Page 11 of It’s Me, but Different (Merriweather Sisters #3)

Sloane

The door slam echoes through my entire apartment when I return from The Peak. I drop onto the couch without even taking off my boots, still processing what just happened up there.

“Fuck,” I mutter through my teeth, running my hands through my hair. “I was an idiot.”

I open a bottle of red wine and drink it directly, without using a glass or worrying about manners.

The Cabernet Sauvignon burns going down, but not as much as the humiliation I feel in my chest. For a moment, for one fucking moment, I thought Esme was about to give me a second chance.

The way she looked at me during dinner, how her cheeks blushed when our eyes met, the way her fingers trembled slightly when she picked up her wine glass.

And then, when I suggested we could try something... her response was as clear as a slap.

“I have children, Sloane. I can't risk their stability for this.”

I close my eyes and let out a bitter laugh. It's life's irony. Eleven years ago I was the one who didn't want to complicate my life. I was the one who chose my Olympic preparation over her. I was the one who thought Esme would always be there waiting in case I decided to come back someday.

Now she's the one returning the favor, and it hurts even more, because I understand how she felt when I left her.

The phone vibrates on the table, and the name on the screen makes my heart race even before opening the message.

Esme: Would you like to give ski lessons tomorrow? The twins are excited.

I read the message three times. She'll let me teach her children, but not be part of her life.

I keep my fingers halfway over the keyboard. It would be very easy to tell her no. I could keep my distance, assign another instructor, and disappear for a few days until she leaves. Maybe it would be better to protect my heart before falling deeper into this hole.

Me: Of course. All the lessons they want. See you at 10 at the base of the green slope.

Because I'm a masochist.

Or a fucking idiot.

Or because I can't resist being near her, even though I know I don't have any chance.

Morning comes too soon, just when I had managed to fall asleep after a night full of memories from the past.

I spend almost an hour choosing what to wear, as if the color of my ski suit would change anything.

“You're an idiot,” I tell myself in front of the mirror. “These are ski lessons for kids, nothing more.”

But when Ana Sofia and Theo appear at the base of the slope, with their little faces full of excitement, and Esme waves at me smiling from the hotel terrace, I know I'm deceiving myself.

“Sloane!” the girl shrieks, running toward me like a small ball of energy. “Mom told us today we'll learn to make more advanced turns.”

“We'll see about that,” I smile, adjusting her helmet and trying not to shift my gaze toward where her mother is watching us. “First we have to warm up those legs. Did you have a good breakfast?”

“Croissants and hot chocolate,” Theo responds with a shy smile. “The ones River makes.”

“Perfect. You'll need lots of energy for today's lesson.”

During the first hour of class, I manage to maintain professional distance. I focus on teaching the correct technique, correcting posture, making sure the twins feel safe on their skis.

Ana Sofia is brave to the point of recklessness, she reminds me of my niece Lumi. She throws herself downhill without any fear. Theo is more cautious; he analyzes everything.

For moments, I almost forget the tension from yesterday at The Peak.

Almost.

“Why does your sister River cook so well?” Ana Sofia asks during a break, while they drink hot chocolate from their thermoses.

“Because she loves cooking and has practiced a lot.”

“Like you with skiing?” Theo interrupts.

“Exactly.”

“Have you skied since you were little?” Ana Sofia insists.

“Yes, pretty much since I learned to walk,” I respond. “My father put skis on us as soon as we could stay standing.”

“Were you better than your sisters?”

“Is this an interrogation, or don't you feel like continuing with the lesson?” I joke, giving the girl's helmet an affectionate tap.

“You didn't answer.”

“I was the most daring, certainly,” I admit, shrugging with a smile. “I always tried to go down slopes that were above my level. River used to say I had more scars than brain cells.”

The twins burst out laughing, and I realize how easy it is to talk with them.

It's during the next break when everything changes.

“Are you okay?” I ask when I notice Ana Sofia is quieter than usual.

The girl swirls the chocolate in her thermos, avoiding my gaze.

“Mom cried last night,” she sighs.

The words hit me like being run over by a freight train.

“She cried?” I repeat.

“We heard her from our room,” Theo adds with that serious voice he uses when talking about important things. “She doesn't do it very often, but I think this time was different.”

“Different how?”

“It's not like when she misses Dad,” Ana Sofia explains, who for a moment seems like an adult. “We know those tears well. Yesterday it was... I don't know. More complicated?”

My heart sinks. The image of Esme crying alone in her room breaks me inside, especially knowing that maybe I have something to do with those tears. That maybe, when I suggested we could try something, I stirred up feelings she'd rather keep buried.

