On the Slopes of Tahoe (Love Along the Way #2)

CHAPTER ONE

Breck

I ’m staring at the baggage carousel, going round and round without a single bag in sight—nothing to show for its efforts—and I can’t help thinking it’s a little bit like a metaphor for my life. I turn on the spot and take in my surroundings. Framed pictures of opalescent casinos and sparkling turquoise waters decorate the walls of the Reno-Tahoe International Airport. The soft Christmas music humming from the speakers and copious amounts of garland mark the cheery season better than the harried travelers I just deboarded with.

The date on the monitor overhead shows December eighth—the same date we left Sydney… nearly twenty-four hours ago. It’s as if time stood still while we traveled, not wanting us to miss a minute. Crossing the international dateline is a trip.

My body aches with the weariness that only comes after a travel day like this one, or maybe it’s the seven-year-old girl clinging to my back like a koala causing that pain. The tiny arms wrapped around my neck tighten as Willow—my daughter… my reason for breathing—nuzzles in closer against my shoulder. I tilt my chin down to brush a kiss against her hand, relishing the closeness despite my back screaming at me.

Nudging her awake earlier was nearly enough to send her into a meltdown, so once we were off the plane, I propped our backpacks on our carry-ons and let her clamber up my back. I’m sure I was quite the sight. Willow on my back, her long spindly legs wrapped around my waist holding on for dear life, while I wheeled the bags behind me. It’s a miracle I made it to baggage claim without dropping anything—most importantly her.

My shoulders sag under her weight as I contemplate the feat of getting all of it, plus two large suitcases and my snowboard bag, to the curb to meet my ride. I’m going to need a cart, but the prospect of tracking one down is daunting. If Willow’s mom were here, like I pictured her being when Wes and I originally schemed up this trip, it would be a non-issue. I wouldn’t be doing this alone. But she left—me… Willow… She left us.

“Daddy,” Willow whispers in my ear, shocking me out of my trance. “Someone is trying to talk to you.”

I spin around, eliciting a giggle from my koala baby, who tightens her grip around my neck to the point where I can’t breathe.

“Rory?” I croak out, confused and literally breathless. “Willow—” I croak again, then cough to clear my throat. “Can you loosen your grip, baby girl?”

I pull at her hands and she relaxes.

“Daddy, who’s that?” Her lilting, sing-song voice is quiet in my ear, but not so quiet that the woman can’t hear her.

Rory beams at us, offering a matching smile to the one I see so often on her brother’s face back home. Though, his is accented with dimples she doesn’t have. Instead, her nose and cheeks are smattered with delicate freckles.

“I’m Rory,” she says, addressing Willow, and her American accent brings an involuntary grin to my face. “Are you the famous Willow? Wes has told me all about you.”

Willow begins to wriggle and I squat low for her to slide off, my knees protesting with pops and cracks when I stand again. Oh the joys of being in your mid-thirties. Though, I guess it’s to be expected after hauling a fifty-pound seven-year-old for the past day, not to mention all our crap.

Willow bounds forward and wraps her arms around Rory’s middle. I chuckle under my breath while also noting we might need another “stranger danger” lesson. It’s my own fault. As a hugger by nature, she’s seen me throw around my affection freely nearly every day of her life.

“I love Uncle Wes. I miss him already. Will you be my friend now, since he’s not here?” Willow looks up at Rory, stopping her string of conversation to tilt her head and blurt, “You’re pretty.”

Rory laughs, and I scrub a hand down my face to suppress my smile—one I’m surprised to find is entirely genuine. This kid . She has no verbal filter.

Only now that the travel fog is lifting, I realize I can’t chide her for her comment, because she’s not wrong. Rory’s strawberry-blonde hair is braided over one shoulder, a few strands coming loose to curtain turquoise eyes that defy the harshness of the airport’s florescent lights. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake away the thought I’ll deny ever having. In my current circumstances, even thinking about another woman so soon after everything with Talia feels… wrong, somehow. Not to mention she’s Wes’s little sister—one who’s eight years younger than me. Yeah, wrong.

She’s in a pair of black leggings tucked into fur-lined snow boots. Her cream-colored puffer coat hits her knees and hides everything else about what she’s wearing, aside from that smile and those freckles.

“I’d love to be your friend, Bug.” Rory looks at Willow, and I hope she knows giving Willow a nickname is guaranteed to earn her hero status for life. She coasts a hand down Willow’s dark braid—a far cry from the intricate one Rory is sporting that’s giving Elsa from Frozen vibes.

