by Amelia Wilde
“I don’t care,” I remind myself.
But I do care. For the first time in forever, my parents’ apathy has wormed its way under my normally thick skin. It’s hot and tight and ferociously itchy. I scratch my arm, leaving long claw marks down my bicep, and then I rub my eyes. There are hot, angry tears burning inside of them, and I blink furiously, at a loss as to why this completely normal behavior of hers should be making me so upset.
And then it comes to me.
Adam.
Adam cares.
And that makes me care, too.
I clench my fist, bringing it to my mouth, biting down on my knuckle for a moment as the tears claw their way back from falling. Blinking crazily doesn’t do a damn thing, and when the first tear falls, it opens the floodgates.
“Fuck!” I shout, whirling around and hurling a throw pillow against the wall. “Fuck you, Adam!” I shout, because it’s his fucking fault I got hurt. He opened me up. I was closed off, I wanted to be closed off, and he forced me open. With his smiles and his eyes and the easy way we had together. “Fuck you!” I shout again, and then collapse on the couch, all of the fight drained out of me.
Because I’m not angry at Adam. I’d spent so long being angry at him that it was almost a habit now to blame him, but I can’t. He’s not the reason I’m feeling like shit right now.
If anything, he’s the reason I feel…good.
For the first time in I can’t remember how long, I am feeling something more than just dull ambition. And it’s scary and wild and thrilling, and it feels… fantastic.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, stretching the tear-streaked skin of my face, and suddenly I am laughing. I grab the fallen throw pillow and hug it tightly to my chest.
Adam said he’d be at the race tomorrow.
I can’t wait to see him. I can’t wait for him to see me.
19
Adam
I’m so damn excited for Reggie’s big triathlon that I wake up before my alarm. The race goes off at nine in the marked area of Ganagua Lake. It seems a little late in the day to start something like this, but what the hell do I know about triathlons? Nothing, except what Reggie told me last night over dinner. I took her to Casa de Pasta and bought her the spaghetti special. I don’t think I ever saw her eat it when we were friends, back in the day, and she never mentioned loving meatballs, but her entire face lit up when the plate came out.
She was probably thinking about my incredible prowess, too. Who wouldn’t be? I spent the entire meal watching her glow with excitement. Can’t all have been because of the race, and the way her eyes glittered in the light from the family-style lamp hanging above our table pretty much guaranteed it.
But—shit. It’s raining out. The sky is still dark, with only the faintest glow on the horizon, but maybe that’s a trick of the light. I squint through the droplets on my window at the B&B. No break in the clouds.
Not yet, at least. By the time Reggie gets to the starting line on the beach and dives in, the weather had better be perfect.
I linger in the shower, thinking of the way she moved against me like there was nothing sexier in the entire world than fucking me right next to a roaring waterfall. What could be sexier than that? Only the fact that it was Reggie. Only the fact that she’s fucking gorgeous, all strength and curves and energy right there under the surface, barely contained. She’s a force to be reckoned with. If someone could bottle the set of her jaw when she’s determined, it would be worth a damn fortune.
Thinking about her makes me rock hard. So rock hard that I can’t ignore it. I’ve jacked off to more than a few women in the shower, but this time, it’s different. This time it’s not her perfect ass that gets me off, though she does have a perfect ass, honed to sculpture caliber by all the triathlon training. It’s not the sensual curve of her breasts, though I wouldn’t mind being able to run my hands over those to her pert nipples every day of my life. It’s her face. Her eyes, burning into mine, alive and on fire, always in the moment.
When I’m spent, I towel off before rifling through my suitcase. I’ve been here long enough that it’s time to send out for laundry. I used to do my own laundry at my mom’s, after we moved out of the Lane mansion. The mansion that wasn’t really even a mansion, just like my father pretended to be a good man but was really a piece of shit on the inside. My jaw clenches thinking about him, about the house, but fuck all that today. Today is about Reggie.
I’ve just pulled my last clean blue t-shirt over my head and buttoned up my shorts when the alert pops up on my phone.
