by Jamie Beck
“No. I never did anything like that in my life before that night or since. Not until you came here, at least.”
“Like I have some magical power to transform you into a different person.” He shook his head in disgust. “All this time I’ve thought you were so strong and composed. I admired you. But it’s all an act to cover the fact that you’re dishonest. A coward who’s too afraid to be yourself. You sure as hell duped me.”
“If you want to call me a coward because I like to please people, go ahead. I like the way the people at the care center think of me. I like being involved with my church’s youth group. I like knowing that my community respects me. Those things matter to me, especially living in a small town like this. Men’s reputations soar when they sleep around, but women are still slut-shamed. You didn’t grow up here. I’m not about to upset my mom just to prove a point, either. You weren’t here when my mom sank into a major depression and flirted with bottles of sleeping pills. I was the one thing standing between her will to live or die, so don’t judge me for learning to keep her happy. To not risk doing anything that could send her into a dark place.
“Have I repressed part of myself? Yes, but not just for her. My dad let temptation wreck our lives, and I didn’t like that. I also didn’t want to risk pregnancies, abortions, and other things that could happen if I trusted the wrong guy or treated sex so casually. But in Aspen, something snapped. I had an opportunity and urge to unleash everything—just one moment to be free. You gave me that. And that experience opened up something inside that I couldn’t suppress anymore. Still, I didn’t want to upset my mom or take those other risks, so I poured all those feelings and desires into the book.
“That’s how I got to this place. I didn’t mean to lie to you and everyone, but I also don’t owe the world this private part of my life. And honestly, I can’t think about what this will do to my mother if my link to this book gets out. Will you help me convince Mari not to include it in the film?”
Wyatt slowly shook his head. “Even if that’s all true, you still could’ve trusted me—the guy you were screwing—with the truth. Justify your double life any way you want, but you had no good reason to keep the secret from me.” He raked his hands through his hair. “For all I know, these past few weeks have just been about getting new material.”
His eyes went wide as that thought took root. “Was that what you’ve been doing? Have you been toying with me this whole time, taking every private thing between us and putting it in a new story?”
Emma rose off the sofa and stepped closer, her body aching for his forgiveness, for his touch. “No, Wyatt. I swear, that’s not true.”
“So there’s not another book?”
Shoot.
“There’s a sequel, but I haven’t put anything that happened this month in that book.”
“Sorry if I find it hard to believe you.” His resentful glare made her insides ache.
“Don’t believe me, then. But you can’t want this kind of gossip to end up in this film. It’s exactly the kind of publicity you’ve been determined to avoid. Please. Please help me convince Mari it’s not good for you.”
“Or for you and your reputation. Try to be honest—for a change—about your real motives.”
Emma withdrew, her own anger now rising. “This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Don’t start with the cop-outs. You didn’t give me a chance, and now I can’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.” He waved his hand at her in disgust. “I’m outta here. I’m going to go to Crested Butte ahead of schedule, ’cause I can’t be in your company any longer. We’ll be gone first thing in the morning.”
“I wish you wouldn’t, Wyatt. Please take the night to think about everything. Think about what we’ve shared. You must know how much I care. Don’t end it this way. Please don’t hate me.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie.” She stomped her foot. “You said we could have secrets.”
“If they didn’t hurt someone.” He smacked his chest. “This fuckin’ hurts, Emma.”
“So did the fact that you didn’t recognize me, but I got over it. And if this had stayed a secret, it wouldn’t have hurt anyone. It was my secret, and it really has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me . . . from the night in Aspen to this tell-all book.” He shook his head, his expression a mixture of sorrow and rage.
“Wyatt,” she called, but he’d stormed out of the room. She stood there for an indeterminate length of time staring at the spot he’d vacated, as if she could will him to reappear. To reconsider and think about everything they’d shared.
She shook from the loss of his affection, so she slipped beneath her comforter and stared at the ceiling, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes.
Hours later, when the house had fallen silent, she slipped downstairs to clean the kitchen in private. When she rounded the corner into the dining room, she was surprised to find the table cleared.
A light glowed from under the kitchen door. Hesitantly, she pushed it open, unsure of who’d she’d find, certain she couldn’t handle another confrontation.
Ryder was wiping down the counters, having already finished cleaning the pots and wrapping whatever leftovers there were.
“Ryder.” She stopped and held her breath. “You didn’t need to clean up.”
“I figured you’d be too t-tired to do it.” He folded the dishrag and laid it over the faucet.
Emma’s eyes watered again. At this rate, she’d be dehydrated before dawn. “I don’t think I deserve that kindness from you.”
Ryder leaned against the counter. “Wyatt’s mad, but that’s between you two. You’ve been my f-friend. Whatever your reasons for what you did, I don’t think you meant to h-hurt anyone.”
“I didn’t. No one would’ve ever known anything if Mari hadn’t told.” Emma frowned then. “How did she find out, anyway? I’ve been so careful.”
“Those cameras were rolling yesterday to catch my mom’s arrival. She caught you talking to your agent on the phone.”
Only her hurried state of mind yesterday could explain why she’d been so careless. So unaware of those damn cameras.
