Silver Heart (4 page)

“There was no chemistry between us outside of the bedroom,” I explained. “The guy couldn’t hold a conversation if his life depended on it.”

Maddie groaned and loomed over me with her eyebrows drawn in so tightly her entire forehead rippled with worry lines. “There’s your problem. Looking for conversation.”

“Shut up. You
love
talking to my brother.” I jabbed her with my heel. “And you know better than anyone else that not every hookup is meant to be.”

My best friend prided herself on being wild and free, but she was extremely careful with both her heart and her body. She had five basic rules that ensured every single one of her hookups was always regret-free. She’d drilled them into my head every opportunity she had. I could practically recite them in my sleep: always use protection; don’t be anybody’s booty call unless he’s yours too; attached guys are off-limits; never sleep with someone if you’re unable to walk to his bedroom without stumbling; you don’t have to be in love with someone to have sex, but you have to be in a position where you won’t regret the experience even if you wake up the next morning and he’s no longer next to you.

The last one was the most important rule of them all. It was also the reason I didn’t get laid very often. Not because I craved commitment from a one-night-stand, but because in order to be intimate and not regret it, I had to feel close and connected to someone. And I just couldn’t find that level of closeness. With anyone.

The reason my sort-of-relationship with Preston worked was because we could pretend to be together without actually being in love. Or, for that matter, in lust. It was a good cover and it enabled me to put off searching for real love for as long as humanly possible. Because such a mythical thing didn’t exist. I’d only genuinely loved one guy in my entire life, and we hadn’t even been in a relationship.

And he was long gone…

Maddie shook my shoulders as if she’d read the S.O.S. signals sent out by my mind. “Listen up, Dee. Preston or no Preston, I’m going to make sure that your dry spell ends tonight,” she said. “We’ll scour all of Whistler to find the perfect guy who can not only perform well in the sack, but will also be able to fulfill your need for conversation.”

Adam chose this particularly awkward moment to burst into the room. “I can always count on Maddie Evans to make my ears bleed with her naughty eloquence,” he grumbled. “Congratulations on inventing a new disease—oversharitis.”

“You love it,” she teased. “If you’re anything like your sister, you’re in need of a dirty talking to.”

“Really, Mads?” I covered my face with a pillow.

“How about we go out and have a few drinks instead?” Adam suggested. “I need to be inebriated if I’m going to be forced to listen to any more girl talk.”

“I’m in!” Maddie grinned, pulling me up off the bed. She shot me her best attempt at an apologetic smile as she whispered, “I can’t pass up the opportunity to get your brother drunk.” Then she shifted her attention to Adam and winked. “I’ll protect you from all forms of girl talk if you promise to dance with me.”

A small scowl began to form across my brother’s lips, but Maddie pushed us both through the door before he could verbally protest. “We’re gonna have the best night ever, baby!”

The Ice Palace wasn’t one of those fancy clubs made of actual ice, but its interior was cold enough to warrant the name. Both the air-conditioning and the music blared at full-force, and I immediately regretted allowing Maddie to talk me into dashing across the snow-covered street without my jacket. Not even the countless bodies jostling around the tightly packed space could bring about any warmth.

I was also starting to regret having brought my camera gear. The bulky Canon body and its lens weighed more than most purses, so lugging them around was no walk in the park. A club was probably one of the worst places for a professional camera. I could already envision worst-case scenarios—a tipsy passer-by spilling a drink on it or the camera accidentally assaulting poor victims with its weight while I danced—but I’d been eager to take it for a spin. Too much time had passed since I’d indulged in my passion. Maddie could campaign for the benefits of sex until she was blue in the face, but inserting a clean memory card into the empty camera slot and having the device spring to life in my hand gave me an entire different type of chills.

Party photography wasn’t my favorite thing in the world, but I liked snapping pictures of people and movement. Every so often, there would be a split second where something magnificent happened and I didn’t want to miss it. A great shot could come from anywhere, and I planned to give my camera a good workout this week before placing it back in the dark to gather dust for another four years while I worked my way through medical school.

The lighting inside the Ice Palace helped bring out some interesting shades and very unique tones in pictures. Electric blue lights were embedded inside the base of the dance floor and within the décor along the walls, giving the entire place a shimmering, icy glow.

We threaded our way through the crowd and reached the bar at the far end of the room. Adam grabbed a beer and I ordered my go-to Vodka Soda combo, not winning any creativity points with Maddie who put the bartender through an ordeal of mixing three shots of some special alcoholic concoction she learned about in Thailand. Most of the ingredients weren’t in stock—not just at the bar, but also in the entire country—so the poor guy had to improvise to the best of his ability.

To my surprise, Maddie’s drink ended up tasting delicious. When she slipped the fruity beverage into Adam’s hand, his jaw tightened and his eyes hardened. However, after downing the shot, he asked for seconds.

“Liquid libido!” she whispered to me as she watched my brother drink.

It was in that moment that I vowed never to put myself in the middle of another torturous Maddie-Adam situation. There were some things a girl shouldn’t have to witness. The explicit details of her horny best friend’s crush on her brother topped that list.

