Page 63 of Love Me Reckless

“It took me a bit to untangle everything, to get out.” I clench my fists inside my gloves.

“And he didn’t want out, too?”

The shame is still raw inside me, like a piranha chewing me apart. “When Mom died, we both had to figure out how to survive. It created some patterns that are hard to break.”

“Sounds like you were in a really a tough place. You had to grow up fast.”

“I wish things hadn’t ended like they did.”

“Do you think someday you two could find a way to reconnect?”

“Maybe,” I say, but it’s clear in my voice I don’t believe so, and Kirilee seems to hear it too.

She puts her mittened hand on my leg. “You have Zach and William, right? They seem like family to you.”

I could kiss her, because even though she’s dealing with so much—a wedding she doesn’t want, a mother caught up in her own struggles—she has enough kindness to remind me of the good things.

“They are.”

“You can add me to your list too,” she says with a smile. “We’ve played hot tub wish listtwicenow. We’ve dug holes together, danced together, and shopped for sex toys together. We’re bonded for life.”

The sarcasm cuts me like a switchblade, because this isn’t possibly true. Very soon, she’ll belong to someone else.

“Got your tattoo figured out yet?” I ask to move us away from this soul-crushing reality.

“I have pages of sketches, but… nothing feels right yet.” She gives me a sideways glance. “Does it hurt?”

“Depends on where you get it.” We rise up the final stretch to the lift terminal. “Where are you thinking?”

She chews her bottom lip. “I want it… close to me. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” Her yearning for this to mean something to her stirs me up inside.

“I made an appointment. So I guess I better figure it out by then.”

Our skis slide onto the ramp, and we push off the chair.

I manage to not fall or run over Kirilee, though I do have a close encounter with the giant map at the end of the ramp.

“This way!” Kirilee sings.

At the lodge, we leave our skis outside and trudge through the snow to the entrance. Inside, I’m hit with scents of French fries and damp wool and peppermint schnapps, plus a wall of warmth that makes my cheeks sting.

Long rectangular tables line the windows on both sides, all packed with people in various stages of undress. Soggy coats andhelmets hang from hooks on the posts, with hats and mittens piled up in the center of the tables.

“Oh look, they’re leaving,” Kirilee says over the hum of conversation, and hurries toward a table where a family of five is donning layers and clearing their table of lunch trash. I follow, and we unload our extra clothes.

“I’ll grab lunch,” I say. “Do you know what you want?”

“I don’t mind paying,” she says, her face so earnest.

Yeah, I know she likes being generous, but this isn’t negotiable. “You’ve kept me from breaking a leg. It qualifies as a free lunch.”

She laughs, which makes her green eyes shine. “All right then. A baked potato with chili, and a brownie if they have them, please.”

“You got it,” I say, and I shuffle to the cafeteria entrance. I load up a tray with the brownie, then fill two fountain cups with ice water. When I slide the tray to the hot food bar and place my order for two fully loaded baked potatoes, the pair of women standing next to me waiting for their order keep looking behind them at the dining room.

“It’s totally her,” one of them says.

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