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The girl from two nights ago left me her number. I could call her. Or I could watch a movie. Or go to a bar downtown, although that would risk running into Jameson.
I amble into the kitchen, refilling my glass with whiskey. The only upside of Jameson’s visit is that I can blame him for any amount missing.
My father insists on buying this brand that costs an obscene amount per bottle. Tastes the same as any other kind I’ve ever had, but my father has always put a premium on appearances. The only reason I know this bottle’s cost is because I looked it up once, back when I was still giving a shit about my father’s opinion and buying him birthday gifts.
I walk over to the French doors that lead onto the back deck and step outside. The cold is like a slap to the face, so sharp and bitter it numbs me immediately.
My parents bought this place when I was in elementary school. Back then, I called it the treehouse. I can still see the similarities to one—the exposed wood and expansive decks and the way it’s built into the side of the mountain, surrounded bytreetops. It used to be my favorite of my parents’ properties, until Parker ruined this place too.
I sip some whiskey, the cool liquid warming me as the wind chills me to the bone. It’s a bright night, the exterior lights rendered almost entirely useless by the moon. It’s a full one tonight, or nearly one.
Stone slabs lead to the hot tub. Steam rises from the surface of the clear water, drifting away toward the snow-capped peaks in the distance.
I stand and sip, watching the vapor drift away and disappear. My cheeks burn from the cold; my throat burns from the whiskey. And I hate how my eyes burn too, evidence of my weakness.
No matter what, I can’t seem to escape it. No matter how far I go. No matter how much I drink. No matter how much time passes without seeing or speaking to my family. No matter how many girls I screw. No matter how many goals I score.
It’s always justthere, this feeling of inadequacy and bitterness and resentment and wariness.
Family are supposed to be the people you trust and rely upon.
All mine has ever done is scheme and lie and manipulate.
I’m used to it by now. Still sucks.
I’m half-frozen now, the whiskey all that’s keeping me warm. Impulsively, I set the glass down on the side of the tub. Tug off the sweatshirt and joggers I put on after my shower.
Hiss, when the frigid air bites my bare skin. I can practically feel my dick shrinking.
Grit my teeth when I step into what feels like lava.
Yeah, this was one of my dumber decisions.
When Jameson and I were younger—friendlier—we used to lie in snowbanks, then jump in this hot tub. I remember those afternoons as being fun, not this agony I’m currently experiencingas my body adjusts from being surrounded by ten degrees to a hundred.
I take a seat on the stone bench, relaxing into the water. Spread my legs and tilt my head back to stare up at the star-strewn sky, my only movements to reach for the glass of whiskey a few times.
I’m luckier than a lot of people, I know. Staying in a twenty-million-dollar chalet, waiting for my trust fund to kick in. This pity party couldn’t have better accommodations.
But moneycan’tbuy happiness, something the rest of my family seems unable to comprehend. Or maybe they’re just too preoccupied putting on their individual acts to notice they’re unhappy.
An owl hoots in the distance.
This place is too far away from downtown’s commotion to have any soundtrack except nature.
A stick cracks. Followed by a low, heartfelt “Shit” that is not native to Colorado.
I sit up, squinting in the direction of the sound. There’s a girl—or woman, I can’t tell her age from here—right along the treeline, less than twenty feet away. Looking down, dark hair curtaining most of her face.
“You good?” I call out.
She doesn’t move for a few seconds. Finally, she raises her head. It looks like she squares her shoulders before turning to face me.
I suck in a surprised breath. She’s young, but definitely not a child. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s about my age.
And she’s stunning, even bundled up in a down jacket and wearing one of those knit hats with a pom-pom on top that I usually think look silly. Her skin looks as smooth and pale as thesnow I stared at all day, contrasted against the darker color of her coat.
“Yep. I’m good.”
