REED
The night drags on forever. Only my father and Melody have escaped. They made their excuses and waved goodnight to everyone an hour ago.
I would bail, too, but the Sharpes keep topping up my whiskey—and Ava’s. I feel compelled to stand here and watch over her. The Sharpes’ personalities match as well as their ties. And I’d just as soon drop kick them off the summit than do business with them.
The eldest Sharpe pours the last of the bottle into Ava’s glass as her eyes turn to slits. She’s definitely drunk. In spite of her careful poise, I see the signs. The heavy eyelids. And the way her head looks a little too heavy for her neck.
I pick up her whiskey glass when Mr. Sharpe turns away, and I take a gulp of it. “This is bullshit,” I whisper.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she hisses.
“Did I say you couldn’t?”
“I don’t remember asking for your help. Please stop pretending to be nice to me.”
This makes me frown. “What if I’m not pretending?”
She rolls her eyes.
Mercifully, Grandpa Sharpe finally declares that it’s past his bedtime. “If you want to howl at the moon, you still have to get up with the roosters,” he says.
Hands are shaken all around. Luckily, Ava distributed the Sharpes’ room keys before she got wasted, so all she has to do is wave unsteadily from her barstool. “Breakfast is served until eleven,” she slurs.
And then they’re finally, blissfully gone.
“Jesus,” the evil bartender says as she collects all the glasses. “They’re awful.”
At least she and I agree on something. “They’re fucking terrible,” I grumble. “I’ve met hundreds of great people from Texas. And then there’s those guys.”
“Shhhh!” Ava stage-whispers. “They have a lot of money. And they won’t be living here. S-so it doesn’t matter if I don’t like their whiskey.” She hiccups. “Or their sexism. But I did it. I was fun! And I outlasted the Sharpes. Every damn one of them. Pass the trophy!” She throws her hands up in victory.
Unfortunately, this destabilizes her. And even as she grabs the edge of the bar for support, she slides awkwardly off the stool and toward the floor.
“Oh, shit, Ava,” Halley says, ducking under the bar to help.
“I’m fine!” Ava declares from a crouch near the floor.
I take a step toward her, but the bartender gets there first, helping Ava to her feet. “Sit still for fifteen minutes, okay? I’ll drive you up the hill just as soon as I can close.”
“No need,” she says blearily. “My pajamas are calling my name. Night!” Then she turns and carefully walks away from us.
“Oh Jesus.” I’m uneasy as I watch her slowly cross the lobby, her arms outstretched for balance. Like a tightrope walker with no safety net.
“Ava!” The bartender calls after her. “Where is your coat? And you can’t walk home in those heels!”
But Ava just lifts a hand and waves.
“Fuck.” The bartender throws down a towel. “She couldn’t wait ten minutes?”
“I got this,” I say. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t wander into the snow.”
Halley growls, but I don’t stick around to hear what she thinks. I hurry after Ava, who has almost made it to the double doors.
I catch up with her as she is trying unsuccessfully to hit the button on the wall that will open them. “Where is your coat?” I ask as she finally nails the button.
“Not sure,” she grunts. “I’ll find it tomorrow.” The doors part, and a blast of cold air greets us. But she steps outside.
Shit. I step out, too. “Ava, hey,” I say, tailing her into the bitter cold and shrugging off my jacket. “At least take my suit jacket. You’re going to freeze to death in that dress.”
“Nope,” she says. “No help from you.” Even as the words leave her mouth, she stumbles, and I have to catch her elbow to stabilize her.
Once she’s steady, she jerks her arm away again. “I’m fine, Reed. Go home. Go back to California where I don’t have to see your face.”
I open my mouth to promise to do that, if only she’ll put the damn jacket on. But she’s not done.
“Just get back on the plane with your minions and your hot clothes and your gym body and—could you please get ugly before you ever come back? Like, really ugly. And with a dad bod.”
I choke back my laughter. “Will do, Ava. I know you don’t really want to see me. But it’s probably a good thing that we finally saw each other again.”
