Chapter 21 #2
“She was invited,” I say, “but couldn’t come because they’re still in grand opening mode at the hotel.”
Petra flips back a few hangers to some item of clothing she passed before.
“I think this is perfect, then,” she says, holding up a black jumpsuit that I forgot I even had.
It’s something Jackson had given to me years ago because it was a too short on her.
The front has a relatively low V and the back is mostly open, with wide swaths of fabric that crisscross over my shoulder blades.
I remember trying it on and thinking it was perfect, easy to move in and flattering.
“I forgot I even had that,” I tell them. “You’re right, it’s perfect!”
And suddenly I’m looking forward to tomorrow night, because honestly, the perfect outfit can make you feel better about having to work on a Friday night.
“Wow, don’t you look phenomenal tonight?” Heather says when I pop my head into her office shortly before the event is set to begin.
“Thanks. When you said you wanted me to interview some of the athletes about their careers”—a fact she only mentioned to me late this afternoon, despite knowing how much I prefer being behind the camera instead of in front of it—“it kind of put the pressure on me to up my game.”
“Well, you are going to not only do a great job, but look great doing it. Hey,” she says, her eyes lighting up, “how’s Winston? Is he home with Beau tonight?”
I plaster a fake smile on my face and by the way she looks at me, I wonder if she can tell how forced it is. “Winston’s great. He’s home alone. Beau left for Aspen last weekend. The X Games start tomorrow, you know.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize he was competing. How’s he feeling about his chances there?”
“I—I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since he left.”
Heather’s eyebrows dip and she tilts her head. “Really?” I nod in reply. “I guess I misinterpreted things,” she says. “When you guys picked Winston up after getting back from Vegas, it seemed like there was something there between you two.”
“Beau and I were just roommates. We got along really well, though.” My voice sounds falsely bright.
“Hmm,” she says, and I can’t even interpret what that means.
But I can say with certainty that in Beau’s mind, at least, we were just roommates with benefits.
I listened to all his voice mails last night after Petra and Lauren left, hoping to hear something that just wasn’t there.
His messages were a sad assortment of “Call me back,” or “Sierra, what happened? Why’d you disappear? ” or “Why are you doing this?”
The last question, which was also the last voice mail he left before my mailbox filled up, is the only one that I could potentially read anything into.
And only because his voice cracked slightly when he asked why I was doing this?
What did he even mean by this? Not calling him back?
Because the end hurts too fucking much, that’s why! I screamed in my head in response.
Heather and I head toward the part of the Elite Training Center that’s set up for the event, and I easily slip into work mode as people start arriving.
There are photographs to be taken, and I’m the girl to do it.
A lot of times, the people photographing these types of events get groups of people together to pose.
That’s not my style. I like to zoom in on an animated conversation, capture the looks on people’s faces as they converse, document the sweet moment when someone brings their grandmother a plate of appetizers or when two athletes clink their glasses together, toasting an old friendship.
When I post these pictures, I want our fans to feel like they were here.
Like they were part of this event, not like they are looking at posed photos.
I’m squatting down, my butt resting on one heel and my elbow resting on my upright knee, while filming one of our retired athletes dancing with his three-year-old daughter.
They’re holding hands and she’s standing on his feet as he shuffles her around to the instrumentals of the jazz quartet playing in the corner of the room.
It’s the most heartwarming thing I’ve seen in a while and I’m so absorbed watching them on the screen of my DSLR camera that I barely register the tap on my shoulder. But then it’s followed by my name.
I know that voice. I stand slowly and turn around. “What are you doing here?”
“I come to this event every year,” he says. “It’s where we met, four years ago.”
As if I could forget that.
“But, Peter, why are you here this year? This is where I work. You knew I’d be here. Couldn’t you have skipped it? Or at least given me a heads-up that you’d be here?” Never once did I imagine he’d attend this event after the way he broke up with me.
He lets his eyes wander up and down my body as I ask my questions, and instead of answering them, he says, “You look gorgeous. I forgot how beautiful you are.”
“Yeah, you forgot a lot of things when it came to me,” I spit out. “Like how to remain faithful.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, and reaches over to run his hand along my bicep.
