Devoted to the Blizzard: A romantic winter thriller (Tellure Hollow Book 3) (12 page)

“Bartender at the Double Diamond? Do you know her name? Anything about her?” he asked Bryan, tapping the pen to the side of his mouth.

Bryan gave me a sideways glance and picked at his fingernails. “Her name is Paige Simpson. She’s American, here with her cousin…” I gritted my teeth.
He knows a hell of a lot more about her than that, he just doesn’t want to say it in front of me.

“Right… okay. Do you know where she lives by any chance?”

I felt Henry and Josh’s eyes dart to me, but I kept mine pinned on Bryan.
Well? Do you? You seem to know an awful lot about this little bimbo.

“No, nothing like that,” he shook his head.

“All right then. I’ll try and track her down, see if she’s heard or seen anything as well,” said Henry. The handful of other police gathered back in the kitchen, declaring the house clear and free of crazy stalkers eager to slit my throat. “I think that’ll just about do it. Can you think of anything else you think we should know?”

I stifled a yawn and shook my head, but jumped when I realized I actually had left out an important part. Jamming my hand into my back pocket, I pulled out my phone. “Someone left me a voice message. I completely forgot.”

“Liz, you didn’t think this might…” Bryan started to say.

“I’ll be sure to do better with my next stalker,” I snapped. Putting the phone on speaker, I played the message for the room. The distorted voice somehow sounded more menacing this time around. Perhaps it was the gravity of the situation, playing it for police while they began an investigation.

Henry had me play it twice, taking notes the second time through. “I’m going to need a copy of that.”

“I can get a copy of it to you tomorrow,” Josh stepped in.

“Officer,” I started tentatively, “do you think I should be worried? Really, don’t sugar coat anything.”

His warm smile touched the corner of his weathered eyes. “I’m a cautious man, so I’m going to assign someone to you at all times until we figure out who’s behind this. I think you might have an overzealous fan, or perhaps another skier who isn’t too chuffed about your being here. Either way, I want you to feel safe while you’re here.”

So, in other words I’m going to protect you, but you shouldn’t worry about anything. Right
. “Thank you, Henry.”

“We’ll talk to that Nicole and try to track down the bartender. I’ll send a guy out to the mountain tomorrow morning and ask around, just in case.”

I walked him to the front door, thanked him again, and then turned to Josh.

“I’m so, so sorry this is happening to you,” he said. He held me by both shoulders, and stooped his head to meet my eye. “If you need anything, seriously anything, you call me.”

“Thank you, I will. And I promise I’ll get the rest of those questions over to you tomorrow.”

“No! Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take care of it. You have enough on your plate,” he said as he pulled me into a tight embrace. I tried to fight it, but couldn’t resist the firm safety of a hug.

Bryan sniffed as he walked past on his way to the bedroom, a commentary on Josh’s last sentence. I nodded tightly and stepped out of his grasp. “Thank you again. I’ll give you a call tomorrow morning.”

I shut the front door and waited for Josh’s car to pull out of the drive before turning off the hallway light. The exterior was still fully lit, the very corner of the police cruiser shining in the darkness. I took several deep breaths in the dark before heading to bed.

When I reached the bedroom, I found Bryan half naked, washing his face in the bathroom. Every part of me wanted to pick a fight. Therapy was good for learning to recognize that urge at least. So rather than launching straight into an assault, I sat on the bed, threaded my fingers together, and waited quietly.

Bryan stood and toweled off his face, spotting me over the top. “Whoa. I didn’t expect you to be sitting there.” He hung up the towel and stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He eyed me suspiciously. “You okay?”

I sucked on my bottom lip before speaking. “No. I’m definitely not
okay
,” I replied calmly. “I think we should talk before going to bed.”

Bryan, although tense and obviously not in the mood to deal with any of this, still came and sat beside me on the wide bed. “What would you like to talk about?” he started.

I stared straight ahead, my fingers gripping the thick, downy comforter like I was afraid to float away. I tried to access the tools my therapist had given me to manage my temper, but came up short. When I spoke, it was in a quiet, measured tone that still dripped with anger. “I’m trying not to take my frustration out on you right now, but I need you to understand that I am upset by your actions.”

“Uh huh,” he said casually.

Use your words
, I thought to myself. “When I saw you sharing our wedding binder with another woman, it made me feel uncomfortable, like you were being unfaithful.”

“Unfaithful,” he repeated in a tone he knew drove me crazy.

I took another breath and dug my nails into the palm of my hand, out of his line of sight. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t plan our wedding with another woman, especially one who wants to skewer herself on your dick.”

Bryan scoffed and leaned back on his hands. “Seriously?”

“Christ, will you work with me here?” I snapped. “I’m trying to do this maturely, but if you want a raging bitch on your hands, this is the best way to bring her out.” I glared at him, becoming even more enraged by his calm demeanor.

“Am I allowed to talk now?”

I swear, my nostrils probably flared like an angry horse, but I somehow kept my cool. “Of course.”

“I think you’re justifiably upset by everything that’s happening right now. And when you’re upset, you tend to lash out at whoever is unlucky enough to be standing nearby.”

“So you’re telling me you feel like you did nothing wrong?”

The fire in his eyes diminished slightly and he looked away. “I shouldn’t have shared the book with her, no. You were right to be upset. I am sorry you saw that.”

