CHAPTER TEN
Rory
I make it down the front steps before the first tear slides down my cheek. There’s a sting in the back of my throat as I contain what I’m sure will come out as a noisy cry if I let it. It’s a short walk to my condo and the tears I can’t control nearly freeze to my face as I go.
So stupid, Rory . It’s clear now that what I thought was a budding friendship was really just me being in the way. Overstepping and becoming nothing more than a nuisance to Breck as he tries to heal from the pain of Talia leaving. I thought I was helping; I thought he and Willow enjoyed my company. In reality, I was nothing more than Wes’s kid sister hanging around where I wasn’t wanted.
I’ve been here before. My people-pleasing nature often gets me into situations like this. Situations where I try too hard to be what everyone around me wants and I end up falling horribly short at every turn. The only people I’ve never felt that way with are Jamie and Wes. Here I am though, unable to even help Wes’s friend the right way without putting him in a position to tell me to back off.
The really stupid thing is that I could’ve sworn I saw heat in Breck’s eyes when he let me inside. That look had me blushing, but clearly I was seeing something that wasn’t really there. I made it up in my head, right along with the idea that we were, maybe, becoming friends.
My head tips back on a sigh and I watch the white wispy clouds churn overhead. At least this overcast sky can match my mood. It’s going to be pretty gloomy inside my head today.
Unlocking the door to my condo, I grab my bag from the foyer, slip my board under my arm, and head back out into the cold. I didn’t even get to finish my coffee before I was politely asked to leave them alone, but I couldn’t let Breck see how it affected me—even if he does make the best coffee. When I get desperate for caffeine later, I’ll grab some at the lodge.
Five hours later and I have not had another cup of coffee. I’m over-the-top cranky at this point, and the next person who crosses me is likely to get an earful. After dropping my bag in the office this morning, I headed up the mountain with all my gear in hopes of getting some fresh content. The chairlift was down when I got to it, and that was only the first of many missteps in today’s plan.
When I finally made it to the top, the clouds just barely covering the sun and giving off a shiny glow to the fresh snow, I realized my camera’s battery was dead. And since I charged it last night, it’s likely completely dead and I’ll need to replace it. Fine. I strapped in and flew down the hill, determined to enjoy the view of my lake, my town, and my mountain as I went, but nothing was shaking me from the bitter feeling Breck’s words brought on.
I made it back to my office and realized my backup battery was in my other camera bag. At home. I didn’t have it in me to trudge back for it, so I opted to use my phone for today’s footage. Videos for reels instead of static pictures for posts. Also fine.
But by the time I got back up the mountain, those white fluffy clouds had turned mean and were dumping snow in what I can only classify as a complete white-out. I’m rarely nervous being up on the mountain, but no matter how skilled you are on skis or a board, it only takes one novice who isn’t to knock you off your feet.
My anxiety was on high alert for the slow ride down, and keeping close to the trees only added to the terror. I decided I’d get a cup of coffee in the lodge and wait out the storm, but the coffee gods decided to double down on my punishment and cut power to the resort. Throwing my proverbial hands in the air, I grabbed my bag from the office and headed home.
I’m so close now, teeth chattering, fingers nearly numb as they cling to my board. I stomp up the stairs of my condo, ready for a hot bath, a cup of coffee, my sweats, and to put this shit day behind me.
I’ve only just crossed the threshold when a shrill “Rory?” greets me.
Well, damn, I guess today can get worse.
“Mom?” My voice holds the obvious question: What are you doing here? I lean my board against the rack just inside the door, kick off my snowy boots, and hang my jacket up. I ignore the drip, drip, drip of snow melting onto the stone floors and go in search of my mother.
She’s sitting at the island in my kitchen, a white mug in her hands. It’s the only plain one in the house and was bought specifically with her in mind. I like fun mugs. Mugs in any color and size—well, no, I like ones that hold lots of coffee. I collect them and have a whole cabinet full. My current favorite sits on the counter, next to a steaming pot of coffee. It was a present from Wes and has the Sydney skyline on it.
“Mom. What are you doing here?” I ask, my crankiness just barely leashed.
“I got here about thirty minutes ago. Remember we talked at dinner on Sunday about doing a quick inspection on the place?”
