Snow Queen (16 page)

Unfortunately, no matter how many pucks she shot perfectly or how many hours she spent trying to work out her aggression, she only felt sad. Sad and angry and beyond ready to hop a flight home.

“How’d it go?” Christie asked. She had been walking across the room next to Sophia, practicing her posture with a book on her head, which she now let fall into her hands.

Christie looked beautiful and snow-bunny perfect in a white turtleneck sweater, long dark braids, and red corduroys, while Sophia could have been a model in her clingy, gray cashmere dress. Aubrey felt like an ogre in comparison. She fell onto the couch at the center of the lobby, letting her equipment clatter to the floor.

“Fine,” she said, kicking her legs out and letting her clunky boots fall open. “Whatever.”

“I’m sure you’re going to win,” Christie said, walking over to join her. She sat down next to Aubrey with her perfect posture and smiled. “You’ll win the hockey thing and I’ll win the pageant and we’ll both go back to Florida all triumphant.”

“Good attitude, Christie. Attitude is half the battle,” Sophia said, walking over to stand behind Aubrey.

“Yeah,” Aubrey said with a sigh. “Whatever.”

Christie pressed her lips together and sat back on the couch. She shot Aubrey a tentative look, and all the hairs on the back of Aubrey’s neck stood on end. Clearly, there was something Christie wanted to tell her or ask her. Something she wasn’t sure Aubrey wanted to hear.

“What?” Aubrey asked hesitantly. She sat up a bit straighter and looked at Christie, then Sophia, her breath shortening. Had Grayson called? Had he stopped by?

“Ummm…we were just thinking…” Christie said, toying with one of her braids as she glanced up at Sophia. “About the Winter Ball?”

Aubrey’s stomach turned and she groaned. Right. The Chamberlains reared their ugly heads once again. Why did they have to have so many stupid events and so many stupid rules? She shouldn’t be required to attend some ridiculous dance just because she was in the pageant.
Not to mention being forced to have a date for said dance, as if it was some kind of debutante ball. What was this, 1950?

“What about it?” Aubrey asked, even though she now knew where this conversation was headed.

“You still need a date,” Sophia said, walking around the back of Aubrey’s chair to perch on the arm.

Christie bit her lip. “Jonathan has a few friends who—”

“No! No setups,” Aubrey blurted. “I do not want to spend the entire night making small talk with some guy I don’t know.”

“Yeah, but there’s no one on this mountain you
do
know,” Christie protested, pulling her knees up onto the couch to sit sideways. At the same moment, Jim came walking out of the office and settled in behind the desk with his coffee.

“I’ll take Jim!” Aubrey said brightly.

Sophia laughed. “Um, no.”

The door to the office had not swung closed when it was suddenly shoved open again and out stepped Charlie. Aubrey’s heart leaped.

“I’ll take Charlie!”

Christie turned around to look at the desk and Charlie froze in his tracks.

“Not bad,” Sophia said, looking him up and down.

“Take me how?” Charlie asked.

“Not bad? He’s perfect!” Christie cried, jumping up. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Think of what?” Charlie asked, clutching his sling and looking a tad fearful. “Where are you taking me?”

Aubrey stood up, cleared her throat, and tried to ignore the cold sheen of sweat congealing on her skin. “Charlie, will you go to the Winter Ball with me?”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “As friends? Because I have a girlfriend.”

“Yes, as friends,” Aubrey said through her teeth.

“Then I’m in,” Charlie said with a nod.

“Good.”

Aubrey dropped down on the couch again, biting back tears as all the images of her and Grayson walking into the ball together flitted away into the fire and burned into nothing. It
wasn’t romantic, but at least she had a date. All she had to do was get through the next few days. Before she knew it she’d be on her way home again and she could put this whole, bizarre, crappy trip behind her.

I’d just better get to see some snow first
.

