by Lili Valente
“It’s okay.” I wave a hand through the air between us. “There’s no way you could have known.”
“No, seriously, I have the worst luck with relationships. I know nothing about the finding, let alone the care and feeding, of love. I should have learned to keep my mouth shut years ago.” She lunges forward, giving me another hug, this time a two-armed version, smashing her camera painfully between us. “I’m sorry I made things uncomfortable, and I’m sorry my brother’s a fuckhead.”
I laugh, patting her on the back. “He’s not a fuckhead.”
“No, he is,” she says earnestly as she pulls away. “He told you all he wanted was a fuck buddy, and then asked you to come pretend to be his girlfriend? That’s the definition of a fuckhead.”
“It’s more complicated than that. And I don’t think he has any idea I have feelings for him. We went back to being friends after. If anything, he’s clueless, not cruel.”
She props her hands low on her hips. “Being clueless is no excuse. He needs to get that memo, and I’m going to make sure he does, loud and clear. I won’t tolerate my brother becoming one of the useless dicks of the world. He was raised better.”
I hold up my hands, shaking my head fast. “Oh, please don’t. Don’t say anything to him. I’ve already had enough embarrassment to last me for the next several years. Let me cling to what pride I have left.”
Diana sighs, her arms falling listlessly to her sides. “All right. But be sure to give me your address before I leave tonight, okay? That way I can send copies of the good pics straight to you. Brendan doesn’t deserve beautiful candid shots of the gorgeous woman he’s too stupid to fall madly in love with.”
My lips curve. “You’re very sweet. But in his defense, I’m not going to take the rejection personally anymore. After a few of the things he said today, I don’t think Brendan is ready to give anyone a chance. It’s not just me.”
“I think you’re right.” Diana fiddles with one of the knobs on top of her camera. “It’s hard enough to move on after a relationship ends in a bad breakup. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for him. Still…I wish he could find a way to open up again. It’s hard to see someone you love living life at fifty percent, you know?” Her gaze goes wistful and her fingers still. “My brother’s like a unicorn with his horn cut off. Still mostly whole and functional, but the magic is gone.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that odd, yet sadly accurate, comparison, but thankfully Chloe saves me.
“Are you two coming or not?” she calls out from the end of the block. “We’re never going to get to the waterfall if you don’t keep walking.”
“Coming, Miss Bossy.” Diana’s eyes flash as she nods toward her niece. “But that one’s pretty magical, huh? Almost makes me want to consider artificial insemination.”
I grin as I fall back into step beside her. “Agreed. Though I do enjoy borrowing other people’s kids. My sister’s in a pretty intense relationship. I have a suspicion I’ll be an aunt before too long.”
“Being an aunt is the best!” Diana lifts her camera, snapping a picture of Chloe as she peddles down the street, her hair flying in the breeze. “All the fun of being a mom, and then you can ghost when the fairy child starts showing her demon side. So, you just have one sister?”
“Just one. But Libby’s boyfriend and I have been tight since we were kids, so he kind of feels like a brother already. Is Brendan your only brother?”
She nods. “Yep, it’s all girls in the Daniels’ house except him. But my other sisters are still on the island, so they don’t pester him as much as I do.”
The rest of the way to the waterfall, we talk about families—the pluses and minuses of a large tribe over a small one—work, travel, and other safe subjects. Diana pulls out her phone, showing me some of her favorite shots from her years as a wildlife photographer for the National Park System, and I tell her about the hockey fantasy camp I organize for the Badgers every February.
At the waterfall, which is only partially frozen, but entirely stunning, Chloe gives me a tour, while Diana snaps pictures. Afterward, we leave Chloe’s bike leaned against the guardrail and hike up into the woods behind the falls, climbing until we’re treated with truly stunning views of the gorge and snow-covered Mount Hood beyond.
