Page 7 of Just Let Go

He didn’t need the reminder. “Is my manager here? Did he call? Name’s Pete Moran. I called him last night.”

“Sorry, son. No calls for you unless you count the reporters that have flocked to town.” He walked over to the computer sitting on an oversize metal desk just outside the cell. He turned the monitor around to reveal a paused news video, enlarged to fit the entire screen. He hit the space bar, and there was footage taken from inside the diner the night before. Judging by the angle, it was one of Jimmy’s friends who shot the video and probably uploaded it to his social media accounts while Grady was standing outside on the sidewalk, the blood on his lip still fresh.

“Turns out, you’re kind of a big deal.”

The crawl on the bottom of the screen readLatest in a long line of disasters for Olympic skier Grady Benson.

Images of Grady’s wipeouts from the last three competitions flashed across the screen. He could still feel the pain that screeched through his body as he fell, his dreams of a comeback dashed away in a split second.

He’d been working to get stronger, to fix his mistakes ever since. But after this past weekend’s poor showing, he was startingto believe the press. Was he really washed up? Was he done skiing forever? And if so, where did that leave him now?

His thoughts turned to Benji. His brother was counting on him—he owed it to him to do better. So why did he keep messing up?

The computer screen flashed to a newscaster on the sidewalk outside the turquoise-colored restaurant, Hazel’s Kitchen. She was standing next to the wild-haired waitress from last night.

The bottom of the screen readBetsy Tanner, owner, Hazel’s Kitchen.

She was the owner? He’d send her a check. A big one.

The reporter held a microphone and turned toward Betsy. “Miss Tanner, I understand this was a lot of excitement for Harbor Pointe last night. I suppose you don’t often have fights like that break out—with Olympic athletes, no less.”

Betsy pushed her glasses up and looked into the camera—uncomfortably. “I waited on Mr. Benson and he was perfectly kind. I think there must’ve been some kind of misunderstanding.”

“And the damage to your property?”

“We’ll get it fixed.” Betsy smiled. “I just hope Mr. Benson recovers so he can get back to doing what he does best. We’d sure miss seeing him on the slopes at the Winter Games.”

That woman should be furious with him; why was she defending him—to a reporter no less?

“Would you mind turning it off?”

The sheriff paused the video. Grady sat back down on the cold metal bench in his cell. “So, what now?”

“Wait to see a judge, I suppose. Sounds like they’re going to bring you over yet this morning.”

Grady reached up and felt his swollen, cracked lip. He probably had a black eye to go along with it. Oh yeah, he’d make a great impression on a judge.

The door of the station opened, drawing the sheriff’s attention.

“Is that Pete?” Grady stood, hands on his hips, ready to lay into his manager for taking his sweet time getting there.

“No, son, that’s just Quinn.”

His eyes followed the sheriff’s toward the front of the space, where he saw the pretty blonde from the night before setting a tall vase of flowers on the front desk.

“Arlene loves daisies,” she said with a smile. “Thought this place could use a little brightening up.”

“Your face does that,” the old man said.

She started toward him, carrying a small bag with a logo on the side that saidHazel’s Kitchenand a cup of coffee. “You’re not biased or anything.” Her glance at Grady was a passing one, barely a footnote in her mind—like she had no idea who he was, nor did she seem to care.

The sheriff pulled the girl into a hug. “I heard congratulations are in order.”

She squeezed him tightly, then moved from his grasp. “It’s finally mine.”

“So proud of you, honey. I knew you could do it.”

“Well, there’s still a ton of work.” She offered the bag and coffee to the old man. “Cheese danish. Black coffee.”

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