by Amelia Wilde
It’s fucking stupid, and I know it, but with every hour that goes by, the ache in my chest is replaced with a stinging bitterness.
This is what I get for taking a woman so seriously. This is what I get for molding my life around her instead of around myself. It never ends well, and I shouldn’t have hoped for it to be different with Kennedy. Never mind the way she moved against me. Never mind the way her eyes burned into mine in the club, in the sun on Virgin Gorda, in the moonlight at the Great House. Never mind how it felt to be buried inside her, a perfect fucking fit, like discovering water in the desert.
We’re done, Gideon. It’s over.
On Thursday afternoon, I delete her from my contacts.
On Friday, I go back into the office. Dahlia is waiting to greet me, her eyebrows raised. “How was it?”
“There’s nothing about that trip I want to discuss.” Her smile drops off her face. I move past her into my office.
Dahlia hovers near the door for a minute. “There are some new reports that—”
“I’ll get to them after I have a second to check my messages and my email.”
She lifts her chin an inch, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “All right.” It’s just two words, but I know I’ve crossed the line between being a demanding boss and just a prick. She moves to go.
“I’m sorry, Dahlia.”
She turns back to face me. “What happened?”
I run my hands through my hair. “Obviously, I fucked up.”
“But how specifically? I thought you were done with screwing around and then sending little gifts and calling it good.”
“That’s not what happened.”
Dahlia steps into my office and stands near the edge of my desk. “Then what happened?”
I tell her. It sounds fucking stupid because it is fucking stupid, and when I’m finished, I straighten up and clap my hands together. “So that’s the end of that nonsense. It’s time for all of us to move on.”
She gives me a long look. “Is it?”
“Time to move on? Yes. And time to resurrect those plans I had to go to the Amalfi Coast.” Dahlia is still leveling a searching look at me. “What?”
“You look like shit, Gideon. You’re—” She wrinkles her nose. “I mean, your clothes are fine, but you’re pale and when you came in you were kind of hunched over—” Dahlia drops her shoulders in an exaggerated droop. “It doesn’t seem like you’re over this.”
“I’ll decide when I’m over a woman or not.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I think she was good for you.”
The anger flares up in my chest, hot and sharp. “Good for me? She got pissed at me for inviting her sister on part of our vacation. She broke up with me on the beach in the middle of the private island I reserved just for her. I took her seriously, damn it, and she didn’t want any part of it.”
Dahlia cocks her head to the side. “Any part of it?”
The expression on her face is half wicked, half skeptical, and it makes me laugh in spite of myself. “Well, she liked my money. She liked the private jet. And she liked all those hours I’ve put in at the gym.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“But one mistake, and she was done with me. That’s supposed to be good for me?”
“Hell yes,” Dahlia says, so forcefully it takes me by surprise. “Do you have any idea how tired I am of watching you travel the world in search of someone like Andrea?” An expression of disgust takes over her face. “Andrea was nothing special, Gideon, and she didn’t care about you. I’ve never met Kennedy, but I don’t have to. She cared. I bet she loved you. She was willing to put her life on hold for you, even though you hardly put your life on hold for anyone.”
My throat goes tight. “She said she loved me. Then she took off and cut our trip short, all because—” All because you pushed her past her limits, and you didn’t warn her first.
“Whatever you did, apologize for it.”
“I have no interest in groveling.”
“I have no interest in watching you sulk for the next several years because you let this woman walk out the door.” Dahlia doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t look down, just looks at me steadily, and something in my chest shifts. “If she really doesn’t mean anything to you, then that’s fine, Gideon. But if she does?”
“If she does, then what? It’s over. There’s nothing I can do to—”
“Are you hungover or something?”
“No, why?”
“Because all this ‘nothing I can do’ bullshit is driving me insane. Figure it out, Gideon.”
She turns abruptly and leaves my office before I can say another word.
Then she pokes her head back in. “Don’t fire me for the tough love. But seriously. Do something. Now.”
Chapter 47
Kennedy
The planning comes easy. The execution does not.
I know what I have to do as soon as I hang up the phone with Abby. It’s crystal clear in my mind—a way to prove to Gideon that I know what he was trying to do, and he was right, and a way to prove to myself that I’m over living in this fearful prison that I’ve constructed for myself.
I just have to go through with it.
Ruby Reservations has a standing reputation with just about every vendor in the city and most in destinations across the world, so the setup—once I drop my name in that flirty yet professional tone that men seem to love—only takes about forty-five minutes from start to finish.
I put the phone back into its base station and get up from my desk. I need to walk off some of this nervousness.
Because in two days, I’m going to be putting every ounce of courage to the test.
Sunday morning is hot, the kind of hot that settles near the streets and blankets everything in the city. I’m up before the sun rises. I can’t sleep in, can’t relax. As the dawn is just starting to break, I lock my apartment door behind me and go for a run around the neighborhood, trying to rid my nerves of some of the anxious energy.
It fails miserably.