“What? No, it isn’t.” She makes a face, like she’s tasted something bitter. Then she stumbles again, and I catch her forearm one more time. She shakes me off. “How could you say that? I hate you.”
Pain slices through me. “I know,” I say carefully. “And I’m sorry. We should probably have this conversation when we’re not drunk. But I’m happy to see you doing well. It’s good to see you smile.” Even if it’s a drunk smile. She’s moving slowly now and rubbing her arms against the cold. So I make an attempt to drape the jacket over her shoulders.
“I smile all the time,” she announces, shrugging the jacket off. I barely catch it before it hits the sidewalk. “I didn’t smile for like three years after you left me. But I’m better now. I’m good.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.”
“I’ll bet,” she mutters.
“No, it’s true. I left you so you could be happy eventually.”
Ava stops walking abruptly. “What? That makes no sense. I’m super drunk right now. And still a hundred percent sure that makes no sense.”
Yikes. Ava deserves this explanation, but she’s probably too drunk to hear it. And I’ve had more lucid moments, too. “You know, we’ll discuss this in the morning.”
“No, we won’t. But just so you know—telling a girl that the reason you abandoned her after she had a miscarriage was so she could be happy? That’s pretty much the definition of cruelty.”
I heave a sigh. “Yeah. I know that now.” At the time, though, I’d thought of myself as a toxic cloud of darkness. Removing myself from Ava’s life felt like the only option. But she doesn’t need to hear me arguing with her. “Okay. You’re right. I’m a monster.”
“You are,” she agrees. “A hot, irritating monster. Your assistant is nice, though. You should give her that raise.”
I bark out a laugh. “Everyone likes Sheila. She’s a great kid.”
Ava’s eyes narrow. “Stop doing that.”
“What?”
“You’re smiling. Don’t. That smile makes me stupid.”
I can’t help it. I laugh, because Ava hasn’t been stupid a day in her life.
“Cut. It. Out!” She gives a full body shiver and snatches my jacket out of my hands. “Give me the jacket. But save the smiles for your girlfriend.”
“Right. Except I don’t have one.” And now the smile falls right off my face. I’ll have to call Harper again tomorrow and apologize. And also, I should just break off our casual arrangement. She deserves better.
We’ve reached the path that leads toward the employee buildings. “Don’t follow me,” Ava says. “You got upgraded, remember?”
“Yup. But it’s a nice night for a walk. This cold air is sobering me up.”
Ava regards me with a serious glare. Or she tries to. But a very drunk woman in a jacket that’s several sizes too large can only look so serious. “Walk somewhere else. I’m going home alone,” she says. “Thanks for the jacket.”
Then she marches off. Almost. As I watch, she stumbles again, this time going down hard on the cold concrete. “Damn it!” she shrieks. “My shoe!”
I look down and see that one of her high heels has snapped off.
“Uh-oh.”
She picks up the broken piece and flings it toward the hotel. “I was about to storm off! I was making a dramatic exit.”
“I saw. It was going super well,” I tell her. “Definitely got that vibe.”
She lets out a groan as I scoop her off the ground. And, yeah, the velvet dress is just as touchable as I’d imagined.
“What are you doing?” she yelps.
“We tried this your way. Now we’re going to do it my way.”
“No!”
“Too late.” I toss her over my shoulder, and she lets out a shriek.
I’m deaf in one ear now. Still, I don’t slow down.
Once I get her into the hotel elevator, she stops shouting. Although she’s still complaining. She holds up the wall with two hands and tells me all the ways I’ve ruined her evening. “Damn you, Reed. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”
“What wasn’t?” I press the button.
“I had all these big ideas about what would happen if you ever showed up here again.”
“Did you?” I’m carrying my jacket and what’s left of her shoes.
“You know it. I pictured you showing up when I was looking fiiiiine.” She tips her head back when she says it, and for the fiftieth time tonight, my eyes try to stray to her cleavage.
“You do look fine,” I point out. “Really fiiiiiine. But I didn’t think you’d want me to say so.”
