The Winter Games Box Set

by Rebecca Sharp

  It didn’t matter if I was promised a Danny-approved dinner, and that I’d be home to get my requisite hours of sleep, I shouldn’t have agreed to a double-date. Especially when I had no interest in dating.

  Especially when I still couldn’t stop thinking about Kyle.

  I let out a soft groan. My vibrator had made it into my nightly routine as I remembered the man who made me feel safe by letting me be strong.

  I opened the door to her walk-in closet, running my hands over the rainbow of colors that hung from the rack. I just needed something simple. I hadn’t brought much in the way of going-out attire because during crunch time I lived and breathed my training either on the mountain or in the gym. And that meant snow clothes and Star Wars tees were the backbone and all the branches of my wardrobe.

  Any time set aside for me to decompress and relax was usually spent with Star Wars re-runs and some hot tea in my hotel room or wherever I was staying.

  Going out meant people, and people meant too many variables I couldn’t control.

  I pulled out a dark denim tunic dress that looked like it would be both comfy and classy enough for the restaurant we were going to tonight, Grain. I even took a look at their menu online to confirm that yes, there really was no way for me to get out of this evening.

  Walking out of the closet, I looked up from my find to be stopped short in my tracks at the picture on Marissa’s dresser; it was of her, Evan, and me from when we were younger and training at Lake Louise, before he and I were dating, back when life was as simple as snow and the happiness it brought.

  I knew our relationship ran deep but lately, our actions had been fueled by guilt. Me coming out here to compete, her inviting me to stay because she felt guilty for how we’d drifted apart after Evan. Me accepting because I felt guilty about what happened to her brother, guilty that I still had to hold the truth from her. Her inviting me out places because she didn’t want me to be here alone, she wanted us to do things together. Me accepting because I felt bad saying no when all she was trying to do was make me feel welcome.

  It was a constant toxic volley back and forth, layered over with remnants of a friendship I honestly wasn’t sure could recover. Some days I wondered if what we had died, too, along with him.

  “Sorry.” I turned as Marissa murmured her apology, a purple robe and toweled head walking in front of me to turn down the photo I’d gotten stuck on. “I forgot I had that in here.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I said tightly, righting the frame. She had every right to mourn the brother he was and the man she knew. “Just remembering what good times we had.”

  A sad smile crossed her face. It wasn’t for him though; it was for me. She thought after all these years, I still hadn’t moved on from his death. I’d moved up, not on… and most days I could convince myself that was enough.

  “Yeah, we did.” Her eyes trailed down to the hanger and dress draped over my arm. “You find something?”

  “Yeah.” I held up the dress to my chest. “You think this is okay?”

  “Yeah, that’s perfect! It’s going to look so cute with your hair!”

  I rolled my eyes. The short hair was really for convenience, not for style. Although I’d gotten enough compliments to realize that it may be my best look. Even my mother, who’d always insisted I have classically long hair straightened and styled with my make-up done before I left the house, complimented me.

  Both my parents were skiers. They’d each only made it semi-professionally during their careers and then threw their love of the sport onto me when I was only three years old. We’d lived outside of Vail for most of my life with yearly trips to various ski havens around the world. And then, in a shocking turn of events, they’d retired to Florida of all places, wanting to relax in sun and sand instead of cold and snow.

  I usually went to see them at the end of the season before summer training. Sometimes, I even did a few weeks of training down there. They didn’t like to travel as much anymore with my dad’s COPD worsening especially in high altitudes where oxygen saturation was already lower.

  I paused at the door. “You’re sure this guy knows this isn’t a date, right?”

  She groaned. “Yes. I never should have used the word double date. Group dinner. We’re having a group dinner where one of the other guests just happens to be someone who I’m seeing casually.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled as I walked toward the now steam-free bathroom to do my face.

  “Oh, by the way”—her head peered into the doorway—“I’ve already informed all parties that you are on a strict bedtime schedule as per Nanny Danny.” We both laughed at the ridiculous nickname she’d dubbed him with. “However, I just want to let you know that I think Shawn and I are going to grab drinks at the resort bar, Breakers, after dinner.”

  She held up her hand just as my mouth opened.

  “You’re not invited. Forbidden, actually,” she teased. “Just didn’t want to surprise you when I hand you the keys after dinner to take yourself home.”

  “Okay. Duly noted,” I said with a soft chuckle, shaking my head as I popped the cap on my eyeliner.

  We were the first to arrive at the shabby-chic farm-to-table restaurant on the fifth floor in the main building of the Snowmass resort. Even though I wasn’t particularly thrilled about the evening ahead, I was happy for Marissa. I noticed how we were fifteen minutes early even when she’d always been the one to be ten minutes late. I noticed how she chewed on her lower lip and kept adjusting her necklace nervously, her eyes scanning down over the menu far too quickly to be able to actually absorb the words on it.

  She really liked this guy.

  And for that, I was going to do my best to keep my cool bitch under control—the part of me that was now naturally untrusting and violently defensive against any type of romantic relationship that was more than a quick lay. Most people would think you can never be too careful. In my opinion, ‘too careful’ was hardly careful enough.

