“Tuck—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“It’s time, Mollie. I shouldn’t have let it go on for this long.”
Once I finally told my parents about being pregnant when I started showing last month, they naturally assumed it was Tuck’s baby. We asked them not to tell his parents, that Tucker wanted to tell them on his own. That way they wouldn’t be planning for a grandchild that isn’t even theirs.
I know he’s right. This thing between us has snowballed out of control, and right now, with this baby coming, there’s no better time for a fresh, clean start. We’ll tell our families we aren’t together, and then I’ll tell Camden Hess he’s going to be a father.
After the holidays. After.
I stomp the snow off my tan and black Sorel boots before stepping inside The Pines ski resort. I scan the grandiose building with the wood flooring and rock walls. The circular, metal candle chandelier that hangs above a sitting area next to the stone fireplace. It’s only half past five, but the sun is already down, and there are clusters of tourists in snowsuits that have just come off the mountain in every corner.
“Have you ever stayed here before?” Tucker asks, lugging both of our suitcases behind him. Since I’ve been pregnant, it’s like he thinks I’m incapable of lifting a finger. It’s annoyingly endearing.
“Nope. Craig and Andrew want to snowboard, and apparently, the cabin is too far away.” My brothers complained about how long it took to get to The Pines from the cabin we rented on the outskirts of River’s Edge last year, so my parents booked us rooms here for the first few days.
“It’s nice,” he says, making his way to the front desk, the wheels of our suitcases echoing off the walls.
“That’s an understatement,” I say, tightening the messy ponytail on top of my head. My hair is so thick now that I don’t even attempt to tame it. Must be the prenatals.
“What are we going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you can’t snowboard pregnant.” Tuck pauses. “Wait, can you?” he asks, second-guessing his initial assumption.
“No.” I laugh. “Well, I guess you could,” I amend, “but I don’t want to risk it.”
“Does this mean getting drunk is out of the question?” he teases, gesturing to the hotel bar on the other side of the lobby. I roll my eyes and follow his gaze, about to give him some sarcastic response, but the smile falls from my face.
“Mollie? What’s up?” Tuck asks, his eyebrows scrunched together as he searches the bar for whatever caused my shift in behavior. I’m frozen for half a second, looking at Camden as he poses for a photo with a group of girls. He doesn’t smile, though. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. As soon as they’re done, he leaves them with barely a nod of acknowledgment. If it wasn’t for the tattoos on his throat that I can make out from here, I might not think it was him.
The Cam I knew, albeit for five minutes, was happy and funny and brighter than the sun. This guy looks miserable. I’m lost in my thoughts, and I don’t realize I’m staring until it’s too late. He pauses his stride, and as if he senses me, his eyes lock in on mine. I whip around, pulling my dark green vest closed. I’m wearing a loose black long-sleeved shirt and black skinny yoga pants—mostly because it’s the only thing that fits comfortably anymore—but right now, I’m thankful that I picked something that would camouflage my stomach.
“Can we get the room key?” I ask out of the corner of my mouth while trying to covertly hide the side of my face with my ponytail. Tuck looks concerned, but he acts quickly, approaching the front desk, and then he’s handing me the little envelope with the plastic room key inside. Tuck ushers me toward the elevator with a hand on my lower back.
“Our suitcases—”
“They’re going to bring them up. I told them you weren’t feeling well, and we needed to hurry.”
I nod, thankful for his quick thinking.
We’re almost to the elevators when I give in to the urge to look back, and I immediately wish I hadn’t. He’s standing in the middle of the lobby, staring straight at me. His arms are crossed, and the look on his face is something between perplexed and mildly irritated.
Can he tell I’m pregnant? Why is he looking at me like that? I’m surprised he even recognizes me, to be honest. How many girls have come before and after me? But unless he likes to have angry staring contests with strangers, he definitely recognizes me.
The elevator dings, signaling its arrival, and I turn my attention back to it. Tucker guides me inside and hits the button for the eighth floor.
