Sisters In Love (Snow Sisters, Book One: Love in Bloom Series)

Chapter Eight, Sisters in Love

Chapter Eight

The morning light peeked in through the unfamiliar curtains. Blake slid off the bed and slithered into his jeans as silent as a mouse, a skill he’d spent the last twenty years refining. His head felt like a fog-filled balloon. He really needed to cut back on the tequila chasers. He tightened his belt around his slim waist and glanced in the mirror. He did a once-over, checking for fingernail marks, hickeys, or any of the other calling cards women left as their claim on him. No marks. A relieved sigh escaped his lips. He leaned over the dresser, closer to the mirror, and touched the peppery whiskers along his jaw. Yesterday he would have thought, Damn. I’ve still got it. Today, Blake saw an aging, selfish, lonely man. He’d spent the last several hours trying to escape the reality of his best friend’s death, but now it found him like a vulture on prey, settling heavy and dark upon his shoulders.

He pulled his light-blue Henley over his thick, dark hair and smoothed it against the six-pack he worked so hard to maintain. With one last glance at the buxom brunette’s shapely, bare ass, he headed for the door. He hadn’t wanted to go home alone last night, and she’d been just what he needed. After that bitch Danica pegged him for just what he was, he’d needed a release and returned to the bar. Get in, have fun, and get out, he reminded himself. For all the years he could remember, that had been his motto. Dave had coined him as the Lady Slayer. Only, today, he wasn’t on the high that he usually felt after a satisfying conquest. And Rozy, or Willow—he couldn’t remember which—had definitely been satisfying. Today, he looked at her naked body and felt nothing but loneliness. Sally and Rusty would wake up soon and realize that Dave was really gone. Blake knew he couldn’t run from the hurt that was clawing at his heart, but he could ignore it.

Blake pulled away from her apartment in his Land Rover, thinking about Dave. The sadness hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d hoped to run from the hole Dave had left in his life and from the pain of thinking about it, but he’d woken up as the exact same man he’d been the night before, only, if possible, even lonelier. He had to go to work and face a business that would only emphasize the loss of his friend. He wished he could go from one bed to the next, occupying his mind on the plays he put on women, pretending as if the real world didn’t exist. But even he knew that one day that hurt would find him, and he’d drown in an even deeper abyss of mourning chased by a helping of self-loathing.

Blake stood in front of the glass doors of AcroSki, his feet rooted to the ground. Once he walked inside, he knew real life would find him. He wasn’t ready to deal with it. He’d pushed his feelings down to a manageable flicker, and he knew that the moment he opened those doors and was welcomed by darkness and silence, that flicker would burst into flames and burn right through his coat of armor.

The sign on the door said Closed, as it had since they'd closed up and headed for the slopes the night of Dave’s accident. The moments before they’d skied came rushing back to him—Dave’s anger, Blake’s dismissal of that anger. Dave would never walk through those doors again. Blake was surprised at how his heart slammed within his chest, and his hands began to tremble. He could not do it. He couldn’t face customers and pretend everything was okay. He’d tried to pretend last night and this morning, but it was right in front of him again. He had to take the day off. He couldn’t work. He mentally ticked off what he’d have to accomplish in order to make that happen. He’d lose income, but that wasn’t a problem. He had plenty of money. He’d have to pay their two part-time employees. It was only fair. Within minutes, he’d made his decision. He would escape reality for one more day, but there was something inside that he needed, and that meant entering into the silence.

Blake tightened the muscles in his legs, pulled his shoulders back, and turned the lock. I can do this. He walked through the doors into the cool air of the store. The temperature was always cooler in the mornings, before the timer for the heat kicked up a notch. With his head down, he barreled toward the office, trying to ignore the absence of Dave’s banter: Hey, Lady Slayer. Who was it last night? Brunette or blonde? Blake went into the office, flicked on the light, and closed the door, leaving the ghost of his best friend behind him. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. He pushed around the papers on his desk, frantically pulled the drawers open one by one, then sifted through the documents inside. Where the hell is it?

He thought about the day before, the slip of paper Dave shoved into his pocket. What had he done with it? Damn it! He had to find it fast. He wanted to make an appointment with someone to help him modify his behavior before he changed his mind. He needed to lock himself in this time with more than just words.

Blake picked up the phone and called their employees, breaking the news of Dave's death. They needed their own time to mourn, so closing the store had come as no surprise to them. He jogged back through the store, then out the front doors, locking them—and Dave’s missing presence—behind him. The Closed sign swayed against the glass. He knew he’d have disappointed customers, but he was dead set on dealing with this head on. Adrenaline sent him running for his car. He climbed in, breathing hard. He was doing the right thing. He knew he was. Dave’s death was the impetus he needed to make some changes in his life. He pushed the pedal to the floor and was home in twenty-eight minutes.

He flew up the stairs to his third-floor condo and unlocked the door. He breezed through and didn’t even notice when the door slammed shut behind him. He ran to his laundry basket, throwing dirty clothes onto the floor until he found his jeans, then dug into each pocket until the slip of paper came out in his fingers. He let out a loud breath and closed his fist around it.

Blake sat on the chocolate-brown comforter on his king-sized bed and leaned his elbows on his knees, his forehead pressed into his fisted hands. He contemplated his next move. Did he really need help? Couldn’t he just deal with Dave’s death like other people did? Let the ache and the missing come in and spirit him away into a deep depression? He would go about his life as he always had—from one woman to the next, ignoring his emotions. Feeling nothing but a cocoon of his own pleasure. What was so wrong with that?

He opened his fist and looked at the crumpled paper. Dave’s meticulous handwriting stared back at him, his voice floating forth. Work through that mommy drama of yours. Blake hadn’t thought of his mother, really thought of her, in years. She’d left when he was just a little boy. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Dave was gone. Really gone. He’d been his only real friend. Everyone else was transient, peripheral, benign. A tear slipped down his cheek. He swiped at it angrily. Damn it. He wasn’t a child. People died! It was just part of life. He stood and paced.

His cell phone rang. He glanced at it. Sally. Shit. He let it go to voice mail, then dialed the number on the slip of paper. He needed to be strong for Sally, and in his current state of mind, he just couldn’t be. His heart pounded against his chest. One ring. Two. He could hang up now. Three. Just hang up. Voice mail. You’ve reached the office of Dr. Snow…

“Hi, um…I’d like to make an appointment, please.” He added his phone number and took the phone away from his ear, then brought it back. “Thank you.” He pressed End, then realized he hadn’t left his name. There was no way he was calling back. He didn’t trust himself not to cancel the inquiry.

He dialed Sally’s number.