Chapter 11 #3
“Ugh, sure.” I hold my left arm out as far as I can, but I still can’t get us all in the shot. There are too many of them. Beyond the camera, Jackson’s eyes lock with mine. “Hey, Jackson,” I call out. “Can you come take a photo for us?”
For a second she doesn’t move or respond, just looks at me with fire burning in her eyes.
“Sure,” she says, all casual-like despite the fact that I can tell her reaction is anything but. She takes a few steps toward us and manages to take the phone from me without any skin-to-skin contact. She taps the phone screen a few times and then says, “Smile.”
She takes a few photos, turns the phone off, and hands it back to owner. So she was watching closely enough to know whose phone we were using. Interesting. “You’re holding up the line,” she tells the girls, then gives them the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.
“Sorry,” they chirp, an inconsistent chorus.
Jeff and I both sign their race team bibs that are on the table in front of us, and they move on.
“Crap!” I hear the blonde sigh when they slide down the line to Steve.
“What’s wrong?” another girl asks her.
“Every single photo is out of focus,” she growls.
My shoulders are most likely shaking with the repressed laughter that bubbles up in me, because I know damn well that you practically have to try to take an out of focus photo on a phone these days.
“Hey, Nate,” I hear the blonde girl call out to me. Pretending I didn’t hear her, I turn away to talk to the little girl who’s next in line. She has three things for me to sign, then her older brother starts talking to me about racing, and I’m able to forget the group of girls moving down the line.
The minute the last person in the line passes me, I’m up out of my seat searching for Jackson.
She and Sierra aren’t sitting at that table anymore.
I find Sierra across the room, taking pictures of families who are here for the event, but in glancing around, I don’t see Jackson anywhere.
And then I catch sight of her green sweater with her dark hair like a curtain down her back as she slips through the door to the women’s restroom.
I cross the room as casually as I can, trying not to appear like I’m in a rush but also trying not to get caught up in conversations as I go.
I somehow manage to get to the restrooms before she comes out, so I lean up against the wall and pull my phone out.
I’m hoping that if anyone is watching me they think I’m just checking my texts, not waiting for my ex-girlfriend like a creep.
Her gasp when the bathroom door opens lets me know she wasn’t expecting to see me waiting for her.
It’s such a raw, sexual sound that reminds me how hard it is to work with someone you used to have sex with.
And reminds me how desperately I need us to get back to having sex before I lose my freaking mind.
“You’re avoiding me,” I say as I look up and meet her eyes.
My pose is casual, leaning back against the wall with one knee bent and my foot propped on the wood paneling, my arm loosely holding my phone in front of me.
But my statement is decidedly not casual.
We are having this conversation, because I’m tired of her finding ways around it.
“We work together,” she replies. “I see you every day. How could I possibly avoid you?”
“See, that’s exactly what I mean. You’re physically present, but you are avoiding having any meaningful conversation with me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on, Nate. I told you the other day, I’ll be your PT—for this season at least. But we’re not going to be friends. Any chance of that died years ago.”
“Why won’t you at least let me explain what happened?” I ask, pushing off the wall and stepping closer to her. The hallway is narrow, so we are only a foot apart and she backs up, right into the wall.
“Because you made your choice, and I’ve dealt with it. I don’t want your reasoning. Your why doesn’t matter anymore.”
“That makes no sense. It’s like you’re afraid you’ll have to forgive me.”
She swallows in that gulping way she does when she doesn’t want to respond.
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Are what?” Another gulp.
“Afraid that I might have good reasons for leaving you, and you might have to forgive me.” I lean forward and place my left arm against the wall next to her head.
She looks up at me, meeting my eyes with her icy glare. “Nothing you say will make me forgive you, Nate. That’s why you don’t need to bother trying.” And with that, she ducks under my arm and races around the corner back into the crowded lodge.
Nate
Are you still awake?
Jackson
Yes, why?
Nate
My back is really stiff again. Can you take a look?
I check my phone incessantly over the next few minutes, waiting for her response.
