Rebound (Boomerang #2)(38)

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes blazing. “At least I don’t go around pretending everything’s fine. You’re a coward.”

I almost punch him. “Fuck you, Grey.” I push past him and head to the garage. I open my door and get up on the footboard, pulling my surfboard onto the rack on my Range Rover. The door opens and Grey comes out. He heads to the other side of my car and climbs up on the passenger side, snapping my board in place. Then he loads his short board up.

At Nicholas Canyon, we pull our wetsuits on, jog over the sand and throw ourselves into the water without saying a word. It isn’t until we’re floating side by side on the sea, the sun glittering in the water all around us, that Grey speaks.

“Sorry, Adam,” he says.

“Yeah . . . me too.”





Chapter 21



Alison


I cue Persephone into a trot, hoping to move her into a canter, though that might be a bit much for today. This is only the second time she’s let me put a saddle on her and take her into the training ring in the backyard, so we’re both a little skittish. But I can tell by the way she keeps her tail high and her ears angled back toward me that she’s excited and alert to my signals.

“How’s it coming with Suede?” my father calls from his chaise on the back deck. Just like him to jump to a problem instead of appreciating the small triumph in front of him.

Persephone tosses her head, white mane flying, like she’s personally affronted that he’d mention another horse in front of her. I can feel the tension in her haunches, the stuttering rhythm to her gait. She’d love nothing better than to dump me into dirt, but I can’t let that happen. For her sake.

“He’s coming along, Dad,” I call. It’s true. It just might not be quite as true as I’d like.

“Joaquin says he’s having a hell of a time healing those abscesses. You know, I can’t pour money into that horse forever.”

“We just got him,” I remind my dad. “It won’t be forever.”

“No,” my father says. “It won’t.”

It feels like everything makes him impatient lately. Every evening, he grills me about Adam, about the other employees, about the new complex and the equipment being installed there. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I tell him everything I know. And every night he seems disappointed, like I’m not delivering on some promise I don’t remember having made.

Gathering up a little slack on the reins, I try to show Persephone who’s in control, but she’s not having it. I force her forward a few paces, but she stops suddenly, hindquarters dropping, and I know she’s about to rear.

“You’ve got spirit, P, I’ll give you that.” I pull my left rein to my hip. Persephone’s head follows, and she has no choice but to turn in a circle. She goes around three times, head jerking in protest, before she gets that I’m the one in charge. I hate playing the bully, but it’s the language we speak. And keeping her in line means keeping her here. Cared for and loved, with plentiful food, the best care, and acres of soft grass as her playground.

We play a bit more tug-of-war, but finally she settles down and moves into a smooth trot. It’s hard not to throw my arms around her powerful neck and give her a hug, but that’s not affection in horse terms. Instead, I pat her back and give the crest of her mane a gentle pinch, mirroring the way horses groom each other. I smile because there’s apology in the soulful, long-lashed eye that stares up at me.

“See, Dad?” I say, looking up at the deck.

But he’s already gone.

After my shower, I sit in front of my vanity in my towel and finally let myself think about the night ahead of me. My date. I smile a little to myself because I’m gaming the system, as my dad would say. I skipped all of Cookie’s choices and went right for the hottest-looking guy from the “men looking for men” section. Of course, it took a little cajoling, and a promise of a future date with Philippe, who was only too happy to provide a picture.

At least I’ll be relaxed tonight, for what feels like the first time in ages. And I’ll have done all three dates.

My mother knocks and then enters, dressed as she almost always is on a Saturday night—for an evening out. This time, she’s wearing a simple black sheath and a double strand of freshwater pearls, which tells me it’s nothing too formal.

“How’s Persephone doing, darling?” she asks. The endearment means she hasn’t started into the cocktails yet. Where some people—like me—get lubricated and loose, she gets more and more brittle the more she drinks. Sharper-tongued and pinched. Maybe her reserves come down when she’s drunk, and her unhappiness comes to the surface.

“Really great,” I say. I take my shoes off the tufted bench across from me and gesture for her to sit. “She just needs a little work.”

“And Suede?”

Funny that both parents have had the same questions for me today. Usually, they seem miles apart in every way.

“He’s good. We’re still having trouble with his hooves, but his teeth are good, and he’s gaining weight. I think we’ll be able to save him.”

“That’s wonderful,” she says, and I know she means it.

Staring into the mirror, I see the reflection of the two of us. She could be my older sister, thanks to good genes and some injectables. Her blond hair is lighter than mine—almost platinum, and her lower jaw is fuller, the only part of her to really show her age. But she’s still so beautiful. Still has this amazing bearing—like a queen.