Snow Angel (2 page)

He hadn’t been planning on a guest this year, male or female, the last Melinda had talked to him, but with Jacob that could change from one hour to the next.

“No,” her mom said absently, her gaze now wandering the room, a slight frown pulling between her brows. No doubt cataloguing all the things Melinda still needed to pack. Which was everything. “He and the rest of the boys have been busy making up their strategy for tackling the slopes during the day and chasing all the hot-tub bunnies by night. Rick made a pie chart and everything. Why?”

Melinda shrugged again, noncommittal. “Just wondering.”

If he had anyone with him, especially a girl, it would seriously cut down on any time they might have together. She didn’t want to have to compete for his time. She needed her friend.

Jacob’s dating pool now was huge, a far cry from his nearly nonexistent love life in high school. He unabashedly enjoyed every moment of it, too, though he was still so wide-eyed with surprise over his change in status that he managed to remain adorable about it.

Not that most of his dating choices were worthy of him, in Melinda’s estimation, but at least he hadn’t become one of those love-’em-and-leave-’em jerks. He kept things casual and fun, never promising more than he intended, and when he or the girls moved on, they usually remained friends.

Unlike herself and Mitch. She never wanted to see his lying face again.

“There’s plenty of room,” Karen reminded her for the umpteenth time in the past two days. “Are you sure you don’t want to ask one of your girlfriends instead? It’s a little last minute now, but if they aren’t busy—”

“No,” Melinda interrupted. “Really. Thanks, but I’d rather keep things the way they are. They’ve all got plans, anyway.”

Besides, as much as she loved her girlfriends, she wanted to talk things out with Jacob first.

“Okay,” Karen said. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

The girls would want the full breakup experience, and she wasn’t ready for it. Cartons of ice cream, tear-jerker movies, the ritual shredding of Mitch’s character, his looks, intelligence, and future prospects, plus plenty of tears, tissues, and endless talking. Jacob would listen, make a couple of pithy remarks, then give her a hard hug, tell her she was better off without the jerk, and get down to cheering her up in his usual Jacob way.

Both traditions were important, but Jacob’s version had the power to actually make her feel better.

She and Jacob had seen each other through their middle-and-high-school years with plenty of late-night phone sessions, coffee dates, and trips to their special spot looking over the Mojave River. Once upon a time, those trips had often included their third musketeer, Seth Mazer, a tradition she and Jacob now missed terribly with Seth’s absence.

They’d emerged from high school’s social hell mostly unscathed, though Jacob’s awkward phase was nothing compared to Melinda’s. He’d been well-liked by the other guys, and popular enough—even with a lot of the girls—if only from deep in the Friend Zone.

Melinda might have bloomed sooner than Jacob had, but the blossoming had been a different sort of torture. She’d not only dealt with a developmental loop that rotated between gangly and chubby, with no happy medium, she’d also been that worst of all combinations—really smart and painfully shy. It was the kiss of death to her elementary school and junior-high social life. With her snaggly teeth, thick glasses, and bad skin, she’d borne the brunt of a lot of teasing through the end of eighth grade.

Then the real trouble began.

As a freshman, she’d gone from a life in the shadows, vacillating between bully victim and periods of safe invisibility, to being thrust into the spotlight of extreme popularity almost overnight. Learning to navigate treacherous high-school waters filled with girls who only wanted reflected attention—but secretly hated her and her new looks—and guys who only wanted her body had taken its toll.

Jacob alone had stayed faithfully by her side from infancy to adulthood, never wavering. Their assorted emotional traumas from that roughest of time periods had cemented their already-strong bond.

Though Melinda had a wide, trusted circle of girlfriends now, when she needed someone to confide her deepest secrets to, more often than not, Jacob fit the bill.

Which made her extra glad he wasn’t bringing anyone this year, even though she wasn’t ready to talk about the thing with Mitch yet. Jacob would spend most of his time with the other guys, as usual, and that was okay. He’d be around when she needed him. When she was ready.