Meeting with Frank Posner. 9 AM.
Well, shit.
Shit, shit, shit. I can’t meet with Frank and be at the triathlon on time, and if there’s one thing I’m not going to do, I’m not going to miss this race. No way.
I check my watch. For all the time I spent in the shower, it’s only six-thirty.
Hope Frank wasn’t planning to sleep in.
I’m hopping down the front steps of my father’s house—now my house, but not for long, if I get my way—when my phone rings again. Frank wasn’t totally pleased about being awakened by my three calls in a row to his home phone number, but there’s a silver lining. Now he has the rest of the morning to do whatever he pleases. He can even set up for the estate sale tomorrow. He has my blessing to do whatever is necessary to empty out this house of whatever remaining bullshit is left inside. Mostly furniture. Nothing important to my mother, nothing important to me. When I had to call her about my dad passing away, I’d been nervous, but she’d only sighed a little. “We had some good years,” she said, and then she’d changed the subject to the new painting class she was taking over in Italy. I bought her a condo. It’s the least I could do. So I’m not worried in the slightest that Frank might accidentally sell something that means anything to either of us. There’s nothing like that left.
“Hello?” I’m reaching for the key fob in my pocket, the shape of the rental keys still unfamiliar though getting less so every day that I’m here.
“Adam!” It’s my second-in-command at Zeller International, Chris Benson. He’s one of the few people at the office who isn’t afraid to call me Adam. “Where are you?”
“Are you calling from the office? On a Sunday morning?”
“It’s the most productive time, Mr. Zeller,” he jokes. “Nice and quiet, with no distractions.” Then he laughs. “I’m here finalizing some details on the Delta Plastics merger. Thought I’d check in.”
“At—” I glance down at my watch. Shit. “Eight thirty-five on a Sunday?” I unlock the door of the rental car, get in, and yank the door shut behind me. As soon as this call is over, I have to go.
“You’re awake, aren’t you?” Chris is just as much a friend as a business associate. I bet if I’d already been back in the city, he’d be inviting me to brunch right now.
“I’m busy. Everything good with the deal?” Zeller International is an umbrella company for all of my different ventures. There are a lot of them. In fact, I still sell t-shirts and drop-ship condoms, but I’m not the only one doing the work these days.
“Ship-shape,” Chris says. “I know you said you’d be out until Tuesday, but I wanted to confirm.”
The thought of leaving here in two days turns my stomach. “You know, Chris—” It’s a bullshit excuse, and I know it, but I can’t help the words that come tumbling out of my mouth. “Things here are a little more involved than I thought. It’s going to be—” I own the company. I shouldn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt about taking an unscheduled vacation, but I don’t like to leave people hanging. The more time I spend with Reggie, the more I realize how that can fuck with people’s lives. “It’ll be Friday, earliest.”
“No problem, boss,” Chris says, and I can hear him already tapping out a message on his second phone. “You are planning to come back though, right?” He says it with a chuckle.
I answer with a laugh. “Of course I’m coming back. You think there’s anythin
g for me in Reckless Falls?” As if in answer, Reggie’s face, mid-orgasm, cheeks flushed pink and eyes squeezed shut, her perfect lips open in a moan, flashes into my mind, and the back of my neck goes cold with the thought of being away from her again. My foot is bouncing against the gas pedal, but I haven’t turned the key in the ignition yet.
Reggie. I’m going to be late for Reggie.
“I’ll check in soon, Chris.” He’s still saying his goodbyes when I end the call and turn on the car, pulling out fast onto the residential road.
Heading through Reckless Falls and out toward Ganagua Lake, I’ve got the music loud, some random top 40 shit playing at top volume. There’s probably going to be a lot of people there. Shit. I wanted to be toward the front of the crowd.
But there’s curiously little traffic pulling onto the access road, and the dirt parking lot at the trailhead isn’t even half full. I’m nervous as hell now. What if I’m too late? What if this is the wrong spot? This is where Reggie said to park, but this doesn’t look like a packed event.
