Whatever It Takes (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 1)

by Lindsey Pogue

  I open my ice chest and grab my last beer and my double-wrapped lunch, grinning almost giddily. Mac was right. “Still dry,” I say, holding it up. “There’s nothing worse than a soggy sandwich.”

  “If that’s all it takes to make you happy, man . . .” Nick says as he concentrates on unwrapping his lunch. He holds his cigarette between his lips. “Ah-ha! Victory!” With a final drag, he puts his cigarette out in the sand and drops the butt in his ice chest.

  “So,” he eventually continues as he pops open a beer, “how’s it going?” He looks at Sam.

  I wipe any lingering crumbs from my mouth with the back of my hand, thinking. All I can come up with is, “I don’t know.”

  Nick takes another bite of his sandwich. “Sorry, man. I wish I could help you two figure things out.”

  I shrug, resigned. “It is what it is.” As much as I want everything to be better, to feel natural between us again, I know too much has happened for that, despite the hope that still lingers in the back of my mind, even now.

  “The summer is still young, my friend,” he says in the worst French accent I’ve ever heard.

  My gaze rests on Sam again, though I don’t want it to. “Yeah, well, I’m leaving, remember?”

  “True.” Nick grunts and nudges me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “So, where’s your little brunette shadow who’s been following you around all day?”

  “Claire? I guess she’s with Bethany, downriver still.”

  “She’s a cutie. I’ve seen her at Lick’s a few times with a few different guys, so be careful.”

  I chuckle through a mouthful of food. “It’s not like we’re getting hitched,” I say and swallow. “She’s just cute . . . and easier to be around.”

  “Oh, she’s a cutie for sure, that’s the problem.”

  I shake my head as Nick pulls a jar of pickles out of his ice chest. “Some things never change,” I mutter.

  When I hear Bethany’s voice downstream, I wonder if I might be wrong. Though I’m sure I know the answer, I venture to ask, “You over her yet, man?” I can’t imagine he’d still have any feelings for her after everything that’s happened within this group. Bethany’s played with his heart since she knew it was possible and caused plenty of problems on top of that, mostly when it comes to Sam . . . and me, I remind myself. Sam was right. I might never have encouraged Bethany’s attention, but I never deterred it either.

  “Bethany? Oh. Sure. I have Savannah, remember?”

  I laugh, dubious. “As convincing as that was . . .”

  Nick groans and lies back, draping his arm over his face as he takes a bite of pickle. “She’s made it clear for the past, like, eight years that there isn’t and never will be anything between us,” he explains, but it seems he’s saying it more to himself. My gaze shifts to Sam, then back to Bethany and Claire.

  “I don’t know,” I think aloud. “She’s been eyeing you all day. You sure about that?”

  Nick shrugs. “I know. I’m ignoring it. Savannah’s a good girl. I need a good girl.”

  They pull their canoe up on shore and are scampering toward us within minutes, Bethany waving and Claire blushing.

  “Want to go for a swim?” Claire asks, and as she tilts her head to the side, cute as ever, part of me wants to say yes.

  “Maybe in a bit,” I say and hold up my sandwich, then my eyes meet Sam’s and she looks away.

  Twenty-One

  Sam

  Stomach full and feeling like I could float away, Mac and I sit in the sunshine, basking and quiet. Well, I’m basking—or trying to—and Mac bites the side of her cheek, eyeing me and waiting for a response.

  “Stop staring at me. I’m fine,” I say, at least fine in the sense she means. My mind is swirling a little, but it feels nice, feels light and liberating.

  “I heard you guys,” she says, all ominous and judgy.

  “Heard who?” I stare at her, growing exasperated.

  “You and Reilly shouting on the water earlier.”

  “Oh.” I figured she’d have said something already if she’d heard. I guess she was just waiting for me to forget about my fight with him so that she could remind me of it again. I pick a loose thread on my towel.

  “Not good, huh?”

  “Yeah, well”—I exhale and turn to look at her—“there was a reason I didn’t want to partner with him.”

