“The bar you went to, the night I told you tolay low. You better have had a good reason for going, because someone took a picture of your text thread with Grady over your shoulder.”
I think about all the stupid shit I’ve texted Grady over the last few days. The only thing that comes to mind is the video of the squirrel who learned how to ski and… the conversation we had when I asked him to come and stay with him. When I joked about bringing my harem.
Shit.
“They’re spinning it like you’re making light of the whole situation,” Dan adds.
Of course they didn’t show the rest of that conversation, people only see what they want to see.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’m afraid Jesus will be of no help here,” Dan quips, but I fail to see any humour. “Be careful who’s around you when you’re sending sensitive texts from now on.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dan,” I mutter. “Hey, no word from Nuclear?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line and I wonder if Dan has already hung up.
“No,” he finally says. “Try not to get too bummed out. This progress with the lawyers is solid progress. There’s a lot of mess to clean up.”
“Yeah, right.” I answer, but I know my tone isn’t convincing.
I hang up and jump off the treadmill. No amount of running is going to undo the things Dan has told me.
When I get back to Grady’s, I head straight for theshower, turning the water on as hot as I can make it without burning my skin. I stand under it for longer than I need to, letting the heat and steam soften my tense muscles.
The run helped marginally. But what I really need is fresh powder, alpine air, and bluebird skies to clear my head.
After what feels like an eternity, I shut the water off and get out, using a towel to roughly dry my hair. I wrap it around my waist and look myself over in the mirror. I’ve aged overnight. Where my face used to be bright, it’s sallow and sunken, dark circles shadowing my eyes.
I glance down at my phone on the counter, as the screen lights up with a text message.
There’s a notification from Beck when I pick it up. Beck has been a good friend for a number of years now. His family owns a ranch outside of Heartwood.
BECK
How’s it going, man?
As well as anyone could having their whole life shredded to pieces by strangers on the internet.
You know what you need? To be dragged behind a horse on skis and launched off a jump.
His message makes me laugh, and I blow a soft puff of air through my nose.
He’s talking about the Heartwood Annual Charity Boxing Day Skijoring competition. The way he describes the sport sounds reckless because it is.
Beck will ride a horse at a full gallop, dragging me alongon skis, and at the right moment, I’ll let go of the tow rope, letting the momentum carry me off a jump. All on Main Street in Heartwood.
It’s coming up in a few days, and I promised him I’d do this with him back in the summer.
It’s exhilarating, and I think he’s right. It might be what I need. I need to feel reckless again, that’s who I am at my core. I don’t cower and hide when things aren’t going my way.
Besides, this is Heartwood, I would hardly call this apublic appearance.It’s not televised, and it’s for charity. It’ll be fine. Dan won’t even know. I need to feel uninhibited by this whole mess. I need the air beneath my feet, my stomach dropping as I arc through the sky.
Can’t fuckin’ wait.
CHAPTER 7
JETT
