7. Sloan
SLOAN
God. Dammit.
Sloan dumped the contents of her carry-on out onto the wooden floor beside her, her pulse roaring in her ears. She was freezing, miserable, and lost.
And apparently phoneless.
And Kyle probably thinks I’m a moron.
He’d been nice enough, all things considered. She couldn’t have picked a better ex-boyfriend’s cabin to go running to. Unless, of course, he’d changed in the past eight years and developed serial-killer tendencies. Did she really know him at all now?
Positive thoughts, Sloan.
And even if he had developed serial-killer tendencies, she didn’t have a phone to call for help about them.
“Where is it?” She unzipped the side pouches she’d already gone through, praying the phone would magically materialize.
“When was the last time you had it?” Kyle asked, squatting beside her.
She inhaled . . . and immediately regretted it.
God, he smelled good. Familiar, but stupidly nostalgic. Like the Old Spice body wash he used to use. Nothing like the cologne Evan wore—and maybe that was why she noticed it. Four years of smelling the same cologne all the time, and she barely even noticed it anymore.
But she remembered this. Back when she and Kyle first started dating, she’d begged for his sweatshirts so she could fall asleep with that scent.
Focus.
She blinked hard. “What?”
“The phone,” Kyle repeated patiently. “When was the last time you had it?”
When? She searched the chaos in her brain. “When I called you.” Weight settled in her stomach like a stone. “Oh my God. Do you think maybe I dropped it in the snow? Or on your porch? Can you call it for me?”
He made a face. “If you dropped it in the snow, it might have shut off by now. It’s pretty damn cold outside.” He stood and crossed the room toward the bed and pulled his phone out from the charging cord. “But yeah. We can try.” Unlocking it as he walked back toward her, he studied the screen.
She clasped her hands together tightly as he dialed, praying for the faint, blessed sound of her ringtone in the mess.
Nothing.
Kyle moved to the door and opened it, letting a blast of cold bite into the cabin.
Still, nothing.
He hung up as her voicemail greeting started to play, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced at her like he wanted to say something tactful and was deciding against it. “Um . . .” he said finally. “I guess I’ll be right back.” He exited the cabin, closing the door behind him.
Sloan stared at the door.
Oh crap, I still have his coat.
Poor guy. He’d probably wanted to ask her for it, but then decided that taking a coat off a visibly unraveling woman was a bad look.
The night had already been such a disaster that runaway bride steals ex-boyfriend’s coat didn’t even rank in the top five.
God, talk about cosmic intervention. When she’d been sitting in the urgent care clinic, shaking and numb and trying to pretend she wasn’t going to explode, the name of the cabins he’d mentioned had floated up in her head like a lifeline.
She’d been so out of sorts that it felt like a good idea.
Kyle wasn’t connected to anyone at the wedding but Davy, and if she asked him not to tell Davy where she’d gone, he’d respect that.
He’d covered for her already tonight with Davy.
She just couldn’t bear the thought of talking to Evan right now.
Of him tracking her down and trying to tell her that all she’d seen was fake—or worse yet, telling her it wasn’t fake, but that it was meaningless, just some one-time mistake that he expected her to swallow because it would be too inconvenient to disrupt the wedding plans in motion.
Ugh, Evan.
At least he won’t cry about missing out on more snow time. Asshole.
She didn’t want to think about him, yet he lingered at the edges of her thoughts, like a bruise you keep prodding to see if it still hurts. He was probably furious right now. Or panicking. Or both.
Would he make a scene? Probably not. Evan was cautious—image aware. He wouldn’t want anyone involved unless it was necessary. But he would be furious, wanting to get her to come back and desperate to contain the embarrassment of a canceled wedding.
Her departure would be a scandal.
Had he gone to her father already?
If he had, her phone would be blowing up, which might help Kyle find it in the snow.
Was it wrong for her to involve Kyle? She doubted he wanted to be dragged into this mess, but she needed someone right now. Someone not connected to Evan. Someone who wouldn’t immediately try to manage her.
Kyle had surprised her, though. He’d listened. Instead of pushing, he’d set aside whatever history existed between them and behaved like a decent human being. Which made her feel even worse.
What in the hell am I going to do if I can’t find my phone though?