Nature works its usual magic, and by the time we get back down to street level, I’m feeling more at peace than I did before. Hiking through the dramatic scenery of the Pacific Northwest, it’s hard not to feel like life is simpler than I usually give it credit for. My problems have been put in perspective by the epic mountain range stretching toward the horizon, evergreens towering overhead, and sunlight glittering on snow.
So I’ve got a thing for a man who doesn’t have a thing for me—who clearly wants me but doesn’t want the messy possibilities that come along with getting emotionally involved with another human being. Compared to the settlers who made their way across the mountains in covered wagons, starving and struggling and fighting their way to a new life, my problems are pretty fucking small.
My zen state lasts the entire walk back to the house, through several hours in Chloe’s room watching movies and building an obstacle course of Legos for Fluffster—who has decided he loves me and would prefer not to be parted from my side, proving there is no bond as powerful as that between a woman and a dog who’ve done battle over a diaphragm—and throughout dinner, which is even later than Diana predicted.
We sit down at six, our company joined by Angie’s sister and her three adult children, seven of Chloe’s second cousins between the ages of four and fifteen, and an elderly couple from down the street who have no relatives in the area. We finish our second serving of pie at eight fifteen, just in time for Chloe to be whisked away to her room, her sleepy arms wrapped around her daddy’s neck and her head resting on his shoulder. I help clear the table and tidy up the kitchen as the guests bundle into their coats, I hug Diana at the door, and finally I bid Angie and Steve good night around nine.
It isn’t until I’m trudging up the stairs, tired from a long day of kisses, embarrassment, more kisses, mortification, hiking, playing, and eating too much pie that I start to feel anxious again.
Since I returned from the walk, Brendan and I haven’t had much time to play the happy couple. He was busy helping Steve set up extra folding tables in the living room and fixing something plumbing related in the guest bathroom, and I was busy entertaining Chloe and helping Angie serve the kids.
Now, as I slip into our shared room to hear water running in the attached bathroom, the reality that Brendan and I are going to be sharing the queen bed against the far wall makes my mouth dry and my heart beat faster. After this morning, I know nothing’s going to happen between us, but that doesn’t mean I won’t spend the entire night lying awake, very, very aware of the warm, powerful, beautiful body of the man sleeping next to me.
I’m debating telling Brendan that I’ll sleep in the Cruiser and sneak back into our room before sunrise tomorrow to maintain our cover—sure, I might freeze as the temperature drops overnight, but at least I’ll be able to get some sleep before I die of hypothermia—when he sticks his head out of the bathroom, a damp washcloth in hand.
“Hey. I was just headed downstairs to say goodbye to Diana.”
“She already left.” I unzip my suitcase, which Brendan has relocated to the bench at the foot of the bed, giving me the prime luggage space while leaving his own on the floor.
“She did?” He frowns, stepping through the door. “You’re sure?”
I nod, concentrating on pulling out my sleep things—the most modest pair of flannel pajamas I own—to avoid admiring how good Brendan looks in black sweatpants and a tight blue T-shirt. We slept naked the last time we spent the night together. I’ve never seen him dressed for bed, and he looks unexpectedly…snuggly.
Sexy and snuggly, a dangerous combination.
He curses softly. “Great. She must be pissed at me for some reason.”
I
shrug. “Maybe she was just tired. She has a long drive, right?”
“A couple of hours. She’s based out of Crater Lake right now, but she’s staying with a friend in Eugene tonight. I’ll text her in the morning and see what’s up.” He sighs tiredly, flipping the washcloth over his shoulder. “I’m not in the mood for a Diana fight tonight.” He glances up, his eyes guarded. “So, I think it went okay, don’t you?”
“I think it went very well.” I smile. “After the initial insanity.”
His lips curve. “You made an excellent recovery.”
“Well, I’m made of pretty tough stuff.” I turn to face him, my pajamas held to my chest. “Is it okay if I grab a shower before bed?”
“Sure. I’m done. It’s all yours.” He steps aside, motioning to the tub with an awkwardness that would be endearing if I didn’t know the reason for it.
