Page 36 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

I walked around the apartment, trying to find a place with strong service, but so far, nothing. Maybe it would be better downstairs.

I held my screen over my head as I left the apartment, took a couple of steps, and felt someone grab the back of my shirt and yank me to a stop. I looked up and realized I was inches from falling down the stairs.

Rosie stood behind me wearing a red polo shirt, black pants, and a black apron. Her hair was pulled back into a playful ponytail that bounced as she stepped back.

“Saving your can, left and right.” She smirked.

“When you’re not saving it, you’re beating it,” I retorted with a wave at my nose. The swelling had gone down completely, and the bruising had faded as well, but teasing Rosie was more comfortable than analyzing why my heart raced around her.

“Just trying to make you feel more at home,” Rosie said. “I know you’re used to a few whacks to the face in your week.”

I let out a surprised laugh. “Hey, I’m trying to watch the game. Where’s a place to get good service?” I held out my phone to show her the frozen screen.

She winced. “Not here, unfortunately. We’ve got the Peaks game up on the big screen at the Icy Asp tonight.”

The Icy Asp. I hadn’t heard that name in so long, I’d forgotten about it. My friends and I had spent countless hours at the pizzaplace when we were teenagers. We were the reason they had to get rid of the all-you-could-eat pizza lunch buffet. All we could eat was putting them in the red.

“I’m headed there right now, if you want to join me,” she said.

I debated for a second if I wanted to watch the game enough to actually go into public, then grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door and followed her down the stairs.

“We’ve got to go fast, though,” she said. “I’m going to be late.”

“You work there?”

“A few nights a week. It helps make ends meet.”

It had been so long since I worried about money, it was sometimes easy to forget that not everyone was able to work the job they loved while also making enough money to live off of. Owning a touristy art shop in Winterhaven probably didn’t give steady business, in the off-peak season, especially.

She almost had to jog to keep up with me, so I slowed as we walked toward Icy Asps. “Do you have a car?” I asked her.

“A truck. But it’s so close, it seems silly to drive.”

My phone worked in bursts and spurts while we walked, so I’d get a few second update on the game before it buffered out again. When we arrived at the pizza place, Rosie darted away at the door to head into the back at a sprint.

I walked toward the bar to take a seat but paused when I spotted my family at a booth. I hadn’t seen my parents in eight years. Dad’s hair had gone almost completely white in that time, and he’d put on some weight around his waist. He’d shaved off his mustache at some point, and I almost didn’t even recognize him without it. Mom’s hair was still a shoulder-length honey brown color, in the same style it had been since I was a kid. But she had more lines around her eyes and mouth than I remembered.

She’d called a few times since I’d arrived in Winterhaven, but I’d sent her to voicemail. I didn’t know what I could even talk toher about—a concern I’d brought up with my new therapist. The what-ifs were eating me up: what if she was disappointed in me? What if she wishes I’d never come back to Winterhaven? What if their lives were better with me gone?

They were facing the television screen, and when I looked, the Peaks had the puck. Gage flew across the ice, and he passed it to Bret. “Come on, come on,” I said under my breath, though I shouldn’t have had any doubts. Bret took it all the way to the goal.

To my shock, the restaurant cheered.

In my wildest imaginings, I never thought anyone back home watched our games. It made sense, though, for Shiloh. Everyone had loved Shiloh. Me though? Maybe at one point, but not after I made it clear I was never coming back to Winterhaven.

Shiloh had made the same choice as me—we both left Winterhaven to go to college in Toronto to join our rival’s hockey team instead of playing for the college team we all grew up cheering for. But Shiloh, a player with more natural talent than anyone I’d ever met, had come home almost every summer to help with hockey camps and, once we made the pros, had donated money to the high school hockey program.

And I stayed in Toronto, then Montana, and trained in the off-season with personal trainers just to stay good enough to remain on the team. It took everything I had—time and money—to improve enough and rise to the top, and by the time I grew up and matured enough to regret what I’d done as a teen, it felt like too much time had passed. Words had been said that couldn’t be unsaid. Everyone was better off with me gone.

Besides, what was the point in coming somewhere I wasn’t welcome?

Shiloh had tried to convince me to be brave enough to come back home. To give everyone a chance to forgive me—andreminded me to forgive them. Shiloh wasn’t just a better player than me, he was a better person than me.

I knew the exact moment Dad noticed me, and then it was like a chain reaction where everyone in the restaurant was eventually quiet, their gazes all on me, the blaring television the only sound in the room.

My feet were frozen in place. I hadn’t mentally geared up to have a conversation with my parents yet.

Mom stood and took an uncertain step toward me. We’d never been a super affectionate family, and I didn’t know if I should hug her, shake her hand, wave? All three seemed wrong. Especially with everyone watching us, waiting to take cue from my family on how to react to my presence.

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