I
t seemed as if everyone in Vermont had shown up to watch the hockey shot competition that night. As Aubrey stood between two other competitors—guys twice her size—near the edge of the pond, her ankles quaked beneath her. That afternoon she had been determined to win this thing, or at least to beat Grayson. Now, with the stands packed with unfamiliar faces, with Layla, Rebecca, and their friends crowded into the front row, with all the cheers and jeers being tossed at the contestants, she realized she might just be happy if she kept from falling on her face.

No. No, you will not be content to simply not fall
, she told herself.
You are going to win. Win, win, win
.

“Oh, too bad!” the announcer shouted over
the loudspeaker. The guy at center ice had hit only three of the targets with his ten pucks. “Nice try, though, dude. We’ll be here again next year.”

The crowd laughed, and Aubrey felt an uncomfortable warmth creeping up her neck from under her scarf and taking up residence on her face. She would die if she didn’t hit all the targets. Just die. She glanced over at Christie, who was standing near the announcer’s booth along with Jim, Jonathan, Charlie, and Sophia. They all flashed her confident smiles and Jim gave her a thumbs-up. Rose was back at the inn, manning the desk, but she had given Aubrey a hug for luck before she’d left. She felt buoyed by their support and took a deep breath, focusing her attention on the goal.

Right down, left up, right up, left down, center
, she told herself, tipping her head back to look up at the starlit sky. This was the order in which she planned to hit her shots, and the mantra had been running through her head all day. As her breath made little puffs of steam in the air, she repeated it over and over again.
Right down, left up, right up, left down, center. Right down,
left up, right up, left down, center.

“Next up, local favorite and three-time hockey shot competition champion…Grayson Chamberlain!” the announcer called out.

Aubrey’s heart first leaped, then took a nosedive into her shoes. Grayson skated out to the sound of uproarious cheers, which he acknowledged with a wave of his hand. Every muscle in Aubrey’s body clenched as she tried not to feel anything for him—nothing good, nothing bad. She wanted to be indifferent to him. But as he lined up behind his row of ten pucks, she found herself recalling his ire yesterday morning. Remembering how he so easily fell under Layla’s spell and wouldn’t even listen to her. Thinking of the five messages she’d left him that afternoon, none of which had been returned. And suddenly, she was seething.

“Give ’em hell, Grayson!” someone shouted, earning a round of laughter from the stands.

Fall on your butt, Grayson
, Aubrey added silently.

She was reminded of that old saying, “It’s a thin line between love and hate.” She had never understood how that was possible until now.

Grayson pulled back his stick. As he made contact with the first puck, Aubrey found herself wishing he would fail. Let him feel as crappy as he’d made her feel yesterday. But the first puck whizzed across the ice and right through the center hole. Everyone cheered. The second puck hit the top left target. Again, everyone cheered. The third puck sailed through the top right target. There were gasps of amazement. After that, Aubrey knew it was over. Grayson could hit the last two shots in his sleep. And he did. One, two. No problem. The crowd went wild.

“Five for five in less than thirty seconds!” the announcer crowed. “It’s a new winter carnival record!”

Grayson slapped a few hands as he returned to his spot in line. Aubrey half expected him to smirk at her as he skated by, but he looked straight ahead instead, pointedly ignoring her presence. Somehow, this stung even worse than a taunt would have.

“And now, all the way from sunny Florida, Aubrey Mills!” the announcer shouted.

There weren’t quite as many cheers for
Aubrey, since no one there knew who she was. But Christie and the crew tried to make up for it, shouting and clapping as loud as they could. Aubrey took one step out onto the ice and her right ankle wobbled. Her heart hit her throat, but she recovered quickly. Still, that was not a good sign. If she couldn’t even skate to the center of the pond, how the heck was she going to shoot?

You’re just nervous
, she told herself, glancing over at Layla, Rebecca, and their friends, who were whispering about her behind their hands.
Get a grip. You can do this. You’ve prepared. You’re going to kick ass
.

