back of the door.

  “She’s back.”

  “Who? Your mom?”

  “Those fuckers, too.”

  “Who else?”

  “Eliza.” Shit.

  Eliza fucking Blackman was Lila’s mother—and the queen of all manipulative whores. She loved hard fucks and even harder drugs.

  Eight years ago had been a low point in Frost’s life—his dad dying unexpectedly, his mom, Jane Frost, remarrying just over a year later to Levi Stone—a man who thought physical abuse was an entirely acceptable method of dealing with any situation. Levi was the owner of a private security firm whose business dealings were probably far more duplicitous and menacing than everyone was led to believe—the phrase ‘guns for hire’ came to mind. The reality for Frost was that Stone knew exactly how and where to hurt you—and how to make sure you desired to never speak of the incident to anyone.

  During this whole shit-storm season of life, Frost had spent most of his time coked up and fucking anything in his vicinity—like Eliza, who was just waiting to use the opportunity of the drugged-up rich kid to her advantage. As with all bad, bareback decisions, the consequences continued to haunt him long after he’d given up any interest in both of those things.

  “You said your parents, too?”

  “Just until Sunday, thank fuck.” My eyes flicked to his fist, noticing that the knuckles were red and raw—meaning that he’d already gotten into it with Stone.

  Because of the drugs, he’d had some run-ins with the law that not only legitimized any reason Stone had for roughing him up, but had gotten to the point where Frost was facing jail time. And because when it rains, it pours, it was at that time when Eliza showed up with a one-year-old in tow, claiming that the girl was Frost’s and leaving her. I wouldn’t put it past the bitch to lie about the paternity of the kid, but having seen the girl, she did have Frost’s eyes.

  When Stone had found out that not only was his step-son possibly heading to jail, but that he also now had a child… well, Frost had ended up with two cracked ribs, a broken arm, and a mild concussion. All ‘snowboarding injuries’ to the rest of the world, of course. For Frost though, dealing with the abuse was better than facing incarceration. He may not have been a fucking role model but he did have a heart… and it belonged to his daughter the moment he saw her; the thought of where she would end up—or with whom—if he went to jail was unconscionable.

  So, in exchange for control over his life and his inheritance, Jane Stone stepped in with the court and asked for Frost to be put on probation, earning him a five-year prison sentence—only the prison was now his own home. They’d kept him out of jail, but they refused to support him. All his funds—his inheritance from his father—was locked away, trapping him here legally and financially until the sentence was up. But at least he could care for his daughter and watch her grow. And for that… he would have sold his soul to the devil if that’s what it took.

  Thankfully, Stone’s business took him around the country—and sometimes around the globe—so as time went on, their interactions became fewer. Taking Stone’s abuse, even as it became rarer, but harsher, was a price he was willing to pay.

  But Frost hadn’t been just biding his time during this sentence. No, Nick Frost was always good at working in the shadows; he was always good at digging in the dark dirt and coal and finding a goddamn diamond.

  In this case, that diamond had been bitcoin. Taking what money was left to him—that he hadn’t spent on drugs—when his father died, he’d invested it all and made a fucking fortune.

  I only knew because when I came back and decided to stay with him, still at the very bottom of the fucked-up ride life had me on, he told me to prove that there’s always something to be made out of nothing. Like something good could still come out of me…

  Nick Frost was the richest motherfucker in the state of Colorado and no one fucking knew it.

  Why? Because until his probation was up, if his mom—if Stone knew, they could take it all from him. They could throw him under the bus at his hearing in a few months, claim that he hadn’t done enough, that he’s a detriment to society; hell, they could even manage to take Lila from him, and that…
that was the worst fear of them all. They would do it, too. Stone would make sure that everyone who needed to agree with those statements did.

  So, instead, he lived off the income from his graphic designs, freelancing them on the internet for the time being and telling everyone the lie that one day he’d be working for one of the major snowboarding companies. The truth? He could buy all of those companies and not even be hurting for it. And his real dream? To get him and his daughter the fuck away from Jane and Levi Stone.

