by Adele Huxley
“Do I have enough time to play a game?” I asked as I pinned my hair up, getting it off my neck.
“Yeah, probably,” he replied, his back to me as he stood at the stove.
I grabbed my tablet off the table. Instead of loading up my solitaire, I headed to the ESPN website. Making sure that Bryan was completely distracted, his shoulders hunched over the stove, I scanned the front page. After too many blowups, we’d both decided looking at anything pre-race should be considered a trigger, and something to be avoided. But like a bad addiction, I couldn’t keep away. Most of the time nothing riled me up, but not that afternoon.
I instantly locked onto her name. Nicole Drexel. My heartbeat immediately sped up and a buzzing, sickening sensation bloomed in my stomach. My finger hovered over the news story. I knew full well I shouldn’t read it, that reading it would do me no good whatsoever, but I had to indulge the compulsion. After another quick, guilty check to make sure Bryan wasn’t looking, I pulled up the article.
Drexel in Top Shape
Coach reports personal bests and clear focus.
In preparation for the upcoming New Zealand Alpine Championships, U.S. skier Nicole Drexel is pulling out all the stops. Training at an undisclosed location in South America, the 24-year-old is ready to prove she’s back to fighting strength after rupturing her ACL last year.
“I’m excited to get back out there and prove I’m the best the U.S. has to offer. I’ve put everything into my training, and the numbers are starting to show all my hard work,” Drexel said.
When asked about break-out competitor Liz Croyden, Drexel had this to say. “Everyone knows my story, and they know I’m not worried about anything or anyone. Of course, life would be easier if I had a blizzard padding my way down the mountain, but I don’t have that luxury.”
Drexel, along with competitors from a dozen countries, will compete in Queenstown, New Zealand later next month.
My ears rang. Blood pumped through my veins like it was on fire. I gripped the tablet with white knuckled fingers, desperately trying not to fling it across the room in a blind rage. I stared out the window and wanted to pound the thick tree trunks outside with my fists.
“We’re almost ready if you want to pour some... whoa, what’s going on?” Bryan could read my body in a number of ways. I turned to him and tried to find the words, but nothing came out. Instead, I merely waved the tablet once. He groaned. “What did you read now? Is it her again?” he asked, knowing full well that I’d broken our pact.
I nodded, finally tossing the tablet to the far side of the sofa with a huff of disgust. “How can I hate someone so much and barely know her?”
Bryan leaned against the counter, hung his head, and sighed. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Liz. She’s trying to get in your head, and it’s working. Just worry about yourself.”
“Everyone keeps freakin’ saying that today,” I cried as my temper flared. I knew he was right, but it felt like everyone was speaking to me like I was a child. “She called you out this time, too.”
His eyes flicked up, a competitive glimmer flashing there before fading away. It was like catching a glimpse of Bryan-before-we-met. “It doesn’t matter. I’m an easy target, which makes you one too.”
“She said I had a blizzard padding my way down the mountain,” I replied quickly, wanting him to share in my boiling anger. He refused to give me any such satisfaction.
Bryan straightened, set his jaw, and looked me dead in the eye. “Are you going to drop out of the race?”
“No,” I protested indignantly. The very idea pissed me off. I’d worked way too hard for that.
“Will her presence change the way you ski in any way whatsoever?”
“No.”
“Are you going to win?” he continued.
No. “Yes,” I said after a short pause. It wasn’t filled with confidence, but Bryan didn’t push the matter further.
“Then come eat your damn steak, and forget about that attention whore,” he declared, dropping a couple forks on the counter.
Despite my anger, I laughed loudly as I stood. “My goodness, Mr. Marsh! Such language!”
“Yeah, apparently you’ve been a bad influence on me,” he replied with a wink.
____________
Since I began training for the competition, our life had fallen into a regular routine. I woke early, spent most the day in the gym, came home just after Bryan returned from PT or work at the mountain. The balance and regularity was soothing, especially after the utter craziness that had brought us together. For years, all that time before I’d come to Tellure Hollow, I’d dreamed of a normal life. But the closer race day drew, the more the routine roughly chafed.
Like an itch you can’t quite reach, I felt antsy and irritable. Nothing quite made me happy or was good enough. Doubt crept into my mind, carried along on a steady stream of irritation. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get comfortable. My own skin felt like it didn’t fit right. I’d start reading a book in the hopes of distracting myself from the stream of complaints in my head, but found myself reading the same paragraph over and over again while I remained lost in my miserable thoughts. I could usually work out my frustrations in the gym, but even that wasn’t working.
Later that week, I had an absolutely abysmal training session with Janet. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t lift, had no balance. Worse yet, I had absolutely no drive to fix anything at all. I accepted the horrible results as proof positive that I was doomed to fail. Thoroughly frustrated with my performance, Janet sent me home, but not before chewing me out for ten minutes about keeping my head in the game.