The hours stretch on and on until the early afternoon, when I’ve made my reservation. I’ve planned out a timeline. I will text Gideon at noon. If he doesn’t reply, I will call him and beg him to meet me. Most of this is a surprise, but not all of it can be—I don’t think John will just agree to take Gideon to a location he hasn’t approved, and that’s only if I knew how to get in touch with him, which I don’t.
I’m just out of my second shower of the day when the clock on my phone flips over to exactly noon, and I snatch it up, heart in my throat. Before I lose my nerve I tap out a message to Gideon and stab my thumb down on the “send” button. There’s a pause, and then, below the message, one word pops up: Delivered.
My hands shake as I gather my hair behind my head in a low bun and sponge on foundation and concealer that hardly covers the bags under my eyes. Every one of my senses is locked on that phone, waiting for it to buzz.
Every heartbeat is a rush in my ears, and the sound of the makeup brush against my skin is amplified. Every few swipes, I stop and listen.
When the buzz finally comes, I drop the brush into the sink with a clatter and sprint back out to the living room, snatching my phone up from the table.
What do I need on Long Island?
I can’t read the tone from his message. I can’t decide if this is joking or bitingly cold. But I have to be there in two hours, and if I’m going to pull this off, he has to be there in three. I don’t have time to dance around this. I don’t have the heart.
Just do me this one favor.
It’s an idiotic thing to say. Gideon has given me more than one favor. Lying next to him for a single night out of my life was more than I ever could have hoped for. But I can’t string together any more words.
I’m breathless, dizzy, waiting for his reply, and as the time stretches out, I sink back onto the sofa.
I can’t do anything but stare at the screen on my phone. I can’t che
ck my social media feeds, can’t even bring myself to close the window that holds Gideon’s messages. I haven’t been able to delete a single one.
I’m about ready to pass out when the message pops up.
I don’t have any other plans. I’ll see you there.
I type out “thank you” five different ways and then delete it. My pulse slowly comes down to a more reasonable level.
It’s time to call the car.
It’s the longest and most expensive cab ride of my life, and I can’t relax for an instant. The closer we get to where we’re going, the more the adrenaline surges into my veins, making it nearly impossible to sit still. By the time we pull up in front of the building—it looks like an oversized pole barn—my feet are bouncing uncontrollably against the floor of the car. I pull three bills out of my purse and shove them into the driver’s hand. He brightens up when he sees the size of the tip I just gave him, then pulls away, peeling back onto the road.
“Kennedy Carlisle?”
I wheel around to face a man who’s all muscle, stocky and tanned and blonde. He holds out his hand for me to shake, and his grip is firm and reassuring. “Dave Harper,” he says.
“Yes. I’m Kennedy.”
He cracks a friendly smile. “I thought so. How was the ride here?”
I give him a tentative smile, my heart already beating hard against my ribs. “Not one that I’d like to make in a cab again any time soon.”
He laughs. “I hope you’ve got a ride home, then.”
My throat goes tight, and I swallow past the lump. I’m really hoping I’ll end up with a ride home, but if Gideon turns me down, the cab ride will probably be the least of my worries. I force a smile back onto my face, and Dave reaches out and pats my shoulder, mistaking my expression for a different kind of fear. It’s all there, for sure, but outside in the sun, I’m most worried about what’s going to happen with Gideon. “You’re going to be in good hands. It’s going to be scary as hell, but you’re going to love it.”
I laugh out loud, mainly because there’s so much adrenaline crashing into my system that it’s all I can do to keep from bursting into tears. I clap my hands together, feeling them tremble as they move through the air, and I give Dave the most confident smile I can. “I don’t know if those two things go together, Dave, but I guess I’m ready to put my life in your hands.”
“No time to waste,” he says, turning on his heel and striding toward the building. For a split second I’m frozen in place, unable to get my legs to cooperate. Then Dave turns and beckons me on. “Come on, Kennedy! It’s all going to be fine.”
Chapter 48
Gideon
I regret agreeing to this as soon as John pulls the car into the Sunday afternoon traffic. People are all over the roads, clogging the way into and out of Long Island, and the longer we sit in traffic, the darker my mood gets.
I have no idea why Kennedy wants to see me at this random address on Long Island. It’s probably some kind of trap, some kind of revenge.
My heart aches even to think that about her. It’s not going to be revenge. It’s going to be worse. It’s going to be worse, because I have a sense that this will come to begging, or pleading, or some kind of breakdown, and I don’t want to be in that situation.
I want to be on my jet, destination fucking anywhere but Long Island.
Halfway there, I toss my phone to the side. There’s only so many times I can review emails from the office and check social feeds that have nothing to do with me.
The next time we’re stopped in traffic, John catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “I can always turn around.”
I shake my head, once, decisively. There’s definitely a side of me that wants to turn the hell around and never answer any texts from Kennedy’s number again, but the bigger part—the part I won’t give voice to, even to my own driver—is aching to see her, even if it’s just to put an end to all this.
