The lingerie hanging from the ceiling fan, the dirty plates stacked into precarious towers, the pyramid of beer cans and the rows of overturned shot glasses, things that had seemed amusing with a buzz now only made me more tired and out of sorts this morning. My hangover headache began to pound harder. I knew I needed to lay off the binge drinking. Beyond the physical toll of overindulgence, there was the clean up afterward and all of the empty calories to consider. I wanted to lose another ten pounds. I had to. I was doing some modeling to pay for the skiing, and my talent agent had cited my weight as being the reason I had been turned away from the last couple of opportunities. Additionally, the conditioning staff director for the team had mentioned that being lighter would make me faster on the rollers, the wavy manufactured terrain of the ski cross course. And that was my overarching goal, the one common to every athlete on the team. We all wanted to be the fastest in the world.
“Shit!” I exclaimed, my heart jumping to my throat as warm fingers suddenly clamped unexpectedly around my ankle. I looked down to see a familiar shock of bleach blond hair and icy blue eyes peering up at me.
“Fuck, Parker. You scared the absolute shit out of me.” I shook my leg free of his grip.
“You going up the mountain for a run?” he asked rising from the floor.
“Yeah. One or two if I can, then I gotta catch the bus into town.”
“Sounds good. Hold on. Give me a minute to get my bearings.” He scratched the center of his bare chest and straightened to his full height, towering over me at six feet. One of the nearby lumps grumbled an obscenity and rolled away from him. Parker yawned, glanced around and snagged his shirt from the floor. “I’ll go with you.”
“No!” I blurted, probably a little too adamantly.
“Why not?” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think you could use the competition?”
“Sure, but…” I stumbled for a way to explain that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.
“Then it’s settled.” He snowballed my feeble protest. “We can eat breakfast together at the café afterward.”
“I can’t.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I really just need some alone time to clear my head, and besides I’m skipping breakfast today.”
“What’s your deal, Bluebelle?” His expression turned hard.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re acting awfully uppity for someone so new to the team.”
“I am not,” I disagreed.
“I know why. So does everyone else. You think you’re hot as shit because of those pictures in Maxim.”
“That’s not true.” I frowned. I hadn’t even wanted to do that shoot, but I had needed the money, and my agent had convinced me to do it by suggesting that the publicity from it might open doors to other things. So far…not so much. But a girl could hope.
“Or is it that you’re too good for the rest of us regular guys now that you’re sleeping with that Canuck goalie?” Parker sneered. He didn’t seem to hear a word I had said. He grabbed me. I inhaled sharply as his fingers dug into the sensitive skin of my upper arms pinching hard enough to bruise.
“Jokes’ on you, sweetness.” His lips twisted turning features that were handsome as ugly as his words. “Everyone knows Tyler Sutter is a slut. Sure he wanted to go there with you. Every guy who has seen your photo in Maxim has jacked off to that smokin’ body of yours. But you’re just one of many. He’s probably got a different nookie girl for every day of the week.”
“You’re such a prick, Parker.” Irritation blew the lid off of my temper. I shrugged out of his grip, rose up on the tip of my toes and punched my finger into the middle of his chest. “I had drunken sex with you once.” I had felt sorry for the guy, fresh off a bad breakup with one of the girls on the team. I had been at a real low point myself after leaving behind the only life I had ever known. “I don’t know what grandiose ideas you took away from that experience, but I found the whole thing pretty underwhelming. So if you want me to keep my review private, I suggest you keep your hands off of me from now on.”
Heart pumping fueled by my indignation, I stomped to the door and flung it open. Outside, I stormed down the narrow interior hallway to the elevators. I slammed my hand on the call button. When would I ever learn? I knew I should never have slept with him in the first place. But Parker was only the most recent in a long line of stupid mistakes. I always ended up getting screwed when I let my heart rule my head.