I climbed into the truck and slammed the heel of my hand against the steering wheel. For a moment, I considered driving to Powder Mountain to see how the dirt bike tracks were coming along, maybe meeting Bryan for a surprise lunch, but wrote it off. I’m not exactly the best company right now, I thought.
Instead, I went straight home and wallowed in my own self-pity for a few hours. By the time Bryan returned from work, I’d slipped all the way down a spiral of self-loathing and doubt. He opened the door to find me on the floor in the living room, sprawled out on my back, a half-eaten pint of fudge ripple swirl ice cream melting into a sad liquid mess beside me.
Without a word, he shut the door and sat on the coffee table beside me. For several minutes, we sat in silence until I finally rocked my head to the side to look at him.
Our eyes met, and he smiled warmly. “What’s going on?”
I hated feeling like I was this emotional wreck he needed to put back together all the time. I didn’t want him to find me like this, but the day has a strange way of slipping by when you’re staring at the ceiling. I searched for the right way to explain the mess of emotions choking my throat. All the doubt, worry, and fear was a black stain on every thought. What ended up coming out was nothing short of comical.
“Janet yelled at me,” I said flatly.
Bryan pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. “Okay...”
I slammed my fist down on the floor, only adding to the toddler-like temper tantrum. “It’s not funny!” It felt impossible to adequately explain what her disapproval meant to me.
“Okay! Okay, it’s not funny. Why did she yell at you?”
Tears stung the corners of my eyes and I had to look away. “Because I suck. Because these past two years have been a supreme waste of time and energy and money, and I’m going to make a total ass out of myself. Because I’m a selfish bitch who put our wedding on hold to pursue some stupid idea I had no right going for.”
“She said all that?” I rolled my eyes, but didn’t respond. Bryan bent and wiped a loose tear from my temple with his thumb. “Then I guess we have only one choice.”
“What?” I sniffed.
“We’re gonna have to kill Janet. We’ll bury her out back, put a fire pit in on top, just like you’ve always wanted,” he chuckled.
I half snorted and sobbed. “Don’t make me laugh! I’m
serious. This whole thing is ridiculous, and all the money we’re spending would be better spent on a down payment or a honeymoon!” I met his eye once more and whined. “If I don’t win, we don’t even get a honeymoon when we finally do get married.”
“I don’t care about that. You know I think every day with you is a honeymoon,” he smiled, dimples appearing.
I whacked him with the pillow I’d been resting on as I sat up. “Damn it, be serious.”
He took a deep breath. “You aren’t selfish, you don’t suck, and I would be happy living on the street if you were by my side.” He lifted my chin with a finger, his hazel eyes filled with love. “Would a selfish person spend their entire savings on buying their childhood home for their father?”
A lump grew in my throat at the memory. All that money, all that time and struggle... “At least I did one thing right,” I sniffed. “I really wish you could’ve seen Dad’s face. He hadn’t been that happy since before Mom died.”
“Exactly. You deserve to pursue your dreams, Liz. I love you, I’m proud of you, and I’ll support you no matter what you decide to do.”
“I love you, too,” I whispered. Even if I screw everything else up, I’m glad I have him. He’s the only thing that truly matters.
____________
I stared at the letter in my hand, my brain struggling to comprehend what exactly I was looking at. It was a promo photo I’d done when the race had been announced at the beginning of the year. I stood in my downhill gear, holding my skis, and smiling at the camera. The photographer had insisted on putting me at the top of Powder Mountain, even though we’d had to shut down an entire run to do the shoot.
It took me a minute to process what was wrong with the photo, let alone why someone had mailed it to me. As I stared, I realized I could see the floor through a spot where my head was supposed to be. Someone had physically cut a circular hole, decapitating me.
“What the fuuu—” I whispered, sticking my finger through the gap with a wiggle. I reached inside the envelope, pulling out a plain piece of white copier paper. As I unfolded it, dozens of my cut-out heads fluttered to the floor like some morbid confetti. The writing on the letter was scrawled in gray pencil, harsh, violent lines.
#10
See you then!
The rest of the mail fell to the floor as my hands began to tremble. I flipped the photo back over. What the hell is this all about? I bent to pick up the rest of the letters that had fallen on the floor, rifling through them to find the envelope this had come in. It was addressed to me at Bryan’s house, stamped and everything, but didn’t have a return address.
I sat on the floor with a thud, suddenly feeling lightheaded. It’d been three years since everything had gone down with Rick and Kayla, but my anxiety was still on edge. Any little thing could throw me off balance, threaten to send me into a full blown panic attack. Closing my eyes, I dropped the paper and concentrated on my breathing. I imagined all the anxiety-laced air in my lungs as red. The air I slowly pulled in through my nose was blue. When the two mixed, it created purple... calm, beautiful purple. Concentrating on slowly exhaling, I focused on the blended purple air I was releasing. Sounds silly, I know, but it’s one of the only things I picked up in therapy that seemed to work.