When it doesn’t come, I head out of my bedroom and down the stairs with one of the remaining stick-on warming pads from the stash she gave me two days ago.
I can’t position it myself on my back, so I’m hoping someone is still up and can help me with it.
The two-story living room is empty. Everyone headed to their rooms earlier than normal tonight, since we’re leaving for Finland tomorrow.
Packing takes forever; alpine skiers travel with an unbelievable amount of crap.
Even though we’re only going for one race with two events this time, I’ve got six bags including all my ski equipment.
When we head back to Europe after Thanksgiving, I will have far more to bring with me for the month we’re on the road.
After Christmas, it’ll be a three month stint in Europe.
The lights are on in the kitchen, and as I round the corner into the large space, I’m caught off guard by the sight in front of me.
She’s in leggings and an oversized sweater, standing on top of a barstool with her head in the cabinet above the refrigerator.
Even though I can’t see any identifying features, I know it’s Jackson.
I can tell it in the curve of her hip and the small grunts of frustration I’m hearing.
I walk quietly across the kitchen, afraid that if I say something and scare her she’ll either hit her head on the cabinet or fall off the barstool.
That protective instinct I’ve always had when it comes to her kicks in, and I want to fix whatever is ailing her right now.
But she hates other people trying to take over and solve her problems for her—aside from the ongoing argument about getting married, the only other thing we ever fought about when we were together was when I tried to fix things for her instead of with her.
She pops her head out of the cabinet, curse words falling from her lips as she does.
“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly as I approach her side.
She gasps and loses her balance at the same time, pitching forward.
I reach up, putting my hands on her hips to steady her, but in her attempt to push my hand away she fully starts falling toward me.
I wrap an arm around her thighs as her upper body falls over my shoulder and hold her tight to my chest to break her fall.
Using my core strength to break her fall doesn’t do anything good for my lower back.
“Put me down,” she grunts. My shoulder is digging into her stomach so she rights herself, bringing her upper body in line with her legs.
I loosen my grip so she starts to slide down my body toward the ground. “Is that how you say ‘thank you’ in your world?”
“Yeah, thanks for scaring the shit out of me so I fell off that stool,” she says, her voice laden with sarcasm.
I tighten my grip before her feet hit the ground. Her head is still a few inches above mine, so I look up at her. “That didn’t sound even remotely sincere.” I can tell by the look in her eyes—all fire and anger—that she’s not in the mood to be teased. It only spurs me on.
“Because it wasn’t. Put me down,” she repeats, her voice quiet like she doesn’t want anyone else in the house to hear. She puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes back, but my arm holds her securely.
“I’ll put you down if you tell me what you’re so pissed off about.”
“Fine,” she grumbles, and I have to hold my smile in because she’s adorable in her righteous indignation.
I loosen my hold on her and she slides down my body. I have to block the vision of this exact scenario with us naked that comes flashing through my mind, because I can’t afford to let my lust distract me for even a second. We are having this conversation, and we’re having it now.
Her feet land softly on the ground and I look down at the top of her head. My arm is still loosely around her back, and she hasn’t attempted to step away from me. But she hasn’t looked up at me either.
“So?”
“I stashed some salted caramels up here and they’re gone.”
“You know that’s not what I’m asking about.”
She looks up at me then, her arched brows dipping in confusion.
“What’s had you so pissed off since you left my hotel suite that morning? It’s been two weeks of the silent treatment from you.”
“First of all, I talk to you every single day. I’m not giving you the silent treatment.”
I try not to let it annoy me that she’s refusing to admit what we both know is true.
“During training, you only talk to me if you absolutely have to. Outside of the gym and off the mountain, you go out of your way to avoid me. The other night at dinner, I asked you a question and you turned away to talk to Jeff, pretending you didn’t hear me. ”
“What part of this don’t you get, Nate?” she says, the frustration simmering to the surface.
“You and I are never going to be friends. I’m your physical therapist. That’s it.
When we’re not working, I have no obligation to talk to you.
” Her words sting, like she intended them to, but things still don’t add up.