Devoted to the Blizzard: A romantic winter thriller (Tellure Hollow Book 3)

by Adele Huxley

  I bit my tongue. I counted to ten. I did everything my therapist recommended to control my temper, I swear. “You can knock it right off with that little lady bullshit. I know how to take care of myself, and if you knew the first thing about me, you’d understand that. That,” I snapped, pointing at the letter, “is dangerous. One way or another, it’s going to the police. Do we understand each other?”

  Josh leveled a look at me that I couldn’t read. It verged on respect, fear, and a touch of arousal. I tried my best to ignore that last one… He cleared his throat and nodded. “We’re crystal clear. I’ll take this to the police as soon as I leave here. Do you have anything else you want me to show them?”

  “No. I left the other letter at home.” Still furious, I tempered my voice so it at least sounded calm and quiet. I wasn’t angry so much at him but the general situation. I remembered my therapist’s training and sighed. “I’m sorry for losing my temper. I’m already under a lot of stress and something like this…”

  Josh put up a hand. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I’ll take care of you… it! I’ll take care of it!” He stammered, his face turning pink over the slip of the tongue. I also chose to ignore it, but my attitude towards him softened.

  “You had something you wanted to go over with me?” I said, changing the topic.

  “Ah, yeah.” He fumbled with the manila envelope, pulling out a thick stack of paper. “These are some questions I’ve gotten through from the various interviews we lined up for you. The stuff for the live interviews, these marked in blue, are mostly prep work. They’ve posed a bunch of questions that you can go through and yea or nay. The other questions are for written articles and those will be the real pain in the ass.”

  I flicked through them as he spoke, and fought a growing frustration. “It’s the same question over and over again. Can’t I just answer them once and they copy the answers?”

  “Unfortunately, if you want to do this the right way, you have to answer them all individually. It’s time consuming, but the journalists have already agreed to forgo direct interviews in place of your written responses. These aren’t just for New Zealand. There are global publications in there waiting to hear back.”

  “I just want to ski,” I groaned. All the other crap surrounding my career was more a means to an end. I did the publicity not because I wanted the attention, but for my sponsors. If the sponsors were happy and I won races, I’d get to compete more. They had been flexible enough to ward off the face-to-face interviews when I put my foot down. Of course, it’d taken my doctor to tell them my anxiety wouldn’t tolerate the stress, but it’s all the same in the end. “All right. How many are there?”

  “Nine. Four or five questions each. You only need to give them a few short sentences they can quote, and you’re done.” Josh tried to put a positive spin on what equated to hours of dull, monotonous work. Shit that’s keeping me away from Bryan and the mountain.

  I’d snapped enough at him for one morning. The poor guy was only doing his job. I fixed a fake smile, and met his gaze. “I’ll get these done today. Thanks for bringing them over so early. I might have some daylight left by the time I’m done.”

  I led the way back inside, chatting about the day as I saw him to the front door, and found Bryan in the kitchen. He stood at the oven topless, his back to us as we entered.

  “Good morning, babe,” I said quietly, afraid of making him jump.

  “Hey sexy. I wanted to wake you up that special way but you were gone when…” he started to say as he turned. He cut short when he saw Josh standing beside me. “Oh, sorry man.”

  “No worries,” Josh chuckled. For a split second, he scanned Bryan’s body, taking in the scars before looking away. They were a little jarring the first time. Plus, even if he didn’t know my background, I’m sure he’d heard all about Bryan’s crash. Everyone had. “I was just dropping off some work stuff and now I’m pretty sure I’m on your missus’ hit list.” He turned to me and patted the envelope. “I’ll take this to the station straight away, let you know if they need anything more. Leave it with me. You have more important things to worry about.”

  For once, I felt surprisingly secure. I’d freaked, he’d listened, and things were going to get taken care of. “Important things, huh? I feel like you just dropped a school assignment on me. We’ll see about the hit list,” I laughed.

  “Again, sorry ‘bout that,” he grinned, touching my shoulder. I could feel Bryan’s eyes on the contact but didn’t move to brush Josh away. You let that little cutie bartender flirt with you? Let’s see how you like it.