I don’t know how much it matters that we’re late. She’d mentioned a specific time, but after traffic, we’re half an hour past it.
It doesn’t seem to matter to the man standing outside a nondescript pole barn.
What the hell has she gotten me into?
He’s got a smile on his tan face, dark hair, and a firm grip. “I take it you’re the famous Gideon Hawke. Hank Taylor.”
I give him a wry smile. “That’s me. But I’m only famous to some people.”
He turns away from me, leaning into the car to tell John where he can park, then straightens up. “I’ve heard you have some experience in this kind of adventure, so the training we’re required to do beforehand will be old hat.” Then he sweeps a hand over his shoulder, like I’m just going to follow him inside without any further explanation.
When I don’t follow along, he turns back, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“What kind of adventure is this?”
His face melts into a pleasant smile, and then he laughs out loud. “She really wasn’t kidding.” I shake my head. “Your girlfriend planned a little surprise for you. Come on in. Welcome to Sky’s the Limit.”
It’s a stab through my heart—your girlfriend—but now I’m intrigued. Now I have to know why Kennedy wanted me to come to this place. Maybe it’s some kind of apology—a last thrill?
“All right.” I fall in step with him as he moves toward the building again. “I’ll bite.”
It’s a skydiving place, that much is clear, but there’s absolutely no sign of Kennedy. Hank runs me through the typical forty-five minute safety orientation and asks me if I’m fine wearing the dress shirt and tailored shorts I’m wearing. Then he’s strapping me into the harness.
“It’s a tandem dive package,” he says, pulling the straps tight.
“Fine by me.” I haven’t taken the time to become dive-certified, so that’s the only option, although the farther I get into this day, the more I’m considering jumping from the plane myself and seeing how the chips fall.
There are a few more minutes of back and forth, Hank going over the final instructions. “Once we take off, it’ll be about ten minutes to diving altitude, which is about 14,000 feet,” he says, hands double- and triple-checking the straps on my harness and his. “When the green light goes on, we’ll jump. We’ll be in free fall for about a minute, and then I’ll deploy the parachute. You’ll have four more minutes to appreciate the sights of New York City from above, and then we’ll land in the drop zone.” His mouth quirks in a smile, but he doesn’t add anymore. He just reaches up with one thick hand and claps me on the shoulder. “All set?”
I give him a look. “It’s not my first time in a plane like this, Hank. I’m ready to go.”
I’m more than ready. If Kennedy’s not here, I want this to be over with. At the same time, excitement is thrumming through my veins. I fucking love skydiving, though I’m not sure I would have chosen to go over New York City if it was up to me. I could be doing this on any continent across the planet.
But this is what’s in front of me, and so I’m going to grab it with both hands.
But not literally.
Hank leads me to the airfield behind the building where the aircraft is waiting at the end of the runway. It’s a King Air twin engine like the ones I’ve jumped out of before, and from across the field, I can see the pilot doing final inspections, and then climbing in. They’re ready to go, which is good, because I don’t want to spend another minute thinking about this, thinking about Kennedy, thinking about anything. I just want to be in free-fall. For the first time in a week, I’ll get to match my actual experience with my mood.
“There she is,” Hank says, and for an instant I think he’s talking about Kennedy. But he just nods at the plane, then hands me a pair of goggles. “Get those on snug before we take off. Don’t want to have to think about too much once we’re climbing.”
I take the goggles, but I don’t put them on just yet. I don’t have a problem with take-off, and I’d rather not deal with them right now when I’
m walking across an open field with no reason to protect my eyes.
Hank climbs into the plane before me, and I take one last look around before I step onboard, my hand on the doorframe. Don’t think about her. Not anymore. Just try to enjoy this.
I take in a deep breath and climb in, my eyes taking a minute to adjust to the relative darkness inside.
When they do, my heart nearly bursts out of my chest.
Chapter 49
Kennedy
He doesn’t see me at first, but I’ve been sitting on the plane for so long, my heart in my throat, that he’s all I can see from the moment he steps into the plane. The metal hums around me, and Dave nudges me, a warning that we’re about to take off. I register it, but barely. My eyes are locked on Gideon, who blinks, his jaw set in a hard line.
He looks tired. He looks frustrated. And he looks a little bit excited.
Then his eyes adjust, and those green eyes are boring right into mine, the fire starting with his gaze and burning in a rush down my spine.
“Hi, Gideon.”
The words that come out of my mouth aren’t the romantic apology I’ve been running through my mind all day, but at the sound of my voice, his face changes completely, eyes going wide with surprise. A fleeting smile is there on his lips, but then it’s gone, and he’s just staring at me, his mouth slightly open.
“Kennedy?”
He says it like he can’t believe it’s me, even though it’s clearly me. I asked him to come here, and he’s surprised to see me?
In a way, it makes perfect sense.
There’s an ache in my throat, and I swallow past it as Gideon and Hank, the other guy who will be diving with us, take their places next to us. There’s another word from the pilot, and then we’re racing down the runway, the metal of the plane vibrating around us.