Page 9 of The Mountain
I feel ice run down my limbs at her declaration.No one has ever bought her flowers? What kind of assholes has she been dating?
Eddie opens his mouth, then shuts it again before throwing me a beseeching look. My earlier irritation fades, quickly replaced by pity. Pity for my friend, who is clearly too emotionally stunted to handle this situation. And for Lily.
Fuck. Poor Lily.
I drag one hand over my face, then clear my throat. At the sound, Lily spins in Eddie’s hold to give me a watery smile.
“This looks great,” I say. My smile feels tight. Unnatural. I nod at the bed. “That’s one massive bed. Must have been a mission to get it up the stairs.”
Eddie’s shoulders straighten, chest puffing up under my praise, but he just gives me a nonchalant tilt of his chin. “Thanks, mate. And yeah, it was a bitch to get it inside.” A dry chuckle. “Good thing Seth’s a fucking beast.”
I huff in agreement, remembering Seth’s bloodied knuckles as he sat beside me in the car, the tendons cording in his neck as he gripped Lily to him, baring his teeth at anyone who dared to glance his way. “True that,” I say, my lips curving into something that is more smirk than smile, but at least it feels natural. “And thank fuck for it.”
Because if it wasn’t for him—if it wasn’t for Eddie—Lily wouldn’t be standing here smiling, crying because someone bought her fucking flowers for the first time in her life. If it wasn’t for them…
I swallow, my gaze dropping to my feet as something icy and dark makes my vision flash white. I let out a shuddering breath, but the anger is still there, a cold, unspent rage that clings to my bones like a deep frost.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my entire life, and it’s not just because of what Tom did—although that’s a big fucking part of it. It’s because he washere. In our flat. In this room. With Lily. Because every night, she slept with a predator lying in wait beside her.
And we let it happen.
And no one has ever bought her flowers.
Chapter 3
Lily
“You’re not seriously going in to work?” Seth asks, his brow dipping in a worried frown as he slides in beside me at the breakfast table.
I give him a grim smile, willing my hand not to tremble as I spoon another mouthful of cereal. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him, and I hope it’s true. Despite another full night’s sleep, I still feel dizzy. Queasy, if I move too fast. Shaky and weak.
Not ideal for being out on the snow.
“You could call in sick,” Liam suggests from my other side, his elbow brushing against mine.
The table is small—only designed to seat four people—but Seth and Eddie picked up two extra chairs when they were at the thrift store yesterday getting the furniture for my room. So now all six of us are crammed together, with barely enough room to eat, our knees and plates knocking as we hurriedly scoff down breakfast.
Or, in Antoine’s case, coffee.
“It’s the start of the busy period,” I say, biting my lip and giving Liam a questioning frown. “I thought we couldn’t take time off until after Christmas.”
In fact, it was one of the terms in bold in my employment contract—the week before and after Christmas all instructors are required to be on the snow. Every single day. No exceptions.
Fourteen days of work without a day off.
At the time, I’d just thought about how great my paycheck would be at the end of it. Now, exhausted and sick, staring down fourteen days of teaching on the snow is terrifying.
Across from me, Eddie gives a curt nod. “Yeah. It’s pretty bloody difficult to get time off, apparently. Unless you’re in hospital, they want you on the snow.” He pauses, brown eyes flicking to Liam for confirmation. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
I feel Liam shift beside me, his thigh brushing against my own. “They might make an exception for Lily,” he hedges, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
I shake my head. No way. I’m at the very bottom of the snowboard school roster, with barely more than a couple weeks experience under my belt and a contract that can be terminated without cause. There is no way I’m going to demand they make an exception for me.
“I’ll be fine,” I repeat, forcing my shoulders to straighten, my lips to smile. “Honestly. You guys are worrying about nothing.”
It turnsout they were not, in fact, worrying about nothing.
“Big night out?” the fifteen-year-old kid I’m teaching asks in a mock whisper, giving me a knowing grin.
