The next morning Matty woke up to two and a half inches of snow and patches of ice on the driveway. He considered the salt George had shown him, thought about the time it would take to lay it out, and though he knew it would be the smart thing to do, he felt resistant. He didn’t want to waste his day or irritate his injury. The falls from the night before had required some ice and ibuprofen as it was.
Matty decided to head directly to the pond after caring for the horses, leaving the Whitefish rink, the problem of the driveway, and the promises he’d made to George for another day. It was such a beautiful morning with the sun sparkling on the fresh snow that he didn’t even feel much regret.
As he approached the pond, he scratched at his unshaven face and surveyed the area. It was breathtaking. He put in his earbuds and pressed play on his iPod, making sure that it was clipped on securely before setting out on the ice. He wasn’t tentative this time. No, he was fast and ready to work his body in ways that he hadn’t in a while.
His smile stretched his cheeks as he landed the first jump. An easy one, sure, but it felt good all the same. He flew through some footwork and then laughed when the music for an exhibition piece he’d done a few years ago began on shuffle play. He fell into the program, surprised at how much he remembered. At the end of the song, he closed his eyes and did some improvisations, opening himself up to the music, and moving with it as it spoke to him. A long skid on his knees across the ice left him laughing and happy.
When he stood up and brushed off his pants, he grabbed his chest and screamed.
Rob stood by the edge of the pond with one hand on a blond boy’s shoulder and the other raised in a gesture of apology.
Matty tore out his earbuds and bent over, hands on his knees. “Holy shit, you scared the crap out of me!”
“Sorry!” Rob said, his face twisting with guilt. “We called out, but I guess you didn’t hear us.”
“Yeah,” Matty said, gesturing at his iPod. “Music.”
“Sorry,” Rob said again. “We’ll, uh, just go.”
“But Dad,” the kid started, turning blue, pleading eyes up at his father. Rob just shook his head and indicated that they should move along. The kid looked disappointed, and Matty saw the skates hanging over his shoulders.
“Wait,” Matty called out. “Did you want to skate?”
The boy tugged on his father’s hand, and Rob turned back around, He shrugged. “Yeah. George lets Ben skate. So long as I won’t sue if he busts his head open.”
Matty laughed. “I got the same warning.” He waved Ben over. “Go ahead. I’m finished here.”
“We don’t want to interrupt,” Rob said.
“I should do weights now anyway. Or Bowflex, rather. Gotta love me some Bowflex,” Matty said.
Rob smiled, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Margaret claims it makes her ass look like a forty-year-old’s.”
They both laughed as Ben jumped up and down impatiently.
Matty said, “So, go on. Skate!”
Ben broke free from his father with a grin on his face. “Awesome! Thank you!”
Matty wiped his forehead with his arm and watched the kid pull on his very beat up, very second-hand skates. Rob took off one of his gloves, shook it out, and put it back on. Matty watched, his eyes lingering a little on Rob’s large, well-shaped fingers. Then he smiled and met Rob’s soft, green eyes. “I didn’t mean to scream like that. It wasn’t very ladylike of me.”
Rob’s smile quivered like he was about to laugh, but he just nodded and shoved his gloved hands in the pockets of his coat. “Sorry for surprising you. We didn’t expect to find you here.”
Matty pushed his sweaty, cold hair away from his face, and shrugged. “I don’t imagine you would.” He watched Ben launch himself out onto the rough ice and straight into a single Axel. “Not with a perfectly good rink in town…” Matty trailed off.
Ben fell but stood up again. He pushed around the pond forcefully, determination on his face and in his movements.
“He’s pretty good at this,” Matty said, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Ben try another jump.
“Well, thanks,” Rob said.
Matty glanced back at Rob and noticed that his smile was a little crooked, but in a charming kind of way.
Rob went on. “When he’s with his mom he goes to the rink a lot, but I can’t afford to take him in to town all the time. By the way, you’re not bad at it yourself.”
Matty burst out laughing. “Thanks.”
Rob shrugged. “You’re welcome.”
Matty waited a moment to see if Rob was joking. “I’m a figure skater. Two time U.S. national champion, actually. I competed at the last Olympics.”
“Wow. Congratulations. That’s impressive. What brings you here? Are you through with skating? I’d have thought you’d train year round?”
“Unfortunately, an injury kept me out of the current season. And last season as well.”
Matty didn’t want to mention the skating politics, or his poor performances, or the money problems, since that all seemed crass. Not that he had a problem with being crass, but right now, in front of Rob Lovely, didn’t feel like the right time to indulge.
