Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
And him.
I lick my lips as I pull my gaze from Kitty to scan the room. So many faces I know and I sure as hell don’t want to catch up with. I hate the small talk, the “How’s your neck holding up from carrying all of those medals? Are you still skating? Why don’t you come home to visit more?”
Or my favorite, “Why aren’t you married?”
Or even better, “I have a son your age. Can I fix you up?”
Yeah, I’d much rather sit here out of the way and out of view. My grandma is stunning with her long silver hair that is straighter than a board. She is still ever so thin, and my grandpa’s jersey hangs off her like she’s a clothes hanger. Her bright-green eyes are full of grief, and my heart hurts for her. My grandparents loved each other fiercely, and it worries me that she’ll struggle now that he’s gone. She may have the Beer League Belles, but Lord knows my parents won’t look past themselves to care for her.
Mom is way too busy at town hall, working with the rangers for forest conservation. It’s her passion and something that has always taken the number one spot in her life. She loves the Smoky Mountains, which give a beautiful backdrop to our town. I glance out the wide windows that line the mansion to take in the rolling hills and mountains that flash brilliant colors. There isn’t much of the fog today that gives the Smoky Mountains their name, but still, they sure are stunning. I don’t have these kinds of views in Chicago, but Chicago doesn’t have one thing these mountains do.
My mom.
I tear my gaze away to look for said parental figure, finding her with a tissue at her eyes as she cries. A few of my grandpa’s buddies stand around her, looking somber like my dad. He stands by his wife, rubbing her back and looking every bit a councilmember of our town. He is a tall, thick man with broad shoulders and a round belly. His hair is dark with white streaked all through it, he has a very pronounced nose, and he’s got the wide lips that I inherited. He hasn’t aged well, his face a bit rutted and his hair thinning along the top. I wish I had parents whom I looked at and got that fuzzy feeling, but when I look at mine, I’m just reminded of all the times I didn’t act good enough for them.
The only time they were proud of me was when I was skating.
I swallow hard as I glance up at the fireplace where a photo sits of Kitty in a light lavender velvet leotard and a sheer skirt as she does a camel spin. Beside it is a picture of me, looking every bit the way Kitty did when she was fourteen, at the same age, crazy long blond hair, bright-green eyes, legs for days as I mirrored her pose, but facing the other way. Unlike her leotard, though, mine was a bright red, glitzed out with a sheer black ruffle on the butt.
That was when I won Worlds, but I ended up not going to the Olympics because my dad thought I was too young. It seems like yesterday, but really, it was so long ago. I wanted so badly to make my parents and this town proud of me, and I hated it. Well, that’s a lie. I didn’t hate it. I loved it when it was me and the ice. But when my parents were involved, I hated it. Tears burn my eyes as I think about how hard my grandparents fought for me to go to the Olympics, how angry my grandpa got. And when my parents still didn’t let me go, my grandparents flew in some of the best trainers for me.
A smile pulls at my lips, but then it falls away when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch him walking out the front. No matter how long it has been, I’d know Jett Cook anywhere. It also helps that his jersey reads Cook on the back above his number five. His hair is so much longer in the back, unruly curls on his thick neck. When my eyes settled on him at the funeral, it was like going for a jump and losing my footing.
I was knocked flat on my ass.
He’s still so unfairly gorgeous.
I hadn’t expected to see him so soon, and I wasn’t ready. All I could do was stare. I couldn’t even take in how much he’s changed, I was so locked in his eyes. I thought he was happy to see me, but obviously, he’s not since he didn’t even take the time to come say hi. Not that I’m surprised. We may have won a gold medal together, but that’s all we were—partners. Nothing more, no matter how much I romanticize the whole thing. I was just a dumb teenager with gold medals on her brain.