Rebound

by Noelle August

  Adam shakes his head and shoots me a grin. “Well, I like the blindfold part, at least.”

  Jasmine continues her instructions. “At each layover, your navigator’s allowed to ask you any question, and your job is to answer truthfully. Unburden your heart so it has more room to be filled with love and life. And trust that your truth is precious to your partner, and that truth will be cared for and protected.”

  I can’t help looking at Adam again, wanting to know if I can believe that, if I can give him my secrets. If he can give me his.

  It strikes me that this exercise is tailor-made to my father’s purposes, but that using it that way is the lowest thing I can imagine. I can’t do it. I won’t. And that realization unburdens me, makes me feel light and a little giddy. The way I felt when he kissed me on the back of the snowmobile. The way he makes me feel, period.

  “Come on, Blackwood,” I say. “Let’s get a blindfold on you.”

  “Not if I get one on you first,” he says and darts off toward Jasmine.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” I say, and race behind him. But trying to run through calf-high snow is pretty much a futile pursuit, so it ends up looking like two people in the clumsiest slow motion ever.

  We’re laughing when we reach Jasmine, and Adam manages to snag a blindfold just a second before my fingers reach for it.

  “Oh, I adore this enthusiasm!” Jasmine says. “You’re such lovelies!”

  “Come on, lovely,” Adam says, and twirls the blindfold in the air. “Let’s get this on you.”

  We walk down a gentle slope, and I direct him toward one of the little obstacle courses that spreads out in a patch of sunlight. A green cone marks the starting point, and I hold out my hand for the blindfold.

  He gives me a skeptical look. “Are you kidding, Quick? There’s no way I’m letting you put this on yourself.” Moving closer, he reaches up and smoothes my hair back behind my ears. “You have the softest hair,” he tells me. Then he places the silken fabric over my face. “Hold that,” he instructs. And I hold it against my eyes, hating to block out the sight of him.

  I feel the weight of his arms on my shoulders as he reaches around me to tie the blindfold, giving it a sharp tug to secure it. His body brushes against me, and the hard length of him grazes my hip.

  “Sorry,” he whispers in my ear. “I guess masks excite me.”

  I tremble, not from the cold but from the growl in his voice, the feel of him against me. The memory of our last time in masks.

  “A good navigator wouldn’t try to distract his pilot,” I tell him. Of course, a good pilot probably wouldn’t want to throw her navigator into a snow mound and jump on top.

  Adam fumbles around with something for a moment, and then I feel the length of cord circling my waist, being tugged taut. “Shit,” he says. “Blindfolds and rope. I’m in big trouble here, Quick.”

  I laugh. “I’m surprised you can be around horses at all then,” I say. “All kinds of sexy tackle.”

  “Don’t say the words ‘sexy tackle’ to me. I’m having a hard enough time.”

  “Yes, I noticed how hard a time you’re having.”

  He laughs and then I feel him move away from me. “Okay, let’s do this,” he says. “Take about a half step to your right and then walk about two short paces.” He gives the rope a gentle tug to my right to align me, and I step forward.

  “Perfect.” He gives me further directions, tugging just a bit here and there as needed, but mainly guiding me with his voice. Even blindfolded, I feel perfectly secure, attuned to him. And there’s a freedom to being locked in this world without vision. Everything becomes his voice, the gentle pull of the rope, my careful steps in the snow. All the chatter in my head falls away, and we’re just a perfect, choreographed dance—flawless together.

  “Okay, stop right there,” Adam says. “We’ve reached a blue cone.”

  My feet plant, and I wait, thrilled and afraid of the question he’ll ask.

  “Tell me what happened with you and Ethan.”

  My throat tightens. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t expect this. I’m surprised he doesn’t already know. Mia works for him. He plays poker with Ethan. I’m touched that neither of them told him, and their kindness makes me bold.

  “I cheated on him.” In my mind, the words freeze into ice and hover in the air between us. I don’t offer anything else. I see it all so differently now, and no other words seem necessary—especially not excuses.

  I wish I could see Adam’s face now, see how he’s looking at me. We’re quiet for a moment, the chatter and laughter of the others echoing around us.

