Rebound (8 page)

A
s the boat leaves the harbor and moves into open water, we settle into a covered seating area and talk about the day’s agenda. The plan is to cruise to Catalina Island and drop anchor near Lover’s Cove, where we’ll have lunch. Weston, the captain, takes our orders right away so he can pass it along to his wife, Sandra, the chef.

This shouldn’t take long since there are only five of us, but Graham seems to want to download everything he knows about barbecuing, so our meal is nothing short of perfect. Vivian Quick rolls her eyes between sips of her drink until Graham notices.

“Problem, Viv?” he asks.

“No, Graham. But I think Weston knows how to grill shrimp, don’t you Weston?”

“Always willing to improve,” Weston says smoothly and excuses himself.

“See, Vivian?” Graham says. “He has the right attitude.”

Vivian takes another sip of her drink and doesn’t reply. Instead, she turns the conversation back to the LACMA fundraiser, going over the details with me, her eyes alive with excitement for the first time since I boarded. Graham interrupts every few seconds, giving me conversational whiplash.

Mia glances at me, clearly picking up on the tension between the Quicks.

Across from me, Alison’s face is cold, impassive. I can’t read her thoughts, but her fingers are clenched around her glass, and her pink-tipped toes grip the deck. She’s not happy about me seeing her parents like this. I want to pull her aside and tell her it’s okay. I know family dysfunction well. But I remember Rhett’s warning—
eye on the prize—
and force myself to focus on Graham.

With lunch ordered, he’s launched into a list of all the custom upgrades he made to the
Ali Cat
.

“Sorry,” I say, interrupting. “The name,
Ali Cat
?”

The boat’s moving into choppier water, and we all pick up our drinks to keep them from spilling over.

“Alison and Catherine,” Vivian says. “Our daughters.”

I can’t help but smile. “Ali, huh?”

“It’s a
family
nickname,” she says as a blush creeps up her neck.

“Not just family, Ali,” Graham says. He seems to want to correct everything and everyone all the time. I’ll need to give his controlling nature serious consideration later. I don’t like being controlled. By anyone. “Philippe calls you that,” he continues. “So did Ethan.”

Alison’s eyes drop to the drink in her hands, and her mother frowns. Something just happened, but I’m not sure what it is.

“Speaking of Ethan,” Graham says, “I heard you had him as an intern this summer.”

It takes me a moment to realize they’re talking about Ethan Vance. But how do they know Ethan?

“I did. Quality guy. I hated to lose him to grad school, but I still see him socially. You know him?”

“Oh, yes. Great kid,” Graham says. “Smart and driven. Hell of an athlete, too. He was with my Ali for a few years in college. Shame it didn’t work out, but you know young love. Flash in the pan and all that.”

Oh, shit
. That’s what this is.

Vivian sends him a warning look, but I’m more focused on Alison, who turns white, and Mia, who closes her eyes for a long second. She looks like she wants to teleport out of here—and why wouldn’t she?

Ethan and Alison dated in college.

And now Ethan’s with Mia.

And I brought Mia here.

Jesus.

Graham’s looking at Alison in a way that seems condemning somehow, and her eyes are becoming glossy.

“I had no idea,” I say, looking from her to Mia, who’s starting to turn a little green.

“No idea about what?” Graham asks.

Alison answers for me. “Ethan is dating Mia now.”

“Oh, dear.” Vivian glances at her daughter with a look of concern.

“Nonsense,” Graham says. “Bygones! Right, Ali? We’re all civilized human beings. Mia took the prize this time, but another young man will come along for my girl.”

Alison ignores him. “Ethan’s a great guy,” she says to Mia. “I mean . . . I’m sure you know that. I’m glad you two are together. And . . . happy and everything.”

“Thanks, Alison,” Mia says, but her expression is strained and a little panicked. Her hand flattens on her stomach. “Um, I don’t mean to change the subject, but do you guys have any Dramamine? I’m feeling a little off.”

“In the guest bath,” Vivian says. “I’ll get them.” But Graham’s hand reaches for her wrist, keeping her there.

