Just Let Go

by Courtney Walsh

  “Two minutes,” Betsy said.

  “She really means five,” Hailey said. “Which is more than enough time for you to tell us what he doesn’t remember.”

  Quinn rubbed her forehead, willing this whole conversation away. “It’s not a big deal, really.”

  “It obviously is,” Lucy said. “Did he try something with you?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that,” Quinn said. “He’s not a bad guy; he’s just full of himself.”

  “And?” They were both looking at her like wide-eyed toddlers waiting for a giant piece of birthday cake.

  “He kissed me, okay?” Quinn whispered.

  They gasped. Loudly. In unison. “He what?”

  “Would you both be quiet?” She hated every second of this conversation. “It was so quick it barely counted as a kiss.”

  One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one . . . Did that count as a kiss?

  “And you kissed him back?” Lucy was not going to let this go until she had all the details.

  Quinn scrunched her face, meaning I’m not really sure. It’s all a blur. But all her friends saw was . . .

  “Oh my gosh. You kissed him back.” Lucy sounded a lot like a thirteen-year-old girl.

  “Seriously. It was nothing, and like I said, he doesn’t even remember.” Quinn wished she didn’t. “And I was only nice to him because, one: I didn’t want him driving home; and two: I need him to do Jaden a skiing favor.” She pulled her billfold from her purse, left enough cash on the table to cover her meal and the tip, and stood up. “Don’t make a big thing out of this, okay? This is a man who has kissed dozens of women.”

  “Try hundreds,” Lucy said.

  Quinn groaned.

  “Sorry. We won’t say anything.” Lucy held up a hand as if that somehow solidified her promise.

  “We won’t,” Hailey said. “But if anything else happens, you better come tell us about it immediately.”

  “Nothing else is going to happen. Nothing but planning the Winter Carnival and hopefully convincing him to take Jaden skiing. Beyond that, I have no use at all for Grady Benson.”

  No matter how good-looking everyone else thought he was.

  CHAPTER

  12

  AFTER STOPPING OUT AT CEDAR GROVE to change his clothes and take some Advil, Grady made his way back to town. Ryan had signed off on the diner, content that the work was finished, though he told Grady he reserved the right to call him back in if it turned out more needed to be done.

  Which meant today, he had to work with Quinn, his “boss” for all things Winter Carnival.

  His phone buzzed, and when he picked it up, he saw Benji’s name on the screen. Benji, the guy he’d always looked up to, probably since the day he was born. It should be you competing for the gold, Big Brother. After all, Benji wouldn’t have messed things up so badly. Bowman wouldn’t have dropped Benji. And to be honest, the Olympics had always been Benji’s dream, not Grady’s.

  He stared at the phone until the vibrating stopped.

  Seconds later, the voice mail notification dinged. He listened, the sound of his brother’s voice pulling him back to places he was usually unwilling—or unable—to go.

  “Hey, Gray, it’s me.” Benji sounded—what? Worried? “I just got off the phone with the physical therapist’s office. They said the payment for the month didn’t go through. Look, man, I know you’ve hit some rough stuff lately, and I don’t expect you to always pay what the insurance doesn’t cover with these medical bills. Just let me know and I’ll get it worked out on my end. Love ya, man.”

  Typical Benji, letting him off the hook.

  “Don’t worry about winning the gold, man. You’re a world champion. You’ve got plenty of medals.”

  But none of those medals were the ones Benji had wanted. Benji had wanted Olympic gold. It was the thing that meant the most to him right up until the day he learned he’d never walk again.

  Grady threw the phone on the passenger seat. Pete said he had another month at least before his money ran out. What was the deal?

  He let out a heavy sigh. He was headed nowhere fast. Between losing Bowman, his trouble with the law, and his screaming headache after the poor way he dealt with his frustration last night, Grady’s life was quickly spinning out of control.

  Worse, it had been almost a week since he’d been on the slopes. Little by little, he could see his chances at getting back on the team slipping away, but he felt utterly helpless to stop it.

  And helpless wasn’t something he was accustomed to feeling.

  He picked his phone back up and called Pete. His manager was doing a poor job of taking care of him, that was for sure.

  As the phone rang, he parked his car in front of the Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop, where Quinn and her cold shoulder were probably waiting for him.

  “Grady, hey.”

  “I just got a call from Benji. Said his last PT payment was denied. What’s going on, Pete? You told me we had at least a month. Maybe two.”

  Pete sighed. “I guess I miscalculated.”

  “Are you kidding? This isn’t a grocery bill here—this is my brother’s life.”

  “I know, Grady. Let me see if I can move some things around.”

  From where he sat on the street, he could see movement inside the flower shop. Quinn was pushing a large shelf from the middle of the store against the wall, and his first thought was She shouldn’t be doing that by herself.

  “Just call me when you get it figured out, will you? I don’t want my brother worrying, and right now, he is. That’s the last thing he needs.”

  “I know, Grady. I’ll take care of it. How are things there?”

  “You’re kidding, right? How do you think things are?”

  “Sorry. I am trying. I called your lawyer again—had him review your contract with Bowman.”