  Then he just says, “Okay. Move about four inches to the left.”

  He guides me through the course until we reach another blue cone. Coming to stand close to me, he asks, “Why?” His voice is gentle and probing but without an ounce of accusation.

  I sigh. “It’s such a long story,” I tell him. “We’ll freeze.”

  “Imagine my arms are around you,” he says, and his breath stirs against my cheek. “I’ll keep you warm. Just tell me.”

  And so I do. I start with all of the things I see now that I didn’t see then. I tell him about that weekend I found my father with another woman, how I ran away, spent the night at the airport, got back to college, and couldn’t tell Ethan anything. Because I felt I needed to be loyal to my father and because Ethan seemed to admire him so much. I kept it a secret, and that secret made everything different between us. It made me different.

  “I started partying more,” I tell Adam. “And just . . . I stopped caring. I stopped believing in whatever Ethan and I had. And to be honest, I knew I wasn’t in love with Ethan. And he wasn’t in love with me. Not really. We had a lot of nice moments together, and I was excited by his success, I think, because I felt all of this pressure to be successful myself. I don’t know. I just know that I let it all get out of hand. Because I didn’t know what to think or feel. I just numbed myself to everything. I cut myself off from him and then I resented that he couldn’t share my pain. It was so wrong of me. But I couldn’t pull out of it. I just kept making terrible choices. Telling myself I didn’t care. That none of it mattered.”

  “And the guy you cheated with?”

  “One of those terrible choices.” Tears sting my eyes, and I reach under the blindfold to wipe them away. I could remove it entirely, of course, but there’s a comfort in it, in not being able to see Adam while I tell him my story. “I was so lonely. It felt like I didn’t have my family anymore. Not in the same way. I pushed Ethan away and blamed him for being so busy with soccer and studies and his friends. The guy was my research partner, and we were with each other constantly. I just wanted to feel like . . .”

  “Like what?” Adam asks, and his tone is so earnest and so understanding that more tears come.

  “I wanted to feel like I mattered, I guess. Or like . . . I don’t know . . . I wanted to know if it was true, what my father said. That it didn’t matter. That it could happen and not mean anything.”

  “But it meant something?”

  I nod. “I let myself go with it because I was buzzed, and I wanted to escape myself. But I pretty much hated it—which wasn’t the guy’s fault. He was . . . nice enough. He stopped when I got upset, but we were still in bed together when . . . when Ethan found us.”

  I start crying again, my whole body seized by the memory and the pain—and, in some small part, by a sharp sympathy for the person I was just a few months ago.

  “I’m happy Ethan’s found someone. They seem so . . . in love. But I’ll never forget that look on his face. I spent six months trying to forget that look, drinking and acting like none of it mattered. It killed my studies. I mean, I killed them. I lost almost every friend I had. My parents had to bail me out of the whole thing. It was just a disaster. I was a disaster.”

  “But you’re not anymore,” he says quietly.

  I shake my head, shivering. “No. I’m not.”

  “Com
e on,” he says, and gives the rope another gentle tug. “Just a few steps straight on, and we’ll be done.”

  I follow his directions and come to stand in front of him. “Last question,” I say. The air temperature has dropped again, and the wind slices into me, starting my teeth chattering.

  I feel his arms around me, and then the blindfold lifts away, and it’s just the two of us, face-to-face in the blinding winter sunlight.

  “Okay,” Adam says. “Last question.” There’s nothing in his expression but regard and tenderness. “Want to go inside and get a goddamned cup of coffee?”

  I smile, brushing away the last of my tears. “That sounds really, really good right now.”

  Chapter 32

  Adam

  The lodge has a library off the great room that’s small and dim, with dark mahogany bookshelves and two stuffed chairs. It’s as much privacy as I can get us right now, while still being part of the day’s program. I claim it for Team Quick-Wood, taking Ali there as the other teams stake out other spots throughout the house.

  We weren’t the only team hustling inside for shelter five minutes ago. The weather’s taking a turn for the worse, which could be a problem. Jackson airport only has a single runway and a good storm could get us stranded here for a few days—not a good thing with Thanksgiving the day after tomorrow. As much as my employees like me, I’m guessing they’d rather be with their families for the holiday.

