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She pulls back enough to look me in the eyes, and I use all the energy I have left to convey my seriousness.
“I know you can’t help who you have feelings for. I know that so well. But the reason I know is because when I say that, I’m thinking about a woman who is not you.”
“You’re with someone?” she asks, finally detangling herself enough that I can set her away completely.
“No, I’m not. But that’s not the point, Marcie. The point is that I want to be. And the someone is not you.”
The truth is, the someone I’m thinking about could never be replaced by anyone. She’s one of a kind.
And just like that, I’ve decided.
In a little over a week, I’m going to Florida, and I’m going to open myself to the possibilities. No rules. No restrictions. No uptight preconceptions.
I’m going to try my hardest to be a new kind of man.
I just hope it’s enough for her.
Vail, CO, October 30th, Friday
Carly
Nina pulls me up short as we come out of Slope House, one of our favorite eateries in town. We’ve just had our traditional Halloween weekend, pre-ski-season dinner with the whole team, and Brody and some of the other instructors are well on their way through the stone courtyard, their voices carrying up and into the surrounding mountains with their enthusiasm.
Normally, I’d be right in the thick of their celebrations, but I have to admit, this year, the exciting time leading into the beginning of the season feels remarkably more subdued.
“Carly, can we talk?” Nina asks, her eyes narrowing on my face as I plaster on the biggest smile I can manage.
“Yeah.” I agree easily because that’s me, easy breezy chill girl who’s absolutely not falling apart on the inside. “What’s up?”
“Since you’ve been back, you…” She shakes her head briefly. “God, I thought it was going to be easier to say this without sounding condescending.”
I laugh a little at how nice she is to care how she sounds at all. We’ve been friends long enough now that if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t hesitate to call her out on her shit. “Come on, Neens. Spit it out. I won’t be mad, I promise.”
She smiles, the relief of having my permission clearly written on her face. “Okay, good, because for the past two weeks, since you’ve been back, you haven’t been yourself. At all. You don’t smile, you don’t laugh. You don’t text me to get Brody to leave the shop. In fact, he told me you’ve been suggesting the two of you stay late every night, even though most of the tasks on your to-do list are marked off. I’m just concerned. What’s going on with you?”
I shake my head. Stupidly falling in love with your future stepbrother who’s also your opposite in pretty much every way possible, overhearing him schedule a flight out as quickly as humanly feasible so he didn’t have to face the twisted shit he’d fallen into with you, and the resulting emotional shitstorm you’re currently battling is so not the conversation to have during a fun night out with your friends and employees.
It’s the kind of discussion that requires booze and closets and a lot of female broken-hearted bonding and power ballads in the background. At least, that’s how they handle these kinds of things in the movies.
Not in the middle of a public courtyard while one of your friends pretends to pee in the fountain.
“I’m okay,” I say, avoidance at the forefront of my mind. Sure, I’ll probably tell Nina all about my problems one day, but not tonight. Not now.
“Carly.”
“I’m fiiine, Neens. Gah. Don’t worry about me, okay?” I say, and unexpected tears make my nose start to sting.
She looks at me closely and steps forward to put a comforting hand to my shoulder, but I retreat immediately. I know her touch will be my undoing, and like I said, I’m not. Doing. This. Here.
I’ve held it together this long after getting home; I’m going to continue to hold it together now, goddammit.
“You know what?” I say, my tenuous grip on my control fleeting by the minute. “I think I’m just going to run to the restroom really quick. I should have gone before we came outside. Silly me.”
“Carly—” Nina calls, but I pick up my step to a jog and run back toward the restaurant as quickly as I can manage on my chunky heels.
“Be right back!” I choke out over my shoulder, but it sounds a little bit like I’ve swallowed a bag of marbles.
I grab the handle on the big carved doors and swing one open wildly, not even pausing to speak to the hostess on my way to the bathroom. I’m not sure whether she’ll remember that I just left or not, but the good part about looking like a hysterical woman is that, generally, people who don’t know you want to steer as far clear as possible for fear that your crocodile tears will jump out and bite them.
