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CHAPTER 3
Maybe I’m not the same, but it sure is.
Addisyn stood for a moment at the mouth of the Whistler Village. The sight that met her eyes was identical to her memories. For all the difference she noticed, her last visit could have been two days ago, not two years.
The snowcapped mountains still sparkled in the sun, still ringed the town like a circle of heavenly guardians. The village was as picture-perfect and inviting as ever, nestled in the heart of the peaks like a priceless jewel. And overhead still arched the unfathomable crystal of the British Columbia sky.
Yes, this had been a good destination. Whistler had always had a special magic for her, but right now, it felt more inviting than ever. It was her sanctuary, where she could be safe from the ghosts that lurked in her past and the real, live threats in her present. Like Brian.
Addisyn shifted her backpack higher on her shoulder. She glanced ruefully at the overstuffed bag and realized that in a town this quaint and well-groomed, she probably looked like a homeless person. She was wearing her oldest jeans and several shirts, surmounted by a puffy parka. In addition to her backpack, she had two more small carry bags looped around her arms and neck, and she was dragging a pull-behind suitcase. The stressful flight hadn’t helped her appearance any either.
Embarrassment crawled up her neck as she remembered how the driver had eyed her when she boarded the bus at the airport. He’d probably questioned if she had the money for her fare. If only these people knew. Maybe today she was a nobody, but a week ago, she’d been a rising star. She fingered the small wallet in her pocket.
She still had the cash to prove it.
She set her jaw defiantly. Brian controlled all the Rising Star funds, but amazingly, he hadn’t confiscated the prize money she’d won at competition after competition. Enjoying Brian’s deceptive generosity, she hadn’t needed the money... until now.
The slanting rays of the sinking sun were spilling shadows from all the buildings, shadows that seemed to creep like relentless wraiths toward Addisyn as she stood on the hill. She shrugged her shoulders uneasily, as if the motion could erase the omen. Better to turn her mind to more practical matters. Speaking of shadows, what time was it, anyway? It had to be like seven at night, right? Addisyn twisted her wrist to see her watch. Nope, only 5:07. She rolled her eyes. Jet lag was the worst, and her flight from New York had rewound the clock three hours.
Sunset would be in less than half an hour. She needed to get busy finding a place to stay. Addisyn began walking again and tilted her head as she considered her options. As she recalled, there were some really nice hotels up by the golf course, with panoramic windows and private spas. But maybe she should look for something a little more modest. Sure, she had plenty of money, but that didn’t mean she should waste it on useless luxury—especially since she didn’t know where she would get more money, or when.
The thought of her tenuous situation doubled her doubts about what had seemed like a great plan. She’d been resolute as her flight raced sunset across America, but when she first stepped off the airplane in Vancouver, she’d felt a sudden lurch—as though an earthquake had tilted her world. The two-hour bus ride to Whistler had only given her worries more time to incubate.
Part of her argued that this wasn’t practical, that nobody just left their entire life and took off to a small town in another country on the other side of the continent. But the other part of her insisted that it was her only option—her last chance to grab hold of the final vestiges of who she’d been, try to examine the shattered slivers of her life and decide what was salvageable and what was only fit for the garbage.
Stop!Addisyn shook her head roughly. She was too tired tonight, too frazzled by all that had been happening to think clearly. Who said she had to make plans tonight, or tomorrow, or even next week? She’d just spend some time here, try to feel what her next move should be. Try to gain a respite from those demons at her heels. Try to remember who she had been—before the spotlight.
A blast of cooler air snatched her attention back to her current situation. The shadows had stretched themselves across the valley, and the air was thick with dusk. She needed a hotel before she was stranded on the streets of a Canadian border town during a frigid night.
The irony brought a small, twisted smile to her lips. The week before, she’d been one of America’s finest figure skating stars, leaping for the moon and tolerably certain of reaching it. She’d spent her days training in professional accommodations and her nights relaxing in one of the poshest townhouses in New York City. Now, she was a nobody, an abandoned young woman dressed like a tramp, beating the bushes for the cheapest hotel.
But she was also free.
Fingers clumsy from the cold, she pulled out her smartphone and began searching. In a few minutes, she found the Gold Aspen Lodge for $46 a night. That was probably the cheapest she’d find. She sighed and rubbed her exhausted eyes. It would almost be worth blowing her cash to get a room in a nicer place. This was probably some rat-trap motel, and Addisyn hated cheap motel rooms. They made her skin crawl—probably because they reminded her of those days of running from her father.
