Page 100 of Just Let Go

He moved around the counter and stood right in front of her, clearly unfazed by her nearness. “Tell me you didn’t feel that between us. Tell me that wasn’t real.”

She forced herself to look at him. “It wasn’t real.”

He searched her eyes but she held her ground, refusing to allow even the hurt look on his face to sway her.

But when he broke away from her and walked off, instant, painful regret wound its way through her belly.

And she couldn’t shake the idea that the only mistake she’d made was letting him walk away.

CHAPTER

24

GRADY STORMED OUTof the Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop and marched toward his SUV. That woman was infuriating! For all his faults, at least he was up-front with people.

It wasn’t real, my eye.

He’d never felt anything more real than the connection between them. As soon as his lips touched hers... it was more than just attraction; it was so much more. How did she not feel that?

Before he got in the car, he cast one last, longing gaze at the flower shop, hoping to see her standing in the window, watching him. At least then he would know she cared.

But she wasn’t there.

The only thing that lingered were her pointed words.

“You’re not training.... You’re not working out. Do you really think everything is going to be handed to you for the rest of your life?... Stop wallowing and start fighting. You might have to actually listen to your coaches instead of doing everything your own way for once.”

He’d lied when he said she didn’t know anything about it. Itseemed like she knew everything. What’s more, she wasn’t afraid to say what she thought about all of it.

He’d surrounded himself with friends who told him only what he wanted to hear, and at the first sign of trouble, they’d all disappeared.

He sat behind the steering wheel, key in the ignition, eyes fixed on the empty street and sidewalks in front of him. An Open sign shone in the window of the bar across the street. He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb, knowing that getting lost in a bottle might help him forget all of this—the social media mess, Quinn, the realization that he was, in fact, not the skier he used to be. But those things would all still be there when he woke up, wouldn’t they?

Which left him with one question: If he didn’t drown his sorrows in a Jack and Coke, where would he drown them?

He started the car and drove away, certain of only one thing: the answers weren’t anywhere he’d ever looked before.

The cottage was quiet. Too quiet. It left him too much time in his own head, and Grady knew from experience, that wasn’t a good thing. The television blared in the background—white noise to drown out the loneliness.

Loneliness. What was he—an old, retired widower putzing around the house aimlessly?

His heart dropped. Wasn’tthatwhat he was really afraid of?

That and the thought of never making amends for what had happened to his brother.

He’d been dreaming again the past few nights. He’d wake up fitful and sweating, his mind straining to piece together the fragments of a nightmare that put him straight back on that mountain the day he thought Benji had died.

His heart raced as he tried to shove the unwanted memories from his mind.

He clutched a Nerf football he’d found in the garage—good stress reliever in a pinch, though right now, it wasn’t doing its job. He willed away the guilt, the shame. Not just what had happened on the slopes, but everything that had come next.

The ego. The women. The alcohol. The fights.

Was this all there was to him without the accolades of skiing? If so, he didn’t like it.

Thoughts of Benji only stoked the fire Quinn’s words had lit earlier in the day.

He’d struggled. He’d faltered, made so many mistakes. Somehow, this past year, they’d begun to mess with his head. He’d never had that problem before. Chose not to listen to the negative press—or anyone, for that matter.

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