Rebound

by Noelle August

  “Chloe used to tell me . . . she used to say that looking into my eyes, she felt like she could fly. That’s why it’s hard for me to do that. To go there.”

  I want to tell Ali that she’s changed that. She’s changing that for me. But we’re talking about Chloe now and I can’t, so the thought just balloons into this feeling, like I can’t wait for the right time to let it out.

  “One more, Adam,” she says gently. “Just one more.”

  “Okay. Just . . . be Quick about it.”

  Such a dumbass joke, but we laugh. I think we both needed it. A moment of relief.

  But then we’re right back in when she says, “How did Chloe die?”

  I’m ready this time. This is what I thought her second question would be so I’m prepared, and I know I’ll tell her everything—not what Rhett knows, that I was married once and my wife died. I’m going to bring her into the very center, with Grey. To the truth only Grey and I know.

  “Chloe and I,” I hear myself say, needing to give her some background. “We did things a little unconventionally. We got married after we’d only been together half a year, in September, and it was a courtroom wedding for a couple of reasons. I come from money, and she didn’t. My parents wouldn’t have had a problem with that, but Chloe didn’t believe me. She didn’t want to face any judgment. She just wanted it to be us at first, and so did I. And we were nineteen and twenty, and you just don’t do that. Who gets married at that age nowadays? Anyway, we kept it to ourselves. We decided we’d do it then tell our families over the holidays. That way they wouldn’t be able to refuse us or talk us out of it.

  “Christmas came around, and we were at my parents’ house, and it didn’t feel right to me. I don’t know why, but I wanted to hold onto her, have her just for myself for a little longer. I felt like we had this amazing secret and I didn’t want things to change. I told her we should wait until spring, but Chloe didn’t understand, and she could get volatile sometimes. Just really passionate. We’d been drinking because of the holidays, and we ended up fighting.

  “I don’t yell. If I do, it means something I love is being threatened and that’s how I felt. She took me wanting to wait the wrong way. She thought I was ashamed of her. It was the opposite of what I was, but once she got an idea in her mind . . . Anyway, we got to yelling. I couldn’t believe she thought those things. We were bringing the house down and that only made it worse. With ice on the ground, it was probably the worst time to get in a car. I knew it wasn’t safe, and I didn’t want her to drive . . .” I’ve forgotten how to breathe again and the library feels like it’s closing in on me. Like the walls are collapsing. “Give me a minute. I’m going to finish. I just . . . . I need a minute.”

  Ali leans in, and I feel her head settle on my shoulder. It’s a gentle gesture, but I feel like she’s holding me up. “Okay,” she says. “Take as long as you need.”

  “Jazz has some answering to do. How exactly is this making my company stronger?”

  I sense Ali’s smile. “Well, I don’t want to speak for you, but I feel like our energetic frequencies are definitely aligning.”

  I have to finish this. I have to tell her what happened on the road that night, so she’ll know I couldn’t have stopped it, but she straightens abruptly.

  Rhett and Mia stand at the door.

  They both look from me to Alison for a moment. Then Mia smiles slightly, and Rhett frowns.

  “Sorry, but I’ve got some bad news, Adam,” Mia says. “The storm’s picking up. It’s supposed to hit tomorrow, but flights are already getting canceled.”

  “We have to get everybody home,” Rhett says. “We have to end this retreat right now.”

  Chapter 33

  Alison

  I’m tucked into the bottom bunk, doing my best to stay out of the way as everyone scrambles to pack up before traveling back to LA. Adam’s arranged several chartered flights, squeezed in wherever they could fit us. Adam and I are last, and I don’t know if that’s by luck or by design, but I’m grateful to have just a little more time here. I’m reluctant to get home, to have to face my father and tell him I don’t have any more information on Adam.

  Even though I do.

  Who would have thought that two days of playing around in the snow would leave me feeling so wrung out, so exhilarated, so peaceful, and so anxious at the same time?