Luckily, the elevator arrived promptly, almost as if it knew not to piss me off by dallying. As I rode down to the lobby, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Why did elevators always have mirrors you couldn’t avoid? My best feature, sapphire eyes that appeared violet in certain lights, shone a darker blue than usual and flashed my ire back at me. Raven black brows drawing together over my nose, I spun away from the evidence that Parker had gotten to me. I reached up and yanked my tuque down lower over my ears, tapping my boot impatiently as the elevator took its sweet time on its way to the ground floor.
Parker was mistaken. There wasn’t an uppity bone in my body. If I seemed standoffish it was only because I was unwilling to let anyone close again. I had spent all the emotional currency I had to give, and it had left me bankrupt. I didn’t think I was too good for a prick like Parker or a player like Tyler for that matter, either. Quite the opposite. Tyler was my preferred type, a guy looking for a hook up and nothing else. There was no danger of me being a disappointment in a meaningless relationship.
I continued across the lobby at the same rapid clip that I had stalked the hall, gaze straight ahead and focused on the exit, hoping I wouldn’t run over anyone. I didn’t want to waste time making up excuses or pretending I wasn’t angry…and maybe a little vulnerable. I needed that alone time. I needed to be up there on the top of the mountain on my way to the bottom. I craved the adrenaline rush of my skis speeding over the snow. Worries and doubts would fade as I concentrated on making the split second decisions required to negotiate the difficult course. There was no other place in the world that felt so right to me.
Except maybe for that one night not so long ago wrapped in his strong arms…
“Melinda, come back,” Sager called, his deep voice urgent. “Wait,” he insisted, his hands falling on my shoulders before I had a chance to press the elevator call button. He turned me toward him, the warmth and tenderness in his touch and his unique leather and cardamom scent bending me to his will.
My lids fluttered half closed remembering how good it had been in his bed. Those strong hands gliding over every inch of my naked skin. His confident caresses coaxing me, sometimes demanding me to respond. Knees weakening, my body swayed in ready servitude towards the sexy rock god who had everything I needed but nothing I could ever hope to keep.
“Come back to bed.” He gently stroked a tendril of my sapphire hair behind my ear. He melted my resolve with his warm regard and his earnest expression. My arms stiffened at my sides, a battle waging within me. My fingertips longed to retrace the contours of his sculpted body, but my feet only wanted to run away.
“I can’t,” I pleaded, my stomach cinched. “I need to go. I have a race in a couple of hours.”
“I heard you.” His tone was tender, but I could feel the tension rising in it. “I listened very closely to everything you said.”
“It’s late.” Three a.m. in fact. We had been together most of the night. I motioned with my chin toward the door to his hotel room that he had left propped open. “Let’s forget tonight ever happened. Like I told you it doesn’t mean anything.”—a lie lie lie—no guy had ever made me feel like he did, even before I slept with him.
“Bullshit,” he decided, unwaveringly certain. “You might say you only slept with me to make Dizzy jealous, but I don’t believe that’s it. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t feel the same connection I did. It wasn’t him in that bed with you tonight. It was just you and me. And that’s the way it has to be from now on. I won’t share you with anyone else. You get me?” He gathered m
y hands and brought them to his chest. I could feel his heart racing. His thumbs lightly circled the delicate skin on the inside of my wrists. My pulse leapt to his touch. “Don’t be afraid, Melinda,” he whispered.
“I’m not scared.” Another lie. I was terrified of the intensity of the emotions surging through me, emotions he seemed to effortlessly command.
“I think that you are. You bolted for the door as soon as things got intense.” His dark eyes delved piercingly deep. “You’ve got to know that no matter how angry I get I could never hurt you.”
“I know,” I whispered back.
“So stay then.”
“I can’t, Sager. I just can’t.” He wanted something real, but when he found out how messed up I really was, he wouldn’t want me anymore.
He loosened his grip, and I spun away, summoning the courage to leave when I desperately wanted to stay.
