“He was captain of the hockey team. I was the Western Division champion figure skater. It felt like we were made for each other." Now that I was in my thirties, I heard how stupid that sounded. "He made me laugh until my stomach hurt. He'd show up to my skating practices and sit there in the cold. He'd watch me fall on my ass over and over, and then cheer me onwhen I landed a jump." His cheers and whistles would echo in the rafters. "But we were both different people back then. Kids, really."
Dash shifted, and I rubbed his velvety ears as I continued. "We had this whole future planned. He'd play pro hockey, I'd compete in the Olympics and we'd figure it out together. Except he got a full ride to U of W. Which was amazing. I was happy for him. Really."
"But?"
"But he couldn't stop talking about getting out. How Chance Rapids was too small. How everyone here was stuck." The words still stung.
“That’s not the kind of thing you say to someone you care about.”
I felt the need to clarify. "He never saidIwas stuck. Not directly. He wanted me to give up skating to come with him. Maybe wait tables or something while he chased his dreams."
"That's not how relationships work."
"No. It's not.” I met Megan's eyes. “My mom had stage three breast cancer and she needed me. But Beck… Beckett," I corrected myself. "He couldn't understand that. Or didn't want to."
“Your mom was sick. What was there to understand?”
“Well, my mom didn’t want anyone to know that she was sick. So, he thought I just didn’t want to leave my small-town life.”
“Oh.”
"He left after Thanksgiving and ghosted me completely.” Tears welled in my eyes. “I found out through the Chance Rapids Gazette that he was signed to the NHL. Megan, it was radio silence until he showed up here."
Megan leaned forward. “Nothing?”
"After Mom died, I spiraled. Hard." I stared at my hands. “I drank too much, and started taking pills. I was angry at everyone. I’m sure you've heard the rumors. Clara Dalton was white trash personified.”
"Clara—"
"I quit skating and became exactly the small-town loser that Beckett knew I'd become."
Megan stood and joined me on the couch. "Hey, you were never… that."
"It's okay." I fed the last of the beaver tail to Dash. "I know exactly who I was and where I was heading, and I didn't care."
"How did you get through it?" There was no judgment. She knew I didn't drink, but I'd never told her why.
"Mrs. Krinkle, you know, the church lady who makes the pink popcorn balls for the bazaar, she would literally show up at my trailer and drag my hungover ass to practice. The benevolence society paid for my ice time." I had to stop, breathe. "Those women saved me. And then coaching those little girls..." I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. "They gave me a reason to stay sober. To be more than a small-town loser."
The birch logs crackled. Megan wrapped her arm around my shoulders and squeezed tightly. "You're an incredible woman, Clara. Everyone in this town knows that, at least anyone who is paying attention."
"And now Beck wants to tear it all down. For fucking townhouses that'll sit empty for half of the year."
Megan’s arm stayed on my shoulder. "Can I tell you something that might sound irrelevant?"
"Sure."
"When I first moved here, I had to pretend to be Charlotte. It's a long story." She took her arm from my shoulder and clasped her hands in her lap. "I thought I had to be someone else to survive here. To be accepted. And it almost cost me Josh."
I wasn't sure where she was going with her backstory. "Are you saying I should talk to Beck?"
"God, no. He doesn't deserve that. I'm saying you should fight. Not for him. For those kids." She paused. "And make Beckett Shepherd realize he picked a fight with the wrong woman."
She was right. I took a deep breath, letting the anger fuel me.
"The town deserves to know what's happening," I said. "The real story. Not whatever those glossy brochures say."
"What are you thinking?"
