The line to the top of the mountain shuffles forward. A steady drip-drip-drip from the lift frame overhead beats down on me as we work our way through the line, each icy drop landing on my face and neck another little "fuck you" from the universe.
My shoulders bunch under my jacket, muscles coiled tight enough to snap.
“Man, your dad zinged you good,” Nick says eyeing me warily.
Yup, that was the other “fuck you” of the day.
Thanks for reminding me, fucker.
My father's words echo in my head, his dead-eyed stare burning through me all over again. The cold wind whips through the lift line, but it's got nothing on the glacier that's been parked in my chest since brunch. Each breath feels like swallowing shards of ice.
"Not now," I snap, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.
The tension radiates down my neck, digging between my shoulder blades like claws.
My pulse pounds in my temples, a steady drumbeat of shame and anger.
I couldn't see Holly's face when my father dropped that bomb, but I didn't need to. The way she froze beside me, that catch in her breath, how she shifted away—I haven't stopped feeling it since.
I hurt her. And I can't undo it. The knowledge sits like acid in my gut.
Just gnawing away.
A snowball streaks past my face, followed by high-pitched squealing of a couple of kids locked in mortal combat—snowball style.
"Hey!" I bark, my voice carrying that drill sergeant edge that usually has recruits snapping to attention. My hands curl into fists, knuckles cracking. "Take it somewhere else."
They ignore me completely.
Fucking great.
A muscle ticks in my jaw.
Another projectile flies by, spraying ice crystals across my face. My fingernails bite into my palms.
Deep breaths.
They're just kids.
"Might want to dial it back there, Captain America." Charlie's voice floats over my shoulder. "Your murder face is showing."
"Pretty sure that's his regular face today," Eve adds.
Great. Just who I need crawling up my ass right now.
Only I turn to find not just Charlie and Eve, but Holly too. The sister trifecta, come to witness my rapid unraveling.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Holly's studying the snow like it holds the secrets to corporate domination.
Avoiding my gaze.
And from the looks of it, stone cold sober.
The flush on her cheeks isn't from champagne this time—it's from the cold. Or anger. Probably both.
My father has that effect on people. The bastard's always known exactly where to stick the knife.