“I don’t,” she snips. “But I wanted you to think it.”
“Understandable.” I bite back my smile as the elevators part on my floor. I get out and lead the way to the Vista Suite, and she follows like a baby duck. A drunk one.
“I wanted you to feel very bad,” she insists. “In this scenario I’m having a great hair day, and I’m dating a local hunk.”
There’s a sudden pressure in my chest as I scan the key card. “You’re dating a local hunk?”
“No,” she grumbles. “Not really. But I could be.”
I exhale. “Of course. Now come in here and warm up. I’ll give you some clothes. And if you are dead set on going home, you can borrow my boots and lace them up tight.”
Ava walks into the suite and stops in the center of the living room. Then her eyes snap toward me as if she realizes we’re alone in my hotel room. “I am totally going home.”
“Okay,” I say heavily. “But is there a late-night bellhop we can call to drive you up the hill?” Otherwise, I’m about to change into all my warmest clothes and make a second attempt at walking her home. And neither one of us would enjoy it.
When I pictured this quick trip to Colorado, walking around with a sexy, angry, wasted Ava wasn’t anywhere in my plans.
“I could ask Ralph at the front desk,” she murmurs. “Not that he’s supposed to leave his post. God this room is nice.”
“Isn’t it?” I pick up a remote control off the mantel and point it at the fireplace. When I hit the button with the flame on it, the fire whooshes to life.
“Oh, that’s cozy.” Ava drifts toward the fireplace. She sinks down, somehow missing the couch that faces the fireplace, and ends up seated right in front of it, legs stretched out before her. The room is mostly dark, so the firelight flickers over her skin. “This is living. I just wanted to go somewhere and be the guest for once. I just wanted a vacation. And a promotion. Is that too much to ask?”
She’s talking to herself and not me, so I don’t offer any advice. I move over to the sofa and sit down on it.
A moment later, her head lolls against my knee. It feels so natural to reach down and smooth her hair with the palm of my hand. My chest tugs at the familiar softness under my fingers.
“Oh wow,” Ava says, her head growing heavier against my knee. “That’s nice. Nobody ever touches me.”
My hand freezes on her head. “That is a damn shame,” I whisper. Honestly, I’d always imagined her off having an amazing life. Healing people at the hospital. Getting married. Having kids.
Yeah, when I allowed myself to think about her, that was the vision I saw.
“I mean, I’ve had sex,” she says.
Okay, I don’t want to picture that at all. Nope.
“Not good sex,” she clarifies. Then she turns her chin and looks right at me, her eyes glittering in the dark. “Not like we used to have. God, Reed. We were so hot together. Couldn’t be in the same room without tearing our clothes off.” She gives a little shiver at the memory.
And, yup, I’m not too drunk to get hard just by picturing my senior-year dorm room, bending her over the window seat…
Just…damn.
I clear my throat. “Yup. I remember. Vividly. You were my first love, Ava. My only one, if I’m honest. No wonder it was so good.”
“I told you not to be nice to me. This is bad,” Ava says. But then right after she says it, she leans a little closer.
It ought to feel really weird sitting here with Ava in the dark, but it doesn’t. I feel peaceful. The Vista Suite fireplace lulls me into drowsiness. I’m just about to ask Ava if she wouldn’t rather just sack out here instead of heading back out in the cold, when she sits bolt upright.
“Oh no. I think I might…”
My sluggish brain is trying to predict the end of that sentence when she leaps to her feet and sprints into the bedroom. Her destination must have been the en suite bathroom, because a moment later, I hear retching.
Later, after I’ve changed into a pair of flannel pants and brushed my teeth, I try to coax Ava out of the bathroom. The puking has stopped. And I’ve already done what I can for her, like placing a fluffy towel under her knees, and bringing her a T-shirt to wear instead of her slinky dress, which I helped her out of before I hung it up in the closet.
And I absolutely did not stare at that lacy bra and the matching lacy thong. No, ma’am. I didn’t even look. Much. I slid my own T-shirt over her head as fast as I could.
