KYLE
“That’s what happens when you yard sale on a jump you had no business attempting,” Dean said, laughing as he hauled both snowboards out from the back of his truck.
He’d spent most of the day carving like he still had something to prove, only to have it all fall apart on a trick he wasn’t nearly good enough for.
He didn’t know what he should be more worried about, though. That he’d tried something he knew was dangerous and ate it anyway . . . or that he’d probably do it again if given the chance.
Moron.
An exhausted grin tugged at his mouth as Sloan and Francesca climbed out from the back of the truck.
The girls had spent the day on skis—Sloan laughing like she wasn’t carrying the weight of the world on her back.
A day in the snow hadn’t been a part of his plans for this trip, but he didn’t regret it.
Somehow, he’d needed this. The speed. The thrill of the icy wind whipping past his face and gravity and movement. Something loud enough to drown out everything else.
And from the smile that continued to linger on Sloan’s face as Francesa said something he couldn’t hear, she’d needed it, too. She’d skied surprisingly well, considering how she’d confessed she didn’t enjoy it.
“I’m so fried,” Sloan said, breathlessly, sitting beside Kyle. She winced audibly as her eyes landed on the scratched bruise on his cheek from the face-plant. “Do you need ice for that?”
“That’d be ironic,” Francesca said with a laugh, setting her skis on the porch.
Kyle arched a brow. “Pretty sure the mountain already provided all the ice I need.”
Francesca glanced at the setting sun, then sidled up to Dean, slipping her arm around him like it was muscle memory. “Speaking of needed things, what are your plans for the night?”
Kyle exchanged a look with Sloan. He was comfortable flying by the seat of his pants—he’d made a career of it—but somehow, he doubted Sloan did.
And starting for Montana now was out of the question.
The roads were going to get uglier after dark, and they were all toasted.
“Uh, not sure. Probably grabbing dinner in town.”
“You guys want to eat and crash here for the night?” Francesca asked as Dean unlocked the front door. “We don’t mind. You were staying in Vail, right?”
“The Breck is way better than Vail. You don’t want to go back there,” Dean said, giving Kyle a sharp, teasing look.
Francesca rolled her eyes and tugged Dean toward the door. “We’ll let you guys argue about ski towns alone.”
Dean stumbled theatrically as she dragged him inside. “This is oppression.”
Once they were gone, Kyle shifted, giving Sloan a sidelong glance. “How are you holding up?”
“Good,” she said, leaning back against the wall. She closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath through her nose, then sighed, like she needed to release something from her lungs. “I think I’m good, anyway. It was nice being out there. Not thinking so much about . . . everything.”
Kyle nodded, the words sitting heavy in his chest. “So, what’s our plan? I’ve got that cabin rented until tomorrow, but I can tell you right now I’m not up for sleeping on the floorboards again.” He rolled his shoulders and groaned. “My spine has filed a formal complaint.”
A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “I don’t want to go back there anyway.” She hesitated, then added, “If that’s all right with you. If Davy told Evan about you, then he’ll be waiting for me there.”
“Maybe not.” A knot of tension that had been building in his chest every time he thought about Evan tightened. “So . . . stay here, then?”
She glanced toward the door. “If you think your friends won’t mind. They seem nice.”
“They are.” Dean and Francesca were the definition of chill. And they hadn’t asked questions when Kyle had introduced Sloan as his “old friend,” though Kyle would bet money Francesca’s curiosity was now doing somersaults.
“How’d you all meet?”
“Dean was my sister’s lead guitarist for a while.” Kyle grinned. “We hit it off and stayed in touch after she stopped touring.”
Sloan’s eyes widened. “Elle. That’s right.
” Her voice held a flicker of genuine surprise, like she’d known this and forgotten.
“She was really big in country music for a while. I remember seeing her on a morning news show and being totally blown away.” She glanced at him.
“Is she still doing that? I haven’t heard anything new in a long time. ”
“No.” His smile softened. “I think the price of fame rubbed her the wrong way. But she still lives in Nashville. I saw her over Christmas. She’s got two girls and just found out she’s expecting a son.”
“So, you’re an uncle,” Sloan said, peeling her snow hat off. “I bet you’re a fun one. Your nieces probably love you.”
Yeah. When I’m around.
Guilt pressed against his ribs. He’d seen it this Christmas—Tara losing that toddler look, turning into a full-on kid who could talk your ear off. Charlotte going from walking unsteadily to running.
And he’d missed so much of it.
And now you’ve prioritized helping your ex-girlfriend over laying Granny to rest.
