Home > Second Start (Holiday Springs Resort #5)(8)

Second Start (Holiday Springs Resort #5)(8)
Author: S.E. Rose

I make a face. “Uh, no. No way.”

“It’ll make you feel better. And we probably should eat something.”

I pick up the bag of pretzels on the table and take one out, handing them to her. We both sit, nibbling on pretzels and drinking sports drinks.

“I guess we haven’t gotten any wiser since we’ve been over twenty-one,” Harley states, breaking the silence.

“I suppose not,” I agree as I lean back in the chair.

“Come on, seriously, we should at least go get real food. Something greasy and gross, that’ll help.”

I make a face.

“You aren’t serious? Have you turned into some health nut since living in LA?”

I laugh. “No, I just don’t want to eat food right now.”

Harley stands. “We are going to get food, deal with it.”

“At least let me shower first.”

“Fine, but hurry up.”

“You want to shower too? You can borrow clothes. I mean unless you want to do the walk of shame.”

She flips me off but nods.

It takes us twenty minutes to shower and change, which is a record for us.

“OK, let’s go up to the restaurant,” I say. I’m finally feeling human again as we walk out into the cold mountain air.

“Damn, it’s gonna snow,” Harley mutters.

“Yeah?” I ask, squinting as I look up at the overcast sky, which is surprisingly bright for being cloudy.

“Can’t you tell? You always used to be able to tell,” Harley states as we walk.

“I guess I lost my abilities in LA.”

She shakes her head. “We need to get the mountain girl back in ya.”

“I guess so.” We lock arms and walk up the hill to the lodge.

It’s nearly two, and the lunch crowd has died down, so we get a nice table overlooking the mountain. We order grilled cheese sandwiches and hot cider; Harley makes sure we get alcoholic ones. I roll my eyes and watch the people skiing down the mountain. From afar, it looks so peaceful and nice. I decide I need to get out and ski this week. It’s been too long.

“Dreaming about Ty?” Harley asks me.

“No,” I say and realize immediately that it sounds too defensive.

“Right.”

“Screw you, Har. I’m not. Seriously, I put him out of my mind years ago.”

“Brit, it hasn’t even been four years since you all broke up.”

“Whatever.”

Harley reaches over for my hand. “I’m not trying to be a bitch. I just see the way you two look at each other. Whatever is between you isn’t over.”

“It’s over, Harley.”

“OK, if you say so.”

“I say so. So, drop it, all right?”

She sighs. “Fine.”

“Parker hasn’t changed much,” I point out, trying to steer the conversation away from Ty.

She laughs. “Nope. Parker is never going to change. He’s our resident bad boy asshat. And he’ll always be that.”

“I’m surprised he stayed here,” I admit.

“After he lost at Nationals two times in a row, he decided to throw in the towel. It was around the same time as Ty got injured. They’ve been working on designing some ski programs for kids. I guess it’s all top secret, cause I haven’t seen anything.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah, who knows. I mean, I still hang with them occasionally at parties and stuff, but we aren’t as close as we used to be back in high school.”

“People change,” I point out.

“True.”

“So, what about Cole?” Harley asks after a moment.

I shrug and grin. “I don’t know. I gave him my number. So, we’ll see. He’s still pretty cute.”

“He is,” she agrees. “I’ve seen him at a few parties around town since he came home from law school. He’s aged well.”

I roll my eyes. “Harley, it’s only been a few years. We aren’t ninety.”

She giggles. “Touché.”

Our sandwiches come, and we grow silent as we consume them.

“I hate to admit when you are right, but grease is the way to go,” I admit as I sit back in my chair.

“And...”

“And, the hair of the dog, too.” I laugh at her.

“Stick with me, kid.” Then she launches into a funny story about some guy she met awhile back.

 

 

Six

 

 

Tyson

 

 

“I’m starving!” I announce as we make our way up to the restaurant. I realize that I spend a lot of time at the lodge, but out here it just makes sense. No point in running into town from the lodge if I don’t have to. It makes my world small in good and bad ways. As we walk into the restaurant, I make a silent vow to myself that I need to travel during the offseason, get out of here, and go explore the world.

I’ve been using the Poconos as my crutch, and it’s probably time to walk on my own two feet again. I haven’t even ventured up to Vermont to ski, which I typically do in the winter.

My phone pings with a message as we walk to a table.

Christine: Hey, got your proposal for the ski camp. I love the concept. Let’s find time to chat more next week.

I smile. Christine Lockwood is a grant coordinator for a foundation that I worked with while I was skiing competitively. I had reached out to her a few weeks ago with a concept for a winter camp for kids from New York City who wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford to come to a lodge like this and learn how to ski.

She loved the concept, and last week I sent her an official proposal. It’s something I feel passionately about ever since I had a chance to talk with some school kids a few years ago. It dawned on me how privileged I was to be able to participate in this sport. Ski equipment is expensive, and most ski resorts require you to drive to them. I had never thought about how meager finances and location could prevent entire segments of the population from ever even trying the sport. I know, I’m the definition of privileged. That notion lit a fire under me, and I’ve been working to make this real ever since. I got Christopher Richards’ blessing to hold the camp here if I can get funding for it, he’d put in a twenty-five percent match.

And so, here I am, looking for grants. I admit it’s been a good distraction from the injury. It’s focused me in a time when I needed to focus. It’s hard watching my close friends prepare for another Olympics, knowing I won’t ever have another shot at it. My bronze medal is my only medal.

It’s bittersweet. But I also know that I’m lucky to have even made it to the Olympics one time, let alone medal.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Parker says with a chuckle as Luke, a friend of ours and waiter, brings us our usual drinks.

“Thanks, man,” I say to him with a nod.

“Yep, usual today?” he asks, and we both nod.

I turn toward Parker again and follow his gaze. Harley and Brittany sit at a table on the far side of the restaurant. They are deep in conversation. I admit I take my time watching them like a voyeur.

Brittany throws back her head and laughs at something Harley says. She looks so carefree and happy, a juxtaposition to the memory of her on the day we broke up, a look of utter anguish in her tear-filled eyes.

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