The Gold Aspen was several blocks away, and Addisyn had to pass through the pedestrianized Whistler Village to get there. As she shuffled along the sidewalks, she couldn’t help but feel a release of some of her tension, at least for the moment. No one could have resisted the town’s magic on a twilit winter evening. Artisanal stores exuded a warm glow from the windows, and their quaint construction made Addisyn feel as if she’d wandered into a Lincoln Log town. Tourists rushed here and there—confidential couples smiling in each other’s eyes, gaggles of effervescent young girls swinging shopping bags and giggling, elderly pairs perched on benches, families pushing strollers and towing young children. It was all so idyllic that Addisyn could feel the tightness in her chest easing. She decided to fold up her problems and lay them to rest, at least for a moment. With the snow that still drifted on the mountains and scrunched beneath her favorite suede boots, the place was a perfect Christmas card scene.
After all, despite the oddness of her situation, it was rather exhilarating just to be alone—to be solely responsible for her own welfare. No pandering to Brian’s snits, no enduring Avery’s lectures, no dodging reporters and concocting training schedules. Like the heroine of an epic tale, she’d transported herself to another country, assuming another role, another life, and certainly another state of mind.
The Gold Aspen Lodge was surprisingly difficult to locate, but after what felt like miles of wandering and more than a few wrong turns, Addisyn noticed its sign swinging in the breeze. Finally. She was in the best shape of her life, but still, she felt completely exhausted. The last few days had drained her more than any competition ever could.
Within minutes, she was in Room 312. It was actually much nicer than she’d expected, with a big window overlooking the Village, a thick green carpet on the floor, and a few other plain but solid wood furnishings. The twin bed was draped with a red plaid quilt that made the room feel almost homelike. Which was good, because this was home, at least for a while.
Kicking off the boots, Addisyn flopped back on the bed and stared at an Africa-shaped stain on the ceiling. In the fire of her rashness, she’d had no reservations, no qualms. She’d thrown her things—most of them—into the bags she now carried. She’d left a perfunctory note for Brian on the back of the couch—of course, he wouldn’t be home for another day or two. Her sense of betrayal and search for escape had swept her along in an unconquerable tide. She’d bristled with righteous anger until it was too late to change her mind.
Now she was starting to collapse emotionally. She could feel it. The exhaustion dragged at her body and spirit as doubts hissed at her. Was it really wise to just leave like that? Throw herself into a strange environment?
Addisyn closed her eyes, trapping the tears inside. Suddenly every atom of her being cried out for Brian. She wanted his arms around her, wanted his breath on her cheek, wanted to hear him whisper to her that she was his world, that what he’d done had been for love, not money. She wanted to wake up in his arms in their cozy townhouse and laugh with him about her crazy bad dream.
You’re sweet, you’re cute, but you’re not good enough.Suddenly the words blazed hot and brilliant in Addisyn’s mind. She clenched her jaw. No, this was not a bad dream. And no, she would not pine over Brian. The man she’d known had been a fake, a façade. The true Brian Felding was ruthless, selfish. Even—her mind flew to the vise of his hands on her shoulders—violent.
Brian aside, there were many other valid reasons to leave New York City. She’d seen how the media treated other “failed” athletes. The sight wasn’t pretty. She wasn’t going to stick around and let the tabloids, like rabid jackals, shred her into tiny bits. She’d seen a taste of that already...that video... “Dreams Over for Addisyn Miles.” The words were still as sour as a sip of vinegar.
Come on, Addisyn.This was no way to start a new beginning! Addisyn sat up on the bed, crossing her legs and staring out the window. Even in the indigo February night, Whistler Mountain was still visible, the snow on its knobby slopes making it look almost otherworldly under a few perfect stars. Yes, there was no doubt Whistler was a special place—a very special place. She’d made the right choice.
Now if only her heart would agree.
Addisyn tried to lift the leadenness from her soul by humming a few bars of “Wake Me Up.” No use. She lay back down and drew her knees to her chest—a position she’d found comforting ever since she was a small child, when she’d curl up like this to shelter her soul while her dad raged downstairs. She tried to focus on the mountain, tried to buoy her spirits. For the first time—maybe more so than when she’d held the world in her hands—there truly was nothing holding her back. She was free—free to do whatever she liked, to take as much time as possible figuring things out, to be gentle and kind to herself. But somehow the prospect was no longer invigorating—it now sounded frightening, lonely, even exhausting. And all that pounded in her mind was one phrase, over and over:“Dreams over for Addisyn Miles...Dreams over for Addisyn Miles...Dreams over for Addisyn Miles...”
