She wanted to believe him. Oh no. She wanted to believe him. When had she turned into the kind of woman who wanted to take a man at his word when she knew she absolutely could not? He would leave, just like everyone else had left—just like her mother had left.
And she couldn’t bear that pain again.
“I’m sorry, Grady.”
He moved around the counter and stood right in front of her, clearly unfazed by her nearness. “Tell me you didn’t feel that between us. Tell me that wasn’t real.”
She forced herself to look at him. “It wasn’t real.”
He searched her eyes but she held her ground, refusing to allow even the hurt look on his face to sway her.
But when he broke away from her and walked off, instant, painful regret wound its way through her belly.
And she couldn’t shake the idea that the only mistake she’d made was letting him walk away.
CHAPTER
24
GRADY STORMED OUT of the Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop and marched toward his SUV. That woman was infuriating! For all his faults, at least he was up-front with people.
It wasn’t real, my eye.
He’d never felt anything more real than the connection between them. As soon as his lips touched hers . . . it was more than just attraction; it was so much more. How did she not feel that?
Before he got in the car, he cast one last, longing gaze at the flower shop, hoping to see her standing in the window, watching him. At least then he would know she cared.
But she wasn’t there.
The only thing that lingered were her pointed words.
“You’re not training. . . . You’re not working out. Do you really think everything is going to be handed to you for the rest of your life? . . . Stop wallowing and start fighting. You might have to actually listen to your coaches instead of doing everything your own way for once.”
He’d lied when he said she didn’t know anything about it. It seemed like she knew everything. What’s more, she wasn’t afraid to say what she thought about all of it.
He’d surrounded himself with friends who told him only what he wanted to hear, and at the first sign of trouble, they’d all disappeared.
He sat behind the steering wheel, key in the ignition, eyes fixed on the empty street and sidewalks in front of him. An Open sign shone in the window of the bar across the street. He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb, knowing that getting lost in a bottle might help him forget all of this—the social media mess, Quinn, the realization that he was, in fact, not the skier he used to be. But those things would all still be there when he woke up, wouldn’t they?
Which left him with one question: If he didn’t drown his sorrows in a Jack and Coke, where would he drown them?
He started the car and drove away, certain of only one thing: the answers weren’t anywhere he’d ever looked before.
The cottage was quiet. Too quiet. It left him too much time in his own head, and Grady knew from experience, that wasn’t a good thing. The television blared in the background—white noise to drown out the loneliness.
Loneliness. What was he—an old, retired widower putzing around the house aimlessly?
His heart dropped. Wasn’t that what he was really afraid of?
That and the thought of never making amends for what had happened to his brother.
He’d been dreaming again the past few nights. He’d wake up fitful and sweating, his mind straining to piece together the fragments of a nightmare that put him straight back on that mountain the day he thought Benji had died.
His heart raced as he tried to shove the unwanted memories from his mind.
He clutched a Nerf football he’d found in the garage—good stress reliever in a pinch, though right now, it wasn’t doing its job. He willed away the guilt, the shame. Not just what had happened on the slopes, but everything that had come next.
The ego. The women. The alcohol. The fights.
Was this all there was to him without the accolades of skiing? If so, he didn’t like it.
Thoughts of Benji only stoked the fire Quinn’s words had lit earlier in the day.
He’d struggled. He’d faltered, made so many mistakes. Somehow, this past year, they’d begun to mess with his head. He’d never had that problem before. Chose not to listen to the negative press—or anyone, for that matter.
He stood and paced the length of the living room, clasping the football between his hands.
Quinn had challenged him, maybe without even knowing it. What was he going to do? Run away because more was required of him? He owed it to Benji to at least go down swinging.
He owed it to himself.
He pulled out his laptop and muted the TV. He scoured the bottom of his duffel bag for a notebook and pen, then did what Brian and his other coaches had tried to get him to do for years—watched videos of his mistakes.
“What’s the point of reliving my worst moments?” he’d demanded.
“You can learn from your mistakes, Grady,” Brian had said. “This is part of every athlete’s process.”
“Not mine.”
He’d been so stubborn, so pigheaded. Full of excuses and unwilling to admit that he might’ve been wrong, that the mistakes might’ve been his. Instead, he’d only watched the replays of the races where he’d triumphed.
But if he was going to try a new approach, it started here. Would it be easy? No. But it was necessary, and he knew it.
He sat on the couch as day turned to night, watching, studying, rewinding and rewatching to catch what had caused each stumble, each fall. Eventually, he became detached from the process, critiquing it like a spectator would, forgetting that it was his own race, his own mistakes, he was watching.
He stood up, right there in the living room, and pretended he was on the slopes, getting the movement in his body, correcting the missteps.
And it started to click.
Still, he knew—and it was hard for him to admit—that he wasn’t going to be able to come back strong enough by himself.
For the first time in his life, Grady felt like he actually needed someone else.
He’d all but destroyed his relationship with Brian, who’d been with him practically since the beginning. Brian’s career had taken off, and he was now the head coach of the US Olympic ski team. It was a relationship Grady would have to salvage, but not today.