Eight fifty-five. I cannot miss this.
I break into a run on the trail, heart in my throat. Go, go, go.
My heart practically explodes with relief when I see them on the shore—ten, maybe fifteen people, one with a red blanket and a picnic basket, arrayed on the beach, staring across the water at a huddled group of people. They’re all tiny figures from this far away, but I can see her, the way she’s standing, the dark of her swimsuit contrasting against her tan skin.
I sprint down toward one of the open spaces on the beach, a crazy wild possessive pride like fireworks exploding in my chest. That’s my Reggie, and I don’t care who knows it. I just want her to know that I’m here. I didn’t bail on her. Not this time.
I throw my arms over my head and wave as dramatically as I fucking can. Who’s here to see me except a bunch of people from Reckless Falls? I can act this way in front of them. It’s not the boardroom. It’s comfortable, and anyway, I can’t stop myself from shouting across the water at her. There’s no way she can hear me, but I shout out anyway. “You’re amazing, Reggie Quinn!”
The huddle of bodies across the lake visibly tenses, disengaging from one another. It must be time to start. Suddenly viewing the activity from the beach seems totally inadequate, and like a madman, I leap onto a fallen log, adding to my height just enough to get a slightly better view.
There’s a pause like a weight settling over my shoulders, and I am ready. I have my eyes glued to Reggie. I’m not taking them off of her until I have to.
The gun sounds indicating the start of the event, the blast echoing hollowly through the wooded blanket of trees.
Like they’re mind-melded, all the people on the opposite shore charge toward the water, each diving in, and the beach around me erupts in applause.
Applause isn’t enough for me. I’m going to cheer my fucking head off, as long as I’m here. She might be half underwater right now, streaking in—I can just make out her white swimming cap between two other people in the churning water on the other side—but another shout tears from my throat. “That’s my girl! That’s my girl! Go, Reggie!”
20
Regina
The early-morning dampness is still clinging to the trees, the soft breeze sprinkling water droplets down on the white swim cap hugging my head uncomfortably tight. I trained throughout the whole burning hot summer. I didn’t expect to be shivering the morning of the triathlon.
But late August is a crapshoot around here, with some maple trees already showing bright red color at the very tops of their crowns. The rain stopped before dawn, but the sand that clings to my toes as I walk down to take my place on the starting line is cold and wet and heavy as cement. I jump up and down, slapping my arms one last time before I clench my teeth.
“Yeesh!” I hiss as I peel off my oversized hoodie and stand shivering in my swimsuit on the shore.
A woman I don’t recognize turns and gives me a tight smile. I nod back, but her eyes slide past me and suddenly light up. “Hey!!” she shouts, waving her arms over her head. “Hi baby! Hi there!”
I turn to where she is looking diagonally across the water. A small crowd, as tiny as ants from this distance, has gathered at the end of the course, which sits diagonally across from us at the site of the old marina. It’s where the bikes are set up for the second leg of the event. I bite my lip nervously. I’m an okay swimmer and only a fair runner. The biking is my strongest of the three legs of the race. It’s where I’ll be able to make up the most time, maybe even pull ahead. One last time, I scan the far shore. It’s not like I can see my bike from here, but I can at least see the part of the beach where I left it.
I can also see a few more spectators taking their places. A few have umbrellas, one shakes out a red blanket that flashes in the hazy sun.
And one of them is jumping up and down like a crazy man.
I bite my lip, but I can’t keep from smiling when I see him. Even from this distance, I can tell that it’s Adam waving to me from the distant shoreline. The sky is overcast, but a little shaft of sunlight breaks through the mottled clouds and shines like a spotlight on his golden head. He brings his hands to his mouth and shouts something that doesn’t carry over the water, but it has me blushing anyway.
Quickly I look back down to the ground again, my ears burning. Up until twenty-four hours ago, I fully planned on completing this course entirely unnoticed. I was doing it for me, after all. I wasn’t doing it for praise. That’s what I told myself, and that’s what I believed.
