Page 19 of At the Edge with You

Tomorrow, I’ll FaceTime with them.

Today, I’m done with the phone.

I can’t believe I’m really moving here.

For a whole-ass year.

To run a business with someone who obviously doesn’t want me around.

I close my eyes and snuggle deeper in my blanket burrito, ignoring the need for food since getting up out of my cocoon is the last thing I want to do. I think the best idea is to rot here for another day, and then I’ll face Jett. The letter my grandfather left me is on repeat in my head, and I can’t help but wonder what Jett’s letter said. Was it along the same lines as mine? I could blame the letter for the hostile way Jett is acting, but I think the shock of everything did that for him.

I honestly don’t understand his animosity toward me. We ended on decent terms; he followed his dreams, and I did the same. I mean, I was hurt he left me, but I understood as best as my eighteen-year-old heart could. After loads of therapy, I somewhat get it now at almost-forty. While we were great together, skating with me didn’t offer him a full ride to college.

I had nothing to keep him at my side.

Just the memory of him walking away has me wanting to rot for three more days, and then I’ll face him.

Apparently my grandmother has other plans.

“Get up.” Kitty’s voice is sharp, no room for discussion, and the sound of it has me peeking up at her.

When a pink hockey jersey lands on my face, I push it away to find Kitty in the doorway, her own pink Beer League Belles jersey on with her hair up in a high ponytail. She has a pink bow at the base, wearing pink leggings and a pair of black cowboyboots. On her arm is her cross-stitching bag, and the only reason I know that is because I had to fetch it out of the car for her this morning.

She’s ready to go, and I don’t know why she isn’t rotting herself.

I give her an incredulous look. “What in the world? Where are you going?”

“Weare going to the game. Belles are home tonight, so that’s why we’re wearing pink.”

“It’s Saturday, not Wednesday.” I guffaw at my joke, but she just stares at me. I roll my eyes. “Kitty, I’m not going anywhere.”

She just looks at me as if I haven’t spoken a word. As if my wanting to stay home is something she can’t comprehend. The fact that she didn’t even laugh at myMean Girlsjoke is a problem all on its own. Instead, she tells me, “But you are. Come on.”

Without a backward glance, she turns and leaves. I cuddle deeper in my burrito, in complete awe of the woman who raised me. How is she ready to go to a hockey game? Everything has changed, and a huge presence is missing from this household. The absence of my grandfather allows my parents to walk around like they own the place, not that Kitty has allowed them to come near me.

For the most part, she’s let me wallow, but apparently my time is up. I just want to snuggle in my blanket and forget the world exists. The last thing I want to do is face Jett. He’s the captain of the Belles, and with how he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to run the business with me, I’m good where I am.

I wonder if she’ll leave without me.

I should have known better, because ten minutes later, I hear her call up, “Fable Winter, if I’m up and moving after losing the love of my life who asked you to take care of me, then you can do your duty and get yourself out of that bed and come on.”

Damn, she middle-named my ass. I didn’t even want this duty. I don’t want to be here. Or go anywhere. “Sorry! Fable is in her blanket burrito. Try again tomorrow.”

“If I come up there, I’ll steal that blanket.”

I heard that a lot growing up, and I can’t help but grin. She had a basket of my blankets she’d steal, and I couldn’t get them back unless I did something for her. She knew to go for my favorites, and before she could take them, I’d do what she asked. I had that young person’s social battery then and was ready to face the world. Now, my social battery is all dented and drains very quickly. Being around people exhausts me. But Kitty, she has always been such a social butterfly. “Let me rot, please.”

Without her giving a verbal response, I hear her coming up the stairs. I can’t help the giggle I let out. She’s so silly. I’m in my—shudder—late thirties; what is she going to do to me?

I’ll tell you what she does—she takes the edge of my blanket and uses her free leg to kick me in my back as she pulls my blanket. I roll like a damn pig in the mud and land flat on my ass on the floor.

I stare up at her, and she grins as she folds my blanket with ease. “Oh, look. You’re up. Let’s go.”

I watch her retreating back in shock.

Man, I hope I’m just like her when I grow up.

My need to rot is replaced by the need to skate once we enter the Ice Thistle.

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