Page 50 of Just Shred

I lean against the kitchen counter, not knowing what to tell him.

“Sometimes it helps to talk about it, babe. I’ll always listen to what you have to say,” he whispers, and locks eyes with me. The sincerity in them makes me pause… maybe it’s time to let some light in.

“He was a free rider. He used to make YouTube films with a couple of other guys. They went viral with their crazy stunts. Ronnie loved traveling around the world to chase pow and make movies together,” I say, my voice faltering. Fuck, why am I telling him this?

“What happened?” he asks, his face suddenly serious, his dark gaze locking in on mine.

“He died,” I tell him. I can’t look him in the eyes. I can’t even look at myself most days. “If I hadn’t—” I begin, but the crippling fear takes hold of me like it always does when I think about what went down on that mountain.

He caresses my cheek. “Ace, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you for not pushing for more,” I whisper. “I haven’t talked about him for a long time.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to keep people locked in our hearts so no one can touch them. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

I hug him close, resting my cheek against his chest. He takes a deep breath and buries his nose in my hair. “You wanna get back into bed?” He holds me for a long time while tears blur my vision. And I like him even more because of it. When I lean back, he rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. “I didn’t hurt you before, right?”

“No, not at all,” I confess, and he raises his brows like he doesn’t believe me. “You didn’t. Sometimes the memories—”

“Become too much,” he adds.

I nod.

“Let’s get back into bed, then,” he whispers in my ear. “I haven’t gotten to know your small tits enough,” he jokes, trying to make me laugh, and I do, giggling like some sixteen-year-old-kid with a crush on the hottest guy in school. I slap him in his stomach, and he fake winces.

“Asshole,” I counter. He pulls me into his body, and I smile when he scrapes his stubble against my neck, trying to peek into my shirt.

“Get upstairs so I can show you how you are going to come with my mouth on your nipples,” he growls, pushing me up the stairs.

I gasp when he slaps my naked ass and gets comfortable under the covers of his bed.

“I’m joking. Okay, maybe not. Someday, Ace, I’ll make you come like that,” he whispers in my ear, hugging me tight, resting his chin on top of my head. “Someday, babe.”

I wake with an arm wrapped around my waist, and turning around, he is breathing softly with a frown on his face. Jesse looks even hotter in the morning light, his chest golden like his hair. Shifting on his front, he pushes his arms under his pillow, his broad muscular back hot as hell. I kiss his spine, then slowly make my way down the ladder to his living area. After a pit stop in the bathroom, I get dressed in my own clothes and head outside. The way the sun is reflecting on the lake takes my breath away. I take a seat on the porch steps and soak in the morning air.

“Hey, I thought you might have left?” he says, handing me a coffee with a wink.

I look out toward the water while he takes a seat next to me on the steps. “This place is really beautiful.”

He takes a sip from his coffee. “That’s why I bought it. I have everything I need here; the woods, the water, easy access to the slopes and the town, but still as far away from all the madness as possible.”

“I know what you mean. The place I had in Seattle was right on the water. Technically, I was only house-sitting for my best friend and his husband, since they were traveling around the world.” I bump my elbow against his. “But I don’t know, Aspen is kind of growing on me,” I tell him, and for the first time, I know it isn’t a lie. I like being back; it feels like home.

“You want to stay here in Aspen?” he asks, sounding unsure.

“I don’t know. I lived in Aspen growing up, but when I moved to Boston when I was eighteen, I knew I was never coming back. Layne still lives a couple of miles from here, as do my parents.”

“Are the nightmares always about Ronnie?” he asks softly.

I don’t know what to say. I’m not ready to talk about him again. Tears cloud my vision, and I wipe at my eyes, taking a deep, shaking breath.

“I did know someone who sounds like him,” he says, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I was still a kid back then, probably not older than eleven or something, but I was chasing pow with my father until he stopped, and we watched a couple of guys making their way down one of the steepest parts of the mountain. When we got down, we asked for pictures, and my father later told me he was one of the best free riders. When my dad asked why he was doing it, he said, ‘I needed to risk it all and leave everything on the mountain.’ Could that have been your brother?”

My hands tremble when I take a sip from the coffee. “Maybe Ronnie was, still is, a big part of my family. Probably one of the reasons I wanted to stay away from this place,” I tell him. “The snow was the only thing he ever lived for. He forgot about the people who loved him and did what he wanted. Screw the consequences.”

“That’s why you started to hate the snow, because it reminds you of what happened?”

“I don’t hate it,” I say, closing my eyes when the sun hits my face. “It gave me so much, but it took even more.”

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