The Winter Games Box Set

by Rebecca Sharp

  “No!” I scoffed immediately.

  I was going to be skiing until it killed me or injured me enough to make me incapable—the result of both, in my mind, was essentially the same.

  “No, I just… I didn’t expect it to be so hard,” I admitted slowly, my voice laden with the sorrows of the past. “After so long, I didn’t expect for the little things to set me off. She was going out and it was better to do that than be alone.”

  Danny was probably the only person on the face of the planet who I’d ever admit this to—who I’d ever show weakness in front of. Mostly because he knew me so well that it was like confessing to myself. I couldn’t even think about telling Marissa. I couldn’t even tell her about Kyle knowing it would come back to this.

  It wasn’t her fault that her brother was gone; she’d tell me that it wasn’t mine either even though it was.

  “Oh, Jaclyn…” He put a hand on top of his head and slowly shook it back and forth. “How many times do I tell you—”

  “I know,” I bit out, turning my skis down the slope. “I know, D. It won’t happen again.”

  “We’ll finish today out here,” he replied curtly, both of us unhappy with where this conversation came from and where it was going. “Tomorrow I’ll send you a yoga and cycling routine that I want you to complete and then next week we will begin alternating between on slope training and strength and conditioning in the gym.”

  I agreed with a small nod, the kind that meant I was disappointed in myself for letting something so trivial even get close to touching my dream—the thing I held above all else—the only thing I was good for.

  And then I was off, flying… searching… for the speed that made the wind feel cold enough to freeze any attempt of my broken heart to start beating again.

  Last night, I’d wanted to feel more than I’d wanted not to.

  Last night, I’d been too proud and thought I could walk away without a second thought, not realizing that every time I thought I was pushing him away, I was only letting him get closer—deeper underneath my skin.

  He was too good—over-the-top kind of good—and I’d been foolish to think that the little bits and broken pieces of me wouldn’t begin to fall.

  Good thing I was familiar with falling. Every time I fell, I knew how to take stock of the situation, assess the damage, analyze where I’d gone wrong, and formulate the appropriate solutions to ensure that it never happened again.

  The situation: I’d slept with a man whose very nature implied he would want more from me than I could give.

  The damage: The cracks around the shell of safety I lived in, letting emotions bleed in and out—emotions I couldn’t afford if I was going to win. And I had to win.

  Where I’d gone wrong: Thinking that one night with him would be enough.

  The solution: Stay away from Kyle. Whatever the cost. However big of a bitch I had to be. I had to stay away.

  I TOLD MYSELF I WAS making it up. After a week of hearing and seeing nothing of my teal-eyed, exotic Cinderella, it was the only solution.

  She’d never been there. I’d never taken her home. That night had been nothing but a dream. But I wasn’t creative enough to dream up something like that.

  “Oh, Kyle!” An elderly, sing-song voice called behind me and stopped me in my tracks with a smile and a laugh.

  I was standing in the gym, watching some more of the competition coverage of the mountain preparation for the World Cup while I waited for my first afternoon patient to get here—an older gentleman, Jack, who’d just had both of his knees replaced.

  “Miss Betty,” I said as I turned, my smiled growing wider.

  I watched the old woman with the bright-white permed hair, a kind, round face, slight hunch to her back, and good heart maneuvered toward me with the help of her cane.

  Miss Betty was not my patient but she was a fan. Last year, she’d had one of her hips replaced after a fall. Jessa had been her physical therapist during her recovery, but the damn woman was always coming over to chat with me, batting her eyes. I think one time she even snuck away from Jessa to watch me working out in the hydrotherapy pool room.

  I mean, it was pretty fucking hysterical—especially when she thought there might be something going on between Jessa and me.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  Jessa had told me last week that Betty was having the other hip replaced this year and would be back in the gym in no time.

  “Oh, I’m so much better now, young man,” she said with a voice that wavered only slightly as her smile grew large.

  “Good. And the surgery went well?”

  She waved me off with her other hand. “Easy as pie for a young woman like me.”

  I chuckled. “Glad to hear that.”

  “Yes! I was thinking about celebrating. How do you feel about purple?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Purple.” She pointed to her head. “For my hair. White makes me feel old.”

  “I think purple would look great.” And it would match much better to her vibrant personality, that’s for sure.

  “So, what’s new with you? Do you have a special someone in your life now?” She poked at my foot with her cane as her already-hooded eyes narrowed even further.

  Black silk hair and transparent teal eyes flashed in my mind.

  “Nope.” Her head tilted. She didn’t believe me. “I would never do that to you, Miss Betty,” I added, hoping that humor would derail any further questioning.

  She harrumphed and stepped closer to me. If she hadn’t been an eighty-year-old woman, it would have been close enough for an invasion of personal space.

  “Miss Betty!”

  I looked up to see Jessa walking toward me, her pink hair high in a ponytail, shaking her head and mouthing an apology to me.

  Startled, Betty straightened, her investigatory gaze wiped blank from her face and replaced with one that I could only describe as dazed and confused.

  “Oh… oh, yes?” she said, with a small, weak stammer to her voice.