“Will you be going back to Vermont with your mother?” Emma asked, searching for neutral territory.
“Yeah. It’s the best place for me right now. I’ll finish my therapy and then see where life points me.”
“I hope you keep up with your pottery. I think you could really do something with that, Ryder. Sell it, show it, I don’t know.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’m sorry things ended so badly here, but I’m glad I got the chance to know you.” She wanted to hug him, but in light of the circumstance, she held back. “I wish you the best of luck.”
“Same here, Emma.” He crossed the kitchen. Before he left, he said, “Don’t let anyone make you feel bad about your b-book. I hope it sells well.”
She smiled at the little smirk on his face. “So do I. Actually, it feels kind of good to be able to say that to someone, finally. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” And then he disappeared.
Emma stood in the quiet kitchen where she’d spent a majority of her time this past decade. The comfort it had always given now cloyed.
Her father’s advice replayed. She slid to the floor, as if being pulled down by the heavy weight in her heart, and hugged her knees. The thought of going back to business as usual with her mom, of keeping her writing a secret, of repressing her sexuality out of fear or shame (or some mix of those two) bore down on her with unbearable pressure.
She wanted a solution. A way to fix everything and make Wyatt understand why she’d hidden the truth.
After some time, she gave up her hopeless search for an answer. She shut off the light and meandered back through the inn. The tripods were no longer scattered in the corner
s of the rooms. Apparently Wyatt had wasted no time in forcing the others to pack up to hit the road.
Moonlight filtered through the transom windows, casting long shadows on the old carpet. Her shadow looked like a ghost, which prompted her eyes to sting again. She hesitated at the second-floor landing, glancing at Wyatt’s door. No light shone beneath it. He wouldn’t welcome her slipping into his bed tonight, as she’d done every night for the past couple of weeks. If she’d known this morning was to be their last time together, she’d have stretched it out a little longer.
Her nose tingled, but she forced back the tears. Enough crying for one day. What was done was done. She couldn’t change the past. Her only choice now was how she’d live out her future.
Chapter Eighteen
Wyatt’s eyelids felt glued to his eyeballs when he woke up. Woke up? That’d imply he’d slept. He’d caught a few catnaps throughout the night, but nothing restful. His bones hurt. Hell, his whole body ached, and not only from the lack of sleep.
Last night he’d looked up Alexa Aspen’s website and read that sample chapter. Fiction my ass! Dallas looked just like him, or at least a striking approximation. Emma might’ve gifted Dallas an extra inch or two of height, but everything else she’d described would lead a sketch artist to draw a perfect replica of Wyatt’s face.
She’d written their whole whipped-cream sundae thing into the story, too. He might not remember everything from that long-ago night—considering he’d been drinking—but he sure as shit recalled that particular part.
He also recalled waking up to an empty bed that next morning, feeling mildly disappointed Alexa had left without any fanfare. Not that he’d have followed up. He’d been on his way to the International Games within weeks of that night and had no time for anything more than quickies on the sly.
He wasn’t proud of that, or of the fact that he hadn’t recognized Emma. Of course, Alexa had dressed in barely there clothes and worn lots of makeup. A far cry from the frumpy version of Emma that had greeted him the day he’d arrived in Sterling Canyon. Honestly, how did she expect him to make the connection?
Then again, he didn’t even put it together after they’d slept together again, which seemed inconceivable to him now. That must’ve have stung her pride, too.
Wyatt supposed, if he were in a generous mood, he could understand Emma’s decision not to remind him of their past. He wasn’t, however, feeling generous.
No. Hard to be generous when one felt used. Deceived. Foolish.
Emma presented herself as one kind of woman—thoughtful, helpful, honest. In reality, she was a whole other person. Someone capable of lying to everyone every day. Someone who could pull off publishing a book without her own mother having a clue. Someone who still might leak his name to sell that damn book if it didn’t do well enough on its own, and who might’ve used their recent “experiences” for another damn book.
Well, he wouldn’t help her use him to make money. He’d played upon Mari’s disdain for Emma to keep her from giving Steep and Deep free publicity through the film. However, Ryder, his mother, Jim, Buddy, and Mari all knew the truth. It didn’t take long for gossip to spread. If each of them only told one or two people, surely it would multiply, especially if he did well in competition and got more media attention. Even Mari could change her mind if she decided the link to the book could bring the film more publicity.
He winced, already conjuring explanations he could offer if cornered by the media. Then he cringed thinking about what Emma might’ve made up in that book that might then be attributed to him. What kinds of things did Dallas do and say, and would people think that Wyatt and that character were one and the same? Just thinking about the cheesy name Dallas caused his hands to fist into tight balls.
The whole situation made him sick. It had been the absolute last thing he needed or expected from this holiday. The only upside to the whole disaster was that his mother suddenly had shown him a little empathy. Oddly, Emma’s plan to help his family come together might succeed, even if it did so in an ass-backward kind of way.
He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. He’d packed most of his things last night, so he only needed to shower and dress. Shouldn’t be a problem, but his body felt like he’d gained four hundred pounds overnight.
