CHAPTER THREE
Breck
I know Willow will eventually love the bunk beds in her room, but she ended up in bed next to me last night. I should’ve expected it. Her disoriented yells woke me from a dead sleep just after eleven. I might’ve thought it was comical, me running through the house in my boxers to get to her, but seeing as I don’t know the layout very well myself, I ended up running into a wall and stubbing my toe on the door jamb.
Needless to say, I’m knackered. Having tiny feet in my face half the night only exacerbated my own restlessness. Though, if being in bed with me is what she needs right now, I’ll deal with it.
I yawn and say a silent thank-you to Rory for the stock of coffee grounds next to the coffee maker. If I’d had to go out first thing this morning, I might’ve cried. In reality, I would’ve smiled through it and found a way to make it an adventure for Willow, but I definitely would’ve thought about crying.
Pouring grounds into the filter and pushing the strong brew option, I take a full breath in through my nose. My shoulders drop away from my ears as I let it out, and the tension I was holding starts to melt away. Moving around the kitchen, I open and close all the cabinets, familiarizing myself with our new space. I find a large mug with an Empyreal Mountain Resort logo and feel the itch to get out there. There’s a comfort to the mountains, to the glistening snow covering them, and I intend to make the most of it.
I spent every winter of my early childhood in Perisher Valley—one of the best ski areas in Australia. Those mountains were my first home, the one I shared with my parents before they were taken from me. I haven’t been that far south since Willow was born. Even when I coordinated trips there with my tour company, Adventure Chasers, I never went with them.
Not my company anymore.
I sigh, my hands gripping the counter, and let myself wallow until the coffee stops percolating. I stare out the window at the sun illuminating the peaks in the distance, and I think back on my attempts to convince Talia to take a family ski trip. She never had any interest, and I didn’t want to leave Willow behind, so the years passed in the name of compromise. I should’ve prioritized it so I could’ve shared that connection to my parents with Willow.
What was I so afraid of?
The beep of the coffeemaker draws my attention and I shake away the question. Pulling open the fridge, I find milk nestled between a carton of eggs, some butter, and shredded cheese. It looks like scrambled eggs are on the menu this morning. I pull everything out, spread the ingredients on the counter, and fill my mug with piping hot coffee and a splash of milk.
Ten minutes later, I hear the pitter-patter of little feet on the stairs and turn to see a sleepy Willow shuffling into the kitchen. My mood brightens instantly.
“Morning, love.”
If I thought her hair was a mess yesterday, it’s much worse now. The braid is in shambles, sticking out in all directions, loosely held together by the elastic at the bottom. She offers me a small smile and climbs onto a stool at the island worktop.
“Morning, Dad,” she says with a yawn, so it sounds more like “morig da,” which makes me chuckle. “I’m hungry.”
“I bet you are, Willow Bear. You slept right through dinnertime last night. Scrambled eggs and toast sound okay?” She nods and swivels on her stool to take in the open floor plan. Behind her is the entryway and the stairs that lead up to our rooms, and the ones that disappear down to the lower level. Both the eat-in kitchen and living room are lined with expansive windows that look out onto the mountains and Empyreal’s ski runs. The natural light is nearly blinding, and she squints sleepily.
“I’ll give you the tour after breakfast. I think you’re going to love your room, and there’s a game room downstairs”—I wiggle my eyebrows at her, knowing this will be her favorite part—“with a foosball table.”
She squeaks with excitement. Her private school back home has one and she fell in love with it. So much so that I bought her one for our house. The house we left behind in Sydney. Damn, it’s like a punch to the gut to think of going back there just the two of us. Eventually we’ll have to figure that out. I turn away to grab plates so she doesn’t see my smile fall.
“Can I go play now? Daddy, please!”
“Breakfast first. Then, you’re going down, little ankle-biter.” I laugh and she joins in, nothing but glee on her face. The fact that she can still find that kind of joy fills my heart and gives me hope for myself.
Plating our scrambled eggs and toast, I add a sprinkle of shredded cheese and slide Willow’s across to her. I carry mine around so we can sit shoulder to shoulder. I moan around my first mouthful of eggs, and it hits me all at once that I slept through dinner last night too. I only took a cursory look around the house before brushing my teeth and falling into bed. The bright side of that was getting a few hours of sleep before I ended up at the stinky end of Willow’s feet.
Appreciative sounds interrupt my musings, and I nudge Willow’s side. Getting her to eat has never been an issue. The kid can put away some food, but she also has more energy than a kangaroo on crack.
“Done!” She raises her hands in the air and looks at my nearly empty plate. “Come on, Dad, I want to go play!” She tugs on my elbow, and I swallow back the desire to tell her to be patient. She’s been cooped up or sleeping for nearly two days and that energy has finally found its way to the surface. She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, standing beside the stool and smiling ear to ear.
“Okay okay. I’m done.” I look at the mess on the counter, then at the four-foot form already clearing the first two steps downstairs. I turn my back on the kitchen.
I have a foosball game to win.
I did not win. I don’t know how she managed to school me so thoroughly. It was kind of embarrassing actually, and I’m just glad there was no one else around to watch me fail.
Hell, there’s yet another metaphor for my life in there somewhere.
After she yelled “In your face, sucker!” at me for the third time, I had to send her to her room so she could take a minute to cool down. Awesome . I blame Wes for that little gem of a phrase. However, I’m not sure it’s the punishment I intended with how thrilled she is at the bunk-bed situation.
I told her to unpack—maybe a little ambitious on my part—and I’ll likely be unable to find a single thing I put in her suitcase when I go in there later. So really, I’m punishing myself.
Ah, the joys of parenting.
I drop back into my pillows and cross my arms over my chest, heaving a sigh. I’m a single parent . Officially. I have no partner to fall back on anymore. No one to ask for help. No one to share both the beauty and burden of parenting with. As much as I want to let myself pretend this is a carefree vacation, just me and my favorite girl, it’s not. The realization cracks something in me, just like every time I think about the life we had before and the life that awaits us now in the after.
Taylor Swift’s voice floats through Willow’s door down the hall. I should probably tell her that being in something like a time-out means no music, but right now, if it makes her happy, she can dance around to “Shake it Off” all she wants.
I stare at the unmoving ceiling fan and the raw emotions crest like a wave. I’ve always had them—big emotions, and lots of them. I learned after my parents died that those things make people uncomfortable though. That negative ones only work to scare people off. So, since I was thirteen, repressing them became as easy as breathing. And after my aunt and uncle—who took me in when I lost my parents—also passed, it became as natural as the skin I wear. At least it was, until my entire life imploded. Now I’m feeling too much and I’m afraid of what that might do to the people around me who have never seen me as anything but positive, happy, and confident.
What will it do to Willow if she sees me like this? I’ve been trying my best to shelter her. She’s struggling in her own way and shouldn’t have to see her dad struggling as well. It’s my job to protect her. Even from my own feelings— especially from my own feelings. She doesn’t need another person in her life changing right before her eyes.
Not that Talia changed.
She just left.