Plus, it would feel less awkward. Her cousins had their usual friends coming along—who were practically family, anyway—but with no one coupled up this year, it would make it a little easier to bear the group as a whole now that she was single again, too.

CHAPTER TWO

Once out of Melinda’s room, Jacob frowned. Something was up with her. Her big blue eyes were redder than the garland on the Christmas tree downstairs, and it was totally weird for her to be holed up in her room instead of in the middle of everything.

It made him want to do something about it, something to make her laugh and wipe the hurt off her face, but he knew his friend. She’d seek him out when she was ready to talk about it. If she didn’t, he’d drag it out of her.

If all else failed, he’d ask one of her cousins—Rick would know.

Satisfied with that bit of strategy, Jacob paused at the top of the stairs and put his hands out. He was half an inch from grasping the wide, glossy banister and throwing his left leg over to slide down its smooth, curved length to the ground floor, when he caught the glare. Melinda’s aunt, Pat Carlisle, stood at the foot of the stairs, hands on her hips and looking as fierce as her Viking ancestors, a don’t-even-think-about-it gleam in her light blue eyes.

“Ah,” he said, straightening. All innocence, he sent her a winning smile, and with hands now tucked safely in his pockets, strode down the steps two at a time. “How’s it going, Aunt Pittypat?”

Wagging an admonishing finger under his nose, she continued to glare at him, though a smile tugged at her stern lips. “You’re the only one who can get away with that.”

He bent forward to kiss her on the cheek. “That’s ’cuz I’m your favorite,” he said, winking.

With a dramatic sigh, Aunt Pat fluffed her hair. “Just don’t tell my sons.”

Coming up behind her, his arms full of gear for the trip, Wendell Page—best friend of Aunt Pat’s youngest son, Christian—said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I thought
I
was your favorite.”

“Now see what you’ve done?” Aunt Pat said to Jacob, tossing her hands up in the air. To Wendell, she said, “You’re my favorite redhead. Now, both of you, beat it. I have work to do.”

And she sailed off.

Wendell frowned after her. “I’m the only redhead.”

“Come on, young Padawan,” Jacob said, draping an arm around Wendell’s shoulders and ruffling his very red hair. “We’re on table duty. I’ll regale you with the many reasons why I am, indeed, Aunt Pat’s favorite.”

Obliging, Wendell dropped the gear in the middle of the walkway, where someone was sure to pick it up, and headed into the dining room with Jacob.

“Goodie,” Wendell said, rubbing his big, freckled hands together, “story time. Will there be milk and cookies?”

“Of course,” said Jacob, grabbing one of two long, silver serving spoons from the dining room table and tossing the other to Wendell. “But first, we battle.
En garde!
”

“You haven’t been helping Rick rehearse his play again, have you?”

“Mayhap,” Jacob said, trying to put a British spin on his accent. “Why dost thou, um, query?”

“Don’t quote Shakespeare at me. I hate it when he does that.”

“Appreciation of the Bard separates us from the animals, dude.”

Wendell scoffed. “And here I thought it was reason and opposable thumbs.”

“Cocky,” Jacob said. “Very cocky. I like it. Defend!”

They crossed spoons and prepared to duel, but from the hallway came the sounds of a crash, a curse, and an adult male yelling, “Who the hell left all this crap in the middle of the hall?”

Wendell hunched his shoulders, his abundantly freckled face flushing. His mouth drew down in a guilty grimace.

“On second thought,” Jacob said, grabbing Wendell’s spoon out of his lax hand and tossing both back on the table, “methinks retreat’s the better part of valor. To the yard!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Melinda and Karen both jumped when they heard the pained yell from downstairs and held still as startled deer, waiting.

“That sounded like my klutzy brother,” her mother said, meaning Melinda’s Uncle Allan. His wife, Aunt Pat, and their three boys had been at the house since the week prior to Christmas.

When nothing more was forthcoming, Karen breathed a sigh of relief. “I guess no one’s hurt, at least.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Melinda warned. “It’s early yet.”