  I feel lighter today than I have in a long time. And yet I’m also carrying around this deep ache, a feeling of being scooped out in the center. I can’t stop thinking about Adam. About the way he looked in the library, shrunken and vulnerable. Maybe a lot like the boy he was when he first met—and lost—Chloe.

  I can’t help myself. I pull out my phone and do a search on “Chloe Randall.” I know I won’t find much, but there must be some trace of her. I just want to see her, to have a picture in my mind so that when Adam and I talk about her, I’ll know her in some small way—for him.

  Nothing comes up at first, but I try “Chloe Randall, Princeton, art,” and a link to a PDF appears—a newsletter from the New Jersey Watercolor Society. I click on the link and scroll through a few articles until I find a short piece titled, “Maybe Art Isn’t for the Birds.” It’s about Chloe winning a scholarship to a summer art program.

  I scroll further, and there she is. I know it even before I read the photo caption. She’s beautiful, with gleaming auburn hair in waves and delicate features.

  She stands before a row of paintings—all of birds. I recognize her style immediately, can see the inspiration for Adam’s tattoo. But more than that, I see the birds aren’t falling, like they do on Adam’s tattoo. They’re flying.

  People talk about feeling someone else’s pain, and now I truly do. It feels like someone’s tightening a wire around my heart. I want to find him and put my arms around him. I want to love him enough for two people—the girl he lost and the girl I’m trying to become.

  “Hey, Ali,” Sadie says, coming into the room.

  I close out of the browser and put my phone away.

  Mia and Pippa come into the room behind her, and they riffle through all the blankets and pick up every pillow. Since Sadie’s wearing only one boot, I assume that’s the purpose of the search.

  “Hey, Sadie. You guys need some help?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it’s in here somewhere.” She drops down onto the floor and lets out a triumphant, “Aha!” Then she pulls out the twin to her pink Doc Marten and plops onto the bunk to slip it onto her foot.

  “Hey,” she says. “We’re all going to hear Mia’s roommate Skyler play at The Echo on Sunday night. Want to come?”

  I glance over at Mia, who smiles at me. “Skyler is awesome. Electric cello. You should definitely come.”

  I’m embarrassed by how moved I am by the invitation. And how much I missed this—just the company of other girls. And with these girls, I feel more a part of things—improbably—than I ever have.

  “Will Ethan—”

  She shakes her head before I even finish the sentence. “Girls night out. But it would be okay even if he was going to be there, I think. Don’t you?”

  I nod. It would be, I realize. Completely okay. At least with me—and now, it seems with Mia.

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  Pippa rises from the bunk and insists on a group hug. “Come on, lovelies,” she says. “One for the road.”

  After I see off the first team—my roommates plus Paolo, I find out that Adam’s out taking advantage of one last run on the slopes. I haven’t gotten to ski at all, and I’m dying to do it, though I know they’re going to close down any second.

  I zip into my ski suit and clamp on my boots. I need to get out into the open, to have one last moment with the bracing mountain air, the cottony powdered snow. I need to clear my head and just fire like a rocket down the mountain, leave thoughts and worries behind me. And I need to see Adam.

  I say goodbye to Rhett, Cookie, and Philippe before I leave.

  “Yo
u owe me a major debrief when you get home,” my best friend tells me. He waves his hand in front of my face, like he’s trying to air-polish me. “Whatever’s got you looking so glowy is definitely a topic of conversation.”

  “Definitely,” I say and give him a long hug. “I love you.”

  His eyes widen in surprise, which makes me realize I don’t say that often enough. Something I really need to correct.

  “Love you too, girl,” he says. “Be careful out there.” He grins and nods in the direction of Adam’s suite. “And in there.”

  “Haha. Please. We’ll be a few hours after you.”

  “If you say so.”

  The resort has almost completely emptied, and I’m the only one on the ski lift. The attendant gives me an apologetic smile. “I doubt you’ll get in more than an hour before we shut it all down,” he says. But I’ll take just one run if it’s all I can get.

