Page 25 of The Snowflake Effect
Lines crease her brow. “If?”
“Yeah, if. The fixing part is worse than the dislocating part. Feel free to call me a chick. Nico always does.”
She doesn’t. She leans into my ear and whispers, “First, that would be a compliment, you chauvinistic bastard. Second, you may have long hair, but nothing about you is feminine.” Then, more quietly, “We’ve got this.”
We. My heart rate spikes. For some reason I like the sound of that.
She removes my glove to grip my hand, then guides my arm into position. “Like this?”
I grunt my approval. Instead of closing my eyes, I focus on her face—the worry in her gaze, the fullness of her lips.
“Tell me when,” she says.
I suck a breath. “When.”
On an exhale, she rotates and tugs…and it pops back in.
Jesus Fucking Christ.
The pain is instant, like a nail hammered through bone. I clench my jaw and fall back onto the snow as the jolt eases into a throb. I stare at the cloudless sky, Colorado blue. My neck tingles the way it usually does, nausea building at the base of my throat.
Shay still has my hand in her grasp, and she lies down next to me.
“I had a dog when I was little,” she says. “Snoopy. He was a cute mutt with brown-black fur and a white belly. Looked nothing like the cartoon character, but he was a sweet guy and hated getting in trouble. If one of us raised our voice, he’d slink away, tail between his legs.”
My lungs swell and shrink more slowly as she talks, her voice a soothing balm.
She shifts closer. “So one time, we were all out, and he must’ve had a bad stomach. Knowing we’d be mad if he had an accident in the house, he crawled into the bathtub and did his business in there. Shat right in the thing. But he must’ve slipped on his way out or something, and he fell, you know, in it. Then he proceeded to rub his fur on every surface of the house.”
I chuckle, still focused on the cobalt blue sky, a wisp of cloud marring its expanse. “Is that supposed to make me less nauseous?”
I can’t see her face, but I sense her smile. “Good point. Maybe that wasn’t the best story.” But she goes on, “Snoopy was my best friend growing up, until I started racing and met actual humans I didn’t hate. It’s weird, but that sport changed everything for me—belonging to a team, fitting in. School wasn’t easy for me back then. Can’t imagine what I’d be like if my folks hadn’t pushed me into it.”
I’m not sure why she’s opening up, sharing her past. To distract me? To connect? I don’t ask questions. This much information from Shay is rare.
“Kids can be mean,” I say. Whatever the reason for her childhood exile, I know how cruel kids are. How tough things are for Jackson. When you’re older, being different is often a badge of honor. When younger, when your skin has yet to thicken, it’s a curse.
My nausea dissipates, my shoulder good enough to get up and ski down, but I don’t want to move. I don’t want to get Shay naked or yell at her, either. I just want to be with her.
The day is near its end, the snow cold and hard beneath us. The few times we’ve talked about our shared heritage and tossed Irish jokes back and forth, she’s let her guard down, even laughing with me. Never losing it but teasing me with her softer side. Instantly, oddly, I wanted to be the one making her laugh so hard she’d snort.
Now I want to freeze time. And I’ve only known her three days.
“Bucket list,” I say to keep her from getting up. “What’s your dream ski trip?”
CHAPTER 11
SHAY
Kolton shifts closer when he asks the question, and the snow beneath my hips suddenly doesn’t feel so cold. “Chile,” I say. “Something about skiing above the tree line in the Andes appeals to me. The old-school lifts. None of the flash and money you see in places like this. It would be awesome.”
“Tell me you’re fucking around.”
I make to sit up, but he puts a hand on my arm, like he wants me here, beside him. I settle against his shoulder. “No, I’m not fucking around. Why?”
“Because that’s mine. Chile.”
I roll my eyes. “Am I supposed to believe that line? Do other women fall for that level of Velveeta?”