“Ha,” Karen said. “Yeah. Well.”

In tandem, they leaned over and knocked twice on top of Melinda’s wooden bedside table. When they sat up, they grinned at each other over their superstition.

“Better safe than sorry,” Melinda said.

“Very true.” Briskly now, Karen gave an encouraging pat on Melinda’s knee. “Okay. Time to get back to it.”

In whirlwind-mode once more, her mom hustled out of the room. Her shouted, “Stanton Honeywell, don’t even think of propping those skis against my freshly-painted walls!” brought a small smile to Melinda’s lips, though it faded quickly. Her gaze snagged on her phone’s darkened screen.

Picking it up, she twisted it in her hands, then simply held it in her lap. She didn’t turn it back on. She didn’t want to see Mitch’s face smiling up at her again, all handsome and lying.

For three of the happiest months of her life, her now ex-boyfriend had been the center of her universe. He’d made her feel special. The way it was supposed to be, the way it always was in the movies. He’d made everything beautiful and fun and important.

Worst of all, he’d made her believe in him and in their future.

Mitch had said all the right things, had claimed to want everything she wanted. Marriage, family, settling in Pasodoro. Now it all rang hollow. Scripted. She hadn’t been the only one convinced they were headed for a happily-ever-after, either. He’d fooled everyone into thinking he was The One, including her parents and all of her friends.

Except Jacob, actually. He’d been friendly enough to Mitch whenever they were together, but he’d never jumped on the We-Love-Mitch bandwagon.

Melinda frowned. She’d never really thought about that before. Well, whatever Jacob had recognized in Mitch’s character, he’d never said, and she’d been blind to it.

Then two days ago, on Christmas-freaking-Day, with no word or warning, Mitch had dumped her. Not like a man, either. Oh, no. He didn’t have the tweedle-dees for that. No, he’d stood her up.

On
Christmas
.

At first, when he didn’t show on time, she’d been afraid something had happened to him on the way to her house. An accident or an emergency. It was a long drive from Pasadena to Pasodoro, after all, and holiday traffic could be dangerous.

The day had worn on, everyone wondering where he was. Her mother had even held dinner an extra hour. Mitch never called or answered his cell. The inability to contact him had finally tripped Melinda’s worry into panic. She’d checked online and even called the highway patrol to ask about road conditions, already crying a little, convinced they’d tell her about a massive pileup in the Cajon Pass.

She hadn’t understood the tone in the woman’s voice on the other end of the line when the dispatcher said the roads were clear. Not until later. But she knew what it was now.

Pity.

Pity for the poor stupid girl, too dumb to realize she’d been dumped on Christmas.

Melinda had only found out the truth by tracking down Mitch’s sister, since the jerk wouldn’t return her frantic calls and texts. She hadn’t been quite brave enough to call his parents.

Those last hours between blissful ignorance and painful reality had played through her mind on an endless loop ever since.

The supposed love of her life had called her on Christmas Eve, as he did every night, and had confirmed their plans for the next day. He’d said, “I love you,” to her as he hung up. He’d sent her to sleep with a smile on her lips. She’d dreamed about their perfect first Christmas together. And within that same hour, eighty miles away, Mitch wiped her from his mind and went back to Christina, his psycho ex-girlfriend.

The bastard.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d broken her heart and ruined Christmas, he’d also been invited on the ski trip. God, she’d been looking forward to that—the romance of it, the fun, spending New Year’s Eve slow dancing under the mistletoe.

Now, instead of spending the week on the slopes with her boyfriend, playing in the snow or cozied up in the lodge in front of the fire, she’d spend most of the time on her own, like usual, while everyone tiptoed around the breakup.

They’d pity her, or worse, want to talk about what a jerk he was and how it was for the best that she’d found out now, before it was too late. But it was already too late.

Mitch had broken her heart to pieces.