  Mac’s stare stays, and my buzz begins to fade, and with it so does my light mood. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re drinking a lot for, well, you, and—”

  “What do you people want from me?” I blurt out. “I’m letting loose,” I say a bit more evenly. “I’m trying to have a good time, just like you’ve all been badgering me to do. I can’t be Reilly’s best friend and let loose and deal with Bethany all at once, okay? That’s just asking too much.” I reach over, stretching for Nick’s half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. The more I drink of it, the less I hate the way it tastes.

  “What is that, shot number three or four?” Mac asks.

  I shrug. “I’m not counting.” I take a swig and breathe out the fumes that burn my throat going down. I like the burn, a lot. I offer Mac the bottle.

  Mac shakes her head, but she takes the bottle and sets it aside. “I don’t expect you to be Bethany’s friend. That’s a horrid thought.” She makes a sour face. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Am I allowed to do that? You are my best friend, remember?”

  Pulling my legs up to my chest, I fold my arms over my knees and concentrate on the liquid that makes my stomach warm. “Of course, just stop ruining my buzz, alright?” I’m only half-teasing her. “I need a friend, not a babysitter.” I’m fully aware that that isn’t something sober Sam would say, but I don’t seem to care enough to apologize.

  Mac throws her hands up. “Fine. You got it. No more babysitting.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “But”—I lift a finger—“I cannot guarantee I won’t need you to hold me back when I can’t take any more of Bethany’s shit and I bitch-slap her.”

  Mac bursts out laughing. “Okay, I’ll try to prepare myself.”

  I laugh, letting the heaviness in my chest go with it. But when I hear Reilly’s deep laugh over by the jumping rock, and Claire and Bethany in the water splashing and cheering him on, I can’t help the way my stomach knots up again, even from way up here on the languid cloud I’ve been drifting on.

  “What can I do?” Mac’s hands are soft and warm on my back as she rubs small, slow, comforting circles. With her sixth sense to know when something’s wrong, comes the ability to know what to do to make me feel better—sometimes.

  My lids flutter closed, and I let out a moan. “Keep doing that—for, like, ever.”

  Reilly laughs again, followed by ear-piercing squealing and cackling. Opening my eyes, my cheek resting on my knee, I watch Reilly, his air easy and playful, the way he used to be with me, and I remember our late-night dips in the lake—our own private haven away from our unbearable lives.

  “Sam,” Mac whispers.

  I know that tone—sympathy or pity or sadness—and I don’t want to see it in her expression. I refuse to look at her.

  “I know this trip is hard for you, but I’m glad you guys are trying,” she says.

  Something buried in a hidden place, masked by the darkness, shudders and heaves and twists and tugs until I have to squelch every maddening response away. When impending tears prick the backs of my eyes, I blink.

  “Look out below!” Nick calls, and I’m thankful for the diversion. He jumps from the cliff into the water without an iota of hesitation. He’s under the water for a few seconds, when he eventually bobs back up to the surface. Savannah swims out to him, both of them laughing as they ride the ripples, him encouraging her to jump off too.

  I gaze past them at other groups splashing and jumping off rocks and partying up the river. This is truly the place to be this weekend, but part of me is ready to go home already.

  “Don’t let go!” Claire calls
. And I take a deep breath, watching as she hangs on Reilly’s back as he threatens to head up to shore. The more Reilly drinks, the more playful he gets. I know I shouldn’t care, I have no right to, but I do. Since Claire took her life vest off, she’s barely unwound herself from him.

  “Come on, Corporal, show us what you got!” Nick calls as Reilly climbs up the rock.

  The girls below hoot and cheer for him to jump, including Mac beside me. Giving everyone below a salute, Reilly lifts off the pads of his feet and jumps into the water, plunging in with a giant splash.

  “Damn, I miss this,” he calls when he resurfaces. He shakes the water from his face and hair and wades back toward shore.

  “Right on,” Nick says, giving him a high-five, and they head back up the rock for another jump.

  Mac and I sit in silence as we watch Reilly and Nick jump again and again. They look like they’re having the time of their lives, and I’m smiling and laughing with them, even if I’m doing so from afar.

  Irritation prickles over me. “I want to try it,” I say, surprising myself, and I jump to my feet.