Yes, it was mentioned in passing . And she got here thirty minutes ago? Why didn’t she call or text me? It’s a Friday; she knew I’d be working.
“Sorry you had to wait.”
She shrugs and picks a piece of imaginary fluff off her sweater. “It’s fine. I took a few minutes to poke around, and everything seems to be in order. Then the storm really came up and I thought I’d wait it out a bit. I hope you don’t mind I made myself at home.”
She knows I do mind. I’m aware that this is their house, their investment property, but she knows I hate when they turn up unannounced.
“No problem at all.” I plaster on a smile. Everything in my life feels off-kilter today, and I just want to go to sleep and wake up to a better tomorrow.
The gravitational pull of the bean water has me circling the island to the coffee pot. I grab my mug, its comforting size and shape molding to my hand as I fill it. I pull out my favorite maple-pecan creamer and add a large splash. If this doesn’t fix my mood, nothing will.
I lean my elbows on the counter across from my mom, where she sits silently watching me—judging me.
“No Dad today?” I ask, wondering if they played rock, paper, scissors for who would get to “inspect” my home.
“No, he had a meeting with Logan about one of his properties.”
Logan .
Though my parents have their opinions about my job, they have no qualms about being friends with my boss. Logan has never allowed their connection to play a part in my work, but my parents absolutely believe they’re to thank for any success I might find at Empyreal.
“Ah. That explains why I didn’t see him. Though, I was up on the mountain most of the day.”
“In this weather? Rory, honestly, is that even safe?” She sounds scandalized.
I don’t tell her it likely was not safe, instead opting for the positive spin.
“It wasn’t too bad while I was up there, but the resort lost power and I figured I’d head home to get some more work done from here.” I hope the implication will lead to her leaving, and I almost think I’ve done it when she stands up in her perfectly pressed slacks and cashmere sweater. Only, she walks around to the coffee pot and refills her cup. I drop my head forward, taking a deep breath before pulling another sip of coffee between my lips.
“So, everything looked good with the house then? I told you there weren’t any issues.”
“I know, but your father doesn’t like to let these inspections go too long,” she says, like she wasn’t the one who first proposed the idea.
“Yeah, of course.”
Silence stretches between us. We’ve hit on work, and the house, the next topic is sure to be—
“How are Breck and Willow settling in?”
Well, at least it’s not my love life. The question smarts a little anyway, because they’re great. So great they don’t need me bothering them anymore. My chest tightens and the sting that was festering in the back of my throat returns, but I refuse to cry in front of my mom.
Glancing away, I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster, “They’re doing great. All settled in.”
“Oh good. You’ll keep an eye on things over there for us, won’t you?”
I swallow. “Sure, of course. Though I think they’re just trying to enjoy their time here. I don’t want to bother them.”
“Well, Wes will be here soon and can help out. I’m sure Breck will be glad to have him around.”
“Yep.” Keeping the hurt at bay is a struggle. But she’s right. God, I’ve never felt more like an unwanted younger sibling in my life. Wes never made me feel that way, no matter our age difference. He was always the best at including me. He never once locked me outside his room when his friends were around or made me feel like I was lame.
Mom pushes away from the island and places her mug in the sink. When she squeezes my shoulder, I lean into the touch, desperate for affection regardless of where it comes from. I look up, our eyes catching, and I wonder if she can see I’m having a hard day. Her eyes soften just a touch but then—
“When Wes and Joss get in next week, we said they could stay here with you since you have the extra room. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
Of course it’s okay, but why couldn’t she ask me first? Will I always feel like a visitor in this home? It also irks me the way she says “we,” like this was a joint decision between her and Dad, as if they’re still a couple.
When their marriage started to fail, they pulled the plug on it, no love lost. It was done with such ease, so few considerations, that I’ve always suspected they might do the same to me one day.
I nod, unable to find words, and she says, “Great. They’ll have more fun here with you than at mine or your father’s house. Have a good rest of your afternoon, Rory. See you and Jamie for dinner on Sunday.” She plants a perfunctory kiss on my cheek and moves to the door, out into the storm, leaving me to deal with the one raging inside of me.