Today, there was only one person he thought might still be in his corner.
He pulled his phone out and dialed his trainer, a solidly built black guy everyone called Happy because of his sunny disposition and endless optimism, something Grady had always endured but now desperately needed. Happy had always been committed to Grady’s training, considered himself part of Team Benson. Grady hoped that hadn’t changed.
Their partnership hadn’t ended poorly; it had just ended. Grady hadn’t even meant for it to happen—one day he just stopped showing up. Maybe because he didn’t like what his trainer had to say? How arrogant he’d been.
“Grady, my man. Where you been?” Happy actually sounded, well, happy to hear from him.
“You don’t wanna know, Hap.” Grady plopped down on the sofa. “Listen, I need some help. I’ve got a race in a couple weeks and I have to get back in shape—fast.”
“Have you been keeping up with your training?”
Grady’s eyes found the ceiling. He could picture his trainer’s earnest eyes, and he knew he owed the man the truth. No sense sugarcoating it. “No. I got sloppy, but I’m committed now. More than ever.”
Happy let out a sigh. Probably frustrated his expertise had been disregarded. “You know what this is going to take, right?”
Grady knew. It was going to take everything he had. And then some. “I’m ready.”
“You know my rules,” Happy said. “No booze. No late nights. Lots of early mornings.”
“You have my word.”
“And you’re ready to change it up a little?”
Grady thought back t
o the last time they’d worked together. Happy had tried to convince him to make some changes then to compensate for physical limitations Grady wasn’t willing to admit. If only he’d listened, maybe he would’ve already qualified.
“Listen, Hap,” Grady said. “About our last session—”
“Forget it,” Happy said. “I’m just glad you’re coming around now.”
“Yeah,” Grady said. “You were right. I’m not twenty anymore.”
Happy laughed. “You’re not even twenty-five.”
Grady listened as Happy outlined the new plan—one that would work best for his body. The eating plan would be difficult to follow in Harbor Pointe, but he’d get help if he had to, no matter how hard it was for him to ask.
“I’m going to work you hard, Grady,” Happy told him. “Because you can handle it and because you don’t have a lot of time.”
“I can take it,” Grady said. “But my resources are limited. We gotta go bare bones on this one.” He’d explained his situation, being stuck in Harbor Pointe, the poor skiing options.
“Bare bones is my specialty,” Happy said. “Listen, if we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right. No shortcuts.”
We. That’s what he needed. Someone on his team.
“You’ll check in with me every day,” Happy said. “At least twice.”
“I will.”
“And I’ll know if you’re slacking.”
“How?”
“Because you’ll still be able to walk.” Happy laughed. “Aw, man, I’ve missed you. It’s going to be fun putting you through the paces again.”
“I think we have different ideas of what fun is,” Grady said.
“I’ll e-mail you. I already had a plan written up for you from before. It’s going to be the same as what we talked about, only now we’re doing it long-distance. You get stuck, you call me. You get discouraged, you call me. Got it?”
“I’ll be fine,” Grady said.
“Listen, Grady, from what I’ve seen, you haven’t been fine,” Happy said. “But you’ve got to let that all go now.”
What if I can’t?
“All those jokers out there running their mouths, they don’t know you like I do. I see nothing but gas left in your tank.”
Grady’s eyes clouded over at the words. Seriously? What was he now, a little sissy?
And yet, he’d been hearing nothing but negativity for weeks. Only words that tore him down—and he’d believed them. Finally, someone to offer some hope.
Grady composed himself, then cleared his throat. “Thanks for taking my call, man.”
“You kidding? I’m in this for the long haul. No matter what happens.”
And somehow, Grady knew he meant it.
“Check your in-box,” Happy said. “And call me in the morning.”
Grady hung up and opened his e-mail. The plan came complete with personal notes like Don’t go to the bar on the weekends—you’ll undo five days of solid training.
Happy knew him too well.
Grady wasn’t out of shape, but he’d have to commit in ways he never had before if he had any chance at getting back on that team.
But it would be worth it.
Four thirty a.m. came fast. His alarm went off at the same time a text came in.
You up?
Happy.
Grady texted him back: I’m up, drill sergeant.
Good. Don’t phone it in. Visualize the moment you’re back on that team.
Grady tapped out the words: I’ll do you one better. I’m visualizing that gold medal around my neck.
LOL. One thing at a time, my man, but I like your enthusiasm. Go get ’em and call me later. I’m going back to bed.
He pulled on his gray hoodie, brushed his teeth, and splashed some water on his face, making a mental note to go to bed earlier tonight. He couldn’t stay up late watching old race videos if he was going to get up at this hour.
He trudged downstairs, the smell of coffee a welcome distraction. He’d set the automatic timer to start brewing so he could have at least half a cup before heading out.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. One glance at the clock—5 a.m.—told him his training partner was right on time.
Impressive.