  I said goodbye to Josh at the door, and returned to the kitchen. Bryan had plated up scrambled eggs, thick bacon, and a cup of fresh fruit.

  “Reminds me of our first breakfast,” I said with a wink. His sweatpants hung low on his narrow hips with no hint of underwear. A surge of longing ran through me. How long since we’ve been together?

  “Hopefully we don’t have to run off again so quickly,” he replied. “I didn’t realize you were going to make breakfast.”

  I frowned as I poked the eggs with a fork. “I didn’t. I thought you did.”

  “Nope,” he smiled around a bite of bacon.

  “That’s so weird. I don’t think I’d ever get used to people cooking and cleaning for me in the first place, but to do it sight unseen? It’s so elitist and bizarre.” I also didn’t want to admit it, but with the letters, I was completely freaked out. Should I even be eating food I didn’t prepare myself? But I knew Bryan would dismiss the thought if I’d voiced it. And, by the way he was wolfing down the food, he didn’t seem concerned.

  “I think it’s kind of cool, for a short amount of time of course. Like little elves that come in and out,” he grinned with a mouth full of food.

  ____________

  A couple hours later, I was deep into a second pot of coffee and slouched over the laptop. I’d attacked the questions with what I hoped would be a more clever solution. Most of them were very similar but phrased in annoyingly different ways. So I took the core question, answered it in my own words, and then tweaked that based on the exact phrasing the interviewer had put on it.

  For instance, all but one of them asked something to the effect of, “How does he feel to be dating/engaged to/around The Blizzard? Do you think that gives you an advantage over the other competitors?”

  My generic reply was, “Bryan and I manage to keep our professional and personal lives separate. While I respect his experience and take advice whenever he offers it, I have my own training techniques and methods. To be honest, I see Bryan as the man I’m going to spend my life with, not a professional skier.”

  What I really wanted to say was, “Get your greedy, gossipy little nose out of my personal life. I was somebody before I met Bryan, I will continue to be somebody after I marry him, and if you can’t separate the two of us as individuals, then you aren’t worth my time and energy.”

  Something told me an answer like that wouldn’t get by Josh. Nor would it win me any brownie points with the sponsors, reporters, and fans.

  Bryan gently knocked on the half-open bedroom door and poked his head inside. “Want a little distraction?”

  “Oh God, yes, please,” I replied as I pushed the laptop away. “You’re exactly the kind of distraction I was hoping for.”

  His handsome face lit up as he stepped inside. My heart sank when I saw the binder in his hand. My expression must’ve betrayed me because he immediately went on the offensive.

  “I know, I know, but it’s something we have to do. You can’t put it off any longer.” He settled on the bed and opened the thick book. “Pick one.”

  “I can’t,” I protested, falling to my side like a grumpy kid. I’d wanted him as the distraction, not more decisions.

  “It’s not difficult. Just point to the design you like.”

  “Do I have to?” I whined. “My brain is already fried from this shit, and now you’re bugging me about invitation
s.”

  “Most brides are excited about picking invitations and color schemes and cakes,” he chided. He shut the binder with a loud smack, and crawled up behind me. “You can tell me if you’re having second thoughts about the wedding.”

  “No! Of course I’m not.” I spun quickly onto my back, his arm slipping neatly around my waist. “Don’t you dare think that.”

  “What is it then? I thought you wanted a traditional wedding and all the crap that comes with it. If you can’t pick out what style invitation you want, how are we going to be able to decide on a menu or flowers or hell, even a dress!” Bryan was good humored, but there was a genuine edge to his voice. I knew I should’ve been helping, but the wedding was the furthest thing from my mind. I couldn’t force myself to care about such silly things.

  I lifted my head and kissed him quickly on the lips. “Send everyone an email, serve chicken, purple roses. Done.”

  “And the dress?” he asked with a smirk.

  “I’ll walk down the aisle naked. It’ll be a nude wedding. The tabloids would go nuts, don’t you think?”

