I frown, staring hard at him. “What do you mean?”
He leans in, voice lower. “You know Maisy. She’s always used words like a weapon. She’ll cut you deep just to build her wall higher. I think she said the one thing that she knew would wreck you—because if it hurt bad enough, you’d run again.”
“I told you, I didn’t run,” I growl.
Colton tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “And yet you’re here drinking the night away instead of talking this out with her, aren’t you?”
The truth hits me like a slap.
I study him, wondering how the hell he’s so damn good at reading people. “You should’ve been a therapist,” I mutter, shoving a fifty onto the counter and pushing to my feet.
He barks a laugh. “I’ll stick to surfing.”
Outside, snowflakes swirl under the yellow glow of the streetlights. Colton shoulders my weight when I stumble, staying with me until a cab pulls up.
“I’ll see you in a couple weeks, bud. Don’t let me catch you back in that bar while I’m here.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, sliding into the cab. His chuckle follows me, fading as the door shuts.
He’s right, though. Leaving Maisy behind when the ski patrol showed up was just another way of running. I should’ve stayed. I should've made sure she went to the medic myself. Should’ve made sure she wasn’t injured. Should’ve seen through the words she used to push me away.
But I didn’t.
I was too wrapped up in how her words mademefeel. Too focused onmyown pain. And maybe that’s always been the problem.
By the time the cab winds up the mountain road and stops in front of the chalet, it’s past midnight. I tap my card against the payment terminal, stagger out into the biting cold, and fix my blurry eyes on the front door that feels a mile away. Each stepis clumsy and heavy, but I finally shove it open, only to collapse face first on the welcome mat inside.
“Sterling,” Maisy gasps, bolting off the couch. She kneels beside me, eyes wide, voice panicked. “Are you okay?”
“I am now that you’re here.” I smirk with my eyes closed.
“You’re drunk.”
It’s not a question.
She hooks my arm over her shoulder, kicks the door shut behind us, and half-carries me down the hall. The world sways, but she steadies me, stubborn as ever.
“I know what you did earlier,” I rasp when my bedroom door comes into sight.
Her grip tightens. “What did I do?”
“You fed me some bullshit.”
She glances up, brow furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
A crooked smirk tugs at my lips as I fix my gaze on the door ahead. “I don’t believe you blame me for the accident, and I don’t believe you ever fell out of love with me. I think you did what you always do when you’re scared—push me away.”
She stops walking, the air between us stilling. I brace for her sharp words, the argument that always comes next, but she stays quiet.
“What, you’re not going to fight me on it? Try to prove me wro?—”
“You’re right.” The words punch the breath out of me. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m starting to feel like you’ll never tell me the real reason you left,” I whisper moments later, finally looking down at her.
She keeps her eyes on the floor, sadness dimming the spark in them. “Maybe, maybe not. It wouldn’t change anything.”
“It’d give me closure, Mais.” My laugh is hollow. “I’m still hung up on you because I can’t stop trying to figure out what I did to lose you.”
