Sydney
I stayed hidden in my room until I was seconds away from chewing my arm off. By then it was in the late afternoon. I’d stopped hurling and crying hours ago, and from what I could see out the bedroom window, the snow was coming down in waves and the wind was picking up.
Heading downstairs, I stopped the bottom of the steps and strained to hear where Kyler might be. There was a distant hum of the TV from the basement, so the coast was clear. I hurried through the foyer and into the kitchen.
The room was cooler due to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the front. I wrapped my arms around myself and walked over to the glass. Staring out the window, I watched the wind pick up the flakes, spinning them into little funnels as it tossed them across the snow-covered driveway. There had to be several inches of the new fluff since last night. And it was supposed to get worse?
Man, we picked the worst time to come here.
Turning away from the window, I went to the fridge and opened it. Kyler’s mom had done us good, though. Food and drinks stacked the fridge and freezer. I bypassed the more complex stuff and went with bologna and cheese. But when I went to put the items back in the fridge, I sighed and made one for Kyler—ham, cheese, and extra mayo. I didn’t know if he’d already eaten or not. I don’t even know why I did it—maybe out of habit—or maybe it was just because even though Kyler had stared at me like I was nuts for asking why he hadn’t hooked up with me, I still loved him.
God, I was lame.
Wrapping his sandwich in a paper towel, I ate mine quickly and downed an entire can of soda in minutes. The food settled weird in my stomach, and I guessed it was a product of drinking half my weight in tequila. I couldn’t believe I’d drunk that much and didn’t die, considering I had no tolerance for alcohol.
When I was done, I really didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to go back upstairs, and I wasn’t ready to face Kyler just yet. Would I ever be ready after I’d tried to kiss him and was then rejected by the guy who’d pretty much had his dick in just about everything? Had his dick in some chick two nights ago?
God, that should’ve just grossed me out, but it really just made me feel all the more lame.
As I roamed the upstairs, I could hear a strumming rift or two coming from the downstairs. I quietly made my way to the edge of the stairs that led to the basement.
Kyler was playing the guitar.
Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes. Kyler had a talent when it came to playing music. Even as a kid, he could pick up almost any instrument and learn how to play it in record time. I, on the other hand, made musical instruments run in the other direction.
He was playing a Dave Matthews song, not missing a note at all. A smile pulled at my lips as I listened. Each note was perfect, rising in tempo as the song continued. I don’t know how long I stood there and listened, but when he stopped, I was bereft.
With nothing else to do, I slipped on my boots, jacket, and hat. Slipping out the front door, I pulled my gloves out of my pockets and put them on. Snow always made me feel better. I liked shoveling. I was weird, but it helped me think.
It was brutal outside, though. The wind whipped down the valley. There weren’t any other houses near this one, and other than the forest full of pines, the land was empty.
I made my way carefully down the stairs and hit the ground. Last night the snow had been packed down, but now it came up to my calves and it was wet and heavy. I waded around the stairs and made my way to the front of the garage. Looking around, I saw the shovel propped against the wall under the stairs.
Le sigh.
Shuffling back up the slight incline, I grabbed the shovel and turned, taking a sheet of snow in the face. It stung like a bitch.
“Jesus,” I muttered, shaking my head.
Dragging the shovel out to the driveway, I started clearing a path. There wasn’t any point to it. Wind was blowing snow back onto the tiny section I cleared, and when Saint Snow-dumbass or whatever they were calling it finally got here, it would be a total white-out, but I liked the burn in my arms and how everything seemed different outside, freezing my ass off and sweating at the same time.
Maybe trying to kiss Kyler and getting rejected wasn’t such a bad thing. I could learn from this experience. Get some perspective or something, because it was probably well beyond the time I should be letting go of this stupid unrequited love stuff.
He didn’t want me.
I wanted him.
The only way to fix this was to find someone else. And there was Paul. Nothing was wrong with him, and before Kyler had hijacked me at the bar, there was a good chance that he was going to ask me out. At least that was how it’d sounded, and according to both Kyler and Andrea, Paul was attracted to me. He didn’t need to be swimming in beer to want me, so he got bonus points right there.
Too bad Paul wasn’t snowed in here.
Oh, who was I fooling? Even if Paul were here, it wasn’t like I’d be spending the entire time in his bed or something, but he could’ve been the perfect distraction.
I stopped, brushing snow off my face. Using Paul as a distraction was really shitty, but if I could just let go of Kyler, I could fall for Paul. Couldn’t I? He was nice and handsome and fun. As far as I knew, he didn’t sleep around. We had career goals in common.
My heart didn’t like the idea, though. Like I was betraying Kyler or something, and that was just stupid. But I felt…icky even considering it.
Everything in my life was where it needed to be. I would graduate in the spring, enter grad school, and for the most part, I had my shit together, but relationships? I missed the boat on that one. It was the one thing I couldn’t fix or figure out. I was twenty-one, but it was like I was stuck at sixteen when it came to my love life.
In reality, I was stuck on one word: frigid.
Seemed stupid to be so affected by some guy saying that, especially with my psychology background, but that one word summed up years of a relationship and my own actual real sexual act.
I couldn’t get past that, just like I couldn’t get past Kyler.
Half-tempted to throw myself face-first into the snow, I began shoveling with vigor. I had half the snow moved off a decent section of the driveway when I heard something rumbling in the distance. Turning around, I held the ends of my hair back from my face and tried to see through the snow.
What the hell was that noise? There was nothing around here. We were too far from the street to hear anything and I doubted anyone was up on the slopes today. Dropping the shovel as the noise—the hum of an engine—grew louder, I still couldn’t see anything. Thinking I might have some tequila still left in my veins, I twisted around, and then I saw it.
Two small headlights belonging to a snowmobile were a couple of yards away from me, flying over the snow and kicking up loose flakes.
My brain absolutely refused to comprehend what was happening at first, but instinct kicked in. Air expelled out of my lungs in a painful rush. It was coming fast—too fast. I froze maybe only for a second and then I started backpedaling, panic making my movements clumsy.
“Hey!” I yelled, waving my arms, but the wind carried my voice away.
The snowmobile was heading straight for me! Didn’t they see me? My heart turned over.
Twisting away, I turned and tripped over the handle of the shovel. My knees sank through the snow and I quickly pushed myself up, fear coating my insides in ice as I looked over my shoulder. It was right on me, so close I could see the white helmet with the red and yellow stripe down the center and the dark shield covering the face. I couldn’t get out of the way. It was going to run me over.
A tiny part of my brain, that wasn’t completely overcome with panic, couldn’t believe that this was how I would die. Being run over by a rogue snowmobile during a blizzard? Life was so cruel.
Something hit me in the waist and I was flying ass-over-teakettle. I hit the part of the driveway I’d just cleared for no freaking reason. Black starbursts filled my vision, and the last thing I remembered was hearing my name, and then there was nothing.