  Jessa pointed a finger at her and scolded, “Don’t you even try to pretend with me, Miss Betty. I told you to go wait in the pool room for me.”

  “Y-You did?” Even I wondered if it was an act. “I must have gotten lost… and confused.”

  Jessa rolled her eyes. “In the Hydroworx room. I’ll be right there.”

  With a meek nod, Betty took a step before turning her head to me and giving me a wink.

  I held in my laughter for about five steps before my chest deflated and Jess and I both shook our heads in disbelief.

  “Betty is a piece of work,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I mean, at this rate, Betty might be the only shot I have at a serious relationship,” I said with an exaggerated, forlorn sigh.

  Jess smacked my arm, her laugh warm and melodic as it echoed through the gym. It was strange—the comparison. After she and Chance got back together, I kept a respectable friendship and co-workership with her, but when I thought about how I was attracted to her and how I wanted Cinderella, it was like night and day.

  No, not even that.

  It was like living under water and then finally coming up for air. Colors. Sounds. Smells. Everything the same but different.

  “You okay?”

  My eyes jerked back to her face, lost again in memories of last Friday.

  “Yeah, I’m good, I’m just—” I’d been fine. I’d gone to respond, my eyes quickly scanning the gym for my next patient, when they were held hostage by the TV and teal eyes.

  ‘Jaclyn Blanchard began her training on the mountain this week and she’s here to share a few words with us. How has everything felt?’

  Cinderella’s clear gaze kept eye contact with the reporter as he spoke, a serene smile on her face. She was tense. She looked calm and attentive, but she wasn’t. It was like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Good. Uneventful,” came her well-worn reply.

 
; Uneventful. Knocking out someone at a bar, going home with a stranger and screwing him until the sun came up before disappearing without even leaving a goddamn glass slipper was uneventful.

  “Kyle?”

  Jessa’s voice jarred me back to her confused and concerned face. “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, just been hearing a lot about Jaclyn Blanchard,” I trailed off, her name tasting like cool mint on my tongue.

  “It’s okay.” And that would be the second woman this morning to not believe it. “I gotta get in there before Betty decides this is an invitation to come back out here and flirt with you, but we should get lunch or something next week, yeah?”

  “Sure,” I nodded. My eyes returned to the screen as soon as she was gone.

  Jaclyn fucking Blanchard.

  Maybe that was why she wouldn’t tell me her name. Still, even a first name wouldn’t have been too damn hard to hand over. Christ, what did she think? That I would only want to sleep with her if I knew she was famous?

  I didn’t care who the hell she was. She may not have needed a savior, but she deserved the respect of not being fucked and forgotten after one night.

  ‘What do you think your chances are against Andrea Jensen?’ the reporter asked.

  From the background noise of the news this morning, I’d heard that the Norwegian skier, Andrea Jensen, was Jaclyn’s biggest rival—if you could even call her that. Essentially, Andrea was the only person who could come close to beating her—if New York City and Tokyo could be considered ‘close.’

  My gut clenched as Jaclyn smiled, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  ‘There is no chance,’ she began confidently as her smile grew. ‘I’m going to win because I’m the better athlete. I know her, I know how she works, how she approaches the mountain and the skills required to conquer it. And I know that it will never be enough to make her better. She’s a mechanical skier, and it won’t get her anywhere near the gold. You’d do better to ask her how she feels about her chances for silver because I see even that slipping from her pretty soon.’

  There was a moment of shocked silence on the part of the reporter as he cleared his throat and tried to recover, not just from her critical words against her competition, but also from the harsh ones she’d levied against him.

  ‘Well, I see…’ the reporter stammered, finally collecting himself and turning to her with a shrewd expression that made my fists clench instinctively. ‘Do you think any of your opinions come from the events of—’

  ‘They aren’t my opinions. They are facts,’ she interrupted him coldly, putting an end to whatever drama he was about to bring up. ‘If she were a better skier, this would be an interesting discussion, but since she’s not, I’d suggest that we not waste any more time on her.’

  The look on her face said that she would walk right off camera—off live TV if her suggestion wasn’t respected.

  ‘Well, there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The classic Jaclyn Blanchard in all her golden glory is back to take her gold once more. I guess we’ll have to see what Ms. Jensen has to say about all this later tonight…’ He ended the interview, the bite in his tone unmistakable as it cut to a commercial.

  Jaclyn Blanchard.

  Now I knew her name and I sure as shit knew where I could find her. The problem was, she clearly didn’t want to be found.

  The gentleman in me insisted that I respect that and just take the night for what it was—magic. The man in me insisted that I not walk away; he screamed there was more to it than this—there was more hiding behind her chilly nonchalance.

  And what we had burned too hot to ignore.

  The easy thing to do would be to leave her alone—just like the easy thing to do was walk away and let her find her own ride home the other night, or drop her off and call a cab to come and get her.

  But the easy thing is rarely the right thing.

  The Ice Princess might live walled up in a frozen castle, but the problem with ice was, when exposed to warmth, she’d have no choice but to melt.