“It’s cool,” I say with forced levity, knowing I can’t survive another three days of “sorry about trying to get into your pants” Brendan. “We’re cool. Let’s forget about everything that happened between ten and eleven a.m. and move on with a fresh slate, okay?”
He nods, but the tension around his eyes remains. “Okay. But I’m going to sleep on the floor.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, though the thought of a few extra feet between sleeping Brendan and sleeping me actually sounds like a good idea.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll grab an extra blanket out of Chloe’s room and be fine on the floor.” He backs toward the door, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “I can sleep anywhere. I’ll probably be out cold before you get out of the shower. I know it’s early, but I’m pretty beat.”
“Me, too.” I flutter my fingers. “Good night, then.”
“Good night.” He pauses in the doorway, his lips parting, but after a moment he shakes his head and lifts a hand, clearly rethinking whatever he was going to say. “See you in the morning.”
And then he’s gone, and there is suddenly more oxygen in the room. Which is good. Oxygen is good. Breathing is good.
So why does watching him go feel so shitty?
Chapter Eleven
Brendan
After another rough night, spent listening to Laura moan softly in her sleep and wishing I was next to her, with my arms wrapped around her and her fine ass tucked against me, the last thing I want to do is get up at the crack of dawn and rush up the mountain.
But Chloe is up at six fifteen, knocking on the bedroom door, asking if I packed her unicorn ski pants and if she can have pancakes and pie for breakfast and how much longer until we leave. By the time I locate the pants—and the matching unicorn hat that Justin made for her—and stumble downstairs for coffee, Steve and Angie are already dressed in their ski clothes and looking way too bright-eyed for people who fed a small army yesterday and helped take down five bottles of wine last night.
“Ready to hit the slopes, killer?” Steve asks. “I’ve been missing my black diamond buddies. Angie won’t do the big runs with me anymore.”
I give him two sleepy thumbs-up, and add extra sugar to my coffee.
I’m tired now, but by the time I’m on a lift, the crisp air at seven thousand feet will wake me up. Chloe and I have both been looking forward to this weekend. I grew up spending Christmas holidays with my grandparents in Banff, skiing from sunup to sundown, and she’s been skiing like a champ since she was four years old.
By nine o’clock, we’re dressed for the elements and the Cruiser is packed with a cooler filled with turkey sandwiches and drinks, two bags of snacks to keep our energy up through early evening, and Chloe’s skis. Steve and Angie lead the way in their truck, heading out of the subdivision and onto the highway toward the Government Camp ski area.
“So why don’t you have your own skis?” Laura asks. She’s sitting up front with me today, looking like a Viking princess in her tight red ski pants and black and white snowflake sweater, making me glad she’s planning to stick to the blue runs with Angie today. I’m not sure how I would hold up to an entire day of exposure to her ass in those pants.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, fighting to keep my eyes on the road and my thoughts in the friend zone. She made her position on being more than that perfectly clear yesterday. Continuing to dwell on how much I wish I hadn’t fucked up my chance with her is only going to make the weekend pass even more slowly. “When I first moved here to play for the Badgers I wasn’t sure I would have time to ski. And then there were a few years, when Chloe was a baby, when I didn’t make it up to the slopes the entire season.”
“But now I ski better than Dad,” Chloe pipes up from behind me. “Don’t I, Dad?”
“You’re very good.” I catch her gaze in the rearview mirror. “But don’t get cocky, okay? I want you to stick to the green and blue runs until after lunch. Give yourself a chance to get comfortable on your skis again.”
“I’m already comfortable on my skis.”
“Chloe,” I say, her name a warning. “I’m serious. You haven’t been out since last March. Stick to the green and blue until after lunch, or you’re going to lose drawing time next week.”
She grumbles something stubborn beneath her breath, but I feel fairly confident she’s going to listen. I don’t whip out threats to take away drawing time unless I mean business.
“That’s funny,” Laura says softly after Chloe returns to the picture she’s coloring. “For most kids, it would be dessert or video games or something.”
