“Emma,” Cressida hisses.
“Should I go grab a ruler?” That’s the thing about Anne. Most of the time she’s quiet and shy, but every now and then she’ll shock the rest of us by playing along with our crude humor.
“See? Even Anne wants to know about his dick, and she blushed at my cucumber joke yesterday!”
“That was one of your more vulgar ones.” Cressida dunks another ball of dough in cinnamon and sugar.
“Thank you,” Emma replies pertly.
I finally intercede. “Okay. I get you guys are curious. I would be too. But…” I pause, glancing down to watch the cubes of ice bob along. “I don’t—I think…” My three best friends all lean forward expectantly, and I can’t do it. I can’t share details. I can’t admit to them I like Adler Beck beyond his bedroom skills. More than like him if the amount of real estate he occupies in my brain is any indication. “There’s nothing to say. It was just sex.” I stand and grab my glass of water. “I’m headed to bed. My flight leaves early tomorrow.”
No one says anything as I head for the stairs.
So much for being fearless.
But Adler Beck and I would be a cacophony of calamity and catastrophe.
We’re too alike.
Too different.
He elicits a flight-or-fuck response in me, and now I need to choose flight.
I get ready for bed and have just climbed between the sheets when my phone dings. I grab it from the charging station. It’s a text from Emma. I open it, and there’s just a link to an article. I click on it, and a photo fills the screen.
It’s one of me and Beck.
There was press at CFOC for our scrimmages, but obviously at least one photographer stuck around for the clinics, because the photo is one of Beck and me on the field after everyone else had left. When he dropped the I-want-to-be-with-you bomb on me. We’re looking at each other, but only my expression is fully visible. It’s an unsettling mixture of adoration and anger.
The caption reads: International icon Adler Beck and Lancaster University superstar Saylor Scott. The article itself is about the camp more generally. I’m mentioned a couple more times, as is Beck, but we’re only linked in the photo.
The picture doesn’t fully fit with the article, but I get why they chose it. There’s tangible emotion frozen there. Not just in me, but in the set of Beck’s jaw. The flex of his forearm.
I stare at until I fall asleep.
Chapter Eighteen
The plane aisle finally clears. I hop up, eager to stretch my legs and breathe something other than recycled air for the first time in two hours.
I may not be thrilled about the reason for this trip, but there’s a rush of nostalgia when I emerge into the Georgia sunshine. Hallie told me to look for a white SUV, and there’s one already loitering along the curb. I stick my suitcase in the trunk and hop in the passenger seat to give her a hug.
“Happy wedding weekend!” she cheers.
“Please don’t try to make that a thing,” I reply, rolling my eyes at the cheerful expression emphasized by the colorful silk scarf Hallie tied around her ponytail.
“Well, someone has to counteract all the negative energy you’re exuding,” she replies, as I click my seatbelt into place.
“I had to get up at five for my run, and the row behind me contained not one, but two screaming children. Please excuse me if I’m not the picture of joy and excitement.”
“Right, because otherwise you would be,” Hallie remarks dryly as she pulls away from the curb. I don’t deny it.
“Speaking of screaming children, where’s yours?”
Hallie manages to give me side-eye while navigating a roundabout. “With Matt and his family. They’re staying with us, too.”
“What?!”
“You can always stay at Dad’s, Saylor.”
I huff out an annoyed breath. “I’m guessing that means Jackson is also staying at the house.”
“He is my brother-in-law.”
“Which makes the fact that he does nothing but hit on me all the weirder.”
“Well, you’re not related to him,” Hallie points out.
“Legally, I am.”
“He’s just trying to be friendly.”
I laugh. “Thank God you found Matt in pre-algebra. Jackson asked me out to dinner at your wedding, Hallie. That’s not just being friendly to your sister-in-law’s sister.”
“He’s harmless.”
“I know. Doesn’t mean I want to spend the next couple days fending off his advances.”