  “Right here, lovely,” I say, sitting Ali down in one of the huge leather chairs in front of the fireplace. If there’s one takeaway from this retreat, I think lovely is going to be it. Thanks to Jazz, everyone’s taken to the word. “I’ll get a fire going.”

  “That’d be great,” she says. She’s a little shaken up by what she just told me, and she’s shivering from cold, but I feel a steadiness in the air between us now, and a keen awareness of the trust she just placed in me.

  It feels incredible to have her faith in me. I want to let her know she’s safe; I won’t let her down. I want to take her hand and tell her she’s brave, and that she should forgive herself.

  What she told me also gives me plenty to consider where Graham is concerned. I’ve always been wary of him. But, added to what Ethan told me and to Rhett and Cookie’s feelings about him, it’s painting a pretty dark portrait of the guy. I can work with assholes, but a person who has major character flaws—who can manipulate his own daughter so cruelly—that’s something I need to think about. Not now, though. Later.

  Now, warmth. A fire to warm Ali.

  Once I get that burning, I stand. Ali has tucked herself into the corner of the huge leather chair, all folded up. Her ski jacket is off, and she’s in a white cashmere sweater. Her boots are off too, and her socks are purple with pink polka dots. Her blue eyes are just a little swollen from crying, but she’s smiling. She’s moving forward. She looks cute and sexy and beautiful the way she is—everything. I wish I could take a picture of her, but that’s the last thing she needs right now.

  “Stay put,” I say. “I’ll be right back with our coffees.”

  “Okay. But don’t think for a minute you’re escaping this, Adam.”

  “Didn’t forget. Just wanted to take care of you first.”

  I hesitate before I go. Even though I can hear Paolo and Sadie laughing in the great room just outside, it feels like Ali and I are the only people in the world, and I don’t want to let go of that feeling. Then something changes inside me, and fear starts scratching at my chest. Fear that if I walk away she won’t be here when I come back, because life can change like that. In a matter of seconds. I know it can.

  Alison tilts her head questioningly, responding to my mood.

  “I don’t like leaving you,” I hear myself say.

  “The sooner you go,” she replies, softly, “the sooner you’ll be back.”

  It’s just the motivation I need.

  In the kitchen, Mia stands at the espresso machine. She pours steaming milk from a can into a mug. “Hey, Adam. What’s your poison?”

  “Double espresso, if you’re taking orders. And Ali likes—”

  “Latte with cinnamon on top. I made one for her yesterday.”

  Jazz, who’s waiting for Mia on a barstool, beams. “This is such a marvel to witness. I truly don’t know of any other organization whose employees are so in tune with one another.”

  “Well, he’s not an employee,” Mia says. “He’s the boss.”

  “But look at you two lovelies. You’re simply beautiful together.”

  I lean against the counter and cross my arms. Mia and I share a look. We’re definitely not beautiful together. But there’s something between us that’s unique, for sure. We’re connected in a strange way, through Ethan and Alison. Through a tumultuous, twisting past that seems to be straightening out and settling.

  My eyes pull to the windows. It’s snowing again. And even though it’s only three in the afternoon, the mountain looks shadowed and dark through the windows, making it feel much later.

  “Hey, Galliano. Do me a favor and get an update on Jackson airport? I want to make sure you’re back in Ethan’s arms for Turkey Day.”

  “You got it, lovely.”

  In the library, I hand Ali her coffee. Then I pull the other chair right in front of hers and take a seat.

  “You ready, partner?” she asks me. She seems relaxed. Happy again.

  “Born ready.”

  “Here we go,” she says, tying the blindfold over my eyes. There are no blue cones to navigate for me. We’re going right to the heart of things—to the Trust Layovers, as Jazz called them.

  For a few seconds, I check in with the way my other senses sharpen. The crackle of the fire sounds louder. The smooth taste of the espresso on my tongue more pronounced. The scent of Ali’s perfume has a lush spiciness I hadn’t noticed before. And the sound of her voice when she speaks is even clearer and more musical.