  Mac jumps up too. “Are you serious? You never jump. That’s like a fifteen-foot drop or something.”

  “Serious,” I say and brush the sand from my hands off on my shorts. “Before I lose my nerve.”

  With what lingers of good ol’ Jack running through my blood and an airy, adventurous longing nagging at me, I seize this opportunity to live a little. Pulling off my shorts, I rush toward the cliff. I barely register the sound of Bethany jumping off, of Claire cheering and yipping from the water, of the guys laughing. I feel too alive to think about anything other than what I’m about to do—what I’m determined to do.

  “Be careful, Sam!” Mac calls.

  I wave, never once removing my gaze from the rock as I climb to the top. The stones are wet but rough enough that I don’t have to worry about my footing. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  I’m just about to convince myself I don’t have to, that it’s dangerous and I might hit the rocks at the bottom, but Nick’s gaping awe forces me to stay. “No fucking way!”

  “She’s doing it!” Mac squeals.

  Reilly’s standing at the top, arm outstretched when I reach him. My gaze meets his. Although he looks surprised, amusement and what might be intrigue enlivens his jewel-blue eyes and it bolsters my need to do this.

  All too eagerly, I accept his hand. As he pulls me to the top, I try not to notice the rivulets of water running down his chest.

  “I’ve been waiting my whole life for this!” Nick shouts. “It looks like we’ve got ourselves a new thrill-seeker, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Mac and Savannah cheer and chant.

  “You can do it, Sam!”

  “Come on, Sam.”

  “Do it! Do it! Do it!”

  But I’m still staring at Reilly, at the unfamiliar look in his gaze and the way his mouth purses before his eyes widen and his grins. “After you . . .” He gestures for me to walk out in front of him, to go first.

  I flash him a nervous smile. The nerves I’d hoped would remain dormant while I tested my limits are screaming at me to climb back down and stay safe in the warm sand, away from scary things like heights and the luring warmth of Reilly’s body behind me.

  A paralyzing numbness trickles over me as I peer down at the water that seems much, much farther down than it did from the bank. “The river is so shallow,” I say, giving myself a reason not to jump. I take a step backward. “We’re so high up.”

  “It’s one of the deepest points in the river.” Reilly’s breath caresses my ear, making the hairs on my arms and neck rise. “You won’t even touch the bottom, I promise.” He’s calm and reassuring, his voice level with a timbre of truth.

  Knowing I shouldn’t, I can’t resist and peer down into the water again. It’s dark green and deep enough, but the sudden rush to plummet to the bottom is no longer exciting. It seems absolutely insane.

  “Stop thinking about it,” Reilly says. “You’ll psych yourself out and back down. Just jump. You won’t regret it.”

  Looking back, I gaze into his eyes, feeling grounded in their steadiness.

  I flex my hands at my sides, wanting nothing more than to give up and run away from the cliff . . . from the draw I have to him. “You promise?”

  Reilly nods. “Jump to the right of where Nick is, that’s the deepest part. He’ll be down there waiting for you. Nothing will happen.”

  Feeling as much comfort as I imagine is possible, I squeeze my eyes shut, exhale a long, deep breath, and clench my fists. “Okay,” I breathe, “I’m doing it.” Telling myself there is absolutely no going back if I’m going to take control of my life—if I’m going to live—I force myself to step forward, and on the count of three, I jump.

  I’m freefalling, screaming the entire way down. The rush is exactly what I’d expected it to be, the sense of nothing but air around me and the sounds of hooting and hollering only amplifying my adrenaline. When my feet finally hit the water, it stings a little, then the river consumes me, swallowing me up and threatening to pull my bathing suit off. As soon as my legs start kicking me back up, a giddy sense of euphoria overcomes me. Soon, I’m breaking through the surface and want to cry out with pride.

  Nick and the others are clapping as I catch my breath.

  Reilly jumps next, the splash of his cannonball tossing me around like I weigh nothing more than a down feather. When I finally get to shallow water, I’m still laughing at what I’ve just done, my body still trembling with excitement, and I climb to my feet, feeling more sober and alive.

  Nick comes up behind me and throws his arms around my shoulders. “I knew you had it in ya,” he says, lifting me off my feet, causing me to laugh. I try to wriggle free, peeling his arms away.