“Wanna tell me what just happened?” he asks with an expectant look.
“I saw him.”
“Like, him him?”
I nod, pacing the elevator. Why is he here? Sutton swore he’d be gone. I suddenly feel hot—really hot—and not in a good way. My stomach tangles with nerves.
“I thought he was in Aspen,” Tuck says, confused.
“Yeah, well, he’s not,” I snap. I don’t mean to, but I feel like I’m on the verge of throwing up, and I haven’t done that since starting my second trimester. The elevator doors slide open, and Tucker leads the way. We walk in silence, Tucker knowing that it’s best to let me work through things on my own and calm myself down before he tries to talk to me.
Once we’re in our room, I sit on one of the queen beds with the wooden posts, while Tucker snatches the remote off the dresser and flips through the guide. A few minutes pass, and there’s a knock on the door. My head snaps over to Tucker.
“Relax,” he says, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. “It’s our suitcases. Remember?”
Oh. Duh.
A middle-aged man in a polo that sports The Pines’ logo wheels our luggage in. Tucker tips him as I dig through my bag, searching for my phone. I shoot off a text to Sutton, telling her that I’m going to kick her ass, and then I check my family group chat.
Mom: Dinner at the Pine Top buffet. 6PM. Top floor. Dress nice.
Craig: But I really wanted to wear my new crop top.
Andrew: New phone. Who dis?
Craig: My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.
Mom: You’re both idiots.
Mom: Where’s Mollie?
Craig: Probably being pregnant somewhere.
Mom: Funny.
Despite my impending meltdown, I laugh and let them know we’ll be there. I freshen up in the bathroom and fluff my ponytail, but I don’t change my outfit. When I come out, Tucker is standing outside the door, looking down at his phone while he waits for me. He gives me a reassuring smile, and then we’re on our way to the buffet.
Dinner proves to be a good distraction, between my brothers’ antics and the plethora of delicious food. Everyone makes plans to get up early tomorrow—my brothers snowboarding and my parents skiing. I decide to do some shopping in the outdoor mall right next to the resort.
We kiss and hug our goodbyes, and then Tuck and I are heading back to our room. We’re in separate beds, something I insisted on a couple of months ago. We haven’t had sex since I hooked up with Cam, but even sleeping in the same bed feels wrong now. It blurs the line, and right now, boundaries are our friend. It would be easy to crawl into his bed, into his arms, and accept the comfort my best friend has to offer me, but I know I shouldn’t. It would be selfish, knowing he still harbors feelings for me on some level.
“Molls?” Tucker asks after a few minutes, his voice low and sleepy.
“Yeah?”
“It’ll be all right.”
I smile in the dark.
“Thanks, Tuck.”
Chapter 4
Cam
“Wake up, shitbag. It’s time to teach the privileged,” Cord says, throwing my snow boots at me. I double over in bed, clutching my stomach as the boots narrowly avoid my nuts.
“Fuck off,” I grumble, pulling the pillow over my head. I stretch and feel a pang in my knee that reminds me exactly why I’m in this position in the first place—not that I
need reminding. I think about that day twenty-four seven and what I could’ve done differently.
I didn’t even hurt myself snowboarding, for fuck’s sake. I was on my skateboard, trying to smith grind down a rail when I unexpectedly locked into another trick. My weight was distributed for the smith, leaving me no chance to bail. And that’s how I tore my ACL, also known as every athlete’s worst fucking nightmare.
I had surgery a few months ago, and instead of doing everything in my power to heal, I was on a downward spiral from hell. I never wore my brace, never went to physical therapy, and if I did leave my house, it was to get belligerent, and most times, ended up thrown in the drunk tank for bar fights. If that wasn’t enough, all my sponsors dropped my ass like a sack of potatoes. I don’t blame them, though—they were sick of my shit. I couldn’t compete, and I wasn’t taking recovery seriously. I was a PR manager’s worst nightmare.
