Christmas With My Ex (Stuck For the Holidays)

3. Rives

THREE

Rives

Bells will be ringing / The glad, glad news / Oh, what a Christmas / To have the blues.

Telluride Mountain Clinic

711 Colorado Avenue

1:01 pm

The lights in the infirmary are too bright, sterile, like every hospital I’ve ever been in. I’m lying on an exam table, my leg propped up, an ice pack resting on my knee and ankle.

My entire leg still throbs, but the initial shock of the fall has faded. Now it’s just the dull ache and the uncomfortable reality that I’m not getting back on the mountain anytime soon.

A nurse walks in, her name tag reading "MEGAN" in neat block letters. She’s got a kind face and an easy manner as she looks at me. “How’re you holding up?”

I give her a weak smile. “I’ve been better.” I’m irritated but trying not to take it out on her.

She laughs, as if that is some kind of novel comment. She starts to flip through the chart at the end of the bed. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Backcountry accidents can get pretty serious out here.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, wincing a little as I shift. “I was stupid for going out alone.”

“Eh, it happens. We’ll get you patched up, Rives.”

She pronounces my name like it rhymes with “lives." I get that a lot and it always surprises me when people say it wrong.

She puts the chart down and glances at me, a little curiosity in her eyes. “By the way, your name—Am I saying that right?” She must have read my mind because I don't even bother correcting people anymore.

I nod, used to the confusion. “No, but that's okay. I get it a lot. It’s like ‘leaves’ on a tree, but with an ‘r’ instead of an ‘l.’ Rives. Rhymes with leaves.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, even more unusual than I thought. Is it a family name?”

“It was my mom’s maiden name,” I tell her, the familiar pang hitting me when I mention my mom.

“That’s pretty cool,” Megan says, making a note on her chart. “You don’t hear names like that very often.”

I smile, but my mind is back on my leg. “So… what’s the damage?”

She sets the chart aside and gently lifts the ice pack off my knee, where we have at least identified the source of most of the pain. "Let's see what Dr. Harper says."

A few minutes after Megan finishes wrapping my knee, a handsome silver fox walks in. He has calm, focused eyes. He pulls up a stool next to me, his expression all business as he starts his evaluation.

“Well, Miss Delaney, based on your fall and the symptoms you’re describing, I suspect you’ve got a partial tear of your MCL—the medial collateral ligament in your knee,” he says, carefully examining my leg, pressing along the inside of my knee where the pain is sharpest. “It’s likely why your leg gave out when you tried to stand.”

I frown. “Why a partial tear? How do you know its not a full tear? Not that I'm hoping for that, I just want to go ahead and get all of the bad news at once.”

He nods, continuing to test the range of motion in my knee, watching my reactions closely. “You’re still able to move your knee, and while there’s pain, it’s not consistent with a full tear. You didn’t experience a complete ‘pop’ or collapse when I tested for instability. That’s usually a sign of a partial tear, but we can’t be certain without imaging. We will need an MRI to confirm whether it’s partial or full to be sure.”

I exhale slowly, processing the information. “And either way… no skiing, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes. You’re done skiing for this trip,” Dr. Harper says gently, pulling the compression wrap tighter around my knee. “Even with a partial tear, the ligament is weakened, and skiing could make it worse—potentially turning a partial tear into a full one."

"Ugh."

"Remember how you said that when you stood up, your leg gave out?"

"Yes," I say, nervous where he is going with this.

"Well, that is because of the trauma. You'll be able to stand again after a little rest, but if you try to ski or do anything even remotely gregarious on your feet, your leg will give out again like that. You’ll need rest, ice, and physical therapy to recover. No high-impact activities for a while.”

I bite back a groan, feeling the weight of those words. “So, what now? I’m supposed to be here until the 27th. How am I supposed to get around town?”

Dr. Harper gives me a sympathetic smile. “We’ll set you up with crutches, and you should be able to get around town that way. Most of Telluride is walkable, just be careful not to slip on any ice. If you need to go longer distances, there’s a shuttle service that can help. But you’ll need to keep your leg elevated when you're not moving and take it easy for the next few days. No unnecessary strain on that knee, I can't stress that enough.”

I nod, though it feels like all the excitement of this trip is draining out of me with every word that comes out of his perfect mouth. “So, crutches and sitting around for the rest of my vacation while the perfect peaks covered in pure powder taunt me. Great.”

Megan, who’s been listening nearby, steps forward with a reassuring smile. “It’s not the end of the world, Rives. A few days of rest and you’ll be back on your feet. Plus, there’s still plenty to enjoy in town even without skiing. Telluride is not only known for it's skiing, you know.”

“I guess so,” I mutter, trying to keep my frustration at bay. “Thanks, Doc.”

Dr. Harper stands up, making a final note on my chart. “I’ll write you a prescription for anti-inflammatories to help with the swelling. And if the pain worsens or you have any other concerns, come back in for a follow-up. We’ll also get that MRI scheduled to confirm the extent of the injury. If it shows a full tear we may have to amend things slightly, but for the most part, either way, you'll need to take it easy for the foreseeable future.”