  “This is a little disappointing, I have to admit,” she says.

  “Yeah? How so?”

  “I was looking forward to leading you around. I wanted to have control of . . . well. Of you.”

  “You do, Alison. More than you know.”

  She’s quiet. Without being able to see her, I have no idea how she’s reacting to my comment. It’s a crazy feeling. Not safe like I expected to feel without having to look into her eyes. I realize I haven’t been worrying about that lately. Not nearly as much.

  Since we got to Jackson, have I at all?

  “This is weird,” Ali tells me. “I’m nervous even though I’m asking the questions.”

  I know exactly what she means. This is intense. I can’t see, but I feel very seen.

  After another moment, she asks, “Your tattoo. What does it mean to you?”

  “Someone I loved drew it. She died a few years ago.” I’m being vague to protect myself. I’ve been doing it for four years, with everyone except Grey, who knows the truth. But this exercise is about trust, and Ali just bared her soul to me. I make myself say it because I can trust her and because I want to. I want someone to know. Maybe even to understand what I’ve been carrying around all these years. “She was my wife.”

  I pause. I don’t realize I’m making fists until I feel Ali’s hands settle on them.

  “Adam, we don’t have to—”

  “No, it’s . . . Sorry, this just caught me off guard.”

  I straighten up and draw my hands away from hers. I don’t want to regret what I just said, but regret is waging a war against me. What have I done? I’m now a widower in her eyes, and I’m twenty-three. Too fucking young to wear that shit comfortably, and I don’t want her pity, and—shit. What did I do?

  But then there’s this incredible relief sweeping through me, too. I can talk about Chloe. I can finally talk about her. So I do.

  “Chloe was . . . She was the first girl I ever loved. We met at school, at Princeton. I was a freshman, a computer nerd. I’d already sold a business by then, but I was still . . . I don
’t know. I was young. Barely eighteen and unsure what the hell I wanted and who I was. Chloe was the opposite. A year older than me. An art student. Wild and creative. She attacked life. Embraced it. Every single fucking day. She was like a human firework and she . . . she fascinated me.” I have to stop for a moment because my voice is hoarse and tight.

  “The tattoo on my shoulder is from a sketch she drew. She loved birds. But just the flying kind. Not ostriches or turkeys or . . .” I feel like I’m rambling. I feel like I’ve been talking for an hour. I feel like I’m saying stupid things that sound so dumb but that mean everything to me, so I wrap it up. “So that’s who my wife was. That’s what she was like. That’s why I got the tattoo. Because I loved her and she loved birds and she drew it and she’s gone.”

  It’s as much as I can manage right now. Even if I talked about Chloe for a week, it would never be enough to describe her anyway. You can’t bring a human being back to life with words. You just can’t.

  Ali’s fingers have woven through mine. Her grip is fierce, like she’s trying to give me her strength. The relief I felt earlier grows more solid inside me, regret seeping away. This is good. It’s going to be good. I don’t want any secrets between us.

  I know what she’s going to ask me next. It’s the logical question. How did she die? I wait for it. Question number two. It’s inevitable.

  She lets go of my hands. I feel her undo the knot at the back of my head. The blindfold comes away. “Why is it hard for you to look me in the eye?” she asks.

  I look away. I look at the fire. “You know why.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Ali, you do. Don’t make me say it.”

  She falls quiet. Then she scoots closer, her legs between mine, her face inches away. “Adam, it’s okay,” she whispers.

  And I feel like it is, for an instant, and that instant is long enough for me to open the door. “Because it fucking scares me, Ali. You don’t know what I lost . . . Jesus, Quick.” I glance at her. “What are you trying to do to me?”

  She takes my hands again, uncurling my fingers and winding them with hers. For a few seconds, I feel her stroke the pad of my thumb. I don’t know how she calms me when calm doesn’t seem like it’s in the realm of possibility anymore, but my racing heart slows down and I’m breathing again. Didn’t even realize I wasn’t, but now I am again. In and out. In and out until I don’t have to think about it anymore. Until I can answer her.