Snow Storm

Chapter 4

Harley

Harley and Wes had spent a good part of their childhood in Boulder, Colorado, so when he first caught a glimpse of the East Coast mountains, he was decidedly unimpressed. Later, as he did research for his books, he learned how ancient those mountains were, and his opinion changed.

And there was something to be said about being high up, surrounded by clouds and snow. The Rockies were too tall for a spa like this. Not that Harley was a big fan of staying in hotels or resorts.

But he understood why his brother had picked this place. The Wrought Iron Resort was out of the way of the public eye. It was secluded enough that people likely wouldn’t recognize him after his outburst, and it would give him a chance to regroup without being bombarded by not-so-well-meaning members of the public.

Which was what he needed. Maybe.

Probably.

He wasn’t even sure at this point. He’d never lost it the way he had at the signing. He didn’t even remember what happened after hitting Ethan. It was still a blur. The only reason he knew that he got on the elevator and wandered into the parking garage was because there were readers around with their goddamn camera phones, uploading videos every ten seconds.

Ethan was kind enough not to call the cops, and the agency hadn’t let him go because there was also video evidence of Ethan being wildly unprofessional and borderline abusive with his language. Harley had avoided the online gossip like the plague, but Wes told him that at least seventy percent of people were on his side.

Which was something, he supposed.

There were entire pages on Reddit now dedicated to addressing how he’d been treated. Wes said that people were appalled at how the reader had behaved and what he’d said, and some were even calling for a boycott of the bookstore because the mods had let it all happen.

But that didn’t mean there weren’t other people who disagreed. People who felt like Harley owed the world his private life and all the details in between. People who—maybe rightfully—believed Harley should face harsh consequences for getting violent.

He couldn’t really argue with that. He’d never hit someone before, and he could still feel the echo of pain in his knuckles from when his fist had connected with Ethan’s jaw. Granted, the hit hadn’t been very hard, and he hadn’t left a mark, but the fact remained he hadn’t realized he could be that man.

Yeah. He was probably going to break down again if he wasn’t careful. And right then, he didn’t feel like himself at all.

Wes had looked up the spa and made a reservation right after he saw the video, and Harley was resigned to spend the holidays completely isolated from every one of his normal comforts. It wasn’t ideal. But he wasn’t sure he had a choice if he wanted to save his career and public face.

“I’m not going to tell people you’re in rehab,” Wes said as they sat in the parking lot. “But I’m not going to correct them if that’s what they assume. Everyone who has a public incident always goes to rehab. It might not be the worst lie.”

But it was a lie, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. He wasn’t an addict. He wasn’t an alcoholic. He was just really fucking sad and really fucking tired of not being respected. It wasn’t the first time a reader had gotten inappropriate with him.

It was just the first time it had been that bad and happened to occur when he was that close to his breaking point.

“Look, if you’re pissed I can’t stay,” Wes began when Harley offered nothing but silence, but he stopped when Harley held up a hand.

“I get it.”

“I’m not trying to abandon you.” Wes almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself now. “And it’s not like I’m unsympathetic to what happened. Your agent was way out of line, and frankly, he probably deserved to get punched. But Carla and the kids really want to go to Mom’s, and this is…hard to explain. You know how Mom is. It’ll be difficult enough when she starts asking questions. I’m sure her friends have all seen the video, and…yeah. It’s better if you’re not there. You’ve been through enough.”

Yeah, he had. He also knew his mom would have reveled in his downfall. She always told him that the life he’d chosen was going to lead to disappointment and pain. He couldn’t face her saying I told you so. He wanted no part of that.

But it was fine, really. He hadn’t planned on seeing her anyway. He’d planned on spending the holiday alone, working on his book and hoping that he made a good pitch for why they should take a risk on something that wasn’t fantasy.

So he wasn’t losing much. Except his own comfortable bed, and his little tea cabinet in the kitchen, and the familiarity of everything that belonged to him.

He was an expert at burying his head in the sand though, so he knew he’d get by for however long he needed to stay. Wes had booked him a room for two weeks, which would get him through both Christmas and the New Year. Maybe then, it would have died down. After that, he’d just have to face the people he knew personally having seen what happened.

Like Darren. There was no chance in hell his ex hadn’t seen the video. He would tell all their former mutual friends, and laugh about it with Jacob, and probably talk quietly about how he’d made the right choice in leaving.

And then he’d reach out with hope and prayers and pity—with a side of offering his help in some way.

But would he take accountability for his part in this?

Ha, what a joke. Why would he? He never had before.

