Leo

I nearly have to make a call to my mom in order to figure out where the hell this rock is. However, just as I'm extracting my old-fashioned flip-phone from my pocket and dialling her number, I spot it. It's pretty damn hard to miss due to the misplacements of it; it's big enough for two people to sit on and the stonecrop looks strange when its surrounded by residue from the creek and native Whistler plants.

There's a surreal feeling in my gut as I run my fingers over the rough surface of the rock, as I feel the glossy leaves of the stonecrop. It's strange to think that my parents used to spend their days on this rock, next to the aqua-coloured creek and in the denseness of the forest. Considering some of the stories I've heard about my parents and how reckless they could be as a couple, I don't want to know exactly what they did here. All I need to know is that this place holds significance in the hearts of my parents.

I close my eyes, imagining some of the pictures I've seen of the two of them here, with the forest as the background and slivers of blue sky poking through. I picture a younger version of Mom, her head thrown back in ease and a big, happy smile on her face. I picture my dad, his eyes focused on Mom and a content look on his face as he sits there, his arms wrapped around her. Just like any other memory I try to create for myself, my train of thought is bittersweet. I'm exponentially happy that my parents, who had known each other since they were in diapers, were able to reunite after being separated for seven years. I'm just sad that their happiness was taken from them so quickly.

When I was younger, I didn't think too much about my dad. But now that I'm eighteen, I can't help but wonder what life would have been like had he survived the accident. I open my eyes, glancing around at my surroundings. Maybe my family would have stayed in Whistler rather than moving to New Brunswick. Maybe I'd have a sibling or two. But the biggest thing I tend to wonder is how different I would be as a person. Don't get me wrong — Mom did an exceptional job of raising me as a single mother, with Grandpa's helping hand nearby, but there's always that what if. What if a male role model had lived in the house with us? What if I had been able to meet my Dad?

The questions that will never be answered are endless.

Sighing, I sit down on the edge of the rock, removing the wrinkled paper and my red pen. In the middle of the bucket list, there's a number that says Visit Saint-Sangster Rock again. There's a faded blue checkmark beside the number, so I add another checkmark in red. I don't know when exactly Dad was writing this list, but it must have been when he came back to Whistler to tell Mom how he really felt about her to try and prevent her from getting married to anyone but him. I admire my father for his bravery. Despite the rift that the seven years created between them, he worked his ass off to get her back — and he won. He was persistent and passionate and honest — three traits I consistently strive to nurture.

Men are expected to keep their heads held high and display nothing but masculinity. But what exactly is masculine about hiding how you feel? In my opinion, hiding your emotions is weak. If you're not strong enough to embrace them and display them when need be, you're weak. Today's society has emphasized everyone's perceptions on gender stereotypes, persuading us to fall victim to these categorized qualities. But I refuse to — even if it makes me different, even if it makes people whisper about me. The strength of a man isn't based on his physical qualities, but rather his life skills: the ability to interpret emotions and display them, the ability to treat a woman as an equal, the ability to solve conflict. Physicality may enable a man to win the fight, but definitely not the war.

Staring out at the rushing creek, I safely tuck the paper back into my pocket. I can understand why my parents chose this area to define as their own. It's in the core of Whistler, but it seems as though it's kilometres away, hidden in the middle of nowhere. The odd time, you can hear a voice or two echoing from the trails, but for the most part, it's just rushing water, rustling leaves, and birds chirping to their heart's content.

The longer I sit here, the less I want to leave. I like the idea of being secluded in the midst of a popular town. It's a paradox in itself, which I find to be alluring. Once again, I shift my gaze from the tree-line to the water. However, as soon as I see the colour, I find myself instantly thinking about Aria. I bite down hard on my lip, trying to force her out of my head, but the pain isn't enough. If there's any reason as to why she's popped up in my head again it's because I'm going to be working with her for the rest of the summer. And all I can say is: What are the odds? To be honest, I felt a little sheepish when I first laid eyes on her in the rental shop. I rarely lose my cool around people, but the fact that she had been speeding, just like the drunk driver had been when he struck my dad, triggered something within me. I could have — I should have presented myself better, maybe resonated with her a little. Although I had good reason to snap, I shouldn't have.

However, despite my sensible reasoning, there's a part of me that protests otherwise. I can't deny that Aria is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Men must throw themselves at her, begging and pleading her to give them something as simple as a glance. Briefly, I close my eyes, conjuring up an image of her. I've never seen a woman with such toned biceps and legs. I don't doubt that if we were to challenge each other in an armwrestling match that she would win. In fact, I believe she would demolish me. And while some men find that intimidating, I find it alluring and a total turn-on when combined with the sultry pout to her lips, the shocking colour of her eyes, and the luscious curves of her hips. Just looking at her could turn a saint into a sinner.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I came to Whistler to explore the past my parents share, the place where my dad's roots are set. I never thought, in a million years, that I would be so intensely attracted to someone I barely know. It frustrates me. I've had some flings in the past, ones that mainly took place within my last year of high school, but I never felt this strong magnetic tug coming from them. Something about Aria, be it her obvious stubbornness or the intense heat of her gaze, has me hooked.