“Liz, what are you doing?” Bryan asked as he came in from the bedroom.
I didn’t respond, clinging desperately to the small amount of balance I’d managed to find in the breathing exercise. I merely pointed to the pile of mail in front of my knees, my gaze unfocused. I teetered on the edge.
With a comforting hand on my shoulder, Bryan crouched down with a small grunt and picked up the photo. He studied it for a moment, and then his eyes fell to the scattered, decapitated heads on the floor around me.
After a moment, he threw it back down on the floor, turning his attention to me. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” I said.
“Someone sent this to you?” I nodded once. Even that admission was enough to make me feel woozy again. “It’s nothing. Don’t let it get to you,” he soothed, sitting on the floor beside me.
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” I said with a powerful exhale. I didn’t want to snap at him. He’d been an amazing support through all my recovery and therapy, holding me close for hours as I struggled with PTSD induced anxiety. It’s difficult to walk away from a triple homicide and attempted murder without some lasting damage.
He sat with me in silence, slowly rubbing my back. My pulse began to slow, no longer feeling like my heart was going to leap from my chest. I opened my eyes and focused on Bryan. Gorgeous, amazing, I-can’t-believe-I’m-his-fiancée Bryan.
“Do you think she did it?”
“Who? Nicole? No, come on. Even she wouldn’t stoop this low. It’s probably just some crazy...” he stopped suddenly.
“I’m not as fragile as you think I am,” I whispered, not even believing it myself.
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Lauren read the text message for the tenth time, nervously biting her bottom lip.
Wear something sexy. Remember, you’re single, flirty but not slutty. Follow his lead with conversation and above all, show him a good time. You’ll do great, sweetie!
Well hopefully I’ve got the sexy part down, she thought as she smoothed a wrinkle from her black pencil skirt. She tugged at the ruffled collar on the sleeveless blouse, exposing more cleavage. I just hope I can manage the rest.
She reapplied the red lipstick she’d nervously chewed off and briefly considered telling the driver to keep going. As the car stopped in front of the restaurant, she realized it was too late for that. She was already in too deep. Taking a few calming breaths, she paid and stepped out. Winding her way through the crowd, Lauren searched for the man she’d seen only briefly earlier that day.
Damon Kael wasn’t a man easily overlooked. Mid-40’s with salt and pepper hair, even from a distance she’d noticed a fantastic body beneath the tailored suit. Within moments, she spotted him sitting at the bar, his arm casually draped over the back of the chair. She flicked her dark hair back, squared her shoulders, and sauntered over to him.
“Mr. Kael, I’m Lauren Kemp. I believe you spoke with my colleague Faith earlier,” she said extending her hand.
He took her hand and kissed her softly on the cheek, his stubble scratching her slightly. His eyes were focused, penetrating. She felt stripped bare by just one glance. “Yes, please have a seat. Do you drink?”
Swallowing her nerves, Lauren gracefully sat on the chair beside him and nodded. Just as she opened her mouth to tell him her normal drink, he flagged the bartender over.
He eyed her for a moment before saying, “She’ll have a Bee’s Knees. Another tonic for me.”
She was taken aback. No one had ever ordered for her like that before. She nearly corrected him by ordering something different but remembered who she was with and why she was there. Instead, she smiled sweetly.
“I’ve never heard of that parti
cular cocktail, thank you.” She crossed her legs slowly, the skirt riding up her thigh.
“It’s sweet but has a bite, not unlike most women.” He held her gaze, his eyes a pale shade of sea green.
“Aw, I promise I won’t bite,” she said touching his knee.
He arched his eyebrow slightly. “That’s too bad,” he said calmly and looked away.
Lauren’s gut lurched at that comment but she steadied her reaction. She was used to always being the one in control, the one being chased, playing the games. Maybe this is what it’s like with older men, she thought. She couldn’t deny there was a part of her that wanted to grab his attention, make him look twice. He couldn’t just dismiss her so quickly. I can’t be this rusty...
“Well maybe if you ask nicely I could accommodate you,” she purred.
“No, I never have to ask.” His smile, while disarming, didn’t seem to reach his eyes. She felt her stomach flipflop in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. I know this is supposed to be work but I suppose there are worse people I could accompany to dinner.
As Lauren chewed on his last statement feeling completely out of her depth, the bartender delivered their drinks. A murky, faint pink concoction swirled in the cocktail glass. Lavender and honey scents wafted through the air. After a tentative sip she had to stop herself from swallowing the entire drink. Not only was it delicious, but she hoped the liquid courage might settle her nerves. She noticed he was watching her reaction.
She turned to him and laughed softly. “Mr. Kael, you have impeccable taste. I think I might have found a new favorite drink.”
“Please, call me Damon.”
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I parked the car in the back lot, heading in one of the secret back entrances I’d since learned about. It was my main point of entry now, easier to avoid the growing mob of protesters outside.