Harley slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“What is wrong with you? Are you gonna snap again? Am I going to get some call to drag my happy ass through the snow to pick you up because you freaked out on the staff?” Wes demanded.

Harley’s eyes narrowed, and he dropped his hand to his lap. “You know what? I can get my own things. Have a nice holiday.” He got out without waiting, ignoring the fact that he’d left his coat in the back seat and it was currently dusting snow all over him.

The wind chill was just short of the last circle of Dante’s hell, freezing Satan’s balls off in the pit.

“Don’t do this,” Wes said, slamming his door and hurrying after him. “You’re acting like a child.”

Harley’s head whipped over to stare at him. “I’m not acting like a child. My fiancé fucking dumped me for our couples therapist two weeks before the anniversary of Dad’s death. Then my agent threatened to ruin me if I didn’t show up to a book signing where a reader went unchecked and started harassing me about my sex life, whether or not I’m actually gay, and whether or not I’m an actual author. Then, when I demanded respect and protection, my agent laughed in my face, told me that I was the one acting out of line, and said he should have fucked my ex. How is my current mood not warranted, Wes? Because after going through all that, I’m being dumped in the middle of nowhere to spend Christmas by myself because I fought back and lost in the court of public opinion.”

Wes reared back, then let out a heavy sigh. “You didn’t lose, Harley. I promise. But you’re right. Fuck. Look, let me call Mom and tell her you’re coming to?—”

“No. I don’t want to see her. She’s going to be shitfaced on Frangelico and coffee all week, and she won’t be able to stop talking shit about Dad and blaming me for what a mess my life is. I can’t…I can’t hear that right now, okay? I’m fine being here. Just don’t talk to me like I’m being immature for being on edge.”

For all his faults and cruelty as children, Wes at least understood why Harley was hurting. He held up both hands in surrender. “You know Carla and the girls will be fine with Mom if you want me to stay with you. I feel like I owe you at least that.”

“I’m not going to be the monster who took a dad away from his kids on Christmas. I’m going to sleep, and wallow, and maybe learn how to meditate. I have that massage you booked tomorrow, and the website said there are cows here. Maybe I can go pet one.”

“You hate cows.”

“I don’t hate them. I’m terrified of them. But maybe I’ll overcome one of my fears while I’m here.”

“You’ll end up thrown off, gored in the stomach or something. Stick to the spa treatments and bar food, okay?” Wes chanced a smile, and Harley managed one back. He knew his brother loved him. Life was just…complicated. “And call me if you need me. You might be physically alone, but I will be here for you however you need me.”

Harley wasn’t expecting that, and he felt his shoulders unwind a little. “Thank you. But I’ll be okay. I survived all that, I can deal with all this too.” Then he turned and started toward the entrance, not bothering to go back for his coat as they dragged his cases inside.

He had enough clothes to last a month—thanks to his habit of overpacking. He had his favorite fuzzy socks and swim trunks in case he lost his mind and actually did decide to try the hot pool in the spa room.

He had his laptop in case inspiration struck and his iPhone dock so he could play music. He had movies downloaded and an expense card so he could spoil himself. And goddamn, if there was any time he deserved to spoil himself, this was it.

Wes held the door for him as they approached the building, and Harley took a deep breath as he walked inside. The lobby was very warm, but not the sort of heat that sent his body into a shock after being out in the cold. Warmth slowly flooded his limbs, and he was taken by a very faint, almost comfortable scent of spices. Like warm cider or mulled wine. It was festive, but it wasn’t the smack-you-in-the-face sort of holiday joy.

Normally, hotels perfumed the lobbies to the point it made his eyes water and his head hurt, but this was different. It was quiet. There was a water feature somewhere he couldn’t see, but he could hear the gentle flow over rocks. The floors were polished tile, and the ceiling was high, but not enough that it made it feel vast and unfriendly.

He instantly liked the place.

“May I help you?”

Harley looked up to see a woman leaning on the desk, smiling at him. She was very tall with tawny-brown skin, and she wore a salmon hijab that matched her button-up, the pocket adorned with a name tag he couldn’t read, even with his glasses on.

Her voice sounded a little tense, and he bristled a little, wondering how much the staff knew about his freak-out. Was he the pariah already? The social outcast who couldn’t keep his shit together? The viral, author-losing-his-mind sensation that was sweeping social media?

“He’s here to check in.” Wes nudged him toward the desk, and Harley’s feet unstuck from the floor, dragging only a little as he followed his brother. Luckily, he didn’t have to say anything. Wes pulled out a credit card—one of those matte-black ones most people couldn’t get access to.