“Would it be that terrible to be in a relationship?” Hallie asks. “Not with Jackson, but someone else,” she adds hastily, completely misreading my silence.
“I don’t have time for it.”
“You make time for it, Saylor. There’s never been a guy?”
I’m uncharacteristically honest. “Maybe. One. I don’t know. It didn’t end well.”
“Didn’t end well, how?”
“He probably has a dartboard with my face on it.”
Hallie laughs. “How come?”
I look out the window to watch the familiar scenery of my hometown flash by. “Things got confusing between us. Maybe they always were.”
“That clarified nothing, Saylor.”
I sigh. “He said he doesn’t know how I feel about him.”
“And what did you say?”
“That I don’t know,” I admit. “He said I should, and he’s probably right. Right?” I don’t realize how desperate I am for Hallie’s opinion until I voice the words.
“I think it means something that you don’t,” Hallie replies. “It’s a lot easier to know you don’t have feelings for someone than to admit you do. I also think it means something if you’re still thinking about it. And that you told me, seeing as you never share anything.” I scoff, although I know she’s right. The FBI could hire me to guard state secrets.
There’s a pause.
A long one.
I’m not expecting her to say anything else.
Then, “Are you talking about Adler Beck?”
My head whips to the left. “What makes you say that?”
“Matt set up a Google alert so we wouldn’t miss any articles about you. I saw a photo of you two together.”
“You know who Adler Beck is?”
“Duh,” Hallie replies, sounding less like my serious older sister and a lot more like a preteen at a boy-band concert.
“Well, excuse me for being surprised you know about a German soccer player considering you asked me how many touchdowns I scored last season.”
Hallie rolls her eyes. “You know I can’t keep any sports terminology straight. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate male athletes. I’m married, not blind. Adler Beck is—”
“Yeah, yeah.” I cut her off because, for some reason Hallie talking about Beck’s appearance has the same ew factor as her brother-in-law asking me out on a date.
“So?” Hallie and I may be polar opposites in a lot of ways, but we’re both tenacious.
I sigh and look back out at the scenery. “Yeah,” I admit. “It never would have worked,” I continue, mostly to myself. “I’m not cut out for a relationship.”
“Of course you are,” Hallie responds. “Do you think I planned to end up married with a kid at twenty-seven?”
“Um, honestly? Yes,” I reply. Hallie and her husband had one of those insta-love connections that were all the rage in middle school but rarely lasted past puberty. They spent the entirety of their high school and college years attached at the hip. I would have been more surprised if she’d told me they weren’t getting married when she made the announcement three years ago.
Hallie’s eyes are on the road, but I have a feeling she’s rolling them. “Well, I didn’t. I mean, maybe I liked the idea of having the stable family we didn’t, but that was also why I was terrified. Worried Matt and I might end up like Mom and Dad.”
“You were?” I ask, surprised.
�
��Yeah, I was,” Hallie confirms. “And the point is I realized it. I moved past it. I’m not sure if you have.”
“I don’t need a psychology degree to know I’ve got trust issues because Mom left, Hallie. I didn’t turn him down because I think he’s going to take off after I’ve popped out two kids. I told him I didn’t know how I feel because I genuinely don’t. Because he’s an international soccer icon who’s probably fucked half the women in Europe. He doesn’t take anything off the pitch seriously. He’s unreliable. Annoying—”
“Wow, you really like him.” Hallie interrupts my rant, and her words aren’t sarcastic. They’re serious, which is infinitely worse. I scoff. “Maybe you should tell him he has a reason to change the photo on his dartboard,” she suggests. I scoff again. “It would be a shame to mar a photo of the face that broke every heart in the county,” she continues teasingly.
I don’t reply; I just keep watching houses pass by.
Those boys were fools to think I was after anything more than a fondling under the bleachers.
I refuse to make the same mistake when it comes to Adler Beck.
I’m expecting Hallie to pull up in front of the bungalow she and Matt bought when they got married. Instead, she stops and parks in front of a long, industrial-looking building on the fringes of town.