  When Reilly rises up out of the water, my arms are wrapped around his shoulders before I can care. “Thank you,” I breathe. “That was exhilarating! I want to do it again.”

  Then his palm rests on the middle of my back, and something about its familiarity—a surfacing memory—makes me flinch away. My confidence and smile wanes.

  “Sorry,” I say, taking a step back, but Reilly reaches for my upper arm.

  “You don’t have to be sorry.” He moves a strand of hair I hadn’t even realized was hanging in my face. “Adrenaline looks good on you.” He smiles another one of his heart-stopping smiles and my insides warm. I hold my breath, unable to look away from him, his furrowed brow and parted lips . . .

  “Sam!” Mac screeches as she comes over with my towel. “I can’t believe you freaking did it!” She throws her arms around me. “You’re officially my hero.”

  “Ha. I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, and my eyes lock with Reilly’s again as he scrubs his towel over his head.

  “That deserves a celebration shot,” Nick declares and plods through the sand over to his makeshift lounging area.

  Mac follows after him, leaving Reilly and me standing there to dry off. I smile up at him, deciding to jump off the rock again, when he stills.

  “What happened?” he asks, staring at the red, puffy cut and scar tissue below my right hip.

  I can feel the blood draining from my face. “Oh, I . . . I got caught up on the camping stove last night. It’s nothing, I’m fine.” I worry my hesitation gives me away, and with the thrill of my jump quickly wearing off, I frantically search for my shorts, which I’d discarded somewhere in my abrupt decision to jump off a fucking cliff.

  Reilly reaches for my arm. “Sam, are you sure—”

  I tear it away from him. “It’s nothing. Honestly.” I don’t want this attention or anyone else’s.

  His gaze searches mine, and I can’t stand there under his scrutiny a moment longer. He makes me feel uneasy in my own skin.

  I rejoin the group and take another shot of Jack Daniels.

  I refuse to let anything ruin my exhilarating high.

  Twenty-Two

  Reilly

&nb
sp; The inside of my tent is washed in an orange haze that reminds me of long treks in the desert, endless rock formations glowing like fire, and scrub brush bathed in the nearly unbearable heat. I’m not sure how long I’ve been lying here, sun-beat and waterlogged, thinking. Long enough to hear Sam and Mac’s giggling and whispering in the next tent over and Nick’s incessant whistling and Savannah’s shushing turn to slow, throaty snores as they pass out for a late-afternoon nap.

  Sleeping seems futile. My mind is cluttered from all that happened on the water. I’m not sure how much of what I remember is skewed by the beer, and some of it maybe by hope. My argument with Sam replays over and over, and I can’t stop thinking about how twisted everything’s become—everything that happened between Sam and me is a mess of wrongs I wish I could right, of misguided turns that sent us in circles only to both end up here, confused and, if I’m honest with myself, alone. The more I sober, the more I wonder what—if anything—might be left between us.

  The fresh, pink two-inch cut—the mauled skin by her hip—is permanently branded to memory. It didn’t look like an accident, it looked like a strategically placed cut. I scour memories of Sam since I returned, trying to find nuances of how broken she might really be. It takes a few moments before I can remind myself it might simply be a scrape, that Sam really did get caught up on the stove, like she claimed.

  . . . But what if she didn’t? Sam’s changed and there’s so much I don’t know about her anymore. My conversation with Mac this morning hangs ominous and unfinished in my mind. I know I need to talk to Mac again or I won’t be able to move past this.

  With a groan, I sit up. I came here to finally close this chapter of my life, but now there’s this new, gaping hole. “You’re the one who left.” She’s right, and what if I hadn’t?

  Unable to keep my mind still or stay in the confines of my tent any longer, I grab a fresh shirt from my bag, unzip my tent, and step outside. The evening air is cooler outside than in my tent, but the breeze is regenerating.

  The tent beside me sways, and wrestling and whispered curses emanate from inside. Mac steps out, trying to be quiet as she closes the tent up again.She straightens, then yawns and waves over at me as she massages her head awake. She’s in sweatpants already.