Harley had decent money from his royalties, but he got paid twice a year, and taxes ate up so much of it that he would have had to keep writing until he died to pay his mortgage. His father’s estate changed that, but he wasn’t ready to face what that meant: a world where he could live comfortably but without the one family member who loved him unconditionally. A year later and he still wasn’t ready to face it.

He swallowed heavily, his throat going a little tight, and he wondered if he was ever going to be done mourning. He supposed he would. He knew plenty of people who had dealt with losing someone close to them, and they weren’t wobbly, leaky messes all the time.

But he never thought to ask how long it would be before he stopped having random moments where it felt like the walls were closing in on him, and the only way to stop it was to let out a soul-deep scream.

“…Mr. James?”

He realized the woman at the desk had been speaking to him for a minute. He glanced at her badge, and he could read it now that he was at the counter: Aminah. He looked into her eyes. They were very dark brown and very kind. “Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.”

Her smile wasn’t the typical, icy customer service kind. It was polite, yes, but there was also empathy there. She probably knew what he’d done, but maybe she didn’t think he was a ticking time bomb the way his brother and everyone else did.

“It’s no problem. I just asked if you’d like me to put you down for a dinner reservation tonight or if you’d like to have it in your room.”

“Oh. That’s…a nice option,” he said. He’d stayed at a lot of hotels, but they were always more “give me your money, now fuck off and don’t call if you need anything, we have an app for that.” “I think in my room would be good.”

Wes made a soft noise of protest. “Don’t you think?—”

“I think I’m exhausted. I think we’ve been driving for five hours, and I’ve just been through hell. I want to wear fuzzy socks and watch reality TV and not be judged for the sheer amount of comfort food I’m going to consume tonight.”

Wes held up his hands to protest, then froze and checked his watch. “Shit. I’m going to be late.”

“So go. I know how to check into a hotel room,” Harley said.

Wes looked torn. He took a step back, then stopped and reached out, yanking Harley to his chest. “I don’t want to leave you.” It was an odd, unfamiliar gesture between them both, but Harley appreciated the embrace. He’d been starved for comfort for a while now, so he took it where he could.

“Too bad. I want you to leave me,” Harley told him with a small sniff. And he meant it. Mostly. He didn’t want to be alone, but his brother had never been the best company. He knew Wes loved him, but it was in his own way. Not the way Harley craved to be loved. “I’m going to be fine.”

Wes bit his lip, then took a step back again. “Please make sure you answer when if your lawyer or the agency calls.”

Wes didn’t trust that Harley’s agency was going to just let this go. Or that Ethan wasn’t going to get a wild hair and decided to sue him once things calmed down. Not that Harley wouldn’t have deserved it. Ethan had antagonized him and had failed at doing his job properly, but Harley threw the punch.

“Be good,” Wes said.

“Kiss the girls for me. I left their gifts in the trunk. Yours and Carla’s too.”

Wes didn’t ask about their mom, which was good because Harley hadn’t done personal shopping for her. He’d found a gift basket online and sent it to her house. He knew she’d be happier that way anyway.

He braced himself as he watched Wes walk out, and then he turned back to the desk and remembered that he wasn’t alone. Poor Aminah was still waiting on him.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a bit of a day.”

“It’s been a bit of a month for me. I get it,” she said. She pulled a few sheets of paper from under the desk and passed them over. “We have a lot of amenities here that are both private and relaxing.”

Harley’s brows rose. Was it possible she understood him as a stranger when even his own brother didn’t? “That sounds exactly like what I need.”

“I know this is a coupley kind of place, but we do get a lot of people on their own who just need to reset.” She folded her hands on top of the small stack of brochures. “Also, it’s not like a hotel here. I mean—it is . You’ll get room service and housekeeping and whatever, but the owner is different. He’s a really down-to-earth kind of guy, and he expects the same out of his staff. It means a lot to us that you’re happy here, so if that means being left to your own devices, then just say the word. But if you need company, we can help with that too.”

It didn’t sound like a spiel. Not in the way Harley was used to. He’d been schmoozed more than once by hotels and venues. He knew how to spot someone just trying to use him for what he did. But this wasn’t that.

“Thank you.”

Aminah’s smile widened. “You’re welcome. Here’s a map to your room, and you can order room service over the phone or through the app on your TV. And if I can make a suggestion—the chicken Caesar with a side of fries and the chocolate lava cake is the best comfort food you’ll ever have.”

Harley clutched the papers and the room key to his chest. “Seriously. Thank you,” he repeated, and he’d never meant anything more in his life.

“I’m here all week,” she said with a wink, then stepped back so he could collect his things and make a graceful exit as he possibly could with two cases, a stack of papers, and no one to help.

