Rebound (Boomerang #2)(21)

I get the feeling she’s holding back. Catwoman is closer to the real Alison. But why does she hide that side of herself? I catch my train of thought and mentally punch myself. I’ve just spent ten minutes thinking about how much I wish she wasn’t on my mind. Shit.

As I paddle in, I think of the boating trip tomorrow, spending the day on Graham Quick’s boat to talk shop. That’s going to be special. Me, Alison—and Julia, who I had to invite after I told Alison I’d bring her along. I don’t know why I said it. Maybe the way Alison looked around the new complex, drinking it in, excited. I needed to put more distance between us. Julia had struck me as a solution.

I shake my head. Great idea, Blackwood. Throw a girl who has nothing to do with anything into an enclosed space, at sea, with the people you need to impress most. But I don’t have much choice. I said I was bringing a date, so I’m doing it.

When I get to my Range Rover, I see that Grey has already loaded his board on the rack, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Damn it.” I lift my board up next to his, snapping it in.

When the shit hit the fan back home a few months ago and he came to live with me, I promised myself I wouldn’t become his parent. I’m not starting now. I’m his brother, not his dad.

Grey’s a result of a “timeout” my parents took the year I was four. Dad hooked up with Grey’s mom, Lois, and nine months later Grey was born.

Dad never made any attempt to hide Grey when he and my mother got back together. For years, I had this vague awareness that I had a half-brother out there somewhere, but Grey didn’t become real to me until Lois flaked out on raising him when he was five. When he showed up at our house in Newport with a Spiderman backpack, my life changed. I’d been an only child, and suddenly I had a brother and I loved that. Him. Right away. But it wasn’t like that with my mom. She’d never planned on a son who wasn’t hers, and Grey’s never been easy.

Their relationship has been tense since the beginning, but something big happened between them in August that drove Grey out of the house. Mom hasn’t told me what it was, and neither has he. One day, Grey just showed up at my door and told me he was done with “your mother.” Done with all the Blackwoods, except me. I let him into my house. Gave him a home, and haven’t pushed him on it. I’m the last person who should judge a guy for being secretive, but I do wonder what happened.

I climb into the Rover and start the engine. In less than twenty seconds, Grey comes crashing into the passenger seat, out of breath like he just hauled ass. He has a beer in his hand and he smells like weed.

“Jesus, Grey. I left you for ten goddamn minutes.” So much for not being his parent.

“I got bored. Then I met some nice people.”

“Get rid of that.”

He jumps out of the car, finishes the beer and tosses it into a trash can. “Hey, did I tell you Julia texted me?” he says before he’s back in the car.

“No. Why did she text you?”

“She’s done with rich business owners. She wants to try out nineteen-year-olds with huge—”

“What did she say, Grey?”

“She didn’t want to bother you at the office or something, but she can’t go to your boat outing tomorrow. She’s got a callback for some role she really wants.”

Awesome. This is the only time Julia’s ever backed out on me—when I need her. “Were you ever going to say something?”

Grey shrugs. “When I remembered to, and I just did. Anyway, what’s the big deal? You’re not even into her.”

“I told Alison I was bringing a date, Grey.”

“Who’s Alison?”

I can’t believe this. I stare at the waves in the distance. I can’t show up dateless. I need a buffer between Alison and me.

“Adam.” Grey shoves my shoulder. “Who’s Alison?”

I put the car in reverse and back out of the parking lot. “Someone from work. From the people who’re going to invest.”

“Ah . . . Got it.” Grey laughs. “She must be a really hot investor.”

If he only knew.





Chapter 11



Alison


My father and I pick our way across an expanse of parched scrub, following our ranch manager and groom, Joaquin, to a squat tin shed out in what feels like the middle of nowhere. Really, we’re a half hour north of Santa Clarita, in a town with a population in the double digits—just a long stretch of dirt paths leading off the highway, and ramshackle farms resting in dusty valleys.

It feels good to be in jeans and boots. To have survived the first week on the job with Adam. It didn’t take long to get used to having him nearby, to stop stealing glances at him, at the way his hair curled over the pressed collar of his shirt, at the way he pushed away from his desk whenever something required real consideration, like he needed space for his thoughts.

The work is easy, at least. His records are impeccable. As Nancy says, “You could eat off them.” And everything looks good. He makes sound choices, building an enterprise slowly but being brave enough to leap at the right times.

Still, there’s something there, a caginess. A need to control the script. Just like at the restaurant. A couple of times I caught him looking out the window, and his expression looked so far away and sad. But when he caught my eye, the mask snapped into place, and he gave me a practiced smile that seemed worse than his sadness.