I nod again, feeling the weight of disappointment settle in as he heads out. No skiing, no backcountry adventures, just me, a pair of crutches, and a whole lot of downtime in a snowy town until Friday.

Megan walks back into the exam room and hands me a set of hand crutches. I hate her for being the one to give them to me. Such a shame, she was such a nice girl.

“Here you go, ‘Rives, which rhymes with leaves,’” she says with a smile as if we are just exchanging numbers for a girl’s night. I know this isn’t the Christmas you might have hoped for, but if Dr. Harper is right, and he sees a lot of ligament tears, so I think he probably is, it could be worse. If you take care of yourself you’ll be back in action before you know it.”

“Yeah, but I won’t be in my favorite ski town. But there’s always next year, right?”

1:49 pm

I stare out the frosted window as the Galloping Goose bus bumps along the quiet, snow-lined streets of Telluride. The town looks like something straight out of a Christmas postcard—twinkling lights hanging from every storefront, snow piled high on rooftops, and the occasional Christmas tree shining through windows. It’s the kind of place people dream about spending the holidays, and right now it feels like the absolutely worst place I could be.

The Goose, as the locals call it, is a free shuttle that loops through town every twenty minutes, ferrying people between the mountain and the quaint streets below.

It feels like such a small-town thing, so perfectly suited to this snowy wonderland. Normally, I’d be excited to hop on and take in the sights, jump on and off as I check out something new, but today… I can’t shake this dark cloud hanging over me.

Everything seems shitty.

Inside the bus, it’s warm, and I’m the only passenger. My thoughts churn as I look out at the falling snow, watching as it coats the town in a soft, white blanket. It's definitely coming down now as opposed to when I started the day at the top of the mountain. That seems like a million years ago at this point.

I feel so far from the rest of the world, wrapped in this bubble of quiet isolation. But instead of peace, all I feel is the weight of everything pressing down on me.

The injury. Losing Mom. Being here alone, far from anyone who knows me, dealing with this messed-up knee that in the best-case scenario, I have a partial ligament tear, and the worst-case scenario, could mean surgery.

The bus driver’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Long day?”

I glance up at her in the rearview mirror, surprised by the concern in her tone. Her friendly eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I consider brushing it off, but something in me wants to be honest. “Yeah,” I murmur. “You could say that.”

She gives a small nod, steering the bus through the snowy streets with a practiced ease. “Well, if you need a pick-me-up, I know a good spot. You heard of the Last Dollar Saloon?”

I nod vaguely. I’ve heard of it, but I haven’t been. I was supposed to be spending my days on the slopes, not sitting in dark bars.

“It’s a good place to unwind,” the driver continues, her voice cheerful. “Locals love it. Warm atmosphere, lots of good, local beer. Could be just what the doctor ordered.”

I wish that were what the doctor ordered.

I let out a sigh, the kind of sigh that feels like it’s carrying the weight of the world with it. “Yeah, maybe that’s exactly what I need.” What else do I have to do. The last text I got from Bethany said she’d be lucky to make it to Grand Junction tomorrow afternoon. So I've got at least another twenty-four hours all by my lonesome.

The driver gives me a knowing smile and pulls the bus up to the curb just outside the saloon. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

I thank her as I gather my crutches and step down gingerly into the cold air. The snow swirls around me as I make my way toward the saloon, the warmth of the place calling to me from behind the frosted windows.

Inside, it’s lively, with the sounds of conversation and laughter filtering through the door as I push it open.

The Last Dollar is packed but cozy, the kind of bar where the walls are lined with old photos and the atmosphere feels warm and inviting despite the cold outside.

I make my way to the bar, feeling a few curious stares as I hobble to a stool and carefully settle myself onto it. I don't think this day could suck any worse. So much for trying to put the happiness back in Christmas.

“Rough day?” the bartender asks, her smile friendly as she sets a menu in front of me. There must be a hundred beers on tap on here. Suddenly, I'm more overwhelmed than I was when I walked in.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to smile back but not quite managing it. “You could say that.”

I glance back down at the menu as my eyes glaze over, not really in the mood to think too hard about it. “What do you recommend?”

She grins, clearly ready for the question. “If you’re looking for something local, I’d go with the Telluride Brewing Co. Face Down Brown Ale. It’s got a nice balance. It's rich and smooth with a bit of caramel and chocolate in there. Perfect for warming up after a cold day.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Face Down Brown?”

She laughs, nodding. “Don’t let the name fool you. It’s a favorite around here. Definitely hits the spot.”

Face down. That's about right. She must be able to read me like a book.

"Done. Sounds perfect. Thanks."

“Rives?”

I turn slowly, and there he is. Nicholas Snowden, standing a few feet away, his face a mixture of surprise and… something else. I don’t know what to call it, but seeing him here, of all places, feels like some kind of cosmic joke.

“Nicholas,” I breathe, my mind scrambling to process the coincidence.

Of all the places, of all the days.