  “And?”

  “They’ll owe you some money—you won’t see it for a little while—but it’s in their right to cut you loose as they see fit. But I do have one piece of good news.”

  Well, that was a change.

  “Spectre called. They heard about Bowman. Wanted to know if you’d be interested in repping them instead.”

  “Spectre?”

  “I know it’s not ideal, Grady, but they’re making a name for themselves. It’s a young company—you could help brand them.”

  It was a young company without much money and a whole lot less prestige than what Grady was used to. Bowman had treated him like a prince. Private jets to competitions, suites he could easily live in. Cars. Parties. Women.

  Grady could still remember one summer just a few years ago when Brent Bowman, grandson of the company’s founder, showed up at his condo after one particularly wild night of partying. Brent wore an expensive gray suit with a blue tie. Grady wore last night’s jeans and nothing else.

  At the sight of him, Brent held up a ring of keys, jingling them around as if they meant something.

  Grady squinted, the light of the morning sun doing a number on his hangover. “What’s that?”

  “Get dressed and come find out.” Brent grinned. Grady had gotten to know the man over the years—he was a good guy, and he understood Grady’s affection for speed. Maybe he’d rented a particularly unique sports car and had a joyride planned?

  Grady let him in, though he wasn’t proud of the condition of his condo. People—mostly strangers, really—had come over the night before, and they’d done a number on the place.

  Brent pretended not to notice.

  “Do I have to dress like you to go wherever it is we’re going?”

  Brent laughed. “I wouldn’t know who you were if you did.”

  Grady brushed his teeth and pulled on fresh clothes—jeans and a well-worn Chicago Bulls T-shirt. “You wanna tell me where we’re going now?”

  “Rather show you.” Brent’s BMW was the only car parked outside. They got in, and for the next ten minutes, the man talked to Grady about his value to their company. />
  “Having an athlete of your caliber wearing our logo—it’s something we’ve strived for at Bowman,” he’d said. “We’re all feeling pretty lucky you’re on our team.”

  “I’ve been on your team for years, man,” Grady said, feeling oddly uncomfortable with the praise.

  “But it’s only been the last few years we could give you the perks you deserve.” They were pulling into the parking lot of the speedway—a large racetrack just outside of town.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “You’re the fastest skier competing right now—you obviously love fast things.”

  “No way.” Grady glanced up at the speedway as Brent put the car in park.

  “Time to see what you’re made of, man.”

  As a rule, Grady drove fast, but he’d never topped 150. That was all about to change.

  The Bowman race car was on the track and a crew of men in jumpsuits moved around it, making sure it was ready for him. He stared at it for a minute before moving toward it.

  “You sure?” He glanced up at Brent, who nodded, his own grin matching Grady’s. “This is awesome.”

  He suited up, got behind the wheel, and waited for the all clear. He took off like a shot, pushing the car toward its limits on his first lap. He loved the way it felt to control something so fast, so powerful, and as he accelerated, the background noise drifted away, leaving only the track in front of him and the concentration needed to take the car around the curve without crashing. He zipped around for another lap, pushing the car even harder—faster—still focused only on the speed and the accuracy necessary to stay on the course.

  As he finished the final lap, Grady’s heart pounded, adrenaline simmering through his veins, and for a split second, he thought maybe he’d found something even more exciting than downhill skiing.

  Bowman had arranged other events for thrill seekers like Grady—snowmobiles during training, skydiving in the off-season. Pete complained about it every time—“Our job is to keep these guys safe,” he’d said. “What they do for a living is dangerous enough.”

  But Brent Bowman was an extreme sports fanatic. He craved the fast life as much as Grady—which was, he supposed, why they’d become friends.

  Maybe that’s why Bowman’s dumping him stung a little more than it should have. Brent hadn’t even called to break the news himself. He’d had Pete do it. On the phone. Hadn’t their partnership over all these years warranted more than that?

  “Grady?” Pete was still on the phone, probably wondering where Grady had disappeared to in the quiet on his end.

  “Yeah, no thanks,” Grady said, remembering the question.

  “Just think about it.”

  “I did. And I gave you my answer.”

  “Grady, nobody else is calling. This might be your best bet.”

  It was like a sucker punch to the gut. If his best bet was Spectre, then Grady’s skiing career was in a whole lot worse shape than he’d realized.

  And the hits just kept on coming.

  When Quinn saw Grady’s SUV pull up outside the flower shop, the nerves kicked up in her belly.

  Knock it off, Quinn. He doesn’t even remember.

  He was out there—on the phone? Waiting for him to come to the door was unnerving. She tried to busy herself—moving shelves to places she knew they did not go, recopying the list she’d made of things he’d have to do before he could clock out that night, checking her hair—again—in the reflection of the glass in the door to the back room.

  That last one? That’s what she was doing when Grady finally decided to stroll through the front door.

  Naturally.

  “You really don’t need to make yourself pretty for me,” he said. “I’ve seen you in your pajamas.”

  She spun around and faced him, certain her cheeks were flushed. “You have not. You were passed out by the time I changed.”