Maybe the other guys wouldn’t want to talk about it, but the women would. And Jacob would. He’d let her be for a few days, but if she didn’t cough it up soon enough to suit him, he’d harass it out of her, then try to tease her into a better mood, like he always did when she was upset.

Usually it worked, and she was counting on him doing exactly that. Just not yet. She wasn’t ready to be teased out of her grief. It was too raw. Too painful. She hadn’t told any of her girlfriends yet, either. Picking up the phone, saying the words. It was too awful. She wanted to be left alone to cry in peace.

“Melinda!” Her mom’s voice cut through all the commotion from downstairs, impatience now starting to boil.

Resigned, Melinda got up, swiping her cheeks and hitching her ancient red cheerleading sweatpants higher on her hips, tugging down her wildly mismatched blue-and-orange Cal State Fullerton sweatshirt. Her slippers were purple and furry and even older than her raggedy sweats.

If she was going for hobo-chic, she’d nailed it.

“Coming!” she shouted back, her throat rough and raspy.

A glance in the white-painted oval mirror hanging above her matching dresser reflected her eyes, big and blue like her mother’s, were wet, red-rimmed, and dark-circled. Her skin was pale and blotchy from crying, and her hair... her hair. Wow.

“Ugh,” she said out loud, disgust ripe in her voice. She sniffed hard. “You could give Medusa a run for her money.”

No wonder Jacob had looked at her the way he had.

Moving into her adjoining bathroom, she blew her nose and splashed cool water on her face, dabbing it dry on a bright blue hand towel. She brushed her teeth, alternating squats and heel raises in front of the sink to get her blood moving for the first time in days. She wasn’t used to laying around like that slug her mom had mentioned. Her muscles felt stiff and sore, as if Mitch had not only beaten her up emotionally, but had taken a bat to her body, too.

She was so not going to put up with
that
feeling.

Grabbing a brush, she dragged it through the heavy, tangled length of her hair, pulling the dark mass into a messy top knot to keep it out of her way.

Her eyes still wanted to tear up.

Melinda groaned at herself in frustration. The crying had to stop. Her mom was right. The bastard wasn’t worth it. The pain might linger for a while, but she would bury it down deep, not let it show. Vanity had her grabbing her blush brush and fluffing it over her cheeks, then swiping on a thin layer of mascara and a dab of rosy gloss on her lips.

Heartbroken hobo didn’t have to mean ugly-fugly, too.

“Ready?” she asked her reflection. She still looked wan—

“Melinda!”

“Oh, my God, I said I was coming,” she muttered, rolling her eyes in the mirror. Raising her voice, she called back, “Be right there!”

Once she stepped into the upstairs hallway, the din seemed to increase tenfold. Shouted instructions, more laughter, the occasional curse word, and doors opening and slamming shut both upstairs and down assaulted her ears. It made for an ungodly amount of noise in a home that was generally quiet these days. At least since her older brother, Zach, had moved out. Now, the decibel level seemed almost as loud as a Friday night in her dorm.

And that was before adding the dogs to the mix.

Thinking of Zach missing the ski trip for the third year in a row made her sad again, so Melinda pushed the thought away. Her brother was doing work he loved and mentoring under his idol, having the time of his life, learning everything he’d need to have a long, wonderful career. That had to take precedence over family vacations, even if she did miss him like crazy.

Plus, it was too expensive to fly home from Japan more than once a year. He’d be home for camping over the summer. He’d promised her when he called on Christmas Day.

Melinda edged around the corner and peered over the loft railing to take in the chaos below.

Jacob’s parents, Bill and Lois Tanner, came into view, dodging everyone else as they followed her Uncle Allan, her mother’s older brother, toward the laundry room where boxes of trip supplies waited to be loaded into the cars. Two family friends—darkly handsome Gabe McConnell and sweetly serious Eddie Thomas—followed the adults, both weighed down with gear. Trailing closely behind were the dogs, tongues lolling and looking for handouts.

Their house wasn’t small, yet it seemed tiny and cramped with so many people scrambling in every direction.