similar might be happening to Jess. If that was true then she wanted to help.
“Now I’m staying here for a while we should be able to ski together a bit more often, if you’d like to.”
“I’d love that! Thanks. I want to win everything this season. I want to make Dad proud.”
“He’s already proud, Jess. He loves you.”
“I know he loves me, but you know Dad. With him you either win or you lose.”
“There were plenty of times when he lost as well as won. It isn’t all about winning.”
“He says that’s the whole point. No one competes to come second. Can we watch skiing together tonight? I want to watch some of the World Cup runs and analyze technique.”
“You should ask your dad to do that with you. He’s good at seeing what people are doing wrong.”
“He won’t.” Jess’s voice was flat. “He never watches skiing.”
“Well, he’s busy and—”
“It’s not because he’s busy. He watches football, baseball, basketball, ice hockey—any sport that happens to be on TV. But not skiing.”
Brenna paused, a sweater in her hand. “Never?”
“Never.” Jess gave an awkward shrug. “I guess it’s hard for him. I shouldn’t have told you. He probably doesn’t want either of us to know.”
“I— You were right to tell me.” Aching for him, Brenna stuffed the sweater in the drawer and pushed it closed. “Does he ever give you a reason?”
“Yes, but after a year of excuses you realize there has to be something else going on. I want to ask him, but I don’t want to make it worse and anyway, I’m just a kid. I guess he wouldn’t want to talk to me.”
“You’re a great kid. He loves you,” Brenna said softly, “but he’s not the type of guy who finds it easy to talk about the way he feels.”
“I know. Macho man and all that.”
“Not only that.” Brenna wondered how much Jess knew about Tyler’s life. “When he was on the ski team, it was hard for him to be private. There was always someone taking photos or pushing a microphone in his face. People printed things whether he’d said them or not, so he learned not to say anything.” It had made her mad—furious—to read some of the lies they’d printed.
“He might talk to you, especially now you’re here all the time. He trusts you. You understand him, and you guys have been friends forever.” Jess slid off the bed. “I hope he does. He should talk to someone. I think it’s driving him nuts. That’s why he nearly murdered that reporter this morning. The guy was stupid enough to ask him how it felt to not be able to ski competitively anymore.”
“He asked that? How do you know?”
“Kayla told me. She was furious because apparently she told the guy ‘not to ask anything about his career or his family’ and he did both. He was lucky Dad didn’t bury him in an avalanche.” Jess winced as a crash came from the kitchen beneath them. Ash whimpered and slid under the bed for cover. “We should go, before he breaks everything or poisons himself.”
Brenna followed the teenager downstairs.
They were all so busy, so stretched trying to save the resort, that none of them had given enough attention to how being here and not being able to ski was affecting Tyler.
They walked into the kitchen to find him crashing and cursing as he pulled out pans. Food was spread out over the counter, and Brenna raised her eyebrows.
“I thought Élise was providing dinner.”
“She was—” he sent her a look that would have started a fire without a match “—but apparently I not only have to cook it, I have to reheat parts of it, too. It would have been easier to call for takeout.”
“But not as healthy.” Jess took the frying pan from his hand. “I’ve got this, Dad. You sit down and enjoy a nice, relaxing drink with Brenna.”
She made it sound as if they were on a date, and Brenna’s heart gave an extra bump.
Why did this feel so awkward?
Tyler waved a hand. “There’s steak—”
“I know.” Jess was patient. “You fry it. It’s not hard.”
“You’re vegetarian.”
“That was last year.”
“Right.” He lifted the same hand and dragged his fingers through his hair. “There’s a sauce.”
“…Which needs to be heated, but not boiled or it will curdle.”
Tyler stared at her. “Since when did you turn into a chef?”
“Since Élise gave me a few lessons.” Looking pleased with herself, Jess tipped oil into the pan and waited for it to heat. “She said that basic cookery is a survival skill, and as I’m living with you I’m going to need all the survival skills I can get.”
“She said that? Charming. That’s the last time I help Élise with her skis.” Tyler tipped salad onto plates. “Brenna, there’s beer in the fridge. Help yourself. It will numb your taste buds for whatever is about to exit that frying pan.”
He was treating her the way he always treated her. The same way he treated his brothers.
There was no reason to feel uncomfortable.
“It’s going to be delicious.” Jess flipped one of the steaks awkwardly and it landed on the kitchen floor. Ash crossed the room in a single bound and devoured it.
“Obviously it was delicious,” Tyler said drily. “That was yours, right?”
Jess was giggling helplessly. “Bad boy. Bad Ash.”
Ash wagged his tail happily, and Tyler sighed.
“You’ve got some way to go learning how to discipline that dog. If you say ‘bad boy’ you don’t laugh at the same time.”
“He’s adorable, especially when he knows he’s been naughty. He has this cute, guilty look. It’s fine. Élise sent more than we’d need. I guess she knew we might mess it up.”
Tyler scowled at Ash. “You are out of control. And notice I’m not smiling when I say those words. And I don’t think you’re adorable. I think you’re a pain in the—”
“Language, Dad.” Jess tipped another steak into the pan, and Ash wagged his tail, his eyes fixed hopefully on her.
A delicious smell of cooking wafted through the kitchen, and this time when Jess turned the steak, she did it with exaggerated caution.
Ash whined and settled down on the floor, hoping for another culinary error in his favor.