“They’re great. I love them,” he said, setting his hands on his knees.
A beat of silence.
“If we’re staying,” he said, pushing up, “let’s go in. I’m ready to get out of the cold.”
“We should probably take a peek at your phone and see if Davy’s called you.”
He nodded without answering as they moved inside. Snowboarding had been a good break from all the drama, and he wasn’t eager to pick it back up again. But there was no way it wasn’t at the forefront of Sloan’s mind, no matter how well she’d managed not to mention it on the slopes.
Maybe Dean and Francesca had made it easier. Or Sloan had needed a breather just as badly as he had.
Either way, Kyle didn’t relish the thought of circling that drain again.
Dean stood from the fireplace as they entered, a fresh fire already roaring in it as he closed the screen with a satisfied clank. “So, you guys staying?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Kyle said.
“Awesome.” Dean gestured down the hall. “Francesca went straight back to fix up the guest room up for you two—scrub the toilet, you know.” He smirked. “She’s got this thing about wiping down baseboards when we’ve got company, and I’m always hollering at her that no one notices baseboards.”
“I heard that,” Francesca’s voice called from down the hall.
Their house was a small ranch, the layout cozy but comfortable. Warm. Lived-in. Francesca popped her head out a moment later, toilet wand in hand like a weapon. “Stop giving away all my secrets or I’ll hit you with this thing. You do not want to make a Filipina mad, babe.”
Dean spread his hands. “You can’t hit me. There are witnesses.”
Kyle laughed under his breath as Dean wandered into the open kitchen. “Make yourselves at home.” He opened the fridge door. “Can I get you a beer?”
“Sure.” Kyle shucked off his boots and coat, leaving them by the door. He dropped onto the couch, watching Sloan remove her things with quiet efficiency. She didn’t seem as comfortable as she had on the mountain.
Made sense, though. Slopes were freedom. Houses had walls.
“You, Sloan?” Dean held up a beer.
Sloan’s eyes flicked to it, hesitation flashing.
She probably only drank things like expensive wine or cocktails, knowing her.
Kyle had seen her drink champagne the night before, but it hadn’t escaped him that she’d looked like she was holding on by her fingernails most of the time.
He just hadn’t realized how deep it went.
“Yes, thank you,” Sloan said after a moment, meeting Kyle’s eyes. He caught something there— uncertainty, maybe —and then it vanished like she’d shoved it away. She crossed the space, and sat on the couch too, but on the far end, leaving distance between them that felt intentional.
If Dean noticed, he didn’t show it. He handed them each a beer and sat on the loveseat across from them. “You should’ve told me you were coming to Vail, you know. Could’ve just stayed here from the start,” he told Kyle and took a pull from his own beer as he settled back.
“It’s just a quick trip,” Kyle said.
“That explains the lack of a camera crew.” Dean pointed between them and lifted his chin at Sloan. “So, how’d you end up with the influencer? Stalking him through YouTube?” He winked.
“No, actually.” Sloan’s cheeks reddened just slightly and, if it was possible, she leaned further away. “We met in high school and . . . recently reconnected.”
She didn’t correct Dean about them not being together, though, leaving Kyle to deal with that.
Great.
Sweat broke out on his palms, and Kyle avoided looking at Sloan. It shouldn’t bother him that she’d chosen to put space between them—hell, he’d refused to share a sleeping bag with her last night—but something about her discomfort unsettled him.
Not that she should want to sit on his lap or anything. Maybe it was just the reminder that they were practically strangers now—yet he’d just devoted the last day to her. That her being in his orbit made life a lot more complicated.
Davy’s voice rang in his head. Don’t be an idiot.
Am I being an idiot, though?
I’ve got nothing else I’m supposed to be doing.
Other than saying goodbye to Granny.
And maybe, if he was honest, the interruption was the point. He wasn’t ready to face it yet. To say a goodbye that was so final. He took a pull from the beer, the bitterness of it clinging to his throat.
“Pancit okay? Anyone not eat pork?” Francesca asked, coming back toward them. She’d discarded her snowpants and nodded at Sloan. “You want to get out of your snow clothes? It’s got to be hot over by the fire.”
“Pork’s good.” Sloan practically leaped off the couch. “And yes. That would be great.”
“I’ll show you the room.” Francesca waved her down the hall.
As they disappeared, Kyle met Dean’s gaze. “We’re not together,” he said in a low voice.
Dean blinked. “Ah, shit, sorry man.” He winced. “Will she care about sharing a room with you?”
Kyle took another drink. “I’ll probably just sleep on the couch.”