  I’d just finished wiping down the last of the machines, my patient just having left after a promising first session, when I heard the familiar uneven gait accompanied by the soft tap of a cane against the mats approach.

  “Who is she?”

  I sighed and shook my head. “Who, Miss Betty? And does Jessa even know you’re out here? Are you done?” I swore that this was the hardest part of Jessa’s job right here, reining in an almost ninety-year-old woman whose nosiness probably needed more therapy than her hip did.

  “I don’t answer to you,” she bristled and demanded again, “Now, who is the girl you are thinking about? I saw it. You can’t lie to me. That’s the upgrade you get at eighty, Kyle. A built-in lie detector. Worked fabulous for my last husband.”

  I didn’t know whether to groan or laugh. What the hell. Not like it mattered at this point. Not like Betty even knew who Jaclyn Blanchard was.

  “I met a girl the other night, but it’s not going to work out.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s not interested.” Well, she was interested in one thing…

  And many parts of me were certainly interested in that as well.

  “Is she certifiable?”

  A bark of laughter escaped me taking in her straight-faced questions.

  “You laugh, but that’s the only reason that makes sense. If she’s crazy, I suggest you forget her. Strongly suggest.”

  I nodded like I agreed.

  “If she’s not crazy, then she’s afraid.” she said with an eerie perception. “That’s how women work. We push away because we are genuinely not interested or because we are afraid of how interested we are. And since I find it unlikely you’re thinking about a girl who is genuinely not interested, I have to assume her problem is more of the latter.”

  “And if it is,” I drawled slowly. “What do I do about it?”

  She gasped with mock surprise. “Well, I’d say woo her, but I don’t think that term is used very often anymore.”

  “I know what it means.” I laughed. “And if she doesn’t want to be wooed?”

  “No woman in her right mind doesn’t want to be wooed by a kind, handsome specimen like yourself.”

  “Right, but—”

  “No buts,” she insisted. “I’m too old to be wrong. Now, I have an appointment at the hairdresser. If you want to woo someone who would assuredly be appreciative of the effort, you know where to find me.”

  I dropped onto the nearest bench as soon as she was gone, cupping my hands over my mouth.

  I wanted to take her advice. My dick really wanted me to take her advice. But how many times was I going to put myself out there before I learned that maybe white knights were a dying breed and wooing was a lost cause. Especially against a warrior princess who could so easily walk away.

  I reached in my pocket and pulled out my phone, noticing that I had two missed calls and three texts from Shawn.

  SHAWN

  I need you to come out with me tomorrow night.

  Double date.

  It’s an emergency.

  I groaned. The last thing I needed was another ill-fated evening out with my friend and another woman. My brain and body was still stuck on what to do about the last one.

  KYLE

  A double date isn’t an emergency.

  SHAWN

  It is when Mike bailed on me last minute.

  I really like this girl and she insisted that we had to do a double dinner because her friend is staying with her and she doesn’t want to leave her alone.

  I dialed his number, needing to make this short and sweet.

  “Look, Shawn, I want to help you out—”

  “Kyle, please don’t say no,” he begged. “It’s tomorrow, and I know Marissa will cancel if I’m not bringing a friend for her friend. I know it’s not your thing and I’m not saying you have to see her again, just be your normal nice-guy self and make a friend. In fact, you probably won’t have to worry about seeing h
er again because she’s only in town for the World Cup. And—” he broke off from his supposed-to-be-convincing rant and I heard some shuffling against the speaker, like he was using his hand to cup over his mouth and the phone.

  “I’m not supposed to say anything because people get fuckin’ weird and creepy around famous people, but her friend is actually a pretty famous athlete who is competing in a few weeks, so I doubt she’s interested in getting involved with anyone anyway.”

  I tensed as though a fire alarm had gone off inside my body, emergency systems kicking into place warning that something was coming.

  “What’s her name?” I asked hoarsely.

  “Will you come?”

  “Shawn,” I bit out. “What’s her name?”

  I knew before I asked. Part of me knew even before he mentioned that she was a World Cup athlete. Like dark clouds on the horizon, I saw the storm approaching before the first strike of lightening hit.

  “Jac Blanchard.”

  Cinderella.

  Fairytales and fate were more recent beliefs of mine, but when you’re standing there soaking wet, it’s hard to deny the existence of rain.

  This time, the night would be my surprise. It would be my chance to get to know her and not just her body. It would be my chance to woo her. If she thought I was like any other guy who’d be happy with one night to forget, she was about to learn just how wrong she could be.

  Nice guys may finish last, but they do fucking finish; I wasn’t going to quit when I knew what happened between us was special—was different.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “MARIS, CAN I LOOK IN your closet?” I yelled into the bathroom over the spray of the shower.

  “Yeah! I don’t want you wearing your ‘Wookie Hair Don’t Care’ t-shirt out to dinner to meet my boyfriend!”

  I rolled my eyes, not even dignifying her dig with a response; that shirt was cool (and comfy) as hell, and perfectly exemplified my love of Star Wars and complete indifference to whatever anyone thought of me.

  This was a giant mistake.