Page 99 of The Has-Been

Then she bolts.

“Richard!” Her mother exclaims, shoving his arm away from her shoulders as she steps forward, clearly considering going after her daughter.

She takes a step forward and then stops herself. Her head cranes to the side, “I think you’re the one she really needs to talk to.”

Without another thought, I’m sprinting out the door, chasing her.

The gala is at the Grand Lodge overlooking the slopes. Golden-orange sunset casts across the snow, lights lining the hills twinkling like stars. Guests are still arriving, cars pulling up to the valet, people filing inside.

I shove through the crowd, spotting Aubrey’s fur coat. I spin someone around—and curse.

“Shit—sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

I look up, thankful for my height.

Over the heads, I see her walking down the hill. I push harder, desperate to get to her.

“AUBREY!” I call, running, snow crunching underfoot.

She glances back, then drops her head, keeping pace, her long dress dragging behind her. Snow clings to the fabric, soaking its length.

I know she has to be freezing.

“Aubs,” I pant, right behind her. She ignores me, tracing the path that leads to our cabin.

Cars slow, guests watch, recognizing Aubrey Vaughn, alone, without a coat, while a strange man follows her.

Not a great look.

But she doesn’t seem to care as she keeps on, turning left, heading up the vast hill. Fuck. I need to pick up my pace, but I’m worried I’ll eat it in this snow. My leg is fine, thanks to rehab, but balance?

Balance sucks. Especially on snow.

While I struggle, Aubrey walks the uphill pathway in four-inch heels like it’s nothing.

She never fails to amaze me.

I sprint—and immediately regret it. Because I fall, cursing, ass-first into the snow.

She hears the commotion I caused behind her and turns around, her face full of worry. “Damn it, Liam—are you okay?”

She steps to help me—and slips, sliding down beside me.

A soft chuckle vibrates my chest as she lays sprawled out next to me. Snow now covers every inch of us, but we don’t seem to notice.

Fingers numb, wet seeping into my suit, cold to the bone, I fling myself back, my body now laid out in the thick layers. I spread my arms out, legs following.

And I begin to swipe up and down.

Snow angels.

Aubrey’s quiet sobs turn into laughter—growing louder and louder as I look over and see her doing the same.

I know so many truths separate us. That there is something significant and threatening enough to split us apart again, something she was running from.

But right now I don’t want to know.

Right now, I want her.