I shouldn’t have been, but I was taken aback by his sudden change in attitude. Bryan always had a way of diffusing a tense situation. He wasn’t the type of guy to carry on a fight just to prove a point. When he was wrong, he admitted it, which usually doused the flames of my anger straight away.

“Thank you,” I muttered. No matter how calm he was, I was still upset.

“We’re a team, you know,” he said. He slipped a hand under my sweater and rubbed the small of my back. “It’s us against the rest of the world, like always.”

The rest of my anger melted away. “I know.” I scooted over and rested my head on his shoulder. “I just feel so helpless, and it pisses me off. I want to know who it is so I can carry on with the rest of my life.”

“You’re far from helpless. I feel sorry for the person who decides to mess with you. They’re a freakin’ idiot.”

I laughed, fighting through the confusing web of emotions to find a little humor in the situation. “I didn’t tell Henry, but when I was looking around the locker room for the person who left the letter, I had a fist full of keys.”

“See?” Bryan chuckled, giving me a squeeze. “You’re dangerous. This person obviously doesn’t know who they’re taking on.”

An hour later, before we turned off the lights, I rolled over onto my side and slid my hand along his chest. “Can you promise me you won’t go to that bar anymore? I’ll meet you someplace else, I don’t care how far away. I just don’t feel comfortable with you seeing that girl anymore.”

“That doesn’t sound like the strong, confident Liz I know and love,” he replied. It was too dark to see his expression, but I could hear the frown in his voice.

“I know. I can’t explain it, but please? It’s not a ton to ask, right?”

He sighed and patted my hand. “Not at all. Now come on, let’s get to sleep.”

I rolled over, wondering why I was afraid to admit my real suspicions.
Bryan would probably just think I was being jealous, but is that enough reason to hide my gut feeling about Paige? I have been right before…

My crash happened when I was in my early twenties. Before that I’d been fearless, invincible, unstoppable. Nothing got between me and my goals, least of all my abilities. I was strong, young, and capable. And then I hit the ground at seventy miles per hour, and my whole life got flipped upside down.

Going from peak physical condition to being bed and wheelchair bound was a humbling experience, to say the least. I gritted through it, telling myself that if I did the physical therapy, if I put in the hard work, I’d get back to where I’d been before. My dad might’ve been gone, but the work ethic he’d instilled in me remained. Determination wasn’t the problem… my body was. No amount of grit could patch my scarred body back together again, at least, not in the same shape it had been.

After the second accident, it became abundantly clear that I was never going to return to professional skiing. Excuse the analogy, but that mountain was just too steep. All the surgeries in the world wouldn’t repair my hip and knee to a competitive level.

Yet I pushed through the PT every day with the same dogged determination I’d always had, going through the grueling exercises like it was in the cards for me to compete again. I had to look at it that way or I’d spiral into depression again, a darkness Liz helped pull me from. If I approached my physical therapy as something I needed to do just so I could function like a normal human being, I’d lose my mind. Some days were better than others, and that morning was terrible.

Sweaty, quivering with exertion, I tried to hold the plank position for as long as I could. Pre-wreck, my core had been rock solid. Now, I started shaking after fifteen seconds. Fire raced through my shoulder and down my back. My knee threatened to lock up, but I pushed as hard as I could. My eyes pinned to the counting timer on my phone’s display, I collapsed in a heap after only half a minute.

“Shit,” I grumbled, as I fought to catch my breath.

I flipped onto my back, grabbed a pair of small free weights, and lifted them over my head. When I was younger, I could easily bench over 200 lbs. Now, my shoulder screamed at a fraction of that weight. I pushed through the pain, but had to cut my sets short by two.

I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, and consulted the list of exercises my physical therapist had written up for me before we left. There were four left. It may as well have been forty. I pushed the negative thoughts away and tried to focus, pulling myself into position.

Extending my left leg out into a partial lunge position, I stepped back with my right, moving into a yoga-like pose. With the small weights in hand, I slowly twisted at the waist, rotating this way and that. My quadriceps, hamstrings, hip flexors… hell, every muscle in my body burned and ached. I pushed through the pain, grinding my teeth to keep from crying out. I pushed myself through the last repetition, and fell to the sofa in relief. A complex emotion washed over me. I was proud I’d completed the exercise, but ashamed I’d feel pride in something so simple.
I used to break records…

“I’m done, I can’t do this anymore,” I declared. I pushed myself up and walked past the kitchen on rubbery legs, strangely on the verge of tears.

I threw my damp clothes into the corner with a grunt, turned on the shower, and waited for the water to warm up. Is there a word more complete than frustrating? Because frustrating seems so… benign compared to what I felt. I stepped under the water, tilting my head back to wet my hair, and fell deep into thought.

After everything Liz and I went through with Rick, Kayla, and Noah, we’d found strength in each other. I’d really meant it when I said it was us against the world. But for months, I’d been feeling more and more alone in that battle. It wasn’t her fault and I certainly didn’t blame her. She had dreams and I, more than anyone, knew how much time and dedication it took to realize those dreams. So I kept things from her, feelings, worries. I told myself it was all for her sake, so she could focus on training, but it really came from a place of shame.

But after the hellish physical therapy session I’d just gone through, I couldn’t deny that the hole of depression and self-doubt called to me. It was terrifying, but something I had to admit to.

As I rinsed the soap from my skin, I traced the lines of my scars and realized,
I am weak. I’m not The Blizzard anymore, and probably never will be
. But Liz made living with that reality better. I couldn’t block her out any longer.