Chapter Nineteen
I take long strides toward the sliding door that leads to the balcony. It is freezing outside, and a chill runs up my spine at the idea of it being this cold on the ski slopes tomorrow.Even knowing I’m going to have to endure the cold, I’m still excited to go skiing.
For now, I focus on the view of the city.Snow is falling over the streets of the city, cascading across the multitude of different colored lights, coming from all different buildings and billboards.
It looks pretty, but the sound of the faraway city is enough to keep anyone who comes from a small and quiet town up all night.
I am not looking forward to attempting to sleep through the night amid all the chaos, but I’m well aware of the fact that I’m going to have to get used to it if I decide to go to Columbia.
I make a spur-of-the-moment decision, sliding the glass door open and stepping onto the balcony, breathing in a lungful of freezing air and exhaling a cool, misty cloud.
Snowflakes fall on my face and get stuck in the strands of hair around my ears. I shiver for a moment, remembering I should probably wear a coat.
I reach inside, grabbing my puffy, brown winter coat—which I bought specifically for this trip—off the desk chair. Growing up in Connecticut, I’ve grown used to the cold and I have little use for a coat of this thickness otherwise.
The hood is up, the oversized style making it so it almost comes down to my eyes. The sleeves are too big, but it doesn’t matter because my hands are tucked in my pockets.
I truly believe that snowfall looks different when you’re in the city, and I want to bask in it.It lightens my mood, knowing that no matter what, snow will always fall in the winter, somewhere at least. No matter where I am, no matter who I decide to be.
At this moment, this is where I want to be. There is nowhere else in the world that would fulfill my desire to see snowflakes hitting the railing of the balcony in front of me.
I’m not allowed to be bitter here; the cold is bitter enough.
I am caught in the peace and solitude of the moment. So much so that I don’t even care if any onlookers are looking at me like I am farcical.
The silence beyond the noise of the city is broken when I hear the screeching of the sliding door from the room next to mine.I don’t even have to look over to know who it is. The loud ass Chelsea boots say it all as they step onto the balcony to my right.
I retract my previous statement. There is somewhere else I would rather be: this same balcony, without Jameson Beaumont standing ten feet away.
“Do you want to get frostbite?” His voice breaks through the cold.
I’m wearing a coat, douchebag.
I debate whether I should retreat inside, leaving him out in the cold by himself. I don’t care about him; therefore, I don’t feel any remorse for being ill-mannered toward him.
“Hey!” He speaks louder, and I continue to pretend I don’t hear him.
I focus my gaze on the city skyline far off in the distance. I wonder what the people walking the sidewalks look like.
In my mind, I imagine a couple. They’re holding hands, and the girl is holding the leash to a white puppy who trots along a few feet in front of them. It jumps in a pile of snow happily, making the couple laugh. I smile at the thought.
“Genevieve, are you ignoring me?” Jameson’s tone is mocking. “I didn’t think you could be so cowardly.”
My eyes narrow, and I try to suppress the outburst I feel brewing. I focus on another couple walking the streets of my imagination.
This couple is not holding hands—not directly, at least. There is a little girl walking in between them, holding each of their hands. The ends of her small, blonde pigtails stick out the bottom of her knit hat, blowing in the soft breeze.
“Are you scared of me?” My jaw clenches. Being scared is a weakness, especially in front of Jameson. I’m not scared of him. “I think you are.”
That was the last straw. My temper snaps like a fragile twig. But I don’t respond—not verbally, at least.
My bare hand removes itself from my pocket, moving faster than my brain can comprehend, not giving my consciousness enough time to stop my movements. The next thing I know, I’m scooping a heaping handful of snow into my hand, using the warmth to form it into a cold sphere.
My hand grips it so hard it begins to melt, but before it can entirely, I raise my arm above my shoulder, aiming and throwing the snowball straight at the side of Jameson’s head.
Turns out, I have a pretty good aim. Before Jameson can turn to face me, the ball of cold snow pummels into the left side of his neck.
I’m almost shocked at what I just did. It is only the first night of the trip. We barely arrived at the ski lodge twelve hours ago, and I’m already assaulting Jameson with spheres of snow.
He looks just about as stunned as I am, even though this isn’t exactly out of character for me. His jaw drops as he uses his hand to wipe the remaining snow off his collar.