“Did something happen when you were at The Peak?” Theo asks suddenly. “Because Mom was very happy the day before. The happiest I've seen her since... well, since before Dad died.”

“And then yesterday, suddenly, she was sad again,” his sister continues, shrugging.

“I think your mom is going through a lot of things lately,” I respond carefully. “Sometimes adults… well, life is complicated; you'll realize that later.”

“Do you like her?” Ana Sofia asks directly, leaving me breathless.

“What did you say?”

“Mom. Do you like Mom?”

I drop my hot chocolate thermos.

“Ana Sofia… I…”

“Because we like you,” she interrupts again. “You're fun. And you make Mom laugh. And Mom looks at you the same way she used to look at Dad.”

The mention of their father leaves me trembling. I'm sure he was a good man. Someone who wanted the best for his family and who has left an impossible void to fill. And here I am, complicating his widow's life when she just wants to move forward and raise her children as best as possible.

“If Mom were happy again… that would be okay,” Theo adds, lowering his voice.

“Yes, of course, of course it would be okay,” I respond carefully. “We all want her to be happy, right? And your dad, if he can see her, would also want her to be happy.”

“Then why is everything so complicated with adults?” Ana Sofia insists.

I don't have an answer for that. At least, not one I can share with two eight-year-old kids who have lost their father and who see how their mother struggles to find balance in her life.

A balance that I threaten just by being here.

The break goes much longer than normal. I share with them stories about Silver Peaks, about family traditions, about the races I used to have with my sisters when we were little. The twins listen attentively, asking questions and laughing at my anecdotes.

And with each of those stories, with each smile from the children, I realize I'm entering very dangerous territory. I'm getting attached. Not just to Esme, but also to the kids. And I know that when they leave, I'm going to have a really hard time.

“I don't want to go back to Colorado. I'm better here,” Ana Sofia blurts out.

“This is very beautiful, but your mom has her job there,” I explain.

“And can't she work here?” Theo insists. “There are lawyers in Silver Peaks too, right?”

“Well… there are many fewer lawyers than in Denver, I'm sure of that. This place is very small and lives off tourism. It's…”

“Yeah… complicated,” Ana Sofia sighs, rolling her eyes dramatically.

And she's right. Everything is fucking complicated. Especially when I've hurt Esme so much that she'll never open her heart to me again.

That night, I decide to stop by the hotel bar, hoping to run into her. To apologize, to clear things up, to… something.

And there she is.

Sitting alone at a table by the fireplace, with a glass of white wine she's barely touched, watching the flames with an expression half thoughtful, half melancholic.

“Do you mind if I sit?” I whisper.

“Go ahead,” she responds, pointing to the empty chair next to her. “How were the twins today?”

“Incredible.”

“They adore you, you know? They haven't stopped talking about you all afternoon.”

“They're special kids.”

“Sloane, about yesterday…” she starts, but I interrupt her, raising a hand.

“Wait, let me talk first. I'm really sorry. I've barely been able to sleep. I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have tried anything. You're right, you have enough dealing with raising your children alone.”

She stares at me, and suddenly I'm not sure if I just messed up, because I swear there's disappointment in her eyes.

“It's ironic, isn't it?” I add with a bitter smile. “Eleven years ago I was the one who didn't want complications. The one who put her sports career above… above us.”

“Sloane…”

“No, it's true. And now you're the one who doesn't want to complicate your life. And you have every right in the world, really. I understand.”

She stays quiet for too long. Spinning the glass between her hands, watching how the wine reflects the firelight.

“I have to make a decision,” she says suddenly. “About the job offer in Denver.”

“When?”

“This week. At the latest.”

“It's a great opportunity. If you can get the kids to adapt to having a little less time with you, I think it's very good for your future.”

“It is,” she sighs. “Being a partner at a prestigious firm, establishing myself professionally, giving the kids financial stability…”

“Sounds perfect.”

Again, that look I can't identify, but that increasingly resembles disappointment.

“Why do you have to make this so easy?” she blurts out suddenly, after letting out a long sigh.

“Make what easy?”

“Letting me go. Again,” she adds with a snort while biting her lower lip with a pained gesture.

“And what do you want me to do, Esme?” I ask, confused. “Yesterday you made it very clear you didn't want complications. Do you want me to fight for something you yourself said you don't want?”

“I don't know,” she admits, and her eyes fill with tears. “I don't know what I want.”

“I don't understand anything.”

“Yeah, that's the problem, Sloane, you don't understand anything,” she snaps, getting up from the table and leaving me next to her half-drunk glass of wine.