"Oi! Have you seen a golden retriever around here, mate?"

I jump, turning in the direction of the accented voice that has cut through the peaceful silence. At the top of the incline I had to address to get down here, is a brown-haired man who looks to be about twenty-two-years-old. There's about a week's worth of scruffy beard on his face, and the backpack on his shoulder is worn and tattered, patterned with different flags from all around the world.

"No!" I shout back, squinting against the sunlight. "When did you last see it?"

The man descends the incline with ease, striding over to me. "About ten minutes ago," he replies, shrugging off his backpack and opening the front compartment. From it, he pulls out a Polaroid photo and hands it to me. "His name is Buddy. He's wearing a blue collar, leash still attached, and is about a year-and-a-half old."

I glance down at the picture in my hand, shaking my head. "I'm sorry," I say. "I haven't seen him around."

"Damn," he breathes, taking the picture back. "I had been hoping for a little more luck.

As he speaks, I note the faint hint of an accent. I'm not sure what type of accent he has, but there's definitely something there. I can also detect just how worried he is about his dog. "Hey," I say. "I could help you if you want. I've got nothing else going on."

"It's not a big deal," he replies. "I've already bothered you enough."

I shake my head. "I insist. With help, you'll be able to cover more ground and have a better chance of finding him."

The man stares at me for a brief moment before saying: "I failed to catch your name."

"Leo," I reply, holding my hand out.

"Nice to meet you, mate," he replies, taking my hand "The name is Kolby."

* * *

"I just can't believe this is your first time in Whistler," Kolby says as we sit at a stone picnic bench in the middle of The Village, picking at a couple of the best street tacos I have ever had. The sun is beating down on us and my shoulders feel as though they've been singed, but I'm having too good of a time to care. After being away from my buddies back home for such a long period of time, it feels good to make a friend and not have to solely depend on Aunty Tenille and Kit to keep me company.

After ten minutes of searching for Buddy, we managed to find him within close proximity of the rental shop, socializing with a group of lovestruck teenage girls. I don't know exactly what they were swooning over, but they were fixed on something. And neither of us took the time to figure out the mystery. Kolby was so relieved that we found his dog, he invited me along to get some of the best street tacos in the world. Without a second thought, I agreed. And, well, the rest is history.

I shrug. "I wanted to save this trip and give it to myself as a reward for getting through high school. And, let me tell you, the wait has been worth it so far. Anyway, where are you from? You've got a slight accent, but I can't quite figure it out."

Kolby fails to answer my question because he's too busy imitating the group of swooning teenage girls from earlier. I turn around, scouring the area so I can figure out what or who he's staring at.

And that's when I see her.

Aria.

She's standing in line at the taco truck, tapping her foot against the cobblestone as she waits to place her order. With the baseball cap on it's difficult to pick her out in the crowd, but it's definitely her. I can tell by the slender, muscled curves of her body, the long brown braid cascading down her spine, the confidence oozing off of her.

"You know Aria?" I ask Kolby.

He snorts. "Everyone knows her, Leo."

I press my lips into a flat line, contemplating his words. It would make sense. Judging by how busy the rental shop was earlier today, I'm not surprised that she's a well-known person around town. "That's understandable," I reply. "That rental shop is a popular place. People must see her on a daily basis. Actually, I'm going to be working with her as of Friday."

"Fuck," he breathes, still staring at Aria. He's practically stripping her down with his eyes, and I have to say that it pisses me off a little. "You're working with her?"

"Yeah," I shrug. "What's the big deal?"

He gapes at me, eyes wide. "That's Aria Madden, daughter of Luke Madden. She's expected to lead the women's hockey team to gold at the upcoming Winter Olympics. Have you really never seen her in action on the ice? She's Canada's Golden Girl, and everyone would agree with me."

I shake my head. Despite the fact that I'm Canadian, I've never taken the time to sit down and watch a game of hockey. Instead, I've dedicated that time to training for my scholarship at Dalhousie and toning my skills on the green. "No," I reply, "I haven't. But does that really surprise you considering the fact that I still have flip-phone?"

"Yeah," he sighs, still stuck in an utter state of disbelief. "You've got a point there, mate."

I glance back at Aria. When I first met her, I did feel a sense of familiarity. I may have heard of her at some point in my life, but never cared enough to put a red flag beside her name. "So," I say, glancing at my friend. "I take it she's a big deal?"

"Ginormous," Kolby clarifies, his gaze moving from me, to her, to me again. "Do you think you could get me her autograph?"

I toss a pice of my taco shell at him. "In your goddamn dreams. Just because she's some famous hockey player doesn't mean I'm going to modify the way I treat her. Up until now, I had no idea who she was, and I plan to keep it that way."

Kolby looks at me as if I'm insane.

All I do is shrug. Yeah, she has an immense reputation, as Kolby has said, but that doesn't mean I'm going to start acting any different around her or treating her any different. She's a human being, just like me, and something as simple as a reputation isn't going to change my perception of her.

But even so, I can't prevent the small rise of curiosity from building up inside of me.

I think, when I find my way back to Aunty Tenille and Kit's house, I'm going to have to do some research on a certain woman named Aria Madden.