She couldn’t stay here. Nice as he was, she wasn’t about to stay in a secluded cabin with Kyle Winnick. That was the kind of erratic decision that turned into drama when it eventually came out who Kyle was. Or if Dad or Penny saw him.
Maybe Kyle could call her a driver. She didn’t want to force him to drive her around, and she’d pay him back later. Given all her cards and her ID were stored in her phone, she hadn’t brought her wallet . . . like a modern adult who placed her entire identity inside a fragile rectangle.
Of course . . . if she did get a driver, there was only one place they could take her that made sense. Back to the hotel.
And there will end my sad misadventure of running away from my wedding.
Evan would be mad, but he’d still want to go through with the wedding.
This would be horrible for his reputation and image, especially if Sloan made the reason for her breakup public.
He’d rail on about how they’d dragged all their family and friends to Colorado, and the time for changing their minds was over.
They’d been living together for two years, after all.
This was just a formality, according to him.
Another wave of panic broke through her body, a new round of tremors making her fingers quiver.
How in the world was she going to go through with this?
Extricating her life from Evan’s wasn’t as simple as just walking away and leaving a ring on a piece of paper.
They shared a house and furniture. A bank account.
Thank God the house in Georgetown where he stayed when Congress was in session wasn’t something either of them owned.
But because travel to Washington several times a year and being on his schedule didn’t exactly align with a career, she didn’t even have a job right now.
The money was all his. Mostly. She had her credit cards Dad managed for her after Actaeon Tech had taken off, but independence wasn’t something she could suddenly summon out of thin air.
She squeezed her eyes shut, gasping for breath. It’s going to be all right. What was it that Kyle had said? Something she’d hated because it sounded like one of those inspirational quotes people framed in corporate offices.
A blank slate. The future is a blank slate.
The cabin door opened again, the temperature in the cabin dropping by degrees in an instant as Kyle stepped back inside, dusted with snow.
She shot to her feet. “Anything?”
He shook his head.
“Oh God, what am I going to do?”
Kyle pursed his lips. “Look, it’s coming down pretty heavily out there, and I don’t think driving is a great idea. Even if we did know what cabin you booked—which we don’t—they would have texted you the code for the door. You have no phone, so . . . that’s a problem.”
He hesitated, like he wasn’t thrilled with the words he was about to say. “I guess you can stay here until morning. If you want.”
She didn’t miss the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. Then again, could she blame him? He didn’t know her anymore and probably thought she was a bit unstable. And technically, she was, considering she was currently a runaway bride without a coat or phone.
It wasn’t like this cabin was spacious. Though, it wasn’t exactly like staying with a stranger. Maybe it’d been years ago, but they’d dated . . . slept together.
She gave the bed a wary glance. “I-I don’t think there’s any place for me to sleep.”
“There’s not.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean, there’s not an extra bed. And I only have the one sleeping bag. But you can have it. I’ll take the floor.”
Her gaze swept the floor. No rug. Nothing that suggested comfort. No blanket or sheets on the bare mattress, either.
That would be cruel.
But what other option did she have?
Sharing a bed with him?
“Okay,” she said carefully. “Thank you.” She bit her lip, thinking of the satin negligee in her carry-on and added, “Um . . . could I borrow a T-shirt, too?”
He raised a brow.
“My pj’s aren’t exactly cabin friendly.”
He made a vague gesture like this entire night had stopped making sense hours ago and moved over to a duffel bag under the bed. Crouching by it, he pulled out a long-sleeved, faded blue T-shirt—bunched, not folded—and held it out to her.
She took it from him, then grabbed her bag. At least she’d packed her toothbrush. “I’m just going to use the bathroom.”
He nodded to the only other door. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to grab some more firewood. Are you done with my jacket?”
“Oh . . . right.” She slid out of it immediately, missing the warmth the second it left her shoulders. “Thanks.”
The corners of his mouth curved up in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
He hates me. She didn’t look back at him as she started toward the bathroom.
I would hate me, too, given the circumstances.
She’d barged into his cabin, wasted one of his packages of ramen, had a panic attack in the living room, sent him out in the snow looking for her phone, and now she was taking his T-shirt and bed.
Okay, so maybe he hasn’t turned into a serial killer. A serial killer probably wouldn’t have put up with all that. But he definitely wasn’t well off if this was what he rented to come to Vail.