“Where are we?”
“They opened this farmer’s market last year,” Hallie tells me as she shuts off the car and opens the driver’s side door. “If you came home more frequently, you’d know that.”
I ignore the dig as I climb out of the vehicle. “What are we doing here?”
“I need some stuff for dinner. You can browse the booths. They’ve got crafty stuff too.”
“Crafty stuff?”
“Yeah, knitwear, embroidery, artwork. Stuff like that.”
“My favorite,” I deadpan as we walk inside.
I trail after Hallie, glancing around the booths as we pass them by. Suddenly, I stop. A framed watercolor print is displayed among a series of similar paintings, displaying a puddle amidst a stretch of grass.
An elderly woman appears at my side. “Can I help you find anything, dear?”
“Yes, I’ll take this one,” I reply impulsively, pointing to the painting. Not only does it remind me of my favorite piece in Kluvberg’s art museum, but it’s also eerily similar to the night in Canada I keep thinking about.
“Anything you’d like me to add for you?”
“What?” I reply.
The woman points to a sign hanging to the left of her paintings that reads “Customizations available upon request.”
“I always like to give people the option. I paint places that are special to me, but you’re the one who’ll be looking at it. If there’s something I can add, I like to do so. Had a couple in here a few days ago who had me paint their dog on the front porch.”
“Can you add a soccer goal to the reflection? Here.” I point in the painting. “And can you add a couple numbers as well? Blended in, so you really have to look for them?”
“Sure, sugar. What are the numbers?”
“22 and 23,” I respond, handing her my credit card.
She rings me up then tells me it will be ready at noon tomorrow. I thank her and rush out of the booth to catch up with Hallie.
“What happened to you?” she asks.
“Found a painting I liked,” I reply truthfully.
“Where is it?” She eyes my empty hands curiously.
“It won’t be ready until tomorrow,” I inform her.
“Huh. Well, I’m ready to leave.”
I follow my sister back out into the parking lot, helping her to load up all the groceries she purchased.
“Hi, Hallie!” a smiling blonde woman stops by our trunk.
“Hi, Stephanie. How have you been?”
“Busy,” the woman replies with a smile. “Simon is teething.”
“Oh, no,” Hallie responds. I feel like saying the same thing, except in relation to this topic of conversation.
“Yup, it’s been an experience. Hoping I’ll have some wisdom to pass along by the time Matthew hits that stage.”
Hallie laughs. “That would be wonderful.”
“Who’s this?” The woman turns her attention to me.
“Oh, yes. Stephanie, this is my sister, Saylor. Saylor, this is my friend Stephanie,” Hallie says.
I transfer the last bag into the trunk and turn around. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh my goodness, I can’t believe I’m meeting the famous Saylor!”
“Famous?” I look at Hallie.
“Your sister talks about you all the time at our meetings,” Stephanie informs me.
“Meetings?” I echo.
“Yes, we’re in the same book club.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. “Really?”
“Hallie’s our newest member, but she contributes a lot.”
“She usually does,” I reply.
“Well, I’ve got to get going, but great to see you, Hallie. Nice to meet you, Saylor,” Stephanie says before she keeps walking down the line of cars.
I head to the passenger side, and Hallie climbs in the driver’s seat.
“You’re in a book club?” I laugh.
Hallie glares at me. “It’s my one night out of the house, okay?”
“I wasn’t judging.” I totally was. “I just find the thought of you in a book club amusing.”
“It’s fun, okay? We have interesting discussions.”
“Oh yeah? What was the last book you read?”
Based on Hallie’s expression, that is the last question she wanted me to ask. “The Duke Who Defiled Me,” she mutters.
“I’m sorry, what?” I giggle. “Are you serious?”
“I didn’t choose it.”
I’m laughing too hard to reply.
“We can’t all have thrilling lives in reality, Saylor.”