“Weston!” he yells.

Mia hops up. “No, it’s okay. I’ll get it. I know where it is.”

I excuse myself and follow her inside. Right now, Mia’s priority one.

“Adam, it’s okay,” Mia says as we hustle to the head. “Really, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

I step into the small bathroom with her and shut the door behind us. She immediately bends over the sink and splashes water on her face.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Mia. Damn it. You should have said something. I’d never have brought you here if I’d known.”

She peers up at me, water dripping off her face. “This deal is so important for the company, and I thought I could do it. I didn’t think we were going to
discuss
Ethan. Dear God. Why is the floor moving so much? Did someone put
acid
in those drinks?”

“Hang on.” I open a cabinet and find a bottle of seasickness tablets, handing her one. Mia takes two more from me. “Wait, those are really strong. One should be—”

“I feel like I’m going to die.”

“We’ve barely been on the water fifteen minutes.”

“I know, but I’m a land animal. A chair animal. Beds. Couches. I’m a comfortable stationary-place animal. But don’t worry. I’ll survive.” Mia slumps against the door. We’re still on choppy water. The yacht is still moving around a lot, the floor pitching beneath us. “I’m the one who’s sorry for being a terrible date.”

“No. You did nothing wrong. I just wish I hadn’t dragged you here.” I should go back to the Quicks, but I have a second to process all of this now.

Ethan and Alison.

That was a surprise.

I want to know more, and I also don’t.

“Were they serious?” I ask, the rational part of my brain losing.

Mia pushes her hair away from her cheek and nods but doesn’t say more.

I think of the condemning look Graham just sent Alison. He blames her for the end of the relationship. Does that mean Alison left Ethan? Did she betray him?

I can’t picture it. I can’t see Alison as a girl who’d deliberately hurt someone. She’s a nurturer. She rescues horses. She hugged me when I was a complete stranger. Kindness is her default gear.

There’s a story behind this. Between Alison and Ethan. And even though it’s none of my business, I want to know it.

I’m about to ask Mia another question when she groans and bends over her stomach. “Ugh.
Ow.
Ahhhh. Adam, please get out. I’m going to be sick.”

“It’s okay. I’ll stay—”

“No!
Please
. Go.” She shoves me out of the bathroom. As she’s closing the door, I catch a glimpse of her whirling toward the toilet.

“Adam?”

I turn to the voice, and Alison’s right there.

Y
ou’d think it would give me more pleasure to see the girl who’s now sleeping with my ex hunched over a toilet bowl, but I’ve
been
that girl too many times to feel smug now.

“I’ve got this,” I say and nudge Adam out of the way. “Go on back up to my parents.”

Mia groans from her balled-up position on the floor. “Please . . .” she gasps. “I . . . do
not
need an audience for this.”

Adam hesitates, shooting me a wide-eyed, helpless look. “She’s really sick.”

“Go on,” I tell him. “Maybe you can keep my father from wresting control of the boat away from Weston.”

He smiles. “I’ll do my best.” But he stands there, still, looking down at me. Not into my eyes, but at my face, then down at my body. He knows about Ethan—at least that we dated. Do I look different to him now?

“Really, you can
both
go,” Mia says. “Or just kill me. If you’re going to stand there, you could do that much for me, at least.”

“Okay, okay,” Adam says. “Sorry. I’ll go.” To me, he adds, “Let me know if she needs anything, okay?”

I nod and turn back to Mia, who has hunched into an even smaller version of herself.

“I’m coming in,” I say.

“For the love of all that’s holy,
why
?”

“Someone has to hold that giant mass of hair.” I riffle through a few of the cabinets until I find a stack of towels. I run one beneath the water faucet and hand it to her.

She takes it and wipes her mouth, folds it carefully and dabs it at her forehead. Moisture gathers on her temple, and her tan complexion has a greenish tinge. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“Please.” I fill a paper cup with water and hand it to her. “I spent four years as a Kappa. You are not the first girl whose hair I’ve held.”