I had my wake-up call when Cordell bailed on Aspen because he was afraid to leave me alone. Me—a grown-ass man—couldn’t even be left alone. That’s a whole new level of fucked up, even for me. I didn’t care about messing my own life up, but I didn’t want to drag my brother down with me.
Slowly, I stopped getting black-out drunk, started going to physical therapy, and last month, I took a job as an instructor for the resort’s ski school. I’m able to ride, but I’m nowhere near ready for the X Games. So, for now, I’ll put in time at the gym and kick it on the bunny slopes, teaching a bunch of six to eight-year-olds to ski and snowboard.
Most days, I’m okay with how my life has changed. I wish I would have kept my ass off that skateboard, but it could be worse. Surprisingly enough, working with the mini assholes has done wonders for my outlook and my mood in general. But yesterday was just one of those days where I felt like a failure and like I lost my shot at my dream career.
Then, I saw her. Mollie Mabey. The girl I hooked up with right before my injury. She was looking fine, too. But then, she noticed me and acted like she had no clue who I was. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that her boyfriend was with her. Did she think I was going to make a scene because we had one night together? Fuck if I know. I was already in a sour-ass mood, and her looking at me like I was the person she made the mistake of slumming it up with over summer vacay did nothing to help my mood.
I could have my pick of any girl on this mountain when I was in my prime. And she was embarrassed of me? Fuck that. Hell, I can still have my pick. Chicks love athletes, and an injured one? Even better. They have this innate instinct to nurture and nurse them back to health. That shit is in their DNA.
I look up at my ceiling and see the time glowing in blue from my alarm clock projector. Eight thirty-eight. I have twenty-two minutes to get dressed and be on the mountain. I scrub my hands down my face, trying to shake off the sleep, and make a mental note to shave. I let myself get a little burlier than I usually am.
I throw on my snow pants and jacket with The Pines’ logo, grab my board, goggles, hat, and gloves, and head out the door. I throw my board onto the roof rack of my cobalt blue WRX, and then I’m off. Once I park in the resort’s garage, I grab my shit and make my way toward the lift. This is my favorite part. The ride up the mountain. The crisp, quiet air. The calm before the storm.
Once I’m at the top, I round up the hula-hoops and tip connectors for the kids’ skis and trudge through the snow.
“Camden!” a tiny voice squeals, and I turn just in time to see Emersyn barreling toward me. She tackles me at the knees, and we both go down. Good thing we have fresh powder today, or that would’ve been a bitch for my tailbone. I chuckle, righting the beanie that shifted during the fall, and she uses her mitten-covered hands to push the blonde hair from her face. Red cheeks and a toothless smile beam up at me.
Emersyn may be seven, but I can already tell that she’s going to be a lifelong snowboarder. When she first came to me, I made her start with skiing. Kids usually do better learning that way first. She was a natural, so I spoke to her parents about getting her a snowboard. The kid fucking loves it. And I know she’s going places. Which is why I agreed when her parents asked if I could give her private lessons.
“What’s up, Mini Shredder?” I ask, grabbing her under the armpits and propping her on her feet.
“Nuffin’.” She shrugs. “Can we try the box today?” she asks, clapping her hands together.
“Nooo,” I drawl. “We’re going to work on carving and getting your pops nice and clean with the other kids. We’ll do some tricks during your private lessons. Deal?”
“Deal,” she grumbles.
Most of the kids in my class have pretty solid skills. At the beginning, I had to weed out the kids who didn’t truly want to be there. Usually, the parents threw them into it so they could snap a few photos and brag about it on social media. Those kids weren’t ready, and I had to explain to the parents that pushing it now would result in fear that could potentially ruin boarding or skiing for the rest of their lives. Now, I’m left with a good group of kids who have a genuine love of the mountain and desire to learn.
The rest of my group has gathered by the cones I have set up, and we make our way over to start the class. I help Emersyn trek through the snow by guiding her by her hood. The kid is a beast on a snowboard. But walking on two feet? Not so much. Especially when snow boots are involved.
“All right, dudes and dudettes, get your helmets on. Let’s hit some drills, and then we’ll move on to some new skills.”