  “Hold on.” I put my hand up. “Are they here because of Eliza? Do they know she is here? Why the fuck is she here?”

  The only thing really worth knowing about Eliza Blackman and why she did the things that she did was that the only thing she truly loved was herself. It was why she’d come to Frost five years ago, telling him that he had a daughter and that he could either pay her to leave Lila with him or she was going to just leave her on the street and hope that she ended up in the foster system before anything even worse happened.

  So, of course, Frost paid her off on the condition that she never came back and never contacted him again.

  I only learned about this after the fact. Had I known before, I would have told him that there was no way in hell she would listen because at some point she would realize that there could be more to gain by the situation.

  His self-deprecating laugh was like nails on a chalkboard. “Why do you think?”

  I felt my face twitch with anger. His eyes had an eerie fog over them; they were already the lightest blue, but now they looked like the sky in the middle of winter right before it was about to dump a snowsquall over the Earth; the storm in them forecasted a reckoning that was brewing.

  “You had a deal. There’s nothing she can do about it.” I shrugged my shoulders, trying to keep calm partially for his sake, partially for my own. “Didn’t you have her sign something?”

  “Of course I fucking did, but that doesn’t matter when she’s going to accuse me in court of being an unfit guardian over my daughter.” The statement was like a crack of thunder over an already tense atmosphere.

  Fuck.

  “Fuck.” I rubbed a hand over my mouth. “I fucking knew that bitch was trouble.”

  Eliza had gone to high school with us, but had been a year or so younger. Even then, she was always sleeping around to get people to do things for her—whether it was write a paper, give her the answers to a test, or buy her things, like drugs. She had values, but none of them had anything to do with integrity or respect for herself. For the most part, she hadn’t been on our radar in high school. But senior year—after Frost’s dad died—the parties that he started throwing attracted women of all ages.

  And coke doesn’t care about the age of the cunt.

  “How do you know she is back?”

  “Showed up here yesterday looking for Lila. Thank fuck she was at daycare, which I figured Eliza might find out eventually, so I had Sofia go get her early; God, she was so upset.”

  “Where is she now?” My brow furrowed like I expected him to pull the little girl from his back pocket.

  “Sofia is with her and my mom. They’ve been entertaining her since yesterday. Stone and I had a dialogue,” meaning that they’d gotten into a fight, “but he left early this morning to take care of business in Denver for the rest of the week. So, I’ve got a few days to get this pigsty cleaned up and figure out a way to entice a five-year-old to want to live here. With me.”

  “Shit.” Fate was not a friend to Frost. The closest thing the man ever got to luck in his personal life was me—and not because I was his friend—but because my name was Chance. “What are you going to do?”

  “First, kick you the fuck out before someone realizes that I haven’t completely let my old habits go by the way-side—and that I’ve let your sorry-ass influence pervade my domain.”

  Right. Except weed, alcohol, and the occasional three-some was a tad more palatable than being so coked out that he couldn’t even remember his own fucking name—or where he’d put his dick last.

  “Didn’t see you complaining during any of our little gatherings or threesomes over the past several weeks,” I retorted. I wasn’t the only one going to take the blame. He’d enjoyed it as much as I had—but that really wasn’t the point to be arguing right now. “Have you seen Eliza? Does she know that you are still living here?”

  He swore. “I have no clue, but I’m sure at some point she’ll find out especially if she happens to come in contact with my mom or Stone. When she does, I don’t want there to be any fucking doubt about my fitness as a parent. I’m not letting that bitch take Lila with her again.”

  The way his hand flexed, I thought for sure he was about to send it through the goddamn window as he said, “I might not be the best father, but I’m fucking working on it. She, on the other hand, will fucking exploit my perfect, innocent—“ He couldn’t even finish; I’d never seen him so angry—or emotional—before. “Plus, you should stop running anyway—and that’s all you are doing here.”

  My body tensed. First, he was kicking me out and now, he was insulting me? Still, I stood there and took it because he’d helped me—in some sort of fucked up way—when I’d returned from California.

  “I said I would go. And I was never fucking running.”