Rob crinkled his brow in polite sympathy. “Sorry to hear about that. You’re okay now?”
“I’m good, actually, and I’m working toward being amazing again. Hopefully I’ll be able to start serious training in April for next season.”
“What did you hurt? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
Matty put his hand on his lower back, but before he could answer Rob’s green eyes were drawn to something just over Matty’s shoulder.
He frowned, shouting, “Hey! Be careful, son. If you bust your head, your mom will kill me!”
“And Cowboy George will panic that you’ll sue.” Matty looked over his shoulder to see Ben flinging himself into another attempt at an Axel, and slamming down hard. “Pull your stomach in tighter, and keep your head up,” Matty said, skating over to pull the kid from the ice. “Are you okay?”
Ben shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve fallen harder than that.”
“We should have a contest sometime.” Matty smiled. “Who can fall the hardest and keep on going.” Rob made a noise that sounded like discouragement and Matty glanced up at him. “You have to fall to skate.”
Rob looked uncomfortable, and it occurred to Matty that maybe Rob didn’t really want his son to skate. It probably didn’t fit in with the manly ideals that a rancher held for his kid.
“My dad told me something similar about riding bulls.”
Matty blinked at Rob. “You ride bulls?”
Ben’s boyish laugh bounced off the quiet hills as he skated in circles. “Hell no. He hated his dad.”
“Hate is a strong word, Ben,” Rob said.
Matty glanced up at Rob, surprised that the “hell” was left unaddressed. “So, you don’t hate your dad or bulls,” Matty said.
“Bulls are all right,” Rob replied. “So long as they mount my cows, earn their keep, and keep their horns the hell away from my ass.”
Laughing, Matty sat down on the ground by the pond to take off his skates. He watched Ben. He was a strong skater, though unrefined and rough. “How long has he been taking lessons?” Matty asked.
“He doesn’t really,” Rob said. “He just likes to skate.”
Matty watched the kid leap and land before losing it and crashing down on his side. He seemed fearless. Matty put his chin in his hand and watched him get up to try again. “Well, he’s got some talent and, more importantly—and trust me on this one—a lot of drive.”
“You think?”
“Definitely.” Matty stood up and kicked his boots in the snow. “How long has he liked to skate?”
Rob shrugged. “A couple of years? I don’t know for sure. He’s always enjoyed taking a turn around the pond, but these tries at jumps and things are kind of new.”
“Would he like lessons?” Matty asked.
“I’m not sure. He lives most of the time with his mom. I only get him on the weekends, and a few weeks here and there when she goes away on business trips.”
“Well, he’s welcome to talk to me about skating any time.”
“Thanks. I’ll let him know.” Rob glanced down at his watch. “Ben, ten more minutes. I’ve got to get back to Lila before too long. She doesn’t like to wait for dinner.”
“Yeah, Dad. Okay.”
“Well, good to see you.” Matty started to walk away backwards, watching Ben skate. “Oh, and thanks for the firewood,” he called. “I made my first fire last night and I didn’t even set myself aflame! It was fantastic!”
“If you need more, there’s plenty where that came from.”
“Sure, I’ll take your wood anytime!” Matty fought the smile that threatened to engulf his face, and he coughed, using it for a cover of his laugh.
But Rob laughed outright. “Consider me at your service. Though, technically, it wasn’t my wood. So maybe it’s more accurate to say that you’ll take George’s wood anytime.”
Matty cracked up. “No, definitely not. I’m sure it’s aged and gnarled.”
Rob smiled, and his teeth were bright, reflecting the sun and snow, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He glanced toward Ben. “I’m sure.”
Matty felt his cheeks warm, and he laughed again, still walking backwards.
Ben yelled, “See ya!”
“Bye!” Matty bounced a little as he headed back to the house thinking that back in the day Denise would have killed to get her hands on that kid.
***
The next morning Matty woke to what looked like four inches of snow, but after a two-hour Bowflex and treadmill session, he looked out to find the driveway was completely clear. Closer inspection when he trekked down to the mailbox showed that it had been plowed and thoroughly salted. The snow was piled by the side of the drive and the main road was entirely clear. Now that he felt okay about getting the car off the property, he could go into town, take care of the snow tire situation, and head over to the Stumptown Ice Den.