  As I crest the top of the mountain, the air is bitterly cold, cutting through my layers of clothes like a knife. It feels bracing and welcome after the drowsy warmth of the lodge.

  The ground is powdery and soft as I begin my run, and I take to it, letting myself make wide arcs down the mountain. So many people I know prefer groomed, hard-packed snow, but I love the feeling of sinking in, of challenging my body to keep my skis moving, to position myself just right so the snow doesn’t grab me and take me down. It doesn’t take long until my thigh muscles burn like crazy, but I love that too—that feeling of having worked for something.

  I charge on, looping between pine trees, over shallow moguls. Visibility is a little spotty, with a low freezing mist drifting across my path, and a pale sun almost hidden behind gray clouds. The wind whips the tree branches into a frenzy, dumping clumps of snow down on me as I fly along.

  Up ahead, another skier charges along the path in front of me. A guy, from the size of him, slicing through the powder like he owns it. His style is impeccable, and I can tell he takes to it like I do—he’s all in, making the mountain his own.

  Adam, I realize, and feel a huge grin spread over my face.

  He’s beautiful, absolutely natural. The way his body moves, sliding almost parallel to the snow. The way he thrusts himself forward, the power of his movements. It’s incredible.

  “Adam!” I call, and my voice disappears in the wind. I dig my poles in and push harder, trying to get close enough for him to hear me.

  I call his name again, and this time, he looks back and starts to slow. I smile, and everything in me lifts. He sees me.

  Adam executes an elegant hockey stop, sending out a shallow spray of snow. Then he takes off his goggles, waves at me with a gloved hand. He looks so beautiful standing there, tan skin against the snow. I can see his smile from here, inviting, and so warm. He’s all I see as I push in to cover the twenty or so yards between us.

  Which is why I completely miss the tree stump.

  Chapter 34

  Adam

  Ali’s skis catch on something and I watch her catapult off the snow, then she’s twisting sideways in the air. She fights to keep her balance as she lands hard, but she’s going too fast and her skis are crossed. I know she’s going to tumble before she actually does, then she’s sliding and skidding over the snow, her skis popping off, her poles rolling away.

  I unsnap my boots and sprint toward her. I’m by her side before she’s come to a full stop.

  “Oh . . . wow,” she says, lying back and lifting her mask. Snow covers her jacket and part of her face, but she’s laughing. “That was embarrassing.”

  I can’t laugh with her. I don’t like the way she came down.

  “Hell of a wipeout, Quick. Are you hurt?”

  “Yes.” It’s only now that she winces and reaches down to her leg. “My right ankle. I think I twisted it.”

  I kneel by her boot. “Did you feel a snap?”

  “No. I don’t think so.” Her eyes narrow and she smiles. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you look worried.”

  The wind is starting to howl around us. Ali and I are the only two people dumb enough to still be out here. She’s hurt and we’re about to get caught in a blizzard. So, worried? Yes. But panicked? Hell no.

  “Just assessing the situation here, Ali. Let me help you sit up.” That small movement makes her gasp and grip my arms. “Easy, easy. You, okay?”

  “Yes,” she nods, but I can tell she’s trying to be brave. Alison’s starting to shake so I take off my coat and cover her, tucking the edges around her to preserve warmth. Then I pull off my gloves and get my phone from the inside zipper of my shell. “Give me a minute to work my magic.”

  It’s only five minutes before a ski patroller shows up with a snowmobile. He introduces himself as Bob. I help him lift Alison onto the back and briefly consider taking over and making him ski down the hill.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” I tell Ali.

  She nods, and I notice her eyes are strained. She’s in real pain.

  I fly down the mountain and reach the bottom only moments after the snowmobile does.

  Ali is taken around the ski school entrance to a medical clinic, where I relieve Bob, the patrol guy, of his duties and pick Ali up, carrying her inside. Bob directs me to a small room with two gurneys, a chair, and an awaiting physician’s assistant who introduces herself as Darla Mead.

