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CHAPTER

THREE

Fable

There is not enough wine or hair clippers in the world to deal with my mom right now.

As I stand in the kitchen, the Winthrop estate is buzzing, with everyone from town coming to offer their condolences. Yes, I’m hiding. I have to, before I’m a drunk mess with a bald head. My mom is on one hundred today, and I swear I bring out the worst in her. She has been on me since I arrived.

Your dress is too tight.

How could you kick off your shoes like that?

What do you mean, you and Chad broke up?

What did you do to your hair?

Why are you always on “Fable time”?

You couldn’t just come here when you were supposed to?

I mean, I get that she’s pissed I was late. I am pissed too. It also didn’t help matters that I stopped to get my hair chopped off, which really made her mad since she loves my hair long. In all honesty, I shouldn’t have stopped so many times on my trip here. If I hadn’t stopped in Indiana for hot dogs, then in Kentucky for a new Derby hat I won’t wear, and then made a detour to Nashville for hot chicken and to visit my favorite mall, I would have been here yesterday. I couldn’t bring myself to drive straight through, no matter how great my audiobook was. It killed me to stop it for all my side quests, but I wasn’t ready to be here. Hell, I’m still not ready.

But I’m here. In Thistlebrook.

And my grandfather is gone.

From where I sit at the breakfast table, I can see Kitty sitting in Grandpa’s chair, his hockey sweater huge on her body, as she continues to thank everyone for coming and for supporting her. The whole town showed out, not that I expected anything less. Everyone loved my grandpa; he was hardworking and charismatic. He made a place for hockey lovers and, in doing so, brought so much revenue to this town. He used to say it was both of us who did that since I did go pro for ice-skating, winning three gold medals, but I wouldn’t have loved it as much as I did if it weren’t for Grandpa, Kitty, and the Ice Thistle.

And him .

I lick my lips as I pull my gaze from Kitty to scan the room. So many faces I know and I sure as hell don’t want to catch up with. I hate the small talk, the “How’s your neck holding up from carrying all of those medals? Are you still skating? Why don’t you come home to visit more?”

Or my favorite, “Why aren’t you married?”

Or even better, “I have a son your age. Can I fix you up?”

Yeah, I’d much rather sit here out of the way and out of view. My grandma is stunning with her long silver hair that is straighter than a board. She is still ever so thin, and my grandpa’s jersey hangs off her like she’s a clothes hanger. Her bright-green eyes are full of grief, and my heart hurts for her. My grandparents loved each other fiercely, and it worries me that she’ll struggle now that he’s gone. She may have the Beer League Belles, but Lord knows my parents won’t look past themselves to care for her.

Mom is way too busy at town hall, working with the rangers for forest conservation. It’s her passion and something that has always taken the number one spot in her life. She loves the Smoky Mountains, which give a beautiful backdrop to our town. I glance out the wide windows that line the mansion to take in the rolling hills and mountains that flash brilliant colors. There isn’t much of the fog today that gives the Smoky Mountains their name, but still, they sure are stunning. I don’t have these kinds of views in Chicago, but Chicago doesn’t have one thing these mountains do.

My mom.

I tear my gaze away to look for said parental figure, finding her with a tissue at her eyes as she cries. A few of my grandpa’s buddies stand around her, looking somber like my dad. He stands by his wife, rubbing her back and looking every bit a councilmember of our town. He is a tall, thick man with broad shoulders and a round belly. His hair is dark with white streaked all through it, he has a very pronounced nose, and he’s got the wide lips that I inherited. He hasn’t aged well, his face a bit rutted and his hair thinning along the top. I wish I had parents whom I looked at and got that fuzzy feeling, but when I look at mine, I’m just reminded of all the times I didn’t act good enough for them.

The only time they were proud of me was when I was skating.

I swallow hard as I glance up at the fireplace where a photo sits of Kitty in a light lavender velvet leotard and a sheer skirt as she does a camel spin. Beside it is a picture of me, looking every bit the way Kitty did when she was fourteen, at the same age, crazy long blond hair, bright-green eyes, legs for days as I mirrored her pose, but facing the other way. Unlike her leotard, though, mine was a bright red, glitzed out with a sheer black ruffle on the butt.

That was when I won Worlds, but I ended up not going to the Olympics because my dad thought I was too young. It seems like yesterday, but really, it was so long ago. I wanted so badly to make my parents and this town proud of me, and I hated it. Well, that’s a lie. I didn’t hate it. I loved it when it was me and the ice. But when my parents were involved, I hated it. Tears burn my eyes as I think about how hard my grandparents fought for me to go to the Olympics, how angry my grandpa got. And when my parents still didn’t let me go, my grandparents flew in some of the best trainers for me.