  “Everything looks good,” I said as soon as I saw the pickled brussel sprouts appetizer; Marissa just murmured in agreement, her head constantly tilting to look at the door behind me.

  I’d made it about halfway down the list of entrees, the sweet potato and black bean burger calling my name when Maris stood, her chair skidding back behind her, and the brightest smile lighting her face.

  “Hey!” She walked by my chair to greet her almost-boyfriend and the mystery Mike he was bringing.

  Taking a deep breath, a smile worked its way up onto my cheeks as I stood to finally meet this guy I’d heard so much about over the past week.

  “Shawn,” I stuck out my hand. “It’s so nice to me—”

  I’d done a lot of things in my life—daring, life-threatening things. Skiing at the speed of light, off cliffs, on cliffs, down unmarked trails, and out of helicopters. But seeing Kyle as he walked up behind Shawn wasn’t like any of those things. It wasn’t instant shock and adrenaline.

  It was slow and suffocating. It was painful.

  And I was the only one tortured.

  My eyes narrowed. He wasn’t surprised to see me at all. He was prepared.

  My body tensed like a shock had been run through it, the pained alertness mingling with the warm tingles that I wished I could ignore.

  The closest thing this moment came to was when I’d taken Jiu Jitsu for self-defense and my training partner had me in a choke. The blood pounding in my head, trying to make it through my blocked arteries. The loss of sense of the rest of my body as blackness bled in from the edges of my vision.

  This was that moment where I began to wonder if I was going to make it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tap out from this dinner; I could only hope I made it out alive.

  “You.”

  I wasn’t finishing my sentence. I was accusing him—like in the end of every crime solving story where the victim realizes that it was someone close to them who did the deed when the masks come off and the mystery is revealed. This was that moment.
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  “Great to finally meet you, too, Jaclyn,” Shawn continued blithely, like the connection of my and Kyle’s stares wasn’t enough to burn this place to the ground. “This is my friend, Kyle.”

  I didn’t know what to expect. As I stuck my hand out, I wondered if he was going to give away that we already knew each other very well. My stomach dropped at the thought of him revealing anything about the night we spent together, especially, well, any of it.

  That night was both so wrong and so necessary and I still fought with myself every day whether to forget it completely or try to repeat it.

  Forget him. Remember winning.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Kyle,” I said, my voice only catching on his name as he took my hand in his larger, stronger one. It was hard to remember winning when I could remember those hands instead. “Please, call me Jac.”

  I watched his eyes drink me in, the same expression he’d worn at the bar when I’d insisted on defending myself: the one that pulsed with protective respect, abiding by my choice on how to handle the situation but expecting a damn good reason for it later.

  “Nice to meet you… Jac,” he replied huskily. It was the only indication that this wasn’t our first meeting—and only I heard it.

  I felt his gaze on me as we all took our seats. Not obvious enough for our friends to notice or for me to even catch him, but I knew it was there, raking over every inch of the woman who instigated that magical night and then left in a fairytale flee.

  The waitress came over in the next minute to take drink and appetizer orders. I wanted to request a glass of wine, I really did. But this night was going to be damaging enough, I couldn’t afford to let it drag into the morning again.

  As soon as she was gone, Marissa and Shawn got caught up in some discussion about a show that they were both watching—something that I couldn’t even pretend to know about in order to join in their conversation.

  You’ve handled worse, Jac. A lot worse.

  Licking my lips, I straightened my spine and turned toward the only option left—the man who was the perfect storm of nice and respectful and sexy as fuck. I just needed to tread water for a few hours, that was all.

  “So, Kyle, what do you do?” I asked, putting on the mask that always served me well, even though beneath the table, my legs were crossed in preparation.

  His eyebrows raised for a moment to say ‘so that’s how we are going to play this?’

  “I’m a physical therapist for one of the local rehab facilities,” he replied coolly, his jaw ticking after he spoke, his eyelashes fanning down over his cheeks as he took a sip of his water.

  I granted him a smile for playing along. “That’s great that you like to work with people. It must be so rewarding.”

  “Well, I’m not a savior”—my hands tightened on my dress at his inflection—“but I do enjoy taking care of people.”

  This time I only managed a tight nod before I reached for my own glass, desperately wishing one of us was the Savior that could turn my water into wine.

  “It’s funny,” he continued. “I work with all sorts of people—young, old, athletes, non-athletes, but you know what I’ve found?”

  “What?” I squeaked out, wanting to know but really not wanting to know.

  “Would you believe me if I told you that it’s always the strongest people who have the hardest and longest time healing from an injury?” He arched one of his model-perfect eyebrows.

  It was a good thing I swallowed because I would have choked on my water. As it was, I’m surprised the glass didn’t shatter as I gripped it. My heart picked up its pace like I was about to start a run down the mountain. The butterflies in my stomach weren’t fluttering, they were chanting my name, this time in warning.

  “No,” I ground out, seeing no choice but to answer honestly and prepare for the worst. “I don’t think I would; they should be the most capable.”