“I’m not afraid of you, Jameson. Maybe before you make such absurd assumptions, you should think about the position you’re in.”
He smiles arrogantly, gathering a handful of snow off his balcony railing.
I would like to think that Jameson won’t throw a snowball at me because he’s a man. However, I know he’s aware of how angry I would be if he refrained simply because I’m a woman.
“What position would that be?” Jameson raises the ball of snow. When I don’t respond he holds it up higher, aiming it at my face. “Huh?”
“Losing.” I pose with fake sympathy lacing my voice.
“Aw.” He smiles again, this one much more mischievous than the last. “That’s my least favorite.”
I feel a chill run directly up my spine. I struggle to keep my composure due to Jameson’s sexual idioms. “It’s the only one you’ll ever be in with me.”
He takes a moment to respond, like I finally stumped him for once in my life. But that doesn’t last long when I remember that he is holding a snowball—one much larger than the one I had thrown his way.
The realization hits me too late. Well, it hits me the same time the colossal snowball does.
I jerk my head back to avoid the impact, but the snow only hits the side of my arm. There is a momentary sting from how hard he threw it, but other than that, there is no other sign a snowball has even hit me.
Winnie would probably say something along the lines of ‘Thank you, puffy winter coat.’ I prefer crediting Jameson’s inability to throw.
“Are we seriously going to have a fucking snowball fight from our hotel balconies right now?” I almost laugh at the idea, but Jameson looks completely serious as he reaches for more of the snow building on the far end of his railing.
I guess that answers my question.
I back up on my own account, my tailbone hitting the farthest edge of the banister. In a hurried pace, I reach against it to form another snowball. Readying myself for a Jameson Beaumont ambush, I turn slowly, waiting for a snowball to come hurdling.
“You know why we make such great competition, Alderidge?” My last name rolls off his tongue like he’s begging me to yell at him for it.
“Why is that, Kent?” I know his middle name bothers him just as much, thanks to Logan.
“Because.” He packs the snowball tighter in his hand, looking like he’s ready to open fire. “Neither of us are ever willing to lose.”
I roll my eyes. “You may not be willing, but you better start preparing yourself for the inevitable.”
“I think we have two different perceptions of the inevitable.” I know his perspective, and it includes both of us standing on that stage giving a speech at graduation.
“And I think you are dreaming up some pretty fanciful notions.” I launch the snowball from my grasp, landing it directly on the top of his right shoulder.
He doesn’t hesitate to respond, quickly propelling his own snowball at me.
I attempt to dodge it quickly, but my depth perception has failed me yet again. I lean to the right, thinking the snowball is headed for the left side of my face, but instead, I veer myself straight into the line of fire.
The snowball makes a loud ‘SMACK’ as soon as it hits me dead in the face.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
“Holy shit,” Jameson gasps. .
The pain intensifies in the bridge of my nose and in my eyes. The snowball barely broke on impact, making the collision much harsher than any of the previous ones.Of course, this one would hit me in the face; just my luck.
I use my knuckles to rub away the snow I feel underneath my nose. I look down at my hand, the whole back of it coated in red.
I am bleeding.
My face is bleeding, and my eye and nose are continuing to pound in pain.
“Jameson.” I look up, my eyes beginning to water—obviously from the cold, nothing else. I am not crying in front of Jameson, I refuse. “That was fucking ice.”
“Oh God.” He grimaces when his gaze shifts to my blood-covered face. For a split moment, I think I may have earned just a hair of remorse from him.
“Oh, yeah, that makes me feel a million times better.” I throw my arms in the air, trying to rid myself of the blood coating my upper lip.
There were definitely shards of ice in the depths of that snowball.
“You’re only making it worse.” He warns. “Go inside and keep your head forward for a bit while you pinch your nose.”
I look up to give him a threatening glare. “You did this to me,” I remind him.“If you broke my nose, you’re paying for my rhinoplasty.”
“C’mon Genevieve, I know you’re smarter than that,” He ridicules. “Rhinoplasties are most commonly used for cosmetic purposes, which is not your case. Worst-case scenario—you have a deviated septum and would need a septoplasty.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I spit balefully. I realize far too late that what was meant to be a sarcastic insult, could very well be taken as a compliment.