“Do. Not. Touch. Me.” I enunciate every word clearly so there can be no misunderstanding or misinterpretation of my intentions.
“Don’t be like that, babe,” he says and I swear I see red.
“Babe?”
“C’mon, Sierra, you know we were so good together. I did something stupid and messed it all up, but I’m willing to apologize and I’m hoping I can count on your forgiveness.”
He sounds like he’s talking to a fucking business partner, trying to close a deal.
“You’re hoping you can count on my forgiveness?” I say, a small laugh escaping with the last word. I lower my voice to make sure no one around us can hear me. “You were fucking your administrative assistant while we were engaged. Speaking of which, where is she?”
I glance around but don’t see Jane anywhere, which is a relief.
“I came to see you,” he says. “I made a very big, very stupid mistake. I need to know what I can do to get you to forgive me.”
“Why should my forgiveness matter to you now, when I mattered so little to you then?” I ask.
“Sierra, you were always the one for me. Jane was an accident—”
“An accident? Like what, your dick slipped and accidentally landed in her? Then you accidentally asked me to move out?” I’m trying to keep my voice low, because work is not the place to be having this conversation.
But these are not things that I can wait to say to him because after tonight I hope to never see him again.
“We were so good together. I lost sight of that, lost track of what was important. The life we were building together, that’s what I really want.” He’s groveling and it’s not helping his case, it just makes him look weak and pathetic. “You wanted that life too, didn’t you?”
“I thought that’s what I wanted. But in the last month, I feel like I’ve gotten to know myself better, to know what I need in a relationship.
I need someone who goes out of his way to do things that he thinks will make me happy, someone who makes me feel safe.
I need a guy who looks forward to seeing me when I get home at the end of the day, who is equally happy chilling at home on the couch or going out and dancing all night.
I need a man who knows how to worship my body, and who trusts me with his deepest secrets.
And you failed at all of those, but especially the last two. ”
“But Sierra, what we had together—”
“Was pathetic,” I finish for him. “I haven’t missed you. And if you’ve missed me, then I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped with Jane. But that doesn’t mean that you and I belong together.”
“So you’d rather wait for this perfect mystery man to show up? The one who’s going to meet your extensive list of ridiculous criteria?”
He’s mocking me, so I take a small step away from him, square my shoulders, and level him with the truth. “Newsflash, asshole. I’ve already met him.”
This truth spurs a new realization—Now I just need to figure out how to get him back.
I pull open the door and step into the lodge. It’s absolutely packed, and I have no idea how I thought I’d ever find Beau at this mountain and surprise him. Buttermilk is the smallest resort in the Aspen Snowmass family, but it’s packed to the gills with fans here to see the X Games debut tonight.
I glance around and it’s wall-to-wall people.
I weave my way into the restaurant, thinking that since it’s lunchtime, maybe I can find him there.
But every table is packed, every seat is taken, and there’s barely even passing room between the tables.
The big windows and high ceilings, which normally help ski lodges feel less crowded, don’t seem to be doing their job today.
I take off my hat and sigh in frustration as I reach into the pocket of my jacket for my phone. I’m going to have to call him. So much for the surprise effect.
“Sierra?” I hear from behind me, and a river of ice flows down my spine. That is not a voice I expected to hear this weekend.
I turn and find Jackson seated and staring up at me, her dark eyebrows knit together in confusion. I know I should be thrilled to see my best friend, I should be wrapping her up in a hug, but I can’t. I’m frozen in place.
She pulls her long dark hair away from her face and asks, “What are you doing here?” I wonder if, in her mind, she’s trying to figure out if there’s any reason I could possibly be here except to see Beau.
I’m saved from answering when her dad, Rory, stands from the other side of the table and in his booming Irish accent half yells, “Sierra!” He’s nothing if not theatrical, always has been. And he’s happier to see me than his daughter is, which means Jackson hasn’t shared her suspicions with him.
I give both of Beau’s parents a hug, and Jackson removes her ski bag from the chair next to her, gesturing for me to join them. She was clearly saving the seat, so I assume Nate must be around somewhere.
“What are you all doing here?” I ask.