“If I was racing, I wouldn’t be able to teach you. I love teaching you.”
“Seriously?” Her face brightened. “It doesn’t bore you?”
“No.” He realized that was the truth. “I get a real kick out of it. You’re good. And you’re going to get better.”
“Cool. I love skiing together.”
He looped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I love that, too.”
“And you love skiing with Brenna.”
He let his hand drop and gave her a look. “Unless you want snow stuffed down your jacket, you can stop that right now.”
“I was just saying.”
“Well, don’t say. And don’t think, either.”
“YOU GET DOWN SAFE.” Brenna checked Jess’s helmet and zipped the top of her jacket against the biting wind. “It’s not the winning that counts, it’s the taking part.”
“Of course it’s the winning that counts.” Tyler stood relaxed and easy on his skis, oblivious to the attention he was getting from the other kids and their mothers. “Otherwise, what’s the point of risking your neck hurtling downhill at inhuman speeds? You might as well stay home.”
Brenna sighed. “All I’m saying is that it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t win.”
“And I’m saying it does matter. She’s going to win, and if she doesn’t, we’re going to work out why.” Tyler put his hands on Jess’s shoulders and turned her to face him. “Listen to me because I’m going to give you more advice since I’m getting so good at it. Forget everything except your skis and the way they feel on the hill. Trust yourself. Focus. You can beat the crap out of all of them.”
Jess grinned, delighted. “You’re not supposed to say crap. Major parent fail.”
Brenna didn’t know whether to laugh or bash her head against a tree. “And you can’t tell her she has to beat them. You’re supposed to be a coach. If you talk like that at Friday night sessions the high school will be swamped with complaints by parents.”
“Good. Then they’ll fire me, and I can go back to doing something interesting with my evenings. I’ve no patience with people who don’t want to hear the truth.”
“If they fire you, I’ll have to do it.”
“Fine.” He gritted his teeth. “I can give coachlike advice if I have to.” He turned back to Jess. “You need the apex of the turn to be at the gate. Watch the transition, and try to keep a constant rhythm.”
Jess bobbed her head up and down. “Are you going to be watching?”
“The whole time.”
“I’m going to make you proud, Dad.”
There was a pause and Tyler cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t be talking to us. You should be focusing. Don’t let anything or anyone distract you.” He stooped and checked her bindings, knocked snow off her skis and then nodded. “We need Chas.”
Jess tightened her boots. “He’s with the U.S. ski team.”
“The man clearly has his priorities wrong. But if he won’t come to you, you’ll have to go to him.”
“Dad, I’ll never make the U.S. ski team.”
“Never is a banned word in the O’Neil family. Now go out there and kick butt.”
Brenna stood listening, wondering if helping Jess made it worse for him.
She wanted to say something, but Tyler O’Neil wasn’t the sort to share his feelings and she didn’t want to be the one to make him do it.
Had he talked to anyone about it? His brothers? Probably not. The three brothers were close, but she doubted they ever sat down and exchanged thoughts on their feelings. They talked about skiing, about anything with an engine and, inevitably, the business.
She stood, conscious of his powerful bulk next to her as they watched Jess position herself.
Brenna could almost feel her nerves. “She’s anxious.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“She’s thinking about pleasing you, not about skiing the course. You expect too much of her.”
Tyler gave a grunt. “It’s the small things that can make the difference between winning and losing. And I don’t expect anything she isn’t capable of achieving.”
Brenna glanced at him in exasperation. His eyes were fixed on his daughter. She’d seen the same look on his face a thousand times in the past. Complete focus. But now that focus was directed toward his daughter. It was something she hadn’t noticed before. “There’s more to life than winning a race, Tyler.”
“So I’m told.”
“She isn’t you.”
A frown touched his brows. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m worried you’re putting too much pressure on her.”
“Pressure is part of racing. She can take it.”
“It’s not all about the winning, Tyler! If you make her think that then she’s going to be crushed when she doesn’t win.”
“What sort of crazy liberal shit is that? It’s a competition. Of course it’s about the winning. What’s the point, otherwise?” He dragged his eyes from Jess long enough to give Brenna an incredulous look. “You want her to slow down and be polite so that the girl behind her can win?”
She wanted to laugh because in that moment, he reminded her of the boy he’d once been, tearing down the slopes as if he’d had rocket boosters attached to his skis. “All I’m saying is that she wants to please you so badly, she might put herself at risk.”
“Skiing downhill is always a risk.”
“But there is a fine line between breaking speed records and breaking your neck!”
“She’s good.”
“But she was brought up in Chicago by a mother who hated skiing!”
“All the more reason to catch up now. She’s an O’Neil. Not just her hair and her blue eyes, but the way she feels the snow. Or haven’t you noticed?”
“Yes, I’ve noticed.” Brenna gave up. Instead she focused on Jess, willing her to do well and not fall.
“She wants to ski. I don’t push her to do anything she isn’t already desperate to do. I tried holding her back last winter, and look where that got us.”
Brenna thought back to the night when Jess had disappeared, determined to impress her father by skiing the most difficult run in the resort. “That was a horrible night.”
“She’s next.” Tyler watched as Jess pushed through the start wand, gaining speed immediately.
“Her style is good.”
“Her hand is going back. She’s rotating her body and losing seconds at every gate.”
“She’s doing well.” Brenna winced as one of the gates, the poles that marked the course, swung back and hit Jess in the face. “It’s her first real winter season here, Tyler, and the season only started a few weeks ago.”
“Which means we have a lot of time to make up. She’s concentrating on the gates and not her turns.”
“Tyler.” A woman stepped up to him, her glossy red mouth curving into a smile. “I’m Anna. Patty Clarke’s mother.”
She couldn’t have picked a worse time to try and catch his attention.
Tyler