The serious note in my sister’s voice is the only reason I’m able to regain my composure. “My life isn’t thrilling, Hallie.”
“You’ve always gotten everything you wanted. Do you know how many guys dated me because they were interested in you instead? How many of my sorority sisters would ask if you were considering staying in Georgia for school? Your life is frat parties, magazine interviews, and flings with famous athletes. Sounds pretty thrilling to me.”
“Things always look better from a distance,” I reply, looking out at the local high school. Although Hallie is partially right. Guys, friends, and soccer have always come easily.
“I’m just saying don’t judge my life.”
“I wasn’t, Hallie.”
But I have. I’ve always viewed settling down as the antithesis of everything I ever wanted in life. Until Adler Beck confused things.
She’s dubious. “Sure.”
“Just because I don’t see myself with a husband and kids doesn’t mean I judge you for choosing those things. You’re my sister. I’m happy for you.”
“I know you don’t. I—I’m sorry. I’ve just been stressed making sure everything is all set for the wedding.”
I grasp the peace offering. “I’m here. I want to help. ‘Thrilling’ is exhausting.”
Hallie gives me a smile that seems genuine. “You’re going to regret saying that.”
“I doubt it. I can just bring up your book club and its highbrow literature any time I want to get out of anything.”
Hallie snorts. “It’s how I found out who Adler Beck is.”
“What?”
“We end every meeting by ‘casting’ the book. Adler Beck was the frontrunner for the Duke. Photos were passed around.”
I let out an unattractive snort-laugh. “Are you serious? Did he get the gig?”
Hallie’s reluctant to reply, which tells me the answer before she verbalizes it. “Yes.”
“Wow. I can’t wait to tell him.”
“So, you’re talking to him?”
I turn my gaze back outsi
de. We’re in Hallie’s neighborhood now. “No. I’m not.”
Hallie pulls into the driveway behind two other cars. We load our arms full of the paper bags from the farmer’s market and head inside.
The bungalow is homey. I’ve only ever seen photos, and Hallie’s redecorated since the ones I last saw. The living room is scattered with baby toys, but beneath the infant equipment is a smorgasbord of color. The rug is patterned in bold versions of every color under the sun, and she has covered the walls with vibrant prints. The framed pieces are interspersed with family photos, and I’m surprised to see how many I’m featured in.
“Hallie?” a male voice calls as we head toward the back of the house.
“Yeah. We’re back,” she announces as we walk inside what I immediately realize is the kitchen.
Her husband Matt is sitting at the round kitchen table, bouncing my nephew on his lap. An older couple I recognize as Matt’s parents are seated across from him, along with his brother Jackson.
“Saylor!” Matt greets me enthusiastically as he rises to give me a hug. “So good to see you.”
“You too, Matt,” I reply, although I could probably count on one hand the number of conversations we’ve had that expand beyond pleasantries. “The house looks great.”
“Thanks.” He gives me a boyish grin. “Want to hold Matthew Jr.?”
“I—well—it’s—” Matt doesn’t really wait for a response. He holds my newborn nephew out, and it’s either grab him or let him drop. The unfamiliar weight of a miniature human settles in my arms. I clutch Matthew closer to my chest, terrified I’m going to drop him. He appears unconcerned about that outcome, blinking up at me innocently as he waves his little hands about. I gaze down at him. I should probably say Wow, he looks just like you! but to be honest, I can’t distinguish any familial features in his smooth skin. He yawns, and then brown eyes shutter shut. “Um, he seems tired?” I say.
“Wow, he hardly ever falls asleep while he’s being held,” Hallie comments, coming up beside me. “You must be losing your touch, Saylor.”
“Hilarious,” I respond. “I’ll inform all the other infants I hold.”
Matt takes Matthew and transfers him to a small cradle tucked in a corner of the room. Matt’s parents and brother have risen from the table to greet me, and I try not to yank my hand away when his brother’s handshake lasts twice as long as his parents’ did.
First Flight, Final Fall Page 20