Rory’s jewel-bright eyes catch mine and I realize I haven’t said more than her name in the minutes we’ve been standing here.

“Sorry,” I say with a smile and move to hug her. “I thought we were meeting you outside. I wasn’t expecting you to be here .”

My arms envelop her and I’m surrounded by her floral scent, my nose pressing close against her hair. Apart from Wes, his girlfriend Joss, and Willow, any physical touch I’ve allowed in the last few weeks has felt perfunctory and forced, but with Rory, it feels natural and comfortable. As if I’ve known her forever.

In reality, we’ve only met twice. Once when she and her parents came to Australia for Wes’s and my college graduation—she was only fourteen then. The other was last year when we were both in Hawaii after Wes’s crash, but we only overlapped for a couple of days. Now with Wes living in Sydney, and with how much he talks about her, I feel as if I know Rory better than I should.

“It’s good to see you,” I say, and I mean it. My arms tighten around her, and it’s like all the feelings I’m holding in are attempting to physically manifest themselves. I know she’s gone above and beyond behind the scenes to help make this trip happen for me and Willow, which means she feels like a safe place to land in this unfamiliar country. This unfamiliar life.

Hold it together, Breck.

“It’s good to see you too,” she says into my shoulder.

When I pull back, there’s a smile stretched across her lips, but I swear there’s a hint of surprise there too. At my hug?

I should’ve asked Wes how much he told Rory about why we’re here, about Talia leaving. If she knows it all, she probably expected me to be a mess.

And I’m doing everything in my power not to be.

I can’t fall apart. I have to hold it all together because Willow needs me to. I take another step back and squeeze the back of my neck with my hand, attempting to relieve the tension there, my slightly too-long hair curling over my fingertips.

“I thought you could use the extra hands,” she says, gesturing to the luggage cart off to her side.

I hold back from hugging her again. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it. You should’ve seen the show I made of myself schlepping just our carry-ons from the plane.”

“I make a great backpack,” Willow says with a grin.

“The best,” I say, smiling down at her and ruffling her hair—it already resembles a bird’s nest, so it’s not like it can get worse.

I follow Rory’s gaze over my shoulder to see bags appearing on the carousel.

She steps over to Willow. “You can stand here with me while your dad grabs everything. We can start loading this other stuff on the cart, can’t we?”

Willow, despite her exhausted state, rallies with a smile and nods. Her bright blue eyes, a carbon copy of my own, meet mine and she slips her hand into Rory’s without hesitation.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, that would be great. Thanks. I’ll be right back, Willow Bear.”

I know Willow is safe, that Rory is my best friend’s sister, but I still hesitate before turning to grab our bags. I’ve always been protective, bordering on overbearing, and now—especially after everything—just having Willow out of sight makes me jumpy. Makes me remember I couldn’t protect her from her mom leaving.

I join the other tired-looking passengers and let myself recall the look on my daughter’s face when I told her Talia wouldn’t be coming back. It’s branded into my brain, which is why I’m desperate to keep her close and never let her go. But as I spot our first suitcase rounding the belt, I stuff the memory down, because I can’t let Willow or Rory see past the facade that says everything is just fine .

Within fifteen minutes, I’m pushing an overfilled cart toward the parking garage. The girls walk ahead of me, hand in hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Willow’s animated voice carries back on the light wind, sweetly contrasting with Rory’s American accent. My shoulders relax to hear Willow sounding like herself. I wasn’t sure if I was being selfish in leaving Sydney, knowing it was the best decision for me but not knowing how she’d fare. Seeing her skipping down the pavement encourages my flailing heart. I made the right call .

Rory makes a beeline for a bright red Jeep and a small smile tugs at my lips. I remember when Wes bought it a few years back—how excited he was, sending me pictures and telling me all the off-road capabilities. I don’t think he used a single one, but maybe I’ll get a chance to test them out while I’m here.

He almost shipped it when he moved to Sydney back in June, but he decided it wasn’t worth the hassle for just a year. Lo and behold, it’s only been six months, and he has no intention of coming back to the States. But his loss is my gain because it saves me renting a car while we’re here for the next seven weeks.

Seven weeks. Willow and I have the entirety of her summer break to enjoy Tahoe, take a breather, and hopefully figure out how to do this “family of two” thing.

We load the bags into the back of the Jeep and as Willow hops into her seat, I’m thankful she no longer needs a booster after her latest growth spurt. One less thing to travel with.

I lean across to buckle her in and she whines in my ear, “Dad, stop. I can do it myself.”

