Chapter 8
EIGHT
MAISY
I’ve never noticed how winding the road that leads to the chalet is.
Every bend feels too sudden to be safe, but Sterling drives carefully while the snow falls around us.
I sit with my body facing the window, pretending to focus on the snowy trees even though they’re barely visible.
Really, I’m just trying not to sway in my seat and give away how tipsy I feel.
I’m not drunk, just warm in the face, a little floaty, my thoughts slower than normal, and I’ve been concentrating on breathing evenly so Sterling doesn’t notice.
He hasn’t said a word since we left the lodge. His jaw flexes every so often as if he’s biting back everything he wants to say. I almost tell him to spit it out, but he beats me to it.
“Why’d you start drinking?” His eyes don’t leave the road. “You used to hate that stuff.”
My stomach knots, because of all the questions he could’ve asked, of course it had to be that one.
I force a laugh, brittle around the edges. “That’s what you’ve been brooding over this whole drive?”
His hand tightens on the steering wheel. “Maisy.” All he says is my name, but it’s enough to send a shiver down my spine.
I glance out the window again, the trees whipping past. “People change,” I say quietly. “Things change.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I bite my lip, heat prickling behind my eyes. He doesn’t get it—he wasn’t here. He didn’t see the mess I was after the accident. After us. He got to run away to his surf town while I was stuck here trying to pick up the pieces of myself.
I swallow hard, throat tight. “Maybe I just needed something to take the edge off,” I murmur, more to the glass than to him.
The only sound is the hum of the engine for a few minutes before he speaks. “You don’t need that,” he says softly.
The words slam into me, both comforting and infuriating, because they sound so much like the old Sterling—the one who always thought he could fix me, even when I didn’t want fixing.
I turn toward him, my voice more aggressive than I mean it to be. “You don’t get to tell me what I need.”
His jaw works, but he keeps his eyes on the road, knuckles white on the steering wheel, and the silence returns heavier than before.
By the time Sterling pulls into the driveway of the chalet, the silence between us is so thick I can barely breathe. The headlights sweep over the wooden beams and dark windows, snow piled high along the edges of the porch.
He kills the engine, the hum dying into stillness, and for a long moment neither of us moves. My seatbelt presses against my chest like a restraint, keeping me in place when every nerve in me feels strung tight.
Sterling finally unclips his belt, then glances at me. “Do you need help to get inside?”
The question is so simple, but the way his eyes search mine makes it feel like something else entirely. Like he’s peeling me open, waiting for me to admit what I don’t want to say.
That I need him.
I shake my head too quickly, fumbling with my buckle. “I’m fine.”
I push the door open, cold air rushing in, but his hand comes down lightly on my arm before I can get out. Not hard, or possessive, but enough to make my heart pound.
“Maisy.” He says my name like a warning and a plea all at once.
I turn back to him, and suddenly we’re too close in the dark cab of the truck, heat rolling between us despite the cool winter air just outside. His hand lingers on my arm, and his eyes drop to my mouth, just for a heartbeat, before he drags them back up to mine.
Every muscle in me goes still. One move, one breath the wrong way, and I’d lean across the console and taste him again. I want to. God, I want to. But I don’t. And neither does he.
His hand falls away, leaving a ghost of heat in its place as he clears his throat, pushing his door open. “Come on. It’s late.”
I swing my door open and jump out, regretting it instantly when I slip on a patch of ice and land on my ass with an oomph. Turns out I’m definitely not just tipsy, I’m drunk as a skunk.
“Maisy?” Sterling’s worried voice calls out as he rushes to round the truck. “Are you hurt?”
I groan, embarrassed. “Just my pride,” I mutter as he helps me to my feet, and suddenly we’re too close again.
My palms rest on his chest as he holds me steady by my arms, and I’m looking up into his deep brown eyes that are only inches away from my face.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, but every reason for why I shouldn’t kiss him right now escapes me, and I reach up cupping his cheeks as I stand up on my tiptoes to reach his mouth.
But before I can make contact, he pulls his face out of my hands and releases my arms, taking a step back, clearing his throat. The mortification hits me instantly, and I know I’m beet red as I look at him confused, dropping back down to the balls of my feet.
“Right, well I’m going to go inside and cry myself to sleep,” I say, flashing him a forced smile as I turn to run inside.
Sterling grabs onto my elbow, stopping me from getting far. “Maisy, just wait a second,” he says, his voice gently pleading.
“Why should I?” I ask, my embarrassment turning into anger.
He lets out a deep sigh as his eyes search mine. “I didn’t step back because I don’t want to kiss you. Trust me, it’s all I can think about. But you made it very clear three years ago, to me and to your brother, that you and I are done.”
I almost interrupt him, but he gives me a look that has me biting the insides of my cheeks to keep my mouth shut as he continues.
“I don’t know if this is how you normally get when you’ve been drinking, because this is my first time being around you when you’re like this, so I don’t want to let you do anything you might regret in the morning.
I don’t want to take advantage of the situation. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
As angry as I want to be, his reasoning for rejecting me is sweet and such a Sterling answer that I can’t stay mad at him.
I nod calmly. “I’m sorry, you’re probably right. Let’s just go inside so I can sleep this off.”
He lets my arm go, sliding his hands into his pockets as he studies me. “You’re not still planning to cry yourself to sleep, are you?”
I give him a half-grin and turn. “Maybe just one lone tear,” I say over my shoulder as I head inside.
I hear him chuckle low behind me. “Don’t waste your tears on me, Mais.”
Mais.
That’s the second time he’s called me that, and hearing that old nickname makes my eyes sting.
He doesn’t know that I still cry myself to sleep some nights when I think about him.
About how I pushed him away. About how I woke up one day only to find out he actually left, not just me, but the town.
About how I was forced to hear the rumours of him physically moving on with other girls too, while I was here unable to even think about moving on without feeling physically sick.
It’s been one slow heartbreak after another when it comes to Sterling, but I won’t let him know that. He’d beat himself up over that knowledge and it wouldn’t be fair to him.
He had every right to move on.
Even if I can’t.