  “Classy,” he laughed. “I’m being serious.”

  I sat up on my elbow and tossed my hair back over my shoulder. “So am I! I know I said I wanted all this stuff, but now that it comes down to it, all I want is to be your wife. Is that so bad?” I batted my eyes at him, milking the moment.

  His expression softened, hazel eyes sparkling as he studied my face. “Well, we’re committed now, kitten. You asked for a big wedding and that’s what we’re getting. I’m trying to help with all this, but you should have some input. It’s your wedding, too. Plus, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “That’s it!” I gasped. “You can take care of all of it. It’ll be like a surprise wedding!”

  Bryan’s eyebrow shot up. “A surprise wedding,” he replied dubiously. “Oh yeah, that’s not gonna blow up in my face or anything. You get pissed off when I buy generic cereal and the wrong kind of toilet paper, but you’re happy to let me design our wedding? That’s a mine field I’m not going anywhere near.”

  I glanced at the binder again and almost visibly cringed. Even from across the bed, I could feel the weight of it bearing down on my shoulders. The stress of the wedding was the last thing I needed on top of everything else. I sat up, a wicked smile curling my lips. “Then, why don’t we elope? We can stop by Vegas on the way home, get hitched, and send photos to everyone on the guest list.”

  “Uh huh, right,” he said, pretending to consider the suggestion. “Great idea except we’ve already put money down on the venue, reserved the caterer, and photographers… not to mention telling our families.”

  “Why not hire a wedding planner? Isn’t that exactly what they’re meant for?” I countered with a glimmer of hope.

  “Liz, not to be harsh, but we barely have enough money for all the stuff I just listed. We definitely don’t have the funds to pay a professional to sort it all out for us.”

  I pulled my knees up to my chest and sighed. “Plus, if we do it that way, we won’t get any presents.”

  Bryan gave me a playful slap on the thigh. “Real nice. You’re such a romantic.” His hand rested on my leg, rubbing the thin material of my pajama bottoms idly. After a moment’s thought, he paused. “Do you really want me to take care of everything?”

  “Would you hate me if I said yes?” I batted my eyelashes at him. We both knew I was working him, and we both knew I’d be successful.

  “I won’t hate you,” he said, leaning down to kiss my neck. “But you have to promise not to hate me if you end up walking down the aisle in a poofy teal wedding dress. I can see you holding this whole thing over my head for the rest of our lives.”

  “I swear it,” I declared, flashing my best Girl Scout salute. Inside, I did experience a little wave of anxiety at the idea of letting him take over. Just because I didn’t want to plan didn’t mean I wanted the whole thing to be hideous, and Bryan did have a weird affinity for wood paneling. “You know…” I said slowly as the idea formed in my head. “There is one thing we haven’t considered.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, bracing himself for my next crazy suggestion.

  “Selling out. Like, completely. I’m sure some magazine out there would kill to buy the exclusive rights to our wedding. We could use the money to pay for someone to make it perfect, right? And probably get a honeymoon out of the deal!”

  Bryan’s mouth fell open. “You want to sell the most important day of our lives as a couple to the highest bidder?”

  “When you put it that way… Ugh, fine. It was just an idea,” I said with a dramatic roll of the eyes. “I give you my blessing to take care of the whole thing. Just tell me when and where.” I turned back to the work that was waiting for me and groaned. “I have another twenty, thirty questions to answer still, and I can’t face it right now. I think I’m gonna go for a run on the treadmill downstairs. It doesn’t look like I’m gonna be able to get to the mountain today after all.”

  Bryan frowned at all the papers scattered around the bed. “Do you want me to do the questions?”

  I shook my head and laughed. “Why don’t you just ski for me too, and we can save all the hassle?” Almost imperceptibly, Bryan’s mouth tightened. I did it again. I spoke without thinking, and wound up hurting the man I loved most in the world. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. His expression didn’t even have to change for me to know I’d just poked a sore spot.

  “It’s fine. Go run. I’ll take care of the wedding stuff,” he said, pulling the wedding binder off the bed as he left.