  “I might’ve peeked.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right, because that would be terribly exciting, me in my black-and-white flannel pajamas.”

  “The red shirt really pulled the whole look together.”

  She wanted to respond, but she had no words. He’d actually seen her in her pajamas. It wasn’t a big deal, really. After all, she’d been known to make an emergency Ben and Jerry’s run late at night wearing pajamas. Only on special occasions, of course, or in moments of desperation. Like the anniversary of the day her mom left. April 25. Still, something about knowing he’d been paying attention—it flustered her. And she absolutely could not be flustered. There was too much to do.

  “I don’t believe you remember a thing about last night.” She picked her notebook up off the counter as she walked toward him. “You were drunk.”

  He waited until she glanced up into those disastrously attractive eyes before responding. Then he smirked—barely—and said, “I wasn’t that drunk.”

  Her pulse quickened. Did that mean what she thought it meant? Was he only pretending not to remember the hardly-kiss?

  But it wasn’t a hardly-kiss, was it? It was the kind of kiss she’d been thinking about since the second it happened, and she could kick herself for it.

  “Well, against my wishes, you’re here to work on preparations for the Winter Carnival.” Why couldn’t the rest of her committee have community service hours to work off? This would be so much easier if it weren’t just the two of them. “I’m in charge of decorating the pavilion, which is, unfortunately for you, a lot of work. It’s a big responsibility.” She gave him a once-over. “Are you familiar with that concept?”

  He sauntered over to the stool behind the counter and sat down. “You sound very judgmental right now.”

  “Hey, I call it like I see it.”

  “You’re doing it again.” He was looking at her. Just sitting there, looking at her. How was she going to get anything done with him here taking up way too much room behind her counter?

  “Doing what?”

  He wagged his finger in her general direction. “That thing with your forehead. The I’m-serious-all-the-time furrow.”

  She set the notebook down and stuck her hands on her hips. “I am not serious all the time.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Prove it.”

  She shook her head, her level of annoyance skyrocketing. “I don’t have time for this. Do you know the carnival is only three weeks away? We have so much to do to get ready.”

  “I’m sorry. Is that you being serious again?”

  “You’re the worst,” she muttered under her breath as she walked over to the shelving unit she’d pushed out of the center of the store only moments before he strolled in. She used her hip to push it to the other side of the store, aware that Grady was watching her the whole time.

  Once it was in place, she moved some of the small gift items she had in stock onto the shelves. This would be a brand-new display with some of the wall art and home decor items she’d been waiting to exhibit.

  “So you own this place, but you’re not open?” He was leaning up on the counter now, the side of his head on his fist like a child.

  “I just bought it,” she said. “I have some work to do before I can reopen.”

  “Like what?”

  She drew in a deep breath. She didn’t really want to get into it with him. She didn’t want to explain her plans or hear how silly they sounded to the famous Olympic athlete when she knew the only thing Grady Benson really wanted to talk about was Grady Benson.

  But that wasn’t fair, was it? He’d asked her more questions about herself than she’d wanted to answer.

  “What do you have to do?” He stood up, still watching her.

  Was he just bored or genuinely interested?

  “Well, I’m going to paint the walls and refinish the floors. I’ve got new valances for the smaller windows, and I’m going to paint our new logo on the back wall behind where you’re standing. I’ve got a few more shelves like this one for al
l the displays and the gifts I’m selling. Mimi—she was the previous owner—never really sold gifts. Just flowers.”

  “When does that all have to be done by?”

  She hated that question. It was like a quiet reminder that she wasn’t going to make her deadline. When Ryan and Lane had come in with so many “simple, easy-to-do” ideas, she’d been so certain she could get it all done. Now? Now she was pretty sure she’d reopen with nothing but a few new shelves.

  And maybe that was okay.

  “I wanted to reopen next Wednesday.”

  He whistled, as if saying, Whoa, you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As if she didn’t already know that.

  “That and the Winter Carnival? You’ve got your hands full.”

  “I’m very efficient,” she said. “I have a plan.”

  “Seems like you could use some help.” His eyes were wide—as if meant to communicate something she couldn’t read.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’ll help you. It’s the least I can do since you gave me a place to crash last night. I was going to sleep in my car.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Could he?

  “No, I really was going to sleep in my car.”

  “Not about that. About helping me.”

  “Why not? We’ll take care of the carnival stuff, but mostly that’s work we’re going to do the week of, isn’t it? I’ll help you paint. I’ve never refinished a floor, but how hard can it be?”

  “I think it’s very hard, actually.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “I’m offering you my help, Collins. Do you want it or not?”

  She wasn’t so sure. Somehow she felt like she was walking into a trap. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch.”

  She watched him through narrow eyes.

  “Okay, I was hoping maybe you could put in a good word for me? With your dad and the judge?”

  She felt her shoulders slump. So he wasn’t offering just to be nice. That shouldn’t surprise her. Of course he had an ulterior motive. What did she expect? He wasn’t going to fall in love with Harbor Pointe in a few days’ time.