Chapter 25
JETT
The sidewalks flanking Banff Avenue are quieter now that the holidays have come to an end.
Tourists and visitors have made a mass exodus as they return to their daily grind.
It’s not lost on me that this is a place hundreds of thousands come to vacation, and I get to call it home.
That a world renowned winter ski destination is where I live, and hitting the slopes recreationally for most is how I earn a paycheck.
Today was a nice reminder of that fact, as I introduced Poppy to the sport that takes up every waking minute of my day. Watching her transition from shaky and nervous to carving down the hill with confidence filled me with satisfaction and pride.
She was amazing out there, exceeding her own expectations of herself by a long shot. By the end of the day, it looked like she was even enjoying it.
But I know it took a toll on her.
As she walks beside me, sipping her hot chocolate from one of my favourite cafés in Banff, guilt needles at me because she’s walking with a slight limp.
“So, how was it? Flying down a mountain at breakneck speed?” I ask her, a hint of a smile on my face.
“Actually, I had a lot of fun,” she admits with a shrug as she cups her hot chocolate in both hands. “Maybe I’ll be ready to compete with you for the World Cup.”
Her shoulder nudges against mine, and it sends an electric jolt through me.
“We’ll see about that,” I say. “You have a lot of faith in my coaching abilities.”
I glance over at Poppy and hide my smirk behind the lid on my paper cup, taking a sip of the almost sickly sweet drink.
“I think you’re the right man for the job.”
Poppy’s dark brown eyes twinkle for a second, and I tell myself that it’s the reflection from the white Christmas lights, still decorating the streetlamps.
She’s not actually flirting with me.
It’s just for our public image. Trying to seem like a newlywed couple in love. This is exactly the kind of exposure we need if this marriage scheme is going to look believable.
We continue walking side by side in silence for a moment, and a crisp breeze wafts between us, a lone snowflake falling in front of me. Soon, more begin to fall around us, and the swirling flakes in the glow of the lights create an enchanting effect.
A sudden buzzing in my pocket catches my attention, pulling me out of the moment. I reach into my jeans and take it out, a text message from Brooke on my screen with an attachment. No message.
My heart drops when I see what she’s sent me. It’s a news article. I don’t bother looking at the headline or even clicking on the link, because I have a sickening feeling I know how they’ll have spun our day on the slopes.
It’ll be some scandalous tabloid about how quickly I jumped into a marriage. More proof of how reckless I am in relationships. The message that will be coming through from Brooke shortly will be some punishing admonishment for the fact that I didn’t run our outing by her.
Apparently, every minute Poppy and I spend with each other outside the safety of our homes needs to be planned out, curated, examined from every angle and every which way the media might be able to spin it.
Exhaustion settles on my shoulders like a heavy blanket. I click my phone off and slide it back into my pocket.
Whatever damper Brooke is about to put on today can wait.
“So, same time next week then?” I joke.
I’m not holding out any hope that I’ll get Poppy back out on the ski hill anytime soon.
I know she’ll be tied up with the café once our brief honeymoon period comes to an end.
That was the whole point of this marriage scheme in the first place, wasn’t it?
To achieve our own ends and go our separate ways?
I know all this, it’s just that lately I can’t imagine the day that I wake up and don’t have Cordelia purring next to me. The day that I no longer have a reason to talk to Poppy first thing in the morning or wake up to the sounds of her moving around my house.
“Yeah, take me on some of those jumps in that one area…” Poppy holds her mittened hand up, gesturing for me to finish her sentence.
“The terrain park.”
“Yeah, that one. Take me to the terrain park.”
I’m absolutely not going to do that, but Poppy glances over at me a joking smile playing on her pink lips. Another comfortable silence falls between us as I shake my head, and Poppy lifts her hot chocolate to her mouth.
Snowflakes are now forming a light dusting on her fuzzy earmuffs, and curling the outer pieces of her bangs.
“Hey so, you were surprisingly sweet today,” she says.
“Surprisingly?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t expecting cocky, arrogant pro-skier Jett Landry to be such a patient teacher.”
My eyebrows twitch upward as I consider what she’s said. The reputation that has become synonymous with my name. The one that could now cost me everything.