  He nodded, our conversation cordial on the outside but war underneath. Every word, every inflection layered with shadows of our encounter from the other night. Every movement and glance fought in the space between us: his, wanting what he couldn’t have and mine, wanting what I shouldn’t.

  “Technically speaking, their bodies are the most capable, but, as with so many things, it’s not the body that holds us back from accomplishing something but our minds.”

  Right now, I itched to choke him out just so he would stop talking—so he would stop making sense of things I’d rather not face. It was like he’d looked at me, seen my flaws, and spoke right to them—bypassing every drop of blood, sweat, and tears that stained the walls around my heart.

  I cleared my throat and tipped my head up a notch defiantly. “Or maybe it’s not their minds holding them back but their bodies making sure to heal in a way that will ensure that they never break in the same place again.”

  I tightened my legs against each other, forcing myself not to fidget under his stare that unnerved me. “I’m sure you know that more than anyone,” he said with a low voice.

  My head whipped to him, the harsh movement radiating down my body as my hand knocked over my water glass it was resting on.

  I stared in shock as the water approached the edge of the table in slow motion. Suddenly, there was a white napkin damming it up, Kyle reaching over to right the glass.

  I looked up to him just as he murmured, “As a professional athlete, I’m sure you know that more than anyone.”

  Two meanings to every phrase. Two sides to every story.

  It had been easy to live in a world of my own dichotomies until I invited him into it.

  “Let me grab you another water,” he offered.

  I raised a hand to stop him but he was already gone in search of our waitress or, more likely, to draw water from a stone if that was what it took to fill me another glass.

  It was the simple things like this that stunned me. My life prepared me for the big things—the injuries, the competitions, the gossip, the backstabbing. For as much time as I spent perfecting my skills on the mountain, I’d spent the same, if not more, making sure that my emotions were just as trained, just as resistant to injury from gossip and vitriol.

  I didn’t prepare it for kindness. I didn’t prepare it for concern or tenderness. I didn’t prepare it because I no longer expected it; I’d been trained not to. And now, I didn’t know what to do.

  And that scared me.

  I blinked and suddenly I was back at the rose-petal-covered table at Nina’s, Evan and mine’s favorite Italian restaurant. He’d just proposed to me and I was laughing and crying, too emotional to decide between the two. In my excitement to touch him, hug him, I’d knocked over my water that was on the table, spilling it all over our dessert and into the empty velvet box that he’d pulled the giant diamond from.

  He’d cursed and jumped back from the table like it was lava instead of harmless liquid, immediately looking around to see who was watching—which was most of the restaurant because he’d just proposed.

  I should have known the moment that he didn’t get down on one knee. It should have been the final sign that he was too threatened and resentful of what I’d accomplished that he couldn’t even lower himself out of love to propose.

  He didn’t try to save me from the water that soaked onto my new dress. He didn’t make any attempt to clean up the mess. And he didn’t offer to get me another water; in fact, he joked to the waiter that I should be cut off for the night.

  My face was red for the rest of the evening for a whole different reason. Even remembering it now brought the warmth of embarrassment to my cheeks.

  But I’d been young and dumb. I’d known Evan forever. I knew he had a kind heart, so I wrote it off and continued to believe in the fairytale. And the end of our story was so tragic I didn’t just give up on happily-ever-afters, I stopped believing in happily-promising-beginnings.

  Another blink and I was back at the table, the only remnant of my spill was the damp spot on the tablecloth as Kyle set a new gla
ss of water down in front of me.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  “Of course,” was his reply.

  Of course, this is what good guys did. Until they turned into bad guys, that is.

  I WATCHED HER THE REST of dinner.

  While Shawn and Marissa carried the conversation, I watched her respond to them. When he asked Jac questions about skiing and competing, about the World Cup and winning, I watched the way her emotions rolled underneath her surface like she was made of glass; everyone thought they were seeing right through her when the truth was she was reflecting back what she wanted them to see, not what was real.

  Or at least not all of it.

  Even though the water spill had ended our private conversation, I still struggled to focus on anything else with her sitting right next to me. Her dress was loose except where she’d cinched it around her waist with a brown belt. Her muscled legs outlined by the rises and valleys in the black leggings she wore underneath. Like everything else about her, what she gave was just enough to satisfy most people.

  I wasn’t most people.

  I wasn’t surprised she went along with Shawn’s assumption that we hadn’t met before. I was hoping for different, but making Jaclyn Blanchard mine wasn’t going to be easy.

  But I was going to make her mine.

  One night was enough to know I needed more—to know I needed all of her, including the heart buried beneath her ice. I’d seen it for a second beneath her cold exterior which fractured when the water spilled. All I did was dry up the damn liquid before it ran everywhere. All I did was go grab her another glass. It wasn’t mind-boggling or earth-shattering. But, to her, it had been.

  Anger ripped through me seeing that face—seeing the shadow of how someone had made her weak. My warrior princess… made to feel like she shouldn’t expect even the simplest of courtesies.

  That was the moment I swore I was going to woo her. I was going to give her all of the small things until she finally gave in to me.

  At least, that was the plan. Assuming she didn’t choke me out first.