He got the feeling people did know who he was—that his brother had warned them of the reason he was staying—but for the first time since the incident, he didn’t feel like he was some kind of social monster.

Christmas would be lonely.

But at least he wouldn’t feel like he wasn’t welcome.

Aminah had been right about the salad, fries, and the cake. He devoured everything on his plate, then raided the minibar since the whole thing was on his brother’s tab anyway. He fell asleep with some show about London real estate playing in the background and a half packet of peanut M&Ms in his hand.

He woke up with the TV off and a single M&M crushed under his cheek, the heat of his body having melted the chocolate. It was most definitely not his finest moment, but maybe one of the perks of being single.

There was no Darren to give him the look that said, “Why the fuck am I with you?”

He tried not to let that thought follow him into the bathroom, where he relieved himself, then scrubbed his teeth until he could stand the taste of his tongue again. He debated about breakfast, but a shower sounded nicer, so he washed off, finding more bits of melted chocolate on him, which probably meant they were on the sheet too.

Fantastic.

Housekeeping was going to think he shit himself.

He pulled on a sweater with sleeves that hung past his hands and his most comfortable pair of jeans before he made his way downstairs. He was following the smell of baked goods and bacon before he realized that he was on his own. He’d never done that before—eaten breakfast by himself at a restaurant. Hell, he’d never eaten any meal by himself at a restaurant.

He’d been a loner most of his life, but he never ventured out unless he was part of at least a duo, if not a group of friends.

Did that make him pathetic? He had to believe there were others out there just like him.

He was too hungry to care though. His appetite seemed to have made a raging comeback now that he’d had a chance to get some actual sleep without worrying there was someone waiting outside his building with a copy of the video. He still had a lot to deal with, but he was feeling more like himself.

He wasn’t inaccessible, and he would have to talk to his agency and his publisher at some point, but for now, he could pretend. It was a holiday bubble that would keep him protected for a few weeks, and then he could go on disaster management. He could only hope someone out there did something worse and people would start to forget.

He wasn’t really a man who believed in miracles, but he supposed if he was ever going to believe, the holidays would be the time for it.

“Table for one?” a voice asked.

Harley hadn’t realized he’d reached the restaurant. The woman at the counter didn’t look like she belonged as a hostess. She was in dirty jeans and muddy boots, and her dark curls looked like she’d been out in the snow with the way it was dripping all over her shoulders.

But maybe that was part of the whole mountain ambiance.

“Yes. It’s just me.”

She gave him a long look, and there was a spark in her eye that told him she knew exactly who he was. She’d been informed.

Or maybe she’d seen the video.

His cheeks heated as she showed him to a table next to a massive window. He sat as she offered the menu, and he leaned in toward the glass, but he couldn’t feel the cold in spite of the snow falling. He touched it to be sure.

“The glass is tempered. It stays really warm inside,” she explained.

He tried for a smile that felt like a grimace. He hated being so observed. “It’s nice. I really like it here.”

She dropped her forearm to the back of the chair beside him. “Me too. My wife worked here before me, and she convinced me to give it a shot. I was at this horse therapy ranch before Claude took me on, and while I loved it, it’s nice to be out here doing my own thing.”

“Claude?” he repeated, not really meaning to. It wasn’t like he was going to know any of these people after his two-week isolation was up.

The woman smiled and leaned heavier on the chair. “The owner. Real good guy. He and my wife are really good friends. They’re a lot quieter and less nosy than I am,” she added with a laugh.

Harley cocked his head to the side. “Does your wife happen to work the front desk?”

The woman’s grin went very wide. “Yeah, she’s the front desk manager. Aminah. You’ve met her, haven’t you?”

“She checked me in. I liked her a lot.”

The woman waggled her brows. “I bet you did.”

“What? No . I mean, yes. Well. Not…you know. I didn’t think she was—” He cleared his throat. “I’m gay. I wasn’t trying to pick up on her. She was just really kind when I was having a very, very bad day.”

“Don’t worry, I know what you meant. And I wouldn’t be offended if you did like her. Everyone does. That’s how she got me to marry her.”

“Lyric! Get away from my table!”

Harley jumped at a gruff voice, and the woman—Lyric—threw up her hands in frustration. “Get a hobby, Craig.”

“Go back to the desk,” he told her. He walked up—tall and handsome and young. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. “Sorry about her. She’ll harass all the guests until they’ve wasted away. Did you get a chance to look at the menu?”

Harley shook his head.

“I’ll give you some time. Everything here is good.”

Harley believed him. And he was pretty sure that statement applied to more than just the stuff that came out of the kitchen.