Page 99 of Teach Me How

The thing Nebraska is missing? Mountains.

That and Reese.

They happen to be in the same place and my destructive ass is barreling towards them both.

It’s been a tradition eight years running for us Thomas boys to go skiing in December. This year is no exception. Bo, Cody, and I pile into Bo’s truck and head west.

It’s a long-ass drive made shorter by laughing over old memories, arguing over religion and politics.

But as we hit Denver, the conversation dries up. It gets quiet when I needed distraction the most.

Because now I’m thinking about how this is Reese’s city.

How lucky she is to have that snow-capped range on the horizon.

Wondering what that kind of freedom feels like.

I sit in the back of the truck, morose thoughts threatening to take me under. Slipping my phone out, I navigate across the web, looking for distractions, but end up on Jonah Craig’s Instagram page instead.

I sail past an avalanche of posts about his newest singles—like I want to listen to that. My heart lodges in my throat when I scroll down to a picture of Reese at one of his concerts.

She looks happy.

And sexy as fuck in a miniskirt that shows off her perfect legs. A hollow pit opens up in my stomach, and some perverse impulse drives me to paint the full picture. I want to know what perfume she wore. How soft that little slice of skin between her top and skirt was.

I want to know what it sounded like there.

I scroll back up to his single and anger flares in my chest.

His new single is titledJezebel.

A strange, edgy feeling buzzes through my veins as I put my earbuds in and hit play. Drums and electric guitar create a web of energy, dark and swirling. I close my eyes and listen to the lyrics.

It’s a motherfucking break up song.

Theoretically, the listener could apply the idea of Jezebel to anything. Any kind of temptation, but I know this asshole’s back story and I know that song is for her.

It’s about a temptress. A “demon in a mini skirt” who tried and failed to pull him down.

I laugh, sharp and rough, because the rage building in my chest needs to vent. I’m amazed by his cruelty. His pettiness.

My heart dips when I think about Reese listening to this track.

Would she laugh it off?

Or would she cry—like she did that day at the Harvest Festival?

Suddenly, I need to see her. Need to know that she’s doing okay.

But of course, the drive up to Keystone, nestled high in the mountains, is slow and winding. We skirt around a bright, blue reservoir, caged in on all sides by jagged mountains. The breathtaking vista is wasted on me. I can only see the next bend in the road.

After two hours, we pull up to the Resort and park in an underground parking garage. I practically bounce on my feet as we climb onto an elevator and take it up to the apartment Mitch rented.

Bo and Cody are laughing over memories of childhood road trips, but I’m hardly listening. He stops by the door, pressing a code into the keypad. Almost like he’s fucking with me, he messes it up three times before Mitch comes to the rescue. He swings the door open and lets us all inside.

I’m only partially aware of the apartment. It’s got a lofted ceiling, held up with big, raw timber beams. There’s a fireplace made of rough granite and a dining table long enough to seat twenty. Mitch wanders over to the massive counter, pouring himself a beer.

I scan the apartment, looking for one person.

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