“Don’t take everything you see at face value, Poppy,” I caution her gently.
“What, you mean to tell me you aren’t the world’s hottest skier?” She turns and looks at me with a false look of shock.
It occurs to me in this moment how much I’ve enjoyed spending time with Poppy today, and that this might be the longest date I’ve ever had. Still, I don’t want it to end.
“No, I am.” I nudge her shoulder like she did to me earlier, and she shrieks as a bit of her hot chocolate spills out the hole in her lid.
“So, it’s just the cocky asshole thing they’ve got wrong,” she says with a laugh.
There’s a part of me that wishes I could say yes, though I also know that I didn’t get the reputation from nowhere. There’s a reason people think they can drag me through the mud and that it will be a believable story.
“I used to be a lot more hot-headed than I am now,” I explain. “The media latched onto it when I started to make a name for myself in the sport, and I guess I figure why disappoint them?”
“You’re okay with having people think you’re a dick?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t go so far as to say dick…” I shrug. “But yeah, I guess I am. It’s better they criticize the character I play in front of the camera.”
Although in recent years, the role I play for the media has crept into other areas of my life, as well. So much so, that even the people closest to me have started to view me in a similar light to the public. You play a part so much, so frequently, it’s hard to separate that from the real you.
“I just can’t imagine being anyone but myself.” Poppy glances down and fidgets with her cup as she holds it with her mittens. “People think I’m kind of eccentric and quirky and that I don’t live a super exciting life, but the fact is, the people who love me really love me.”
Her words ring somewhere within me, opening up a new perspective I never considered.
“By allowing people to hate you, which, by the way, I’m not sure there’s anyone in this world who could, you’re also allowing the right people to see you for who you are?” I clarify.
“Exactly.”
I flick my eyes over to Poppy, and she’s walking while looking up, holding her tongue out to catch a snowflake. She’s adorable, and watching her in this moment makes my heart feel like it’s about to burst.
I don’t want anything to ruin it. I don’t want anything to make her feel like being herself isn’t enough, like anything should ever hold her back.
My phone starts buzzing in my pocket again, and although I ignore it, I’m reminded of the article Brooke sent me.
The prospect that this whole marriage scheme is going to open Poppy up to an onslaught of criticism.
The usual media scrutiny, but also the jealous women who go feral at my competitions.
Those women can be just as ruthless online.
Regardless of how I might have changed, or how different I am now from how I’m portrayed, the fact remains; I’m not good enough for Poppy. I’m just as bad, if not worse, than all those guys she matched with on Crush.
My pocket vibrates with yet another incoming call from Brooke I can no longer ignore. I hold it up to Poppy, and she stops walking, letting me take a few steps away to answer it.
“I know, I know,” I say as a greeting. “I should have talked to you before setting foot outside of the house with Poppy.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end as if I’ve caught Brooke by surprise with my insight, my ability to admit that I was wrong and stepped out of line.
“No, Jett, that was amazing,” she says, and I hold my phone away from my ear to check that my connection is still strong. That she didn’t cut out right as she was actually laying into me.
“What, really?” I ask.
“Yeah, didn’t you read the article?”
I put her on speaker while I open the attachment she sent.
The headline reads: NEWLYWEDS GETTING COZY ON THE SLOPES.
Below it, there’s a picture of Poppy and I getting on the chairlift, my arm around her waist, pulling her close. My expression as I’m looking down at her is soft, warmth and affection in my gaze.
It’s the look of a devoted husband.
“I wish I’d thought of it myself,” Brooke admits. “The ski hill is your domain, it’s where you dominate. It’s… sacred to you. You know you’ve never been photographed with a woman on the ski hill?”
“Huh,” I’ve never even considered that. I’ve never wanted to share it with anyone, until now. The ski hill is the one place that I let go and can be truly myself. No persona. No mask.
I turn back to look at Poppy, finding her bent down on the sidewalk, making a tiny snowman off to the side. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known. Ever since we were kids, Poppy is just… Poppy. She embraces her quirks, the things that make her uniquely her.
My wife might be the most authentic person I’ve ever met, and the only time I’ve felt like my truest self is with her.