Two drinks in, I was feeling slightly tipsy, which meant it was time to work off the alcohol on the dance floor. Adam was usually a buzz kill in party situations, but Maddie’s magic potion seemed to have melted away his reserve. He didn’t even fight her when she pulled him to join us. Thankfully, Maddie obeyed my request to keep her hands to herself, so the fact that the three of us were dancing together didn’t seem as uncomfortable as I’d initially envisioned it would be.

If anything, it was nice to see my brother relax for a change; I rarely saw him smile. There was always a tension on his face and in his shoulders, especially in party situations. It was like he didn’t want to be there, as if his mind never really accompanied his body to any social event he attended.

Sometimes I couldn’t help but think that our parents had really done a number on us. In our house, mindless fun was a forbidden fruit. My mother saw drinking and dancing as an utter waste of time and talent. Unless I was drinking a glass of vintage red at an art gala or dancing in a ballet, of course. And while there was nothing wrong with wine, art, and ballet—though I’d definitely never performed in one—it just wasn’t me.

Because of my upbringing, I’d never had a fair chance to fully discover who I was or explore who I wanted to be. The first time I snuck out to a concert to see my favorite rock band, I ended up being grounded for six months. My parents wouldn’t even look at my acceptance letter to The Art Institute of Colorado. They didn’t support the validity of a Bachelor’s degree in Photography and had made it clear that the rest of the world wouldn’t either.

Our biggest disagreement—not a fight as “the Silver family didn’t have fights”—came when I suggested taking a year off after graduating Stanford to join Maddie abroad. My parents’ reaction to the news was akin to how I imagined other parents would react if they’d found out their only daughter was a drug addict or a most-wanted serial killer.

I closed my eyes and tried to tune out thoughts of my parents as I swayed to the beat of the music. Mid-song, applause and cheers erupted from the front door, spreading through the small space like wildfire. Before I even had a chance to open my eyes, Maddie’s fist connected with my shoulder, nearly mowing me down.

“
Holyfuckballs!
” she yelled over the music. “Are you guys seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Right now I’m seeing stars, Mads!” I replied, rubbing my throbbing shoulder. “What was that for?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she grabbed Adam and me by our wrists and pulled us off the dance floor.

“Do you guys believe in fate?”

“No.” My answer, I was sure, covered my brother’s very scientific belief system as well.

“Well I think
this
is going to change your mind!” she grabbed my head between her hands and physically twisted it in the direction of the small group assembled at the bar.

And that’s when I saw him.

Even amidst a group of at least ten perfectly sculpted athletes, Sawyer Carter was unmistakable. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was just a tiny bit
more
perfectly sculpted than the rest of the guys. Or maybe it was because he shone more brightly than any of the countless medals attached to his name. World Tours, X-Games—he had it all and everyone’s bet was on snowboarding savant Carter the Carver for Olympic Gold in 2014.

But there was another reason I was able to immediately spot him. Knowing Sawyer was second nature to me. I had studied his face up close for nine long years, watching it change and develop as he turned from a boy into a young man. I had seen myself reflected in those light green eyes, and knew that they shone a unique amber color when the sun hit them at just the right angle.

I was familiar with his effortless stride and the way his long, lean body moved and commanded everyone’s attention the moment he stepped into a room. Even now, as I watched him order a round of drinks for his group of friends, it was clear that he was still incredibly oblivious to the way he turned heads. The female bartender had practically melted into a puddle the moment he flashed his slightly crooked, teasingly memorable smile.

I knew the way he slid the pad of his thumb along his full bottom lip when he was deep in thought, caressing the thin scar etched in its center, and how he tugged at his inky black locks when he was preparing to execute a particularly hard jump. He still wore the same eyebrow piercing he got at seventeen—the day I defied my parents and pierced my ear cartilage. Our matching silver rings had given us both horrible infections for an entire week after the ordeal.

I could trace the tattoo on his neck in my sleep. Many articles about him speculated on the significance behind the tiny dove carrying a lily in its beak, but I was one of the only ones who knew he got it in memory of his younger sister, Lyla.

I loved the scent of his skin, though I could never put it into words. He smelled like fresh snow, cold days on the slopes, warm memories, and something else that was distinctly Sawyer. I knew of his deep love for snowboarding and his hatred for his father. I knew that the slopes were the only place where he could escape him.

I knew it all. I knew him.

He was the one guy I always wanted and could never have. He was the forbidden fruit my parents disapproved of. And he was the second person, aside from my grandfather, that fate had taken away from me.

Now, almost six years since the last time we spoke, I also knew that I didn’t know him.

Not anymore. Not like I used to.

CHAPTER FOUR

“You can’t tell me fate had nothing to do with this!” Maddie yelled over the music, but her voice sounded a million miles away. “That’s Sawyer-
fucking
-Carter standing twenty feet away from us.”

Adam shook his head. “I’ll be damned...”

“Weren’t you two really good friends back in the day?” Maddie asked Adam.

She didn’t know that Sawyer had been my friend too. A secret best friend.

Not when he’d roamed the halls of our high school with a joint behind his ear, or when my mom and I would stop in at the gas station and watch him pump our gas, or even when my brother had announced that he would no longer be taking Sawyer to Aspen with us on our usual winter getaways—but at other times.