Matty didn’t see any indication of who he should thank for his miraculously salted driveway, but he had a pretty good idea who was responsible. Mr. Handsome Neighborly Guy with a son named Ben and a girlfriend named Lila, and a warm, friendly demeanor. Really, Matty thought he should find that all so quaint to the point of having crossed over into disgusting, but instead he just thought Rob was super hot and super charming in a hunky kind of way.
Maple Sugar and Daisy were irked when Matty took less time with them, but Matty spoke to them in Russian, explaining that he’d be back in the evening to load them into their comfy stalls. As it was, he had a place to be, and some ice to kill…or die on. Depending on how he looked at it.
The Whitefish Stumptown Ice Den wasn’t too awful…relatively. Matty had seen worse rinks in his years, and he was glad the ice was at least regulation size. He’d have plenty of room to move. It was the middle of a weekday, and he was pleased to find the place mostly empty.
Matty got a lot of attention from the owner, so he smiled a lot, joked, and shook hands all around. Everyone refrained from mentioning his actual performance at the Olympics, instead congratulated him on making it onto the team to begin with. A few older ladies who were there for seniors skating asked him about his travels, and he was happy to talk with them about the amazing places he’d been.
Questions about his rivalry with the uptight, annoying, “give it your all and all will be yours” current Olympic gold medalist, Alex Hampton, were to be expected. He played the answers wonderfully, he thought. In fact, he kind of wished there had been a camera there to capture his performance.
He struck just the right notes of real resentment and humorous faux-support, followed by a flash of genuine good-guy sweetness, and some kind words that seemed like he was opting to take the high road rather than reveal anything truly nasty. Matty loved when he played those moments like the answer was an art-form, a word sculpture built with grace, created to be strong with subtle and unsubtle meaning. Making digs at his rivals didn’t have to be tacky—it could be yet another way to make life beautiful.
As Matty skated, he thought about Alex Hampton and Vance Jones, and the upcoming batch of rivals he’d have to overcome. A few months ago, those thoughts wore him out and tore him down. He’d found himself deflating on the ice, slowing and wincing, going home early to complain to his mother that his back hurt, when really, it was his pride that ached the most.
Now, stuck on a ranch in Montana for six months, his options for how to spend his time were limited. He could harass Elliot by phone, but that grew boring once he’d told Elliot everything there was to tell about the horrors of his current position, and grew hurtful when Elliot told him of the fabulous fun he was having with his new roommates in Greenwich Village.
So, Matty could work on his Russian, talk to the horses, and feel miserably sorry for himself. Or he could work out obsessively and plan his comeback.
The scenarios he entertained included standing on the top of the podium while the announcers were forced to eat their previously nasty predictions and cruel innuendos. In his more immature moments, he indulged in fantasies of Alex Hampton crying miserably, streaky tears marring his ugly face, as Matty accepted untold gold medals. Okay, so it was unlikely to happen, but it was Matty’s imagination and he could make Alex cry in it if he wanted.
In his most immature fantasies, Cody ran onto the ice, shoving Vance aside to grab Matty’s free hand—the one not clutching giant masses of roses fans had tossed down—and begged Matty to come back to him. Of course, Matty declined because he had so many better options now that he’d won every gold he could ever win.
Matty sighed. Really, he still thought it wouldn’t have hurt so badly if he’d been the one to end it. But it was horrible to feel like he hadn’t been worthy of Cody’s affection. What did that even say about him if he couldn’t even keep the heart of someone so needy?
But not loyal—Cody was anything but loyal, as it turned out. And loyalty was everything to Matty when it came to matters of the heart. Maybe Vance wouldn’t find Cody so fickle, and maybe he would. Vance could just wait and see if Matty extended any empathy when Cody once again moved on to bigger and better things.
He snapped around the ice with clean, quick strokes, and sure jumps, more realistic fantasies of winning feeding his workout—except for when he would fall and the fantasy crashed down with him. But the falls only made him angrier and more determined. Each time he’d dig deep, stand up, and start again.
After conquering Alex and Vance on the ice several times over in his mind, Matty was ready to tackle the small grocery store near the ranch again. He walked in with his sunglasses on, his iPod set to his favorite playlist, and his head held in its most regal pose.
Matty took his time in the fruit and vegetable section. He was contemplating the ripeness of several mangos from Argentina when someone interrupted Christina’s “Dirrty” by tugging on his arm.
“Hey,” Rob Lovely said, giving him a sky-wide smile.
Matty pulled the buds from his ears and took hold of Rob’s outstretched, large, well-shaped hand. He tried to ignore the flare of desire that shot through him. “Oh, hi.”
