should plan a weekend soon to take the girls. I’d be happy to stare at your ass as I follow you down the mountain. We should take the girls before it gets crowded over the holidays.”
I could see Tiller’s disappointment at not being included. It was the same every season—the most we got was a quick visit and meal with our families between games. I didn’t much mind because I wasn’t as close to my family, but I knew it bothered Tiller. He’d never complain about it because Moose had told him again and again that football was only temporary. There’d be time later on for the other things in life.
“That league paycheck will make for plenty of good Christmases and ski trips after you’re retired, son,” he’d said only an hour or so ago when Tiller was grumbling about missing Santa gifts on Christmas morning with the girls.
I’d gritted my teeth and kept my mouth shut. After Tiller retired, Santa would no longer be visiting the girls. Unless Tiller had his own kids or Steph and Luke had more, that would be that.
I realized Jill was trying to get my attention. “Have you ever been skiing, Mikey?”
“If you mean water skiing, then yes, ma’am,” I said politely, shooting her a wink.
Steph’s face lit up. “Oh man, we need to get you some lessons. It’s too bad Tiller can’t teach you. He’s so patient. I wish he could teach the girls.”
I sensed Tiller’s funk deepen, so I leaned down to scoop up some snow before carefully packing it into a ball while he wasn’t looking.
While moving closer to Tiller, I said, “I think I might rather be the guy back at the lodge with hot cocoa than the guy flying down the slopes on waxed sticks. No offense.”
Bam. I nailed Tiller directly between the shoulder blades with my snow missile and then took off running toward the girls. Tiller squawked in shock and immediately promised retribution. His nieces proved to be crappy human shields and even crappier snowball throwers, so we went down in a cold and wet blaze of glory once the snow started flying.
Even as I dragged my freezing, teeth-chattering ass back to the lodge an hour later, I knew the pain had been worth it.
Tiller had gotten a fun day in the snow with his family, even though it hadn’t included skiing or snowboarding. It wasn’t exactly what he’d been missing, but it was enough.
We all took a break to shower and dress in comfortable clothes before meeting back up to watch the Monday night game between the Titans and the Chiefs. A lot was riding on the result of this game since the Titans were in direct competition with the Riggers for a spot in the playoffs.
I busied myself washing dishes and starting a butternut squash soup we could have for dinner in case anyone got hungry after the big midday meal.
When Moose started yelling at the television, I snuck away to my room and stripped the sheets off the bed before packing my things. I started a load of laundry and moved my stuff into Tiller’s room, all the while hearing cheers and groans from the other room as the game progressed.
I didn’t want to watch it. If Tiller wasn’t playing, I didn’t much care, and honestly… I was angry at the game. Angry at my dad and the kind of people who prized the game enough to push players like Tiller into playing before they were properly healed.
I knew the drill. This game was about money, and Tiller Raine put fans in the stands and money in Rigger pockets. No one wanted to come see Brent Little fumble the ball when they thought Tiller would catch every damned pass thrown to him. It wasn’t true, of course, but fans tended to think in extremes.
Sure enough, when I came back to the kitchen, the Titans were ahead and Moose was grumbling about how much trouble the Riggers would be in on Sunday without Tiller there to save the day.
No pressure.
I glanced at Tiller, who was clearly agitated as well. His hair looked like he’d been on a ride in a convertible for about a thousand miles of rough road, and even now, his fingers threaded through the thick locks as he paced back and forth.
I swallowed a sigh. If there was one thing I was used to, it was close football games and the stress of losing late in the season when every game seemed