“Okay. I guess I could get in that soak in the hot tub.”
“Oh.” He bit his lip. “About that…”
I sighed, already anticipating what he was about to say. “The temperature’s not turned up, is it?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. It didn’t feel right for me to use it, so…”
“Quinn,” I said, a little of my frustration leaking out and making my voice more forceful than I intended. “Dad said you could stay. That means you have free run of the place. You don’t need to tiptoe around or worry about imposing. What’s ours is yours.”
He stared at me, wide-eyed. Perhaps I’d been a little too strident. I cleared my throat. “I just mean you should feel free to do whatever you want, okay?”
“Okay.”
I turned away to pick up my laptop bag from the sofa. My duffel was already in Dad’s room, where I’d changed into dry clothes before making dinner. As I slung the bag over one shoulder, I watched as Quinn resumed loading the dishwasher. He was a little too focused on the task; I thought he was probably keeping busy so we wouldn’t have to talk. But there was the matter of our sleeping arrangements to discuss.
There were moments during dinner, when Quinn smiled at one of my teasing comments, that I thought maybe we’d be able to shed the awkward baggage of our past: Quinn’s resentment for my family, my clumsy kiss. But each time a lull fell in the conversation, the memories swept right back in to fill the gaps.
We couldn’t share a room. I’d known all along that it was a bad idea. Quinn was as skittish as a deer about to bolt, and my own emotions were on a Tilt-a-Whirl, whizzing from attraction to regret to hope to ridiculous teen angst.
I knew him, and yet, I didn’t know him at all. So how could I want him? But I did. I still did. And I shouldn’t.
I needed some distance and some perspective.
“I’m going to shower,” I announced.
Quinn didn’t turn, though his movements stilled. “Okay.”
His shoulders were up too high, giving away his anxiety. He wasn’t saying anything, but I could almost hear the unspoken questions tumbling through his head.
“I’m going to stay in Dad’s room.”
He turned then. “I could move if you want the loft. You shouldn’t be the one to be displaced.”
“Nah. Your stuff is all up there, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Just stay put then. It won’t be a hardship to crash in Dad’s king-size bed. I tested it out earlier. Pretty sure he’s been holding out on us.”
Quinn smiled weakly. “That nice, huh?”
“Like a fucking cloud,” I proclaimed. “I’m going to dream of angels tonight.”
Quinn laughed, and it was music to my ears. We had a long way to go until either of us were at ease, but that laugh gave me hope again.
Hope we could find a way to co-exist. Hope that we might even find a way to be friends.
Anything more than friendship, I couldn’t afford to hope for. That would be a dangerous thing.
6
QUINN
I slept badly, unsettled by a dream of driving off the side of the mountain and then falling into Jonas’s arms. At first it felt good, being held by him. He was warmth and safety as snow whipped wildly around us. Then his arms tightened around me, squeezing. I tried to get free, but he squeezed tighter and tighter. I looked up, ready to protest, but Jonas was gone. My ex, Clay, held me so tightly I could hardly breathe.
I screamed and struggled, until at last he let go, and then I was falling again…
The dream wasn’t exactly a mystery to unravel. The worse my relationship got with Clay, the tighter he tried to hold on to me and the more I wanted to flee. He wanted to know where I went, who I talked to, and what I did at all times of the day. By the end, I couldn’t even decide what to eat for dinner without an argument.
And inevitably, my weight would come into the conversation as well.
Quinn, you need to make healthier choices.
Are you really going to have that second helping, Quinn?
I heard about this new diet I want you to try…
Between the dream and my cycling thoughts, who needed an enemy? I rolled out of bed, determined to escape my demons. I wanted to forget Clay, forget the words my brain had soaked in and emblazoned in my mind like a tattoo.
The size of my ass didn’t matter. Clay’s opinion sure as hell didn’t matter. I was living for me now.
I went to the dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans and a cream-colored fleece pullover that wasn’t nearly as bulky as my hoodie last night. There’d be no hiding my body shape in this outfit, but that was okay because I was going to love me today.
I powered up my phone to check the time. I’d taken to leaving it off overnight to avoid drunken calls from my ex. Sometimes I “forgot” to turn it on during the day as well, to avoid texts and calls from Mom. I couldn’t ignore her as easily as I avoided Clay, not with a clear conscience. But lying to her felt even worse than missing her calls.
The screen glowed to life. The time read six a.m. Fuck, that was early for me. What was I going to do all morning? I’d already cleaned the place thoroughly in my first few days. I’d watched a good number of movies, finished the latest mystery novel from my favorite author, selected and reselected my outfit for my interview a dozen times over. It wasn’t perfect, but I didn’t have the money to buy anything new. Wool pants and a button-down shirt would have to do.
I tried not to look at the number of notifications on my phone, but my gaze strayed there, and I winced at the thirty-three emblazoned text icon, and the fifteen under the phone icon. The weather must have cleared enough for service to resume. Lucky me.
I could have just blocked Clay, but I wanted to talk to him one more time before I did. When I decided the time was right. And Mom…well, I couldn’t block my mom, especially when I was the one in the wrong. I’d have to face her, and the clock was counting down on that difficult conversation, but it could wait a while longer.
My phone lit up, vibrating in my hand, and I jumped and threw it onto the bed like it was a viper. Heart racing, I leaned forward, peeking at the screen. It was a text from Mom.
Wish you were here. Are you certain there’s no way to get Christmas Day off? Maybe I could come there.
Oh, God no. I had to shut that idea down right now. If Mom went to Nebraska, she’d discover I wasn’t living there, and it’d be an epic shit storm.
With a sour stomach, I sent off another half-truth.
Mom, no. You should enjoy the holiday with Russell and Paige. I’m an adult. I can handle working one holiday.
She messaged back a frownie face. What if I can’t handle missing my baby boy? Can I call you?
Shit. I might cave if I heard her voice. Lying via text was one thing, but by phone? I wasn’t sure my heart could take it.
I should go. I’m driving.
Darn. Don’t text and drive! Stay safe, sweet boy. See you SOON.
Spring break for sure, I wrote, just to be sure she wasn’t planning to spring anything on me. I really do need to focus on my career goals right now. But I love you.
Love you too. Bye!
With a groan of relief, I powered the phone back down. It wasn’t an entire lie, I thought as I tried to comfort myself. I really did need to focus on my career goals—hopefully by getting that job at Snowhaven Resort.