But when she lined up behind her pucks, the goal looked impossibly far away. And the holes in the board seemed tiny, like a puck wouldn’t even fit through them. A cold wind whipped by, bringing tears to Aubrey’s eyes and blurring her vision. She blinked them back but still felt disoriented. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Don’t mess this up. You can’t screw this up
, she thought.

“Hey, FL!” Rebecca shouted. “Get on with it already!”

Aubrey scowled over her shoulder, pretty
sure that Layla had told Rebecca to say that.
She
couldn’t have taunted Aubrey, of course. Not with Grayson and half the town present. As she turned around again, her eyes fell on Grayson, and her blood stopped. He was staring at her, but when she looked at him he quickly glanced away. Suddenly, Aubrey felt as if she was going to throw up.

“Anytime now, Ms. Mills,” the announcer said.

More laughter. Aubrey could have wrung the guy’s neck, even though she’d never met him.

Just do it
, she told herself.
Get it over with.

Feeling zero confidence, Aubrey pulled back and shot the first puck. It zipped right through the bottom right opening. The crowd cheered. Aubrey blinked, surprised. Not the shot she’d intended to make first, but it was something. She squinted at the target and shot the next puck. It whacked against the board and ricocheted toward the crowd.

A lump formed in Aubrey’s throat as the crowd let out a groan.
It’s okay
, she told herself.
You were never going to go five-for-five like Grayson. Just keep going
.

She slammed the next puck, lifting it off the
ice. It sailed through the top right hole. Usually her worst shot, it was done.

“Yes!” Christie cheered.

The crowd applauded, back on her side again. Aubrey bit back a smile. She went for the top left. The puck sailed over the net. Another groan. She tried again. Over the net again. Five pucks down, only five to go, and three more targets to hit. Aubrey’s confidence started to wane. As she lined up behind the next puck, she could feel Grayson watching her. Feel Layla laughing at her.

Don’t let them do this to you
, she thought, as her eyes welled up again, this time on their own.
Don’t let them shake you
.

But when she pulled back again, she felt her ankle wobble and her heart stopped. She threw her arms out, but it was no good. This time, she was going down. And she did. Hard. Her butt hit first, then her skull cracked against the ice. For a moment, Aubrey actually saw stars—big blue and pink ones, not the ones that were actually winking down at her from overhead. She heard the crowd react with a suck of breath and wished the ice would melt under her. Wished it
would melt and just swallow her up and then close over again. Anything to be free of this humiliation. And then, just as she was starting to feel the pain at the back of her head, Grayson appeared.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Aubrey stared at him, mortified. She was more embarrassed about falling in front of him than she was about the hundreds of other spectators. Didn’t he realize that? What was he doing, rubbing it in her face?

“Here. Let me help,” Grayson said. He knelt down and put one hand behind her back, helping her sit up. Aubrey felt thankful and embarrassed and annoyed all at once. But maybe he wasn’t rubbing it in her face. Maybe he still cared about her and just wanted to help her get out of this moment as quickly as possible. Maybe he
had
gotten her messages and wanted to hear her side.

But then she saw him glance over her shoulder at the stands and smile. A cold realization came over her, even as she was still burning from the embarrassment. He wasn’t out there because he cared about her. He was out there
because it was the right thing to do. Because he wanted to look like the gentleman and hero in front of the community. He
was
just like his sister and parents. A big, obnoxious fake.

“Oh, so you won’t take my calls, but as long as you’ve got an audience, you’re there for me,” she said, shoving him off her. She tottered to her feet and when he moved to help steady her, she batted his arm away. “I’m fine,” she snapped, even as a new explosion of pain radiated across her skull.

Grayson’s face turned to stone. “Fine.”

He skated to the edge of the ice, retaking his position in line. Aubrey glanced around at the expectant faces, all of them wondering what she would do next. Some of them, she knew, were waiting for a breakdown—hoping for some kind of soap-opera drama. Well, she wasn’t going to give it to them. She bent down, picked up her hockey stick, and shot the last four pucks right through the center hole, not even bothering to try for the harder shots. Then, before the confused announcer could even think of what to say, she dropped her stick and skated off the ice, taking the sparsely populated north bank—skating
away from the spectators. Layla’s laughter followed her the whole way.