Rolling off the bed, he lumbered to the bathroom, practically stomping on a note that had been slipped beneath his door. Emma must’ve slid it there sometime in the middle of the night.
His last memory of her wasn’t pretty. Ruddy, tear-stained cheeks, eyes as red as her hair, trembling body, choked voice. He shook his head to clear away the image. He hadn’t been too hard on her. Her lies deserved every bit of his scorn.
Ignoring the letter, he stood beneath scalding-hot water to ease his sore muscles before dressing and making a final sweep of the room to ensure he hadn’t left anything behind.
He’d instructed everyone to be ready to go by eight. Fifteen more minutes and he’d be gone from this old inn for good. He hesitated, mentally preparing himself to remain stoic when he saw Emma. He didn’t expect her to make a scene, but just the sight of her was sure to rock him. Inhaling slowly, he grabbed his things, opened his door, and rolled his suitcase right over her note.
Once in the hall, he hesitated. Glancing over his shoulder, he stared at the crumpled envelope with his name written across it. He went back and stuffed it in his small duffel bag. Maybe he’d read it later, or not. He didn’t know, but he decided to preserve the choice until his mind stopped bouncing around like a basketball in the Final Four.
When he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he heard everyone in the dining room. Had Emma made everyone breakfast even though he’d been pretty clear that they wouldn’t be lingering?
Again he paused, wondering if Emma was in there waiting for him, or if she planned to corner him near the office or in the kitchen. With cautious steps, he crossed to the dining room. Apparently Emma had set out a light breakfast buffet with fresh fruit, bagels and lox, juice, and yogurt. Irrationally, her gesture filled him with resentment. He didn’t want to be reminded of her thoughtfulness.
“’Morning.” He gripped the back of a dining chair, uncertain whether he wanted to give her the satisfaction of eating, but knowing he had a half-day drive ahead of him.
Mari must’ve sensed his tension. “Emma isn’t here, Wyatt. We spoke briefly and settled the bill, then she left the inn to afford you the space she assumed you wanted. She won’t be back until after nine, so you can relax and eat before we hit the road.”
“Good.” Even as the word fell from his lips, he didn’t mean it. Just like Alexa, Emma had slipped away without saying good-bye. That ache he’d hoped to ease with the hot shower flared back to life, making itself at home in his chest. “Pass the yogurt, please.”
It seemed no one knew exactly what to say, so they kept their thoughts to themselves. Wyatt didn’t know which was worse, hearing the scrapes and pings of the silverware break the silence, or listening to the rattling of his mixed-up thoughts.
After everything that had happened—the way Emma’d betrayed him—how dare she steal his chance to decide how or if to say good-bye. Obviously she didn’t care about him at all. If she’d cared, she couldn’t have let it—him—go so easily.
He speared a strawberry with his fork.
“Mom and I decided it might be best if you all drop us in Montrose and keep going to Crested Butte,” Ryder said.
“I can hang in Montrose for a day or so,” Wyatt objected.
“You’d planned to train today and tomorrow. With everything that’s happened, maybe it’s best if you press on and get back on the mountain.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “You need to focus, not b-babysit Mom and me.”
“Hell, I need to call Trip.” In his hasty anger last night, Wyatt hadn’t stopped to think about all the plans that needed to be adjusted.
“It’s done,” Mari said. “Emma took care of it.”
First she made breakfast,
then she handled Trip? Well, if she thought those little gestures made up for anything, she had another think coming.
“I’d booked him for the next few days. He’s going to be out that money now.” Wyatt set down his fork.
“Wyatt, it’s handled.” Mari offered a tight smile. Her demeanor suggested she might have some regrets this morning about the way she’d blindsided Emma. When he’d questioned Mari last night, she’d claimed she’d been worried that his misplaced faith might detract from his training. At the time, she’d had no idea of their former connection, so she hadn’t anticipated it being so explosive.
That had made sense to him last night. In the cold light of day, Wyatt now wondered if Mari hadn’t been a little jealous, or a little pissed. Either way, he sure didn’t feel more focused and relaxed today than he had yesterday morning. Mari’s plan had backfired in a major way.
Still, he couldn’t blame her. If Emma had told him the truth, none of it would’ve mattered. Or, at least, it wouldn’t have mattered as much.
“I’m sorry this holiday got so messed up.” Wyatt set his chin on his fist and looked at his mom. “I’d hoped we would’ve had a few days to catch up.”
“It’s fine, honey.” His mother patted his arm. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I think you’re smart to get away from someone who took advantage of you.”
“Thanks.” His robotic reply sounded hollow, and a small chamber of his heart rebelled against that characterization of Emma. But he wouldn’t sit there and second-guess himself. He had his first qualifier in a few weeks. He needed to keep his head on straight and continue the work he and Trip had started. Maybe Trip would come up to Crested Butte with him for a week or so, although he couldn’t count on that.
After all, Trip’s fiancée was Emma’s best friend. Wyatt could only speculate about how Emma would spin what had happened. Given her gift for words, and her desire to keep her own secret, he didn’t imagine she’d paint him in a flattering light.