“I, uh, wanted to say hello, and thank you again for letting Ben skate yesterday.”
Matty pushed his sunglasses up onto his head. “Of course. It wasn’t a problem. George’s pond es su pond and all that. Thank you for plowing my drive.”
Rob caught the eye of someone to Matty’s left. Rob jerked his chin up in greeting. “Hi, Mrs. Kellerman.”
Matty glanced over and gave a tight-lipped smile to the old biddy who was blatantly staring at him as if he was an escaped circus freak. She blinked in return, but didn’t look away. Matty sighed and turned back to Rob. “It was really incredibly nice.”
“No problem.” Rob smiled toward a man who was hovering near the lettuce and obviously listening to their conversation.
“I suppose that a penchant for gossip is almost like opinions and assholes,” Matty said. “Everyone in a small town has one.”
Rob laughed softly.
“Christ, am I really that interesting, though?” His voice was defiant and he glared at the old man who grabbed a head of lettuce and had the decency to look embarrassed before hustling away.
Rob cleared his throat and waved a dismissal toward the onlookers. “Don’t let them bother you. Like you said, it’s a small town. Curiosity is in the well water.”
Matty shrugged. “Not bothered. It would take a lot more than this to bother me. Anyway, yeah, thanks for—”
“Forget it. But I guess I had a few questions. About skating. For Ben. If you don’t mind? I mean, I know that the middle of the grocery store is…”
Matty thought Rob seemed kind of nervous. “No, it’s fine. Really. Go right ahead.” Matty half-turned his attention to the mangoes again. “I said you could ask any time, and I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Rob sighed, rolled his eyes a little, and nodded at yet another older woman who was also watching them closely. “Mrs. Guthries,” he said in greeting. “Mrs. Guthries, would you like an introduction?”
Mrs. Guthries waved. “Oh no, dear. It seems you have something to discuss. I can meet the boy another day.” She smiled and Matty didn’t know what to make of her expression. She looked as though Matty was edible. It was unnerving. “Have you warned him about the snow, Rob? I hear there is a lot more coming, quite early this year.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him.” He looked at Matty again and said in a bit of a sarcastic tone, “There’s an early snow forecast.”
“Thanks.”
His expression changed to genuine concern, though, when he added, “By the way, you need to put snow tires on the car. Did you already take care of that?”
Matty frowned and nodded. He didn’t need anyone babysitting him, much less his handsome neighbor.
“And don’t worry about the driveway. I’ll have the hands keep it plowed when they do mine.”
“I can handle it,” Matty said.
“I know you can, but why should you? I’m happy to have them do it. It’s not a problem.”
Mrs. Guthries’ expression was nearly giddy. Her wrinkles creased deeply with her wide smile.
Rob cleared his throat. “Sure you don’t want that introduction, Mrs. Guthries?”
She shook her head, grabbed her onions and moved on, darting mischievous glances back.
“What was that about?”
“She was my first grade teacher.”
“I hope she’s retired now. She looks a million years old, and seems to have lost all sense of decorum,” Matty said, watching as she teetered her way down the aisle. “But, back to Ben.”
“Right, well, he’s pretty interested in it, I guess. Skating. I was wondering, is it really worth it? Isn’t it kind of late to get started at his age? Everything I’ve ever heard during the Olympics is that everyone starts when they’re three or something. I know he’s small for his age, so you might think he’s younger, but Ben’s twelve.”
“Twelve is a fairly advanced age to start serious figure skating, true. But that’s only a year older than me when I began,” Matty said. He remembered the expression of shock and awe on Denise’s face the first time he skated for her. “So, obviously, it can be done. The real question is how badly he wants to do it, and if he’s prepared to sacrifice for it.”
“He’s twelve,” Rob repeated. “How can he even know that?”
Matty shrugged. “Some five year olds know it. If you’re passionate about something, age doesn’t make much of a difference.”
Rob lifted his chin toward Mrs. Guthries, who’d circled back around and was now pretending to look at tomatoes across the aisle from them. Matty sighed when the man who had been listening earlier came back by to study the peaches.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Matty said tightly, gaining their attention. “I swear on my darling mother’s soul that it isn’t catching. Okay? Your friend here is safe from me. So you can go back to your own business now.”
Mrs. Guthries and the older man both stared at him open-mouthed, but before they could say anything, Rob coughed softly and flicked his head. The both looked ashamed and then convened together over the apples, furtively whispering to each other.
