Yard Sale

by Charleigh Rose

  Mollie giggles, and I dispose of the condom.

  “Are you…okay?” I ask, not knowing how to broach the subject of what just happened.

  “What do you mean?” she asks, perplexed.

  “I mean, are you on birth control, or do I need to run and get you some Plan B?”

  “Oh,” she says, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m on the pill. And I’m clean, obviously,” she tacks on at the end.

  “Me, too,” I assure her.

  “Can you grab my dress?” she asks, after an awkward beat of silence.

  “Why?”

  “Soooo, I can leave?” It comes out as a question.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “I mean, I just figured…” she trails off.

  “You just figured, what? That our time is up? Because we still have about,” I check the alarm clock on my nightstand, “seven more hours until the sun comes up.” And there’s a lot I can do to her in seven whole hours.

  “Seven hours, huh?” she asks, blush creeping up her neck.

  “And lucky for you, only about seven more minutes until I can go again.”

  “Hmm,” she says thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin. “Hooking up with a stranger once is totally acceptable. But twice? I think we at least need to know some basic facts about each other.”

  “Is that so?” I ask, raising a brow.

  “It’s a rule,” she insists.

  “Well, you’ve got seven minutes to get to know me,” I say, lying down next to her with my hands crossed behind my head.

  “What do you do?” she asks.

  “I snowboard.”

  “No, like, for a living,” she clarifies.

  “I snowboard. Professionally.”

  “Oh,” she says, sounding shocked. She scans my room, as if looking for clues. She won’t find anything but a few of my sponsors’ stickers, unless she opens my closet.

  “Why were you upset earlier?” I ask. “Boyfriend issues? Daddy issues?”

  Mollie huffs out a humorless laugh. “Sort of. I guess you could say I just got out of a complicated relationship right before I came here.”

  “Ah, so I’m the rebound,” I guess. Mollie shrugs and gives me an apologetic smile.

  “Maybe?”

  “I hate it when beautiful women use my body to get over their boyfriends. You should be ashamed of yourself,” I say, reaching over to grab her by the waist and pulling her on top of me. My cock nestles between her wet pussy lips, and she slides back and forth on top of me.

  “So ashamed,” Mollie says, feigning innocence.

  “Is it working?” I ask, flexing my hips upward. “Are you over him yet?”

  “Almost,” she breathes, as my hands reach up to palm her perky tits.

  “I guess we’ll just have to try again,” I say, and then she angles her hips just right to take me inside her.

  “Just one more time.”

  Now…

  “You’re coming. You haven’t missed a Christmas here since we were seven,” Sutton’s voice blares from the speaker of my phone.

  “She’s right,” Tucker agrees, tossing random items into the open suitcase on my bed next to me. “River’s Edge at Christmas is your favorite part of the year.”

  After I got back from our trip, I finally decided to hear Tucker out. His reasoning didn’t excuse the fact that he wasn’t honest with me. But…it made sense. He said he wanted to be with someone who actually wanted him for once. Of course, I felt bad. But I still don’t think he went about it the right way, even if it did force us to reevaluate.

  “I can’t,” I start, and my hand automatically finds my slightly rounded stomach. “He doesn’t know.”

  “Well, then merry fucking Christmas to him, because you need to tell him, Mollie.”

  I know I do. And I will. I don’t have Cam’s number, but I found his Facebook page. I’ve drafted up the message at least ninety-two times, I just can’t bring myself to hit send. I mean, what do I even say? Hey, remember me? You gave me the best eight hours of my life, then I called an Uber before you woke up and we never spoke again. Oh, by the way, I’m pregnant with your baby. Happy holidays!

  “Mollie, it’s December,” Sutton says, stating the obvious.

  “I got knocked up, not a lobotomy. I know what month it is.” Both she and Tucker laugh.

  “Which means,” she sings, “Cam isn’t even here.”

  “What? Why?”

  “He’s almost never here in the winter. Why do you think you haven’t ever seen him around before? He’s always on some tour. But especially now. He’ll be preparing for Aspen.”

  “Aspen?”

  “The X Games! You know, because he’s a professional snowboarder? Do you know him at all?”

  “Apparently not!” I don’t know anything about snowboarders and their schedules. I knew Cam was pro, but I guess I didn’t realize what that entailed.

  “Well, then you have nothing to worry about. But you do need to tell him. The sooner, the better,” Tucker chimes in, like the annoying voice of reason he is.

  “I have time,” I insist. I never planned to keep it from him. I could never let Cam go on living his life, not knowing he brought a child into this world. I just needed a while to wrap my brain around it. To make a plan. For the first month or so, I was terrified. Well, I still am, but now, I’m starting to get excited.

  “You have, like, five months.”

  Five months. I physically feel my face drain of color. Five months is nothing. Tucker must see the panic spreading through me like wildfire in my expression, because he drops to his knees in front of me, taking my hands in his.

  “It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe.”

  I nod, trying my best to take in air.

  “We’re going to River’s Edge, just like every year. We’re going to get hot chocolate wasted and watch all the Die Hard movies, and you’re going to love every second of it. Agreed?”

  “Even the last one?”

  “Even the last one,” he agrees. “Even though it was trash. I’ll never deny your fixation with Jai Courtney.”

  “You’re a real pal.”

  “The best.”

  “Yeah, except for that time he cheated on you,” Sutton yells through the line, around what sounds like a mouthful of chips. “Am I the only one who remembers that minor detail?”

  “I’m hanging up on you now,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’ll see you next week.”

  I hang up the phone and reluctantly finish packing what Tucker started.

  “We’re telling our families the truth,” Tuck surprises me by saying. “After the holidays,” he clarifies. “About not being together, about the baby, all of it.”

  “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 fix my hair, 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 before 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.”

  “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 abl
e 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 loser 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. It’s like 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.