  As soon as Ali’s ski boot comes off, I know we’re in deep shit. It’s swollen badly and as Darla checks mobility and feels around the bones, Alison sucks in a hissing breath and reaches for my arm.

  “Is it broken?” she asks.

  Darla gives me an apologetic look. “We can’t know without an X-ray.”

  “Let’s get an X-ray.” I’m trying to stay calm, but it’s not easy.

  Darla looks at Bob, who answers. “The blizzards closed all the roads around the resort.”

  “I’ll get her there on a snowmobile.”

  Bob shakes his head. “You don’t want to go out there right now. We’re looking at up to two feet of snow coming in tonight. In another hour, you won’t be able to see your own hands. St. John’s is clear across town. That might as well be a state away in these conditions. You’re going to have to wait for the storm to blow over.”

  Unlike Darla, his delivery is cavalier, like he’s said this a thousand times and couldn’t care less.

  “Not an option, Bob. She’s hurt.”

  He shrugs. “She doesn’t have a choice.”

  “Bob, your choice is get her to a hospital or get the shit beaten out of you by me. What’s it going to be?”

  “Adam.” Ali slips her cool hand into mine and squeezes.

  Bob’s palms come up. “I’m done. I’m out of here.”

  He’s not done. He’s just smart enough to know my threat was real. I feel powerless. Not a feeling I wear comfortably.

  “I’m sorry,” Darla says once he’s gone. “Bob doesn’t have the best bedside manner in the world, but he is right. It’s dangerous out there right now. We can’t move her, and we can’t bring a doctor here. And, anyway, it’s possible that even if you could see a doctor right away, they’d tell you to rest it and let the swelling subside before you could get a diagnosis. In the meantime, I can give you some prescription meds for the pain. They’ll take the edge off and make you more comfortable.”

  Ali gives my hand another squeeze. “Okay,” she says to Darla. “That sounds fine.”

  I’m on the phone as Darla prepares a to-go kit of bandages, ice packs, and pain meds. By the time Ali is ready to leave on crutches, I’ve checked us into the resort and arranged for our bags to be sent over from the retreat house.

  Ali listened as I made it all happen and didn’t argue. She still doesn’t say anything as we take the elevator to the penthouse suite and meet one of the resort employees, who’s there with our bags and key cards.

  Inside, I get her settled in the all-white living room. White couch, plush white rug, soft white blankets—and, through the window, white snow. The wood floors and
the rustic fireplace look colorful by contrast, adding warmth to the modern space.

  I set Ali’s crutches inside the door—they’ve been more of a problem than a solution—and get my arm around her. When she gives me her weight like she can barely hold herself up, I lift her into my arms and step inside. The moment feels strangely matrimonial, but also definitely not.

  “You want to go to bed?” I smile as I hear myself. “I’ve been meaning to ask you that for a long time, but in this case, I mean to prop up your ankle and rest.”

  Ali’s smile is sweet and a little tired. She wraps her arms around my neck and lets her head settle on my shoulder. “Can we just sit out here for a bit?”

  “We can do anything you want.” I carry her to the couch, but she doesn’t let go of me when I set her down. So I sit and keep her on my lap. The feeling of her weight and closeness makes me hungry for her, and suddenly I’m not sure what comes next.

  I want to kiss her slowly. For a long time. And everywhere.

  I want to tell her I’ll do anything to keep her comfortable and safe.

  I want to get her a pillow and put her foot up on the coffee table.

  “You didn’t have to stay, Adam. You probably could’ve still gotten back to LA.”

  “No offense, Ali, but that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Do you really think I’d leave you?”

  “No.” I can’t see her face—her forehead’s nestled right under my neck—but I know she’s smiling. “I’m okay,” she says after a moment. “I know you’re worried, but I’m okay. I’m actually . . . good.”

  “Vicodin kicking in?”

  “No. I haven’t taken it yet.” She snuggles closer, her hand coming up to my chest, her finger slowly twisting around the zipper of my ski shell. “If only Jasmine could see us now.”