  I wanted to call out, to apologize profusely, but I was sure I’d only make things worse. I watched him walk from the room, internally beating myself up. You are on the brink of getting everything you’ve been working towards for two years. Yet, some sick part of you keeps trying to sabotage it!

  I wanted the run to clear my head, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Bryan. Although I never said it outright, one of the biggest reasons I feared failure was because I felt like I’d be letting him down. He dipped into so much of his savings to pay for Janet, to get me the help I needed to get up to speed so quickly. It’d started as a silly conversation, something I blurted out while we were laying in post-orgasmic bliss.

  “I should become a competitive skier,” I’d said with a laugh. But he hadn’t laughed. He sat up on his elbow and looked down at me with such seriousness, I was afraid I’d said something insulting.

  “You should,” he’d insisted. “That’s a really good idea.”

  “No, come on. I was just kidding.” But no matter how hard I tried to brush him off, he kept pushing it. For weeks and weeks, he brought it up in sly little ways. He even went so far as to fly Janet out on the down low to watch me ski one afternoon.

  It was a dream I was afraid to reach for, an ambition I thought was as realistic as me becoming an astronaut or President. But when Janet told him I had potential, my dream became our dream.

  And that was it. I was officially on my way to becoming a full time competitive skier.

  Right after we met, I bought my childhood home for Dad, because it was the only good thing that came from my relationship with Rick and Kayla. Unfortunately, it tapped my bank account and with no money to my name, Bryan stepped up and paid for everything. A small fortune just to get me to this point, to even earn the times needed to place in a competition. “It’s our money, anyway,” he’d say, but I still felt that stab of guilt.

  So I worked as hard as I could, making sure that his faith in me wasn’t misplaced. Of course, I cared about winning and seeing my own dream come true. On the most difficult days, it was winning for Bryan’s sake that pushed me through the extra set, that added an additional five pounds to my lifts.

  And when I lose, we won’t have enough money for the wedding, let alone a honeymoon or a house.

  I cried out in frustration and slammed the stop button on the treadmill. Standing on either side as the track slowed, I he
ld the railings and panted to catch my breath.

  I shouldn’t be down here. I should be up there with him, enjoying the little time we get.

  ____________

  We caught a local bus down to the town and wandered around like a couple of tourists. It was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen. Queenstown hugs the shores of a lake and reflected in the still waters, a snowcapped mountain range. The faintest dusting of snow floated through the air, more sparkles than flakes, making the whole world look like we were caught in a delicate snow globe.

  All wrapped up in winter jackets, hats, and scarves, we held mittened hands and took in the sights. We stopped at a fancy chocolatier and tasted the most amazing lavender dark chocolate, grabbed a coffee from a corner cafe, and bought a few souvenirs for friends back home. It felt downright normal and for a few hours, we forgot our worries and were just Liz and Bryan.

  Slung around my neck was the camera Bryan had given me two years before, the same day we’d gotten engaged. With all my training and general depression, I hadn’t taken many photos in recent months. The natural, rugged beauty of New Zealand lit a creative flame inside. I was so glad I’d decided to pack it.

  Bryan was incredibly patient as I paused to frame a great shot of the lake and mountains, not once complaining about the cold. When he wasn’t looking, I managed to nab a few of him, mostly hanging out on the side, unaware I was even photographing him.

  As we circled around to the main street, Bryan suddenly tugged my hand. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”

  At first, I thought he was pulling us towards an awesome, quirky bar, but I quickly realized that wasn’t what he was focused on at all.

  “Oh no,” I grumbled as we jogged across the street.

  Bryan ran off like a kid in a toy store while I stood hesitantly in the doorway. The space was huge, a dozen televisions all showing clips of screaming people bungee jumping. Already, my heart was in my throat at the thought of it. As Bryan chatted with an equally enthusiastic guy at the desk, I read the signs and posters like I was in a museum. I kept my hands stuffed in my pockets and read from a distance. Even my body language didn’t want to commit to the idea of tossing myself off a cliff.