“Pfft.You mean the World Cup? That little old thing?”
“Yes, I mean the most important and biggest milestone of your skiing career to date.”
“Oh, yeah, that. It’s not that big of a deal,” he jokes. “But hey, listen. If you need anything, there are heating pads in the hall linen closet, some in the guest room and one under the ottoman in the living room. There’s also a full supply of Tylenol and Advil in the ensuite if you need it. It’s like a pharmacy in there now.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, I stocked up when you started staying over. Never was a heating pad guy, Mark always has me icing my injuries.”
My mouth drops open, and I struggle to find words for what I’m feeling. Jett never did any of this because I asked him, he just… did it. Because he noticed me and the things I need. He’s seen what I do for myself when I’m struggling, and he just started doing it too. To make sure I’m taken care of.
“Thank you,” is all I can say, but it’s not enough.
“No problem,” Jett answers casually, as if it wasn’t. “So tell me what you’ve been up to in my house without me.”
I make a long drawn outhmmsound.
“I’ve been snooping through your underwear drawer, your medicine cabinet…” I joke.
“Anything interesting?”
“It’s a virtual treasure trove,” I answer quickly. “Especially the collection of my panties you’ve saved.”
“I have not—” Jett stammers, before realizing I’m playing with him. “Don’t look in my night table drawer then. I’ve been collecting clippings of your hair and toenails.”
“Jett Landry, are you obsessed with me?” I ask, a jokingly accusatory tone in my voice. God, I wish he was.
“Maybe a little,” he says, the words just part of the running joke and playful banter. I try to temper the flicker of hope, the spark that has flickered to life. Someone give me a bucket of water to douse this thing.
“Well,” I say, deciding to change the subject, “the only thing left to snoop through is your streaming history, although I’m a little scared of what I’ll find.”
“Poppy don’t—” Now Jett seems concerned, so I make my way into the living room and search for the remote. Iflick on the TV and open the streaming app, the first thing that pops up in ‘recently watched’ is House on the Bloodstained Hill.
“Jett…” I scold. “Have you been watching horror movies without me?” I ask, as I flick through. I know he has, because the other movies we’ve watched together are already further back on the list.
“Perhaps,” he says.
“Well? Have you converted? Do you enjoy it?”
“Absolutely not. I did not enjoy it,” he snaps back. “You’re a sadist, Poppy. A sadist. I watched that the other night and I couldn’t sleep after.”
I chew on my bottom lip, inflicting pain to one part of my body so it distracts me from the painful memory of that night. It’s still too fresh to talk about, so I let a silence fall between us, and I hear Jett yawn softly. It must be really late for him.
“I wish you were here,” he murmurs, his voice groggy, and sleepy. “I don’t want to compete without you here.”
I let out a slow breath, thinking about him racing, him finishing and celebrating, and me not being there to do it with him. My heart cracks a little more.
But just because this hurt—and it does,somuch—doesn’t mean he was wrong for ending it.
Because as Jett’s wife, I would have to go to all his events with him, and I can’t help but think about those long flights, hotel beds that aren’t my own, how stiff and sore I would be. Not to mention, being away from the café for so long.
“You should get some sleep,” I say, because I don’t have anything else to offer, and it’s true. Jett needs his rest.
And the longer we sit here talking, the more my heart will break.
CHAPTER 47
POPPY