“But that’s not what she loves most. The only way I ever get her to listen is to hit her where it hurts.”
Laura nods, studying me from the corner of her eye.
“What?” I finally ask.
“You’re a good dad. You’ve got a good mix of discipline and affection going on. She knows she’s loved, but she also has boundaries. It’s…good.”
I adjust my grip on the steering wheel, flustered by the compliment. “Thanks. I try my best.”
“That’s obvious.” She takes a sip of her coffee and reaches out to adjust her heat vent. “It’s also obvious that Chloe’s a lot happier on days with no school in them.”
“Aren’t we all? I mean, I love my job, but I’m still more fun on the weekend.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she says, softening the words with a smile. “I know I already mentioned this, but it might not be such a bad thing for Chloe to go back to her old school. Maybe at least give it a try. And then if she’s still struggling, you’ll know it’s adjusting to first grade that’s the problem, not the learning environment at Elmwood.” She lifts her coffee cup between us. “And that advice is coming from my sister, by the way, who is a real-life elementary school teacher. A very good one, who wins awards and inspires undying devotion in her students and stuff. So…”
I nod, the conversation hitting me differently than it did the last time Laura brought it up. Of course, that was almost six weeks ago, before I realized how much she cares about Chloe.
“I’ll think about it.” I glance into the rearview mirror, grateful to see Chloe’s head still bent over her coloring book. I don’t want her to start thinking this is a done deal. “The year at Elmwood is already paid for. So maybe they would let her leave and come back if she needed to. And hopefully I’ll have found a reliable nanny by Christmas so after school care won’t be such a big deal.” I shake my head, the familiar childcare-related stress creeping in to tighten my shoulders. “If not, I may have to fucking retire to make sure someone’s always there to pick her up at school.”
“I heard that! Another dollar in the swear jar for you when we get home,” Chloe pipes up, making me cuss again beneath my breath.
Laura snorts. “You’re right. She’s always listening.”
“Always,” I agree, with a rueful smile.
“You’ll find someone,” Laura says. “You can’t retire now, right when you’re becoming one of my most cooperative Badger ambassadors.”
“Forget that I’m captain and was voted MVP three
years in a row. It’s all about the PR.”
“Yes!” She pats me on the thigh, making my cock twitch hopefully inside my boxers because the dumb bastard has the IQ of a single celled organism and hasn’t caught on to the fact that Laura isn’t ever going to be in our bed again. “Glad you’re starting to understand that. Without PR, those crowds watching you be MVP would be a lot smaller, my friend.”
Her friend.
There are far worse things to be—Laura’s a good friend, who is always there to help out with Chloe no matter how weird things are between us at any given moment—but the reminder makes me grumpy.
I pass the rest of the drive up to the ski area in silence, while Laura and Chloe discuss the merits of turkey sandwiches with mayo versus cranberry sauce, where the best blue runs are at the resort, and whether Chloe’s unicorn hat is going to fit beneath her ski helmet.
“The horn is squishy, so I think it will.” Chloe’s legs kick faster as we pay the daily parking fee and pull into the already packed lot. “It’s made of yarn and yarn squishes. That’s a fact.”
“Can’t argue with facts.” Laura glances over her shoulder, a warmth in her gaze that makes me feel even worse. My shitty judgment call last summer didn’t just rob me of a gorgeous, sexy woman in my bed; it robbed Chloe of the female influence Steve and Angie want for her.
Yes, Chloe still sees a lot of Laura, but she would see more of her if we were dating.
And then when you broke up, she would see a lot less of her.
Better to maintain the status quo.
Four years ago, a thought like that never would have crossed my mind. I was all about pushing my boundaries, bending the rules, and seeing how much extraordinary I could fit into one lifetime. But somewhere along the line, between the nightmarish day I received that call from the police, and the tolerable present, I stopped aiming for extraordinary. I became satisfied with an absence of pain and stopped hoping for pleasure. I became resigned to the status quo.