I lift my goggles off my eyes and onto my forehead over my beanie and slide into the lift. On the way down, I realize that my knee doesn’t feel as stiff as it usually does by the end of the day. That’s got to be a good sign.
My phone buzzes in my pocket once my service kicks back in, and I see texts from Dare inviting me over for dinner. Which really means Briar forced him to invite me because she’s worried. But I shoot a text back letting them know I’ll be there, because Briar feeds me. I’ll never turn down a home-cooked meal, even if the main ingredient is pity.
Once I’m at the bottom, I decide to head straight to my car instead of stopping for a beer at the resort’s bar. I’m walking through the outdoor shopping center toward the parking lot when I see her. Mollie. She’s sitting on the Blues Brothers bench—which is exactly what it sounds like; a bench with the Blues Brothers statues at both ends—next to the outdoor ice-skating rink. The skating rink sits right in the middle of The Pines, surrounded by the actual resort, the lifts, and all the stores and restaurants.
Mollie sits there, watching the ice skaters, drinking something that appears to be hot. This time she has on a grey beanie with a tan pompom on top, those tight, black things that girls try to pass off as pants—not that I’m complaining—and a white coat over a flannel shirt. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m heading right for her.
“Well, if it isn’t Mollie Mabey,” I say, causing her to jump. Her big, brown eyes shoot up to mine, and she looks like a deer caught in headlights.
“Camden,” she says, seeming nervous or unsure as she crosses one leg over the other. An image pops into my head of me between those thighs, eating that perfect pussy, and if she wasn’t here with her boyfriend, I might ask her for a repeat. I still might, boyfriend or not.
“So, you do remember me,” I say, even though her reaction last night made that more than clear.
“Sorry about last night,” she says. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”
Her response strikes me as odd. Maybe if she was a stage five clinger who wanted to make our one-night stand into something serious, it might make sense. But she never once tried to contact me afterward. We both knew the deal.
“What are you doing?” I ask, giving her an out. She doesn’t have to explain herself.
“My family’s up there,” she says, gesturing toward the gondola in the distance. “I was just walking around the shops, waiting for everyone to be done.”
“Why didn’t you go up?”
“I suck
at snowboarding,” she admits. “Plus, I wasn’t feeling well earlier.”
I want to ask where her boyfriend is. If he went up without her. But I don’t.
“Come with me,” I say, surprising her. She starts to shake her head, but I grab her dainty hand, pulling her up from the bench. She shivers and zips her jacket, wrapping her arms around her middle. It’s not even that cold now, but I guess it might be for someone who isn’t used to River’s Edge’s winters.
“I really can’t. They’ll be done soon, soooo…” she trails off, looking toward the lift.
“Bullshit. You’ve been down here all day. You deserve to do something while you’re here. Give me one second. Okay?”
She looks like she’s going to say no. Indecision wars in her eyes. But she surprises me by nodding yes.
“Wait here,” I instruct.
“Okay…” she says suspiciously.
“I’ll be right back.”
I turn around and jog toward the kiosk a few feet away and buy her a lift ticket before running back in her direction.
“Come on,” I say, tugging on her hand. She lets me guide her to the gondola, her tiny, freezing palm in mine. We hand our tickets to the lift operator.
“Mind holding onto my board for a few?” I ask him. I don’t want to lug it around. He agrees. He’s seen me around, so he knows I work here, if the black and forest green snowsuit with The Pines’ logo wasn’t enough to tip him off.
“Thanks, man,” I say, helping Mollie into the lift. She sits on the opposite side of me and rests her oversized purse on her lap. When the lift jerks, she startles and gives a little yelp. I chuckle, putting my hand on her knee.
“You’re safe. There’s nothing to be afraid of in here.”
Mollie swallows thickly, and after giving me a searching look, she turns her gaze to the mountains.
“This is my favorite part, you know. It’s so quiet and peaceful,” she says with a small smile, echoing my thoughts from earlier.
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