Page 4 of The Snowflake Effect

The throbbing pain on my butt returns, along with a rising anger that has me shaking. He may be partly right, but his tone and righteousness snap my spine straight. I’m tired of taking crap. Tired of pussyfooting around men because they think they run the world.

Normally, I’d be all I’m sorry and it won’t happen again, but I tossed that bra and that woman off a chairlift. “You can’t be serious. You totally blindsided me. Skied right into me. I’m not buying you squat.”

He stretches his neck, the shorter strands of hair by his chin falling across his golden-toned skin, then he slings his small pack off his shoulders, unzips it, and shoves the damaged goggles inside. When he looks back at me, he flicks that hair. “The skier coming down has right of way. It isn’t rocket science. If I were a kid, that shit could’ve been a lot worse than some cracked goggles. So pay attention next time you barrel onto a hill.”

He shoots me a blistering look, like the guy owns the freaking mountain. Like I’ve never skied before.

Then he mutters, “Fucking clueless.”

Come to think of it, I do have a type. I’m pretty sure it’s Ass. Hole.

“Maybe you should get over yourself and own it when you’re in the wrong.” I jab my gloved middle finger in the air, grab my poles, and push off, skiing past his cute butt and model hair as the word “Bitch” follows behind me.

I don’t glance back. I ski hard, taking wide, sweeping turns, picking up as much speed as possible, leaving the Asshole and my anger behind, because wow, telling him off was liberating.

My skis are barely on the snow, the wind whipping something fierce, my breasts unrestrained. This must be what crack feels like. Or eating the largest bowl of Lucky Charms.

Marshmallow-only Lucky Charms.

Now I just want to let loose and swear a bunch and speak my mind. Maybe buy Lucky Charms. And definitely that red bra.

CHAPTER 2

KOLTON

Mountain vistas usually calm me. Something about their size, imposing and downright impressive, puts life into perspective, the trivial day-to-day stresses no longer so heavy. It reminds me how lucky I am to be alive and enjoying nature.

But today can kiss my ass.

I sink lower into the hot tub and take a generous sip of my beer as Sawyer and Nico show up at our condo’s outdoor spa area.

Sawyer shields his face like staring at me is staring directly at the sun. “If you keep making that miserable expression, it might blind me.”

I flip him the finger.

Nico chuckles. “Does this mean you didn’t get your ski pass working this morning?”

“Oh, no. I got it working.” Not quickly, though—the first of today’s string of disasters.

My ski pass not working at the base of the mountain sucked. Not day-crushing sucked, but I sent the boys to ski on their own and had to wait for twenty minutes while the dude at the wicket stared uselessly at his computer to deduce why my piece of plastic lost its data. Once his boss issued me a new pass, I hauled ass to my gear, itching to ski out my tensing muscles.

That was when I noticed the dent in my binding.

“I had an equipment issue, too,” I told them. “Needed to rent new skis. Took me almost an hour to finally get up the lift.”

“Great conditions, though,” Sawyer says. “You must’ve had a blast once you hit the snow.” Beer in hand, he tosses his robe on a lounge chair beside the hot tub.

“I’m sure I would’ve, but some idiot instructor left a kid by himself at the top of my first chair up.”

The crying boy looked about Jackson’s age, and if my kid were by himself at the top of Aspen Mountain, I’d raise hell. So instead of skiing out my frustration, I spent the next thirty minutes in the lodge, feeding the little dude chips and chocolate to keep his meltdown in check. When his ski school instructor turned up, I copied the fuckwit’s name down and made it clear he better not lose any more kids while teaching. The boy’s quiet, “Thank you, mister,” as he tugged on my hand had me missing Jackson hard.

This is the first vacation I’ve taken without my son. The longest I’ve been away from him in seven years. I’ve spent every minute wondering if he’s tripping on that shoelace he never ties. If he’s brushing his teeth. If he’s practicing his writing. Missing him has also brought back thoughts of Marina and what I’ve lost. What I might never find again.

“That’s not even the worst of it,” I add, edgy and still seething over today’s dominoes of frustration.

“If that bitter look is staying on your face,” Sawyer says, pointing his beer at me, “I need to be in the hot tub for the rest of this recap. Relax while you internally combust.”

“Agreed,” Nico says. He waits for Sawyer to slip into the water, but Sawyer turns and raises his palm. “Use the other tub, big guy. One step in here, and you’ll send the water flooding out.”