Her smile is weak but appreciative. She flushes the toilet and shuts the lid. Closing her eyes, she sinks back against the wall, keeping the towel pressed to her forehead. “Why am I not surprised you were in a sorority?”

I shrug. “We actually did a lot of community projects,” I tell her. “It’s not all partying and boys.” Not that I had much to do with the latter. I spent two of my college years with Ethan. And then it all fell apart. Or I took it apart.

The boat heaves to one side, and I fall into the narrow space. My shin barks against the small commode, and I almost step on Mia’s hands, but she moves them to steady me.

“Careful,” she says. “There’s only room for one fatality in here.”

“You might
wish
you were dead. But you’re probably not going to die.”

“I’m not sure that’s comforting.”

The boat keels again, hard enough to pop open some of the cabinet doors.

Mia puts a hand to her mouth, and her eyes go wide. “Uh-oh,” she manages, but I’ve already read the signs. I flip up the toilet lid and push her hair away from her face just as she lurches back over the commode. She heaves, and I try to keep her hair under control while also not crowding her too much—tough to do in the modest space.

“Jesus,” she moans. “This is humiliating.”

She flushes and hangs over the toilet. I give her more water, and she takes a cautious sip. I want to tell her she’d be better off going up on deck to do what she needs to do. The fresh air would help, but I’m not even sure she’d make it.

“My dad said it should smooth out, but maybe I should just tell him to turn back. We can do this another day.”

“No, don’t do that,” she mutters. “This deal . . . I don’t want to screw things up.”

That makes two of us. It occurs to me we have at least a couple of things in common now: Ethan and this need for things to be right.

“Let’s get you into one of the cabins to lie down.”

She nods, and I back out of the space to give her some room. It’s so hard not to ask if she told Adam about how Ethan and I ended. So hard not to ask if Ethan’s forgiven me. Really forgiven me. But now’s not the time.

Rising, she bends over the tiny sink to splash water in her face. Her color looks a little bit better, but her eyes have the cool sheen of ice. She looks like she’s about a minute from passing out.

Mia follows me to one of the small staterooms, and I help her onto the bed, even taking off her shoes for her. Her feet are impossibly small, and that makes me laugh for some reason.

“I know,” she says. “Elf feet.”

“Well, they don’t curve up at the toes, at least.”

She smiles and lies back against the pillows. “I’m sorry,” she
murmurs, and it’s hard to tell if she’s talking to me or to some vision dancing behind her eyelids.

“No need. We’ll be fine. Just rest.”

“No,” she says. “About Ethan. The Boomerang date. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“It’s totally okay,” I tell her. “You couldn’t have known.”

She nods. “No, but I’m still sorry.” Her eyes close. “Anyway . . . Adam . . .”

I wait for her to finish the sentence. “Adam what?” I say, because I can’t help myself. But the cabin fills with the light rhythm of her breathing. She’s asleep.

I get a plastic pitcher and fill it with water, then pour some into a glass to leave on the nightstand by her side, along with another Dramamine because there’s no way she kept the first one down.

After I’ve switched off the lights and shut the door gently, I go back up to the forward salon.

Adam’s in there, standing by the window. He’s untucked his shirt, and his pants are rolled up at the ankle, exposing bands of tan skin. He looks like a surf kid, his skin sun-brightened, sandy blond hair wavy from the sea air. And his lean swimmer’s body, with its broad shoulders, taut muscles. He’s devastating.

Something inside me catches, like I’ve been hooked, like there’s an invisible filament spanning the space between us, and he’s drawing me to him. He’s not even looking at me, but I feel the pull.

I walk up to him, and he turns and smiles.

“Where are my folks?”

“Your mom’s crashing on a chaise upstairs. And I’m afraid I lost the battle with Captain Graham.”

I roll my eyes. “Great.” I’m waiting for some other shoe to drop. For him to ask about Ethan, for me to have to decide what to tell him, what to keep to myself.

Instead, he surprises me. “Hey,” he says. “Want to go for a dive?”