But having Adam here?
It’s...
It’s really…nice.
I duck a glance back up again. He is climbing up onto a fallen log on the far shore, the better to see across the water. I clutch my arms tightly around myself, imagining they are his arms giving me one last good luck hug. It’s unbearably corny, but it seems like something Adam would want me to do.
“Good luck,” the woman I don’t recognize says as she tightens her cap.
“You, too!” I say with more warmth than I expected. “Good luck!”
She nods and turns back to the water, and I feel my smile linger for a few more moments.
Then they call places, and it’s on.
The starting gun echoes like thunder off the mountains and goes rolling across the water. I leap across the sand and hit the still-cold water with a splash.
We hit the water all together in a frenzy of splashing, with one mistimed kick catching me right in the ribs. I gasp in a mouthful of water and cough. Not wanting a foot in my face, I dive below the water line, holding my breath until I pop out clear of the maelstrom and start to swim.
Within a few strokes, the groupings are clear. I’m not in the front—I didn’t expect to be—but I am not at the very back either, and that accomplishment alone is enough to make me smile as I streak through the water.
We follow a course that hugs the shoreline. I’ve been swimming it all summer long, so it should feel familiar, but there’s something alien about it today. Maybe it’s the fact that there are people swimming around and beside me when I’m so used to doing this course alone. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m actually doing it. This thing I’ve set out to prove to myself is actually happening. Everything I’ve worked for hinges on today.
That thought sends a little fission of panic up my spine, and I kick faster, pounding through the water with a burst of frantic adrenaline. I’ve worked so hard. I can’t let a single thing go wrong today.
No mistakes, or it was all a waste.
My heart pumps fast but strong as I cut underwater, dolphin-kicking my way past the woman on my right. All those training sessions where I worked on holding my breath for increasingly longer periods of time comes in handy when I pull ahead. I’m now in the front, only five people ahead of me out of the whole group. All around me is the splashing frenzy of kicks, the water churned up so I can barely see the finish line. I can’t hear anything but my own heartbeat, but I ca
n imagine I hear Adam cheering me on, and I want to be proud of myself, of course, but I also really, really want him to be proud of me, too. I care what he thinks of me.
I care.
I care a lot.
That realization makes me gasp, which screws up my stroke pattern for a moment. I recover quickly, but not before someone slips past me, sending me back into sixth place.
Suddenly, I’m pissed at myself. I stumble a little as I emerge from the cold water into the damp, chill air, letting another person bound past me. It’s the woman from the starting line, the one to whom I’d wished good luck. But it doesn’t matter because the bike portion is next and that’s where I’m really going to shine. And what’s even better is that Adam will see me do it.
21
Adam
The cheers die out when the swimmers are in the middle of the lake, and it’s a real effort to stop yelling. It’s a kind of wild excitement that I don’t expect. I’m not the one in the triathlon, but I might as well be, my heart is pounding so hard. Watching Reggie, my eyes locked on the white swim cap amidst all the other swim caps, I feel like I used to feel back when we were kids, racing on our bikes toward the adventure of the day. It might only have been heading to the outfitters to pool our quarters and split a candy bar, but Reggie always attacked, pumping her legs, jaw set, eyes narrowed and focused, fighting for every ounce of speed she could muster. It’s a fierce pride.
In the silence, I watch them come closer, the sounds of their strokes echoing over the water, kicks and splashes. There’s a breath where I have a chance to look up and down the beach, to either side of this log. That’s when it hits me. There’s nobody else watching Reggie. It’s just me.
Where are her parents? Where are her sisters? Maria always had her mind focused on a book. I hardly ever saw her doing anything but ducking away with an armful of notebooks, head bowed over the evening’s work. Christina, the younger one, was sweet, all smiles, head cocked to the side, over the dinner table. A good girl to the core. Reggie hated that shit. She’d clench her jaw and stare down at her plate, shoulders drooping just a little. She wouldn’t be herself again until we were alone together.