Fiercely independent, my daughter. I swear sometimes she reminds me more of a thirteen-year-old than an almost eight-year-old, and I have no idea how to deal with it. And what’s worse, I’m going to have to figure it out alone .

I raise my hands in surrender but press a light kiss to her mess of dark hair before closing her door and slipping into the passenger seat. Rory already has the heat blasting, and while there’s no snow on the ground in Reno at the moment, the bite of the early December air is something to behold. Especially considering we left the height of summer behind us in the Southern Hemisphere. I was lucky to throw together even a skeleton winter wardrobe to bring with us.

“There’s seat warmers here,” Rory says, reaching across the center console to a button near my knee and turning them on. “I’m sure these temps are a bit of a shock. Wes sent me a picture of him and Joss lounging on the beach this morning after their surf.”

I shiver, sinking deeper into my seat. “I’m definitely going to miss those dawn patrol surfs. At least here I can snowboard, though it’s been forever since I was last on the slopes back in Australia. I’ll be a bit rusty.”

“No way. Wes told me how incredible you are on a board. Any board. I’m sure you’ll be outpacing anyone on the mountain in no time.” She shoots me a cheeky smirk before focusing back to the road. “Except me, of course.”

I laugh, and the sound surprises me. Laughter’s been rare over the past couple of weeks—longer, if I’m being honest—so I’m left feeling a little more like myself as I relax back on the headrest.

“I guess we’ll have to see about that.” I offer her a cocky grin and notice her lips twitch with amusement. Wes told me she loves to snowboard, maybe more than he ever did, and that she’s competitive about it. A tidbit I don’t doubt with the way she just lit up at the mere mention of the sport. Dragging my eyes away, I find Willow fast asleep in the back, cheek pressed against the window like she passed out trying to take in every detail of the world outside.

A light snow starts to fall as we reach the freeway and Rory’s hands tighten on the wheel; her eyes fixed on the road ahead. Responsible . Another quality Wes used to describe his sister, right up there with loyal. I saw them both in action when she dropped everything to be by his side in Hawaii—also with how she didn’t hesitate when he asked her to help us.

I use the quiet moment to take her in as she taps her fingers to the rhythm of the quiet Christmas music emanating from the speakers. She took her coat off when she climbed in, revealing a University of Nevada hoodie underneath. She’s a local girl, through and through. I trail my eyes to her face and, even in profile, her freckles stand out on her nose and cheeks, still pink from the cold.

“What?” She shoots a glance across to me, eyebrow raised in question.

Busted .

“Nothing. Sorry, I was just looking at your braid,” I say, covering for my gawking. “I have butchered more braids in the past few weeks than I care to admit—as you probably noticed.”

Rory’s face falls at whatever look she must see on mine when I nod my head toward Sleeping Beauty in the back seat. Hell, thirty minutes in and I’m already failing at keeping my baggage tucked away. Her eyes flit up to spy Willow through the rearview, where she continues to fog up the window with her steady breaths.

“That can’t be comfortable.” Rory chortles, shaking her head as her shoulders tremble with silent laughter.

I relax, thankful for the change of subject. “I’ve never met anyone who can fall asleep in any position, and in just about any location, as easily as her. I wish I had those skills. Just looking at her makes my joints hurt though.”

Flipping on her blinker to head up the pass that’ll take us to Tahoe, Rory says, “You know, you could follow suit and rest up. I don’t mind.”

“You sure?” I ask, stretching my legs out with a groan. It’s tempting, but she already drove the hour to come get us and I don’t want to leave her with no one to talk to on the way back.

“One hundred percent. I can turn up the radio or put on an audiobook if I need to. I don’t mind the quiet either.” She glances sideways, an encouraging smile lifting her pink lips.

“Okay. We’ll see, but why don’t you tell me more about the condo in the meantime,” I say, and slump against my own window.

Rory starts in on the details of the condo I’m renting from her parents, but before I catch anything beyond Willow’s room having bunk beds—she’ll be thrilled—I’m lulled to sleep by the sound of her voice and the whir of the engine.

When I pry my eyes open next, we’re pulling up outside what can only be described as a ski chalet with a dusting of snow coating the ground. It’s like a balm to the soul. When was the last time I saw the snow? It’s not like we get any in the city, and the closest hills are a three-hour drive from Sydney—at best. So, looking out at the powdery flurries blowing off the roof has a sense of peace washing over me.

“We’re here,” Rory says with a soft voice. “Home sweet home.”

That peace is replaced with a pang in my chest, reminding me that the home we left behind will never be the same.