A smile pulls at my lips, but then it falls away when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch him walking out the front. No matter how long it has been, I’d know Jett Cook anywhere. It also helps that his jersey reads Cook on the back above his number five. His hair is so much longer in the back, unruly curls on his thick neck. When my eyes settled on him at the funeral, it was like going for a jump and losing my footing.

I was knocked flat on my ass.

He’s still so unfairly gorgeous.

I hadn’t expected to see him so soon, and I wasn’t ready. All I could do was stare. I couldn’t even take in how much he’s changed, I was so locked in his eyes. I thought he was happy to see me, but obviously, he’s not since he didn’t even take the time to come say hi. Not that I’m surprised. We may have won a gold medal together, but that’s all we were—partners. Nothing more, no matter how much I romanticize the whole thing. I was just a dumb teenager with gold medals on her brain.

And the hope that my partner saw me as more.

When the chair beside me is pulled out, I look over and grin widely when my eyes meet a pair of dark-brown ones that match his. “Bea Cook, a sight for my sore eyes,” I gush as we embrace in a quick hug, and when I pull back, she cups my face, brushing her thumbs along my jaw.

“I swear, you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” she praises, and my face warms.

“You’re too sweet. Though, don’t know if you heard, but I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a middle-aged woman with no kids and no husband, which is how my mom so nicely introduced me to her coworkers.”

Bea waves me off, tsking and shaking her head. “That woman is jealous of the perfection she made,” she tells me, gazing deeply into my eyes. “How are you, my darling?”

I smile as I look back at her. There isn’t a childhood memory I have that doesn’t include Bea Cook. She was at every practice, made sure to have all the snacks, and was there for Salt Lake City. She was there for the good, the bad, and everything in between. Not only is she Kitty’s best friend, but she’s also always been a second grandma to me. “I’m all right,” I answer honestly. “Just counting down the hours until I can leave.”

She gives me a tight look. “You’re not staying?”

I shake my head. “Not if I can help it.”

“Fable, darling. Kitty needs you.”

Guilt eats at me. I know she does, but I can’t deal with my mom for that long. I hold her gaze and, dropping my voice, I say, “I can’t stay here.” My parents live here with Kitty, on the west side of the house. Sure, I might not see them much, but that still gives them plenty of access to me. “I guess I could stay at the inn.”

She waves me off. “No, you come stay with me if it gets to be too much here.” I couldn’t do that. Bea lives in a little house over the tracks with her daughter and granddaughter. The three of them are thick as thieves. So much so, they never took their husbands’ names, keeping the Cook name. “Or go sleep with Kitty. You know they won’t come for you when you’re with her.”

A small smile pulls at my lips. That’s for sure; no one messes with Kitty. But I don’t feel right hiding behind a woman who’s grieving. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t leave,” she practically begs. “Stay a spell.”

I scoff. “A spell to you is forever.”

She shrugs. “So, you got me.”

Bea squeezes my hand, and I look away, trying to go for aloof. “I saw Jett leave.”

“He had to get to the rink. The boys are practicing tonight. He gave everyone the day off for the funeral, but the boys need the ice time.” I bite into my lip. “I don’t know if you know, but he has been running the place with your grandpa.”

Something Grandpa wanted me to do, but I moved away the moment I could. “I didn’t. I’m glad that Grandpa has a replacement.”

I feel her searching my face. “He isn’t married. Never has been.”

I know he isn’t married. I have an unhealthy obsession with the search bar on Google and his name. I look over at her. “I’m sorry to hear that. Not that it matters to me, you know that.”

Her eyes tell me she knows no such thing. “No kids. I think us all having our kids in our teens scared him, and he straps up like a pro.”

I snort, shaking my head. Just as wild as her hair, Bea Cook is a hoot. “Bea, stop. I’m not staying.”

She shrugs. “Just making conversation.”

“Or being meddlesome,” I throw back at her, and she sends me a full grin of white teeth that I know are dentures. “There has never been anything between us.”

Oh, how easily I lie.

But the older lady doesn’t have time for my lies. “You two on the ice is still my favorite sight in the world. You being so graceful and stunning, him all rugged and strong for you.”

“Here we go,” I mumble, and her grin widens. “It was twenty years ago, Bea. We went our separate ways.”

“But I remember everything.”

I do too, but I don’t tell her that.

Not when the past doesn’t matter, not when it was her great-grandson who didn’t want to skate with me anymore. Everyone always seems to forget that. That he wanted to play hockey, not be my partner. We could have won for years to come, but instead, I did it solo. He left me, like everyone else. But he’s her golden boy, so I don’t say anything as she reminisces. Instead, I listen as she recounts the best four years of my life, in her words, and I wish for something I never thought I would.

To go back and relive it all.