On the other side of the automatic doors, a brisk wind buffeted me almost as brutally as that dangerous memory, both providing the additional incentive I needed to break into a jog. Spotting the idling shuttle bus with its visible exhaust cloud at the pickup spot on the hill, I hurried toward it. The soles of my boots crunched deicing pellets as I crossed the encrusted sidewalk. I rapped on the glass door and shuffled my feet to generate warmth until the driver opened it. Once inside, I was relieved to discover I was the only occupant. Mumbling a good morning to the driver, I grabbed a seat in the first row. While he steered through the deserted streets between rows of chateau styled buildings, I practiced some deep breathing yoga exercises to calm myself.
So far it wasn’t helping a whole lot. I was still bristling with the buzz of uneasy emotions by the time I entered the day lodge at the base of the mountain to retrieve my stowed equipment. At my locker, I took off my shoes, unzipped my jacket, drew down my pants and tossed everything inside. Over my long johns I pulled on the loose fitting pants and top required for my sport. Intentionally baggy to reduce speed on the course, they covered up hips that were too wide and breasts that were too big. I was a lot more comfortable in them than I had been when posing nude for the Maxim photos. It hadn’t helped my ego or my self-consciousness that the photographer on that shoot had pointed out how curvy I was.
I knew what that really meant.
Purposefully setting those thoughts aside, I slipped on my boots, buckled the straps, grabbed my helmet and strapped it on. My goggles already rested on top of it. Next, I wrestled on my gloves. On my way out I snagged my freshly waxed skis and clean poles and headed to the express lift. The ski techs for Canada ski cross team took excellent care of the equipment. They were the best. I wasn’t accustomed to the VIP treatment. My dad once had been a celebrity of sorts twenty years ago when he and his band had been a big deal. These days he was hardly recognized anywhere except at The Diamond Mine where he and his new band Ebbtide had a steady gig.
Outside I stepped onto my skis and with two quick clicks secured them to my boots. Poles close to my body, I glided into the lift area and got in line. There were more than a few intrepid souls ready to ascend the mountain. A fresh snowfall made every avid skier eager, not just those needing to escape their troubled thoughts.
I moved both poles into my right hand and reached back for the chair as it approached with my left. As soon as the lift hit the back of my knees I sank into the seat. The sun had begun to brighten the sky by the time I switched lifts mid mountain. As I rode up, my mind drifted to things I wished it wouldn’t revisit but too often did. To April the best friend who understandably hated me ever since I had told her husband that she was having an affair with Dizzy. To the rock band Tempest and the inner circle privileges I had lost because of that betrayal. But mostly to Sager, the band’s bassist, someone who had rocked my world by making me believe he could see the good in me instead of the imperfections everyone else focused on. Just one more miscalculation on my part. I should have steered clear of him from the beginning. I should have realized that I would end up disappointing him like all the others. My losses were piling up like a season finale body count on The Walking Dead.
“Let it go, Bluebelle,” I chastised myself aloud as I passed the tower with the unloading sign. Lifting the bar, I slid forward at the designated area, pointed the tips of my skis upward and leaned slightly forward as soon as my skis were completely on the ground. I stood, balanced and glided away with the chair providing the push. I was alone once I reached the turn to the snow cross course. I paused to take in a few mouthfuls of crisp clear high altitude air as I stared out at the amazing view. Top of the mountain. My favorite place to put things into perspective. The world spread out before me, an endless stretch of blue sky and grey mountains. The clouds below looked like a river of puffy cotton balls between snowcapped peaks. The early morning rays transformed last night’s snow into a carpet of glistening crystal.
Don’t think about Sager. Don’t think about the past, and whatever you do don’t you dare feel sorry for yourself. You got by on your own before April, before Tempest, before…him. You can do it again. It’s better this way. Safer. A heart can only take so much battering around before it runs out of reasons to keep beating.
Refocused, my determination propelling me forward over the well-worn grooves of the trail, I made my way to the beginning of the course and positioned myself within the starting gate. Adjusting my helmet, I pulled my goggles down over my eyes. Through the polarized shatterproof lenses, I visualized a perfect run with lots of big-air jumps and tight tucks on all of the high banked turns.
