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He gets a faraway look in his eyes. “You remind me of her when she was your age,” he says, sounding proud.
“Just not the hair, right?” I ask, raising a brow.
He chuckles. “You’ve got your grandma’s hair and my spirit. You’re stubborn, kid. How’ve you really been, Acie?” he asks.
People leave, and we’re alone on the balcony. I can’t see Jesse anywhere, and I’m glad.
“Doing okay. The shop is getting back on track. I’m 50K in debt, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t know where I’m going, Dad,” I mutter.
“Come home to us, kid,” he pleads, his voice serious. “Let us help you figure it out. That’s what families do.”
“Throw money at the problem and make it go away.” I chuckle.
“That’s what I do best.” He laughs.
“I don’t know if I can do that, Dad. Everything here reminds me of Ronnie.” I sigh, not looking him in the eyes.
“Ace,” he says soothingly. He reaches for me and lays his hand on my shoulder, pinching a little. “You need to start living again, kiddo. He wouldn’t want you to feel sad or blame yourself.”
“It still feels like yesterday I lost him on that mountain,” I confess, grabbing the wooden railing tight until my knuckles turn white.
“We all lost him, hon,” he drawls.
“I know, Dad, but sometimes it’s like you’ve all moved on—”
We both look up when a couple of party people pass us by.
“I can’t get into this with you here. I need to go,” I tell him, pushing myself off the railing.
“Please, Ace, have a coffee with me tomorrow at that little place we used to go to. It’s still there.”
“Why?”
“So we can talk, for real this time. Not like we do every Christmas or on the phone sometimes, but really talk,” he states.
“We already tried that, remember? You asked me to come live here and work for the company. I can’t take his place,” I tell him, trying to sound strong.
“I know, and that’s not what I meant, kid. We need to move forward, not look back every damn day and ask ourselves what we could have done differently,” he says again.
“Like you have, Dad?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, and his voice cracks.
“I saw and read the interviews you gave. You even named a fucking board after him, when we said we wouldn’t use his name like that to earn fucking money.” I raise my voice.
“That’s not why I did it. Fuck, he loved to rip it down these damn mountains. He lived a lifetime in his nineteen years, and you loved it too, if I remember correctly. You both loved it. Hell, you guys spent more time in the snow than at home, honey,” he grumbles, but I pick up on the love and pain in his voice.
“I can’t, Dad. I can’t talk about him,” I tell him, hanging my head.
“Fuck, kid, when will you be ready?” he asks, raising his voice.
“Hey, you okay?” Jesse asks, stepping onto the deck. He looks from my father to me. The two men lock eyes like some stare down.
“Sorry you had to hear that, son. I’m Norman Kurton, Ace’s father,” Dad says, extending out his hand for Jesse.
“Jesse Winchester,” he says, smiling as they both shake. But there is an angry twitch in his jaw. Jesse’s hurt, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.
“I know everyone we sponsor. You are one of our best riders out there. Congrats on the medal today.” Dad’s voice is deep and genuine.