In all honesty, that would be the last job I would choose for Jameson. He lacks all the human compassion and empathy needed for such a job, but maybe that’s just my biased opinion.
Damn, my nose really hurts.
“Did you hear a pop?” He asks, and when I shake my head, he lets out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Now, go inside, the cold is only going to make the bleeding worse.” His advice feels sincere, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to take it.
“Are you forfeiting, Beaumont?” I throw my one last snowball. It misses by a longshot.
“No, I’m walking away peacefully so you don’t hurt yourself even more.” He opens the sliding glass door to his hotel room . “You’ll thank me later.”
“Never.” I roll my eyes, my lips lifting arrogantly when he walks inside.
I won.
He peeks his head back out. “Don’t sleep on your back, you’ll choke and suffocate on your own blood.”
“Aw, how sweet, you don’t want me dying in my sleep.” I press a satirical hand to my heart in fake admiration, making his eyes flash a look of sympathy.
“You’re right, I don’t.” He shuts his door, but not before saying a quick. “Night, Genevieve.”
I say nothing back. Instead, I look toward the city skyline one last time before returning to the warmth of my room, a large smiling gracing my bloody face.
I won.
“What the hell happened to your face?” Winnie asks when she enters the hotel room, seeing me take a handful of ice out of our ice bucket and placing it into a plastic baggie.
“Jameson.” Is the only thing I say.
“I’m going to get Logan to kill him!” She declares immediately, already heading back out the door.
“Wait—” I go to stop her, but it’s no use.
“What happened?” Logan asks from the hall. He must have been waiting for Winnie to get in before entering his own hotel room.
Winnie throws open the door, motioning toward me, “Your roommate happened!” She yells, heated.
I’ve never seen her this angry, and for a moment, it almost makes me happy that she’s willing to go to such lengths for me. Until I remember that what she’s angry about is all a misunderstanding.
Logan mutters something like ‘holy shit’ as he makes eye contact with me, stepping in the room. “Jameson did that to you?”
“Not intentionally.” I try to calm the situation.
“It looks like you got socked in the face!” Logan is as volatile as Winnie now. “How could that be an accident?”
He and Winnie break into hysterics, yelling back and forth about how they can’t believe Jameson would hit a woman, and how Logan needs to beat the shit out of him.
“It was a snowball!” I finally snap, slightly mortified at having to explain this situation. “We were on our balconies, and we got into an argument.”
Logan and Winnie look between one another, like they’re trying to determine how they should react.
“What?” Logan asks.
“It was stupid,” I sigh. “I threw a snowball at him, and then he threw one back at me, but it wasn’t really a snowball as much as it was ice. It hit me in the face. That’s it.”
Logan and Winnie visibly struggle to hold in their laughter at the image of Jameson and I getting into a snowball fight while I hold the bag of ice to my throbbing face.
At first, it didn’t hurt much because of how cold the snow was and the amount of adrenaline pumping through my body. Now that my face is heating from embarrassment, and the reality of the situation has set in, I’m feeling the extent of my injury.
Logan notices. “Gen, sit down.” He rests a hand on my shoulder, leading me toward the bed.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t want to get blood on the sheets.”
Winnie walks into the bathroom, returning with a black towel. “Here.” She hands it to Logan and he places it over my pillow.
I lay back, making sure my bleeding nose is in line with the portion of the pillow covered with the towel.
“Don’t lay on your back if your nose is bleeding,” Logan demands, grabbing my shoulder and rolling me on my side.
“When you go back to your hotel room, tell Jameson I’m going to sock him in the face to make us even.” I sigh, my eyes shutting without my permission as I sink further into the sheets.
“Will do.” He laughs as I feel Winnie get into the bed next to me. “And Gen?” He asks, backing away from the bed.
“Yeah?” I ask, not entirely coherent.
“If you asked Jameson to be here, to take care of you in place of me, he would. There is no doubt in my mind he would do anything for you.” His sincerity shocks me. “I thought you should know.”
With that, Logan makes his way out of the hotel room, telling us he’ll see us tomorrow.
Once he’s gone, I feel Winnie roll over to say something. “This has to be the oddest chain of events to occur on a school field trip.”
We both laugh because she’s right. Tonight has been one of the strangest nights of my life, but I can’t try not to dwell on it too much.
The bizarre moments make life more interesting anyway.