It was the most humiliating moment of her life.

As she hobbled over to a bench in her skates to wait for Christie to find her, Aubrey felt exhausted. Exhausted, defeated, and angry at Grayson. Why couldn’t he have just left her alone? The fact that he’d tried to help her only confused her even more. Was he really just trying to play the hero, or did he still care about her? Was he having second thoughts about what he’d said to her yesterday? Or did he just like to help a damsel in distress? Rose and Christie kept maintaining that Grayson was a good guy, different from his family. Were they right, or had he had them both fooled all this time, just as Layla was fooling him?

It was too much to sort out, and above it all, she had just lost. Lost big-time. Lost in the most spectacular, embarrassing way possible. Lost to Grayson Chamberlain. Aubrey closed her eyes, wanting to cry for a hundred different reasons and just hoping that it wouldn’t happen until she got back to the privacy of her room at the inn.

“‘I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair, I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair, and send him on his way!’”

Aubrey looked at her huge, fake smile in the mirror, dropped her arms, and groaned, doubling over at the waist. Was she really singing a song about washing a man out of her hair? Was she
really
going to strut around onstage pretending to wash her hair in front of hundreds of people and sing this stupid old song? Off-key, no less?

Grayson would definitely think the song was about him. And Layla would definitely laugh her ass off.

But at least she’d have zero chance of winning and beating out Christie by mistake. There was always a bright side.

“This sucks,” Aubrey said to the gleaming wood floor of the rehearsal room. “How did I get myself into this mess?”

But she knew how. She had gotten into this for her friend. Her friend who wanted this more than anything even
before
she knew that winning would mean saving her grandparents’ business.
But she’d
stayed
in it because she wanted to see Layla go down. Because she couldn’t quit and let the girl think she’d won. For better or for worse, she was in this thing to stay now. And she had to make the best of it.

Aubrey stood up again and looked herself in the eye with determination. Maybe not happiness, but determination. She would sing the dumb song. Who cared? It wasn’t as if she was ever going to see any of these people again. It wasn’t as if anyone on this mountain cared about her or anything she did. A picture of Grayson flitted through her mind and her heart panged, but she let it go.

Moving on.

Aubrey took a deep breath and started to sing. “‘I’m gonna—’”

There was a rap on the door. Aubrey jumped for it, more than happy to give herself a break. But when she whipped the door open, her throat closed over. Grayson was standing in the hallway, looking all gorgeous in a navy-blue turtleneck sweater, his blond hair gelled into a perfect tousled look.

“Hey,” he said quickly.

Aubrey tried to read his tone. Was that a reluctant “hey,” a tentative “hey,” a hopeful “hey”? Then she decided that it was too short of a word to read. Besides, she didn’t care anymore. After the spectacle on the pond last night, she would have preferred to never have to face Grayson again.

“Hey,” she replied, looking away.

Grayson glanced past her into the room as if checking to make sure she was alone. Satisfied, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and looked her in the eye.

“Can we talk?”

Aubrey’s heart leaped and she clucked her tongue, annoyed at herself. Her goal was to get off this mountain without any new drama. And talking to Grayson meant just that. Drama galore. No matter what he had to say to her, he still thought that Layla was Miss Perfect and that Aubrey had berated her needlessly, and he was never going to believe otherwise. How could they ever get past something like that? And why even bother when she was going to be here for only three more days?

“There isn’t really anything I feel the need
to talk about,” she said, turning away from the door and striding to the center of the room. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, trying as hard as she could not to look at Grayson’s. Still, from the corner of her eye she could tell he was standing there in the doorway, watching her.

Just go away
, she thought.
Stop torturing me
.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked finally.

No
.