Rob sighed. “I’m sorry. They can’t help it. You’re new—”
“And not exactly the picture of Montana ruggedness they’re accustomed to seeing at the store. I understand.”
“Sorry,” Rob repeated, looking embarrassed.
“Forget about it. Anyway, the only way to know with Ben is to give it a try. If he isn’t interested, you’ll know pretty quickly. And if he is, then you’ll know that too. Talent is a given, but whether or not he can learn everything in time to be a competitor, I don’t know. And maybe he wouldn’t want that. Not everyone has to go to the Olympics to be satisfied with their accomplishments in the sport.”
Rob nodded, his brows crinkling thoughtfully. He touched Matty’s arm. “Thank you for talking to me about this. It’s a lot to consider. I don’t want him to get hurt. Emotionally or physically.”
“He’s a good boy,” Mrs. Guthries piped up.
Rob’s eyes rolled in exasperation. “Mrs. Guthries, please, I don’t mean to be rude, but this is a private conversation.”
Mrs. Guthries looked unrepentant but moved on, dragging the gentleman with her, and waving her small, wrinkled hand at Matty as she walked away.
Matty cleared his throat. “Well, if you have other questions just call or—”
“Sure, of course,” Rob said, distracted and pushing his shopping cart away. “Thanks. I should go. Good to see you.”
“You too.” Matty watched as Rob headed toward the checkout lane. He lowered his sunglasses.
After finally choosing a mango, Matty put the earbuds back in, and bobbed his head as he carefully picked through the store’s cheese selection. After swinging through the baking aisle, he headed toward the eggs, dairy, and meat sections. At the cash register he removed his headphones and stuffed the iPod in his bag.
“Oh my God. You’re Matty Marcus,” the checkout girl said, a new one from the last time he’d been in. The girl was probably twenty years old max, and smiled like sunshine had been poured into her by God himself. “I love you. I’ve been a fan since forever.”
Matty grinned and pushed his sunglasses up on his head again. He put his hand out. “Thank you so much! That is so nice. You just made my day!”
She shook his hand and snapped her gum, grinning and laughing. “Man, I can’t believe you’re here at my store.”
“I can’t believe it either,” Matty said, pulling his wallet out of his bag as she started scanning items.
“This is a lot of stuff. Are you staying around here?”
Matty smiled enigmatically. “I’m doing some training in the area, preparing to compete next season.”
“Really? That’s awesome! I’m so excited! I was afraid after you lost your U.S. title and bombed at the Olympics, you were done with skating. How’s your back?”
Matty smiled prettily as the wave of humiliation splashed over him. His ninth place finish was an albatross around his neck. “It’s much better now. As long as I have the fire and the drive to compete, then I’m going to keep fighting for it. I love to skate.”
One of the worst things about competing in the public arena was that his failures were public as well. It made Matty feel terribly vulnerable to have some of his most painful and embarrassing memories shared by everyone.
He also hated that in a moment of loss he was an open book. The photos of his expressions immediately following a disappointing performance showed everything—his hurt, his embarrassment, his failure. He hated that more than anything. He wished he could hide his emotions from everyone, and keep them bottled up inside until he could be alone. Like Alex “no nonsense, all practice, no fun” Hampton.
“I can’t wait to tell my mom I met you. She used to skate when she was a teenager, and we follow the sport together.” She finished scanning the final item. “That’s ninety-three-ten. Paper or plastic?”
Matty pulled out a few small, collapsible bags. “I brought my own.” He debited the groceries with his card and looked at her name tag as she bagged. “Thank you, Rebecca. It was nice to meet you.”
“No, thank you. How long are you staying? Do you think you’ll be back in the store?”
“I’ll be here about six months, and I’ll be back, yes.” Matty picked up the bags and paused before walking away. “I wish the store carried more organic items. Do you know where I can find that sort of thing?”
“There’s a farmer’s market but it ends in September, so you’re a little late for that. Let me think. There’s Third Street Market, and some specialty stores in Kalispell and Missoula.”
“Fantastic. Thanks for everything, Rebecca.” He waved to the glowing girl. “Tell your mom Matty Marcus said hi.”
He left the store grinning. In the end, it had been a good day—even if he did have a ton of people staring at him in the fruit aisle, and even if he wasn’t with Elliot tripping through Greenwich Village, and even if he wasn’t anywhere close to where he wanted to be on the ice. He was skating again, and he had a handsome, neighborly man who shoveled the driveway for him. Not to mention he had a little fangirl at the grocery store.
It could be worse. It could be so much worse.