He pulled the door open and found a sleepy Jaden standing on the porch. “I don’t think I’ve ever been up this early.”
Grady laughed. “This is the life, kid. This is what it really takes.”
How had Grady forgotten? How had he gotten so sidetracked—so arrogant—that he let himself believe he didn’t need the same hard-core training his competitors were putting in?
“I’m not goin’ easy on you, either. You said you wanted to compete, so you’re gonna get the real picture,” Grady said as he grabbed his phone and keys. “Wait. How did you get over here?”
“I jogged,” Jaden said.
Grady gave the kid a nod. “Wow.”
“I’m tired.”
“Yeah, yeah, let’s hit the weight room.” They started off in the direction of the Cedar Grove clubhouse, which Ryan had told him offered a state-of-the-art gym that was open twenty-four hours a day.
“We’re gonna do this every day?” Jaden asked.
“If you wanna be the best, you have to work for it,” Grady said, sounding like every coach he’d ever had.
“Wow, you’re like a fortune cookie.” Jaden tossed him a quick grin.
“Some overused advice is actually helpful,” Grady said. “Listen, I’ve been way off track since I got here. Since before I got here, really. So don’t go throwing what I do back in my face. Everything changes as of this moment right here. You got it?”
“I got it, old man,” Jaden said. “But I’ve got my eye on you.”
Grady frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you can train me, but if you’re not working hard enough, I’m calling you out on it.”
Grady stuck his hands on his hips and watched the kid’s reaction. When Jaden didn’t back down, he shook his head. “Fine, but if you get too annoying, I’m kicking you out.”
He laid out the plan for the kid—the basic training plan Happy had given him back when his body worked a little more like Jaden’s.
“That’s a lot.” Jaden groaned.
“I told you it’s not going to be easy.” Grady pulled out his phone and found the workout plan Happy had given him. It was designed to build power in his legs, something he’d always come by naturally.
“You expect me to do all this yoga stuff?” Jaden stared at the paper Grady had handed him.
“Skiing is about more than speed and power, dude,” Grady said, hopping on the treadmill. “It’s about balance and agility. At least I’m not making you take a ballet class.”
Jaden rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s where I draw the line, though I’m betting it’d be pretty fun to see you in a tutu.”
Grady shook his head. “Get to work.”
After ten minutes, sweat dotted his brow. He tried to pace himself because he knew he’d have to go on a trail run later. Happy had a theory that working out in the great outdoors was somehow better for people like Grady, who had to compete outside.
Jaden sat on a weight bench and stared at him. “This sucks, Grady. I just want to get up there and ski. Can’t we just meet out at Avalanche after school?”
For a moment Grady felt like he was looking in a mirror, but not one that reflected who he was today.
“Look, Jaden, I’m going to tell you something that you’re not going to want to hear,” Grady said.
The kid used his shirt to wipe his face dry.
“Do you want to compete?”
“Course I do,” Jaden said. “Which is why I don’t get why we’re here. I already went for a run this morning—isn’t that enough?”
“No, it’s not,” Grady said. “This is where you separate yourself from everyone else—not out on the slopes, but right here in the gym or out there on the trails. You’ve got
so much natural talent, but unlike me, you’ll actually take correction up there.”
“But that’s not enough either?” Jaden asked.
“Not even close.” Grady might not have any business talking to Jaden about a lesson he’d only just learned, but suddenly the desire to spare him the wasted time seemed worth possible hypocrisy. “So are you ready?”
“To be the best?” Jaden grinned. “You know I am.”
Funny, Grady felt exactly the same way.
CHAPTER
25
GRADY ARRIVED AT FORGET-ME-NOT ten minutes after 9 a.m. on Tuesday.
Great, he thought as he pulled up. Show up late—way to let her know you’ve changed.
He’d received a call from Ryan on Monday after his workout, asking if he could report to him that day. He claimed to need his help building foundations for the Winter Carnival statues, but the timing made Grady wonder if maybe Quinn had requested the change.
Today, though, she’d have to face him. He’d asked Ryan if he could spend the day here, helping her get ready for her big day tomorrow.
From the sidewalk, he saw a flurry of activity inside. Who was he kidding? Quinn was probably grateful he wasn’t there, in the middle of all the people she actually cared about. He’d only be in the way.
But he’d given her his word. And he wasn’t going to go back on it, no matter how wounded his ego was. Bad enough he’d let her run him off the other day.
He pulled the front door open, and everyone seemed to shift into slow motion. Heads turned, eyes fixed on him.
He lifted a hand in a lame greeting, searching the only slightly familiar faces for Quinn, who was nowhere to be seen.
Beverly sat on the floor just in front of him. She glanced up. “Grady, we didn’t know you’d be here today. Calvin, did you see? Grady’s here.”
The wiry man popped out from behind a display on the ground.
“Grady, good to see you, son.” Calvin stood.
Grady’s eyes landed on the logo Quinn had been painting the last time he was here. She’d finished it—and it looked perfect behind the counter.
Just Let Go Page 23