That might be the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m so hungry to shed this ridiculous day, to get into the ocean, into the cool, magical world beneath the waves. Without my parents and my past.

With Adam.

“I’d love to,” I say.

I
nstead of Lover’s End, Weston modifies our course and takes us around Catalina, where we drop anchor at West End. The water on this side of the island is smoother and with Mia as sick as she is, it was the obvious choice. Alison and I take turns changing into our swimsuits in the room next to Mia’s and meet back on the rear deck.

“My dad likes Lover’s End better, but this is my favorite place to dive out here,” she says as she pulls her hair into a ponytail. She’s got her wetsuit half on, the arms hanging limp at her waist, and a black tank up top. She looks like she’s done this a thousand times. “The best visibility and the kelp forests are incredible.”

“What kind of marine life?” I ask. The news about Ethan’s still on my mind. I want to know more.

“Oh, you’ll see everything here,” she says, her blue eyes lighting up. “I’ve seen moray eels, leopard sharks. Yellow tail. Lots of
Garibaldi. I haven’t seen any horn sharks lately, though. You have to catch them at dusk, or on night dives, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky. And it’s always pretty private. The currents can be strong, so you only get advanced divers.”

She pulls her tank top off, no warning whatsoever, and I’m looking at her in a black bikini. She’s beautiful, so gorgeous. Toned arms. Long, slender neck. My eyes drift lower, and suddenly I’m trying not to stare at the way she fills out her bikini. Trying and failing. I make myself think of sharks, moray eels, kelp forests, so I don’t go full mast right here.

“Are you okay with that?” she asks. “Advanced-level diving?”

“I’m an advanced-level diver, so yes. And I’m good with everything that’s going on right now.”

Ali pauses in the middle of slipping one of her arms into her wetsuit. Her gaze narrows in question.

I want to answer that question.

Yes, Alison. You’re beautiful.

“Horn sharks, huh?” I say instead. I turn and focus on pulling my own wetsuit out of my dive kit. Gulls circle above us, and I see a thin tail of barbecue smoke rising from the opposite end of the boat.

“Yep,” she says behind me. “I’ve always liked them. They’re so clumsy in the water and slow—and super sensitive to light intensity and water temperature—but they’re still successful predators. Amazing. All those strikes against them but they still manage to make it work.”

What’s amazing is that I’m practically getting wood just looking at her, and she’s talking about a fish.

“Fan of the underdog, are you?” I shake out my suit and step into it. “I guess we really weren’t meant to be.”

Ali laughs. Her gaze feels like sunshine on my back, but I don’t turn around. I pull my wetsuit up to my waist, adjusting myself so I’m comfortable. The cool Neoprene layer feels familiar and
my body responds, my heart thumping hard, anticipation rushing through my veins. The prospect of the ocean always does this to me. This has nothing to do with the girl behind me.

“Adam?”

Ali’s voice is close. Turning, I almost bump into her.

Her wetsuit is all the way on, which is good. And terrible.

“What’s up?” I ask.

She smells like suntan oil and peaches. This close, I see that her cheeks are turning slightly pink from the sun. With her hair pulled back, no makeup, and the wetsuit covering her completely, she looks better than she has all week at the office. Better than she did in the Catwoman costume. There’s something powerful about her now. The way her slender legs are planted firmly on the swaying boat, like she’s not trying at all. She’s at home on the water. This from an admitted equestrian. I can only imagine what she’s like with her horses.

“Sorry, but . . .” She smiles and points at her back. “My zipper’s jammed.” She turns around and pulls her ponytail up. “Can you help me out?”

“Sure. You want this on, right? Just want to be sure.”

I can’t see her face, but I know she’s smiling. “Yes. On please.”

I allow myself a moment to enjoy the way she looks right in front of me. Then I take the zipper leash, letting my knuckles drift over her back, just above the knot of her bikini.

If I weren’t completely focused on her, I’d have missed the way she curls slightly toward me.

Focus, Blackwood. Zip the wetsuit up.