  “Bullshit, Pride,” he sneered. “You’ve been running so damn fast you could give Usain Bolt a run for his money.” He smirked at his pun. “I figured you’d come here and figure this out on your own, but now I have no fucking time. So, here’s the deal. Stop running because, as someone who tried his damnedest to outrun my entire fucking life, you can’t escape it; the farther you run, the farther you are from where you need to be. So, get over your fucking knee and find something else to do with your life.” My lip twitched with the desire to deny everything and the inability to deny the truth.

  “You done?” I clicked the home button on my phone again. Fuck. I needed to eat and leave in thirty minutes if I was going to make my therapy session. I held back a groan realizing that there was a good chance I wasn’t making it today. Sorry, J-bird.

  He pretended to think for a second but really he must have been reading my thoughts since he opened his mouth to speak of the pink-haired devil, “Oh, and make sure you know exactly what you are doing with Jessa-fucking-Madison because you know what they say—‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…”

  Oh, I wasn’t going to be fooled by her again. Only, the way he said it sounded like it had been my fault both times.

  “Ironic that you’re the one telling me not to be fooled by her when you were the one who had your tongue down her throat.”

  It had been eight years—and the fact that we were still friends said that we’d had this discussion in the past. The truth was, unless she told me, I’d never know what really happened that night because Frost was high on so much shit when she kissed him that when I went back over to beat the fuck out of him the following morning, I found him passed out in a pool of his own vomit. He had no recollection; he didn’t even remember touching what was mine.

  Which is probably why the memory had festered—because aside from the obvious and only assumption that she left me with, that she wanted Nick more than me—I would never know what the hell happened in Frost’s kitchen before I got there.

  “Yeah, well, the fact that I’m going to miss my appointment this afternoon to clear my shit out is really gonna seal the deal there,” I smirked. Of course, I’d make it up to her. The problem was getting her to let me.

  “Right. I’d sympathize if wanting to fuck my ex-girlfriend was my main problem in life,” he said sarcastically.

  I glowered at him. It wasn’t my only fucking problem… but it was the one I seemed to be the most concerned with at the moment.

  “Now pack your shit. I’m calling the cleaners to come this afternoon to work some magic before my mother and Shithead Stone notice anything and add fuel to the goddamn inferno.”

  In spite of how he spok
e to me, I asked, “Need me to do anything else?”

  He grimaced. “Take all the weed with you. I can’t have it here,” he replied curtly, holding the door open before adding, “Oh, and figure out a way to convince my daughter that I would never hurt her—and that it’s ok to love me.”

  Eliza Blackman. Levi Stone. Frost’s mom. None of my thoughts surrounding them made me as violently nauseous as Frost’s biggest problem: that Lila was wary of him. Current speculations were that Eliza came and left the girl with Frost because her then-sugar daddy, Wes, wasn’t too thrilled with having the baby around.

  From what I’d gathered, Lila was fine around women, but men were a different story. It had taken over a year before she could see and remotely interact with Frost without screaming and bursting into tears. The disgusting truth went unsaid between the few people involved that the girl had been abused.

  The look in Frost’s eyes told me the even worse truth that he knew this was something that Eliza would try to use against him if she knew how their daughter reacted to her own father—that she would try to accuse Frost of abusing his own kid.

  “If I think of something, I’ll let you know.” Ducking my head, I grabbed my backpack and started throwing a bunch of my shit into it, quickly realizing just how much stuff I had already brought over here. Shit.

  “Thanks.” For a second, I thought I heard him mumble ‘sorry,’ but by the time I looked up, he was gone.

  Fuck. I didn’t want to go home. Further proof that Frost’s annoyingly penetrating insight was right: I was still running.

  There comes a point in life when you think that you know someone—for better or for worse—Shit. No. That was not the right phrase to use with respect to him. And then they do something that is completely unexpected, something that rips the rug right out from underneath your feet. For some of us unlucky few, that point is like an alarm on a clock that we consistently and unavoidably reach each day. Or week. Or year. In my case, I reached that point every time my damn alarm clock chimed ‘Chance.’