“How long have I been here?” she whimpers, her head cradled on the toilet seat.
I sure hope the Madigan Mountain cleaning staff is up to snuff. “Maybe an hour?”
“Ugh. Everything hurts.”
All I can do is run a hand down her hair again and offer her a cup with another little dose of mouthwash in the bottom.
She rinses and spits. I’m sure she’s suffering, but I hope she’s not also experiencing the same cascading memories that I am tonight.
Ten years ago, Ava was pregnant with our baby, and she had two solid weeks of morning sickness. I’ve been in this place before, comforting her as best I could. Holding her hair and bringing her mouthwash to swish—it’s probably even the same brand.
It made me so happy to care for her. We were a team, and we had a future together. Nothing scared me.
Or so I thought.
“Okay. I think I’m done,” she mutters.
“Good,” I say quietly. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
“Okay,” she says drunkenly. “I can do that right here.”
“No, no. Come on. Up you go.” I take her hand and guide her slowly to her feet. She groans a little but allows me to lead her to the king-sized bed, which I’ve already turned down for her on the side closest to the bathroom.
She moans when her head hits the pillow.
I spend a few more minutes tidying up in the bathroom, leaving the place clear of obstacles in case she needs to hurry in again.
Ava is already sleeping by the time I’m done. I walk around to the other side of the bed. There’s no point in me trying to get comfortable on the sofa. Morning will be here practically the minute after I close my eyes.
I slip into the luxurious bed, shut off the lamp, and pull up my side of the comforter, which is like a big, fluffy cloud.
Madigan Mountain Resort is nice, I have to admit. This bed gets five stars. Just as I’m about to drift off, Ava sighs sleepily. Then she rolls over with the typical grace of a drunk—which is none. “You smell niiiiiice,” she says to my shoulder.
I hold my breath, wondering if she’ll say more. She doesn’t. Instead, she burrows a little closer to me, pressing her face against my arm.
Not that I want to see her suffer, but drunk Ava is a hoot. Smiling into the darkness, I lift my arm so it doesn’t block her airway. She moves into the open space, scooting closer, nestling her sleeping face on my bare chest.
Then she lets out a comfortable sigh.
Well, shit. I forget to breathe for a long beat. It’s been a million years since I held Ava. And I hadn’t planned on doing it tonight.
The truth is, I haven’t held anyone in the last ten years. Not enthusiastically, anyway. I’d not been a dick about it, but after I left Ava, I never had the urge to get too close to anyone else. I became the kind of lover who’s generous in the moment but then gets the hell out when the fun is over.
But here I am again, Ava’s soft breath on my bare chest. I used to love this. We spent many happy nights curled into a twin-sized bed. After exhausting each other, we’d lie there, talking in the dark. She told me about her crappy home life—a father who’d left the family when she was young. A mother who somehow resented her for it. The yelling. The fighting.
And in return, I told her… not much. I guess I told her about my big dreams on the ski slopes. And how it was a huge longshot for me to make Team USA, but I still wanted to try.
I didn’t tell her much about my mother’s death a couple years before we met.
I didn’t tell her how angry and cold my father became afterwards.
I didn’t tell her about the awful black cloud that had hung over my head for so long. How I’d partied like a rock star and skied like a daredevil just to try to shake it off. Just to feel things again.
Or how I felt the darkness lift the very moment I first spoke to her in that pottery class. Loving Ava had cured me of the sad fog I used to live inside.
Tonight, I’d told Ava that I’d left her so that she could be happy. And she’d called me on it immediately. That makes no sense. Even plowed, she’d called me on it.
When I was twenty-two, I was absolutely sure that I was taking the only option available to me. I knew with a dark certainty that it was true.
But right now, lying here listening to her breathe, I can’t fathom why. I can’t call up even a wisp of that old logic. It’s gone, like wood smoke leaving a chimney, reaching the nighttime air.
I turn my chin a fractional degree and place a soft kiss to her hair. Then I lie back on the pillow and try to sleep.