“Tell me something,” I say, tugging on the jammed material. “Do you have some problem with zippers?” I ask, remembering her cat suit.

She laughs. “It was Philippe’s doing on Halloween night. He says zippers are the scars of fashion.”

With both of us barefoot, she’s a few inches shorter than me, and I like it. How she feels a little smaller. The urge to wrap her in my arms is strong. To peel the suit off her and kiss her shoulder. We’re alone back here with the sunlight and the seagulls. I could lay her out on the chaise lounge and spend the rest of the day exploring her. I could sink myself—

Graham’s voice carries down from a deck somewhere above us. He’s laughing. It’s a loud sound, a downright
guffaw
. I know he’s on the phone because he hasn’t sounded that happy once with his wife or his daughter. Shitty. Shitty family dynamics. But Graham’s laugh gets me back on track.

I finally get the jam sorted out and zip her up. “All set.”

“Thanks.” Ali’s smiling as she faces me, but it fades as her eyes travel to my tattoo. I wonder what she’s thinking. If she’s remembering our time in the Gallianos’ garage. How we’d been all over each other. Just completely crazed to taste and touch as much of one another as we could.

When her blue eyes come back to mine, I see curiosity in them and sweetness. Her attention on me is complete but somehow soft. It’s an expression that’s uniquely hers and it’s a temptation. It makes me want to let her in and tell her everything. The whole fucking sob story of my life. Of me and Chloe.

I look at her earrings. “You going to wear those in the water?”

“Yep. I never take them off.” She tips her head toward our tanks. “So, Blackwood. Are we doing this?”

“We’re doing this. Quick. Or slow. Whichever speed you prefer.”

Ali smiles, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve been waiting to say that.”

“Resisting. But I’m glad it’s out of the way now.”

Weston comes down as Ali and I are checking our tanks and clearing our regulators.

“Perfect day,” he says. “Not every day is this clear and calm. It’s going to be the dive of a lifetime.”

Ali and I exchange a smile, anticipating the adventure. The freedom. As soon as we’re in and our masks come down, I know that for the next hour, I won’t think about Boomerang, or about getting the money I need to launch Blackwood Films.

Diving is like surfing for me, except without the rush. Underwater I’m breath and energy, nothing more. My mind empties. Time stops. But I know this won’t be like my usual dives. Even before Weston’s comment, I knew that.

We descend to forty feet and head toward the kelp forest, Ali leading. She’s true to her name, quick through the water. I push to stay with her, more aware of the dangers of diving than ever. When we reach the kelp, I’m practically her shadow, but it’s easy to get tangled in the long vines. Easy to lose sight of someone or get caught in a strong current, and I’m not taking any risks with her safety. It only takes a few minutes for my worries to fade away though.

She’s a good diver, calm and smooth, but it’s the moment she looks at me and bugs out her eyes, imitating a grouper nestled in the kelp, that makes me laugh and finally chills me out. From then on, we move without the need for words, showing each other starfish. Staring in awe at the twenty leopard sharks that fly past us. Pointing at the bright orange Garibaldi, weaving through the long strands of kelp.

We follow a ridge that parallels the island, visitors in an underwater world, but I’m on a mission. I keep an eye out along the murky edge of the cliff, where the sandy bottom is darker and shadowed from sunlight.

Finally I see one. I catch up to Ali and bring her back to the spot.

There, drifting along the bottom, is a horn shark. It’s about a foot long, tan with dark brown spots. It looks uncomfortable with all the attention it’s suddenly getting, but it stays put.

Ali looks at me, her eyes smiling.
Thank you,
her eyes say.

It feels so good to please her. I’ve done a lot of things for girls in the past. This, I won’t forget.

We hover there a while, watching the clunky, somewhat pathetic predator until it decides to swim away.

Ali looks at me again and I don’t look away. It’s safe, with masks and an ocean between us. Without the permanence of words. So I let myself relax. I let myself see and be seen. What I feel or want or think is all the same right now.

I like you, Ali.

I don’t want to, but I do.