I reminded myself that it was my dream to be here. I was doing what I really wanted for the first time in my life. So what if I was alone with no one who really understood how much it meant to me?
• • •
After back to back mind clearing runs on the mountain, I grabbed a duffle and took the Greyhound into Vancouver transferring to a city bus at the station. During the work week I stayed at Whistler for ski cross training. On the weekends I went into the city and worked just as hard to pay for that privilege. Scooting down the narrow aisle, I settled into the first available cold vinyl seat on the bus. I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jacket while lamenting the absence of the heated front seats in my powder blue Fiat. The cute car had been an unexpected eighteenth birthday present from my dad, but it had been the first thing to go when I had set out against his wishes to pursue my ski cross dream.
As the bus rolled through downtown, I stared out the window watching the crowds bustling along the shop and restaurant lined sidewalks of West Georgia Street beneath the shadows of the high rise buildings that scraped the pristine Pacific Northwest sky. Longing pierced my chest. I missed more about Vancouver than my car. I missed the fast paced tempo of the city. But I was too busy when I came into town to visit the Mine or do anything else for fun. I was paying for everything related to my skiing, living expenses, equipment, training and travel in what my dad continued to refer to as a ‘very expensive phase’. Not that going back to the Mine really was an option anymore. I had tried to mend things with April and the Tempest guys. Once. But like with Parker that one time had been enough. My apologies had been delivered. Closure. Check. They just hadn’t been accepted.
Some mistakes you couldn’t take back.
Second chances and forgiveness might happen in songs, but I had discovered they didn’t pan out in real life.
Throat tightening with the memory of friendly faces that had turned cold, I withdrew my hands from my pockets and rubbed a thumb over the gothic lettering tattooed across the back of them. I remembered him holding them, him bringing one hand to his mouth and then the other, him skimming his warm lips over the surface of my skin, him whispering my name in the dark. My vision blurred. I blinked rapidly feeling the burn of regret coloring my cheeks. I struggled to swallow the bitter pill of my own failure. After all the practice I’d had lately it should have been easier.
I had done what I had done. There was no taking it back. I had to deal with the consequences.
>
At least one positive result had arisen in the aftermath. Knowing that I had nothing left to lose, I had finally cobbled together the courage to stand up to my father, refusing to reenroll at the university I had only been attending to please him. I was independent now. I was following my dream to be first over the finish line. To stand atop the podium. To hold that crystal World Cup globe over my head one day.
“Hey, Karen,” I greeted the Black Cat Records’ receptionist after pushing through the double glass doors with their roaring lion insignia. “How are you?” I tucked my gloves into my pocket, tugged my cap off my head and smoothed down my mussed hair.
“I’m doing well, Melinda. How are you?”
“It’s just Bluebelle now.”
“Right.” She tapped a pencil to her forehead. “I forgot. Sorry.”
“No worries.” I smiled to soften my correction. I wasn’t angry. It was just that in my mind Melinda T. Belle was the name my father had chosen for me. It represented the person he had wanted me to be for the last nineteen years. I was on a new path now, one I had chosen for myself. I wanted to go by the name I used when filling out all the racing applications. “What room am I working in today?”
“Thirteen.”
“Ah, lucky thirteen.” I rapped twice on the high granite topped desk that almost completely encircled her and turned to go down the long hall. The carpeted runner yielded softly beneath my feet. The recording room doors on either side remained closed, yet memories from each and every one of them rushed over me. From toddler to teen Black Cat Records had been more a home to me than anyplace else, first at my dad’s knee as he had attempted without success to revive his flailing career, then behind a mic of my own after I had started doing backup vocals. Not much had changed except for the increased number of gold and platinum records hanging on the walls, and maybe the black haired girl I saw reflected on their shiny glass surfaces. The somber figure knew very well her solitary place in the world.
The Complete Tempest World Box Set Page 127