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CHAPTER 2
Cody drove meto my dad’s house. His arm rested casually over the steering wheel. He hadn’t been around long enough to know the extent of my relationship to Jacob. To him, I was just Mia’s best friend. And if he did know, he kept his thoughts, and feelings about it, to himself.
I was grateful for his quiet nature because I didn’t need to elaborate on my circumstances.
I watched the landscape pass by, trying to ignore the constricting pain in my chest.
After arriving at my house—my dad’s house— and making sure I could handle the packing on my own, Cody returned to the shop, not even remotely worried about being in trouble with Jacob.
Tears threatened to fall. I inhaled, then exhaled, trying to stay focused on packing. I would need my clothes, of course, and the hand-blown glass candleholders I’d been collecting over the years. None of the furniture or kitchenware was mine. I was slightly embarrassed I hadn’t had any greater goals than to socialize and spend money. My only goal in life had been to make it to the Olympics, and after that… well, things hadn’t exactly turned out the way I thought they would have.
It hurt to leave. For as long as I could remember, I’d spent every winter and summer in this house. And for the past six years, I’d lived here on my own. I’d hosted parties, dinners, and never felt lonely. But standing here, now, highlighted all of the loneliness I’d been masking.
The house was large but not overly grandiose. It was solid and strong, nestled in the cottonwood trees a few hundred feet above the valley.
Stone pillars rose to a log-framed awning that proudly jutted out over the circular drive. Smooth river rock steps led up to the double wooden doors.
When I entered, the house was quiet. Not even the refrigerator hummed. Still, silent, somber. The house felt sad. Like it knew I was leaving.
Sunlight spilled into the entryway, reflecting off the main fireplace sitting near the bottom of the stairs. It was made of the same smooth river rock as the entryway and rose to the ceiling and exposed wood beams.
I climbed the stairs wearily. It didn’t make sense that I had to move out. What more could I have done to not be a huge disappointment to everyone around me? Jacob didn’t have time for me. Mia had moved on. My own brother was never around, and he lived less than ten miles away.
Perilously close to tears, I climbed the stairs, sadness slowing my steps as I ran my hand along the railing.
When I reached the second floor, I stepped around the fireplace, and into the rustic, yet elegant western-style living room. The furnishings were heavy and masculine. Native American patterned heavy knit wool blankets in vibrant reds, oranges, and blues were folded neatly on an ottoman in front of the fireplace.
Expansive windows looked out toward the mountains—the majestic, rugged terrain of the Teton Range—and provided me the same view Mia would have from her new house a few miles north of town.
To the right, a long hall led to two guest bedrooms and the master’s suite at the end. A small back staircase led down to an exercise room, a theatre room, and a four-car garage, where I parked my car. The 2008 Land Rover Discovery was actually mine. It had been a gift for my 18th birthday, and I counted myself lucky my dad hadn’t taken that back too.
I ran my hand over the back of the couch before walking down the hall.
Years ago, I’d taken the large suite, and no one but my older brother ever complained. It didn’t matter that he lived in the resort my father owned; he never seemed to want anything good for me.
I sat at the foot of my unmade bed, staring at the sweeping mountain views. Only a few seconds later, I dropped my shoulders. How could he sell this house? I couldn’t even afford to buy it with my trust.
‘Take what you need. The movers will get the rest,’ my father had said at breakfast.
What I needed was the whole damn house.
Instead, I opened my armoire, pulled out all of my designer clothes, and tossed them on the bed. My moves were automatic, my mind anywhere but here.
Next, the closet. Back and forth I went. The more steps I took, the angrier I got.
I stomped into the bathroom, where my hair products and makeup were strewn across the counter. The jasmine and clove scent of my perfume still lingered in the room, and my dresses were scattered on the floor and vanity chair. I’m messy. My shortcomings blatantly obvious now that I was in survival mode.
I ran down the back staircase and pulled my suitcases out of the garage, holding back my tears as I carried them into the house.
I packed as much as I could in the short time I had, and left the rest to the movers. I couldn’t remember what time my dad was leaving today, but I didn’t want to see him again unless I had to.
When my Land Rover was packed full of suitcases and dress bags, I did one last walkthrough of the house, ending at the living room. There, I screamed. Balled my fists up and just screamed. When all the air left my lungs, and my screams had no sound left, I cried. I lay down on the couch until the tears subsided and I could finish the task of leaving.
My phone pinged. Pam’s text read I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll call you with the times the realtor will start showing the house thisweek
I gagged and groaned, then texted her All my stuff is out. To be a brat, I added I’m not making mybed.
She sent a heart and a laugh emoji.
