Rebound (Boomerang #2)(47)

That ends today.

And it can’t happen again.

Graham, Ali, and I will have to work things out. Ali is twenty-two—old enough to make her own choices about her personal life. Graham will have to recognize that and see it as separate from the investment deal. There’s no reason—no good one—why I can’t have her and her father’s money.

I can’t believe this. I’m crazy about a girl again. What’s harder to believe is that I’m hiding that I’m crazy about a girl again—but that’s going to change immediately. I’ll talk to Ali, then deal with Graham.

I punish myself on the slopes, burning off the energy that’s been pent up inside me all week, leaping off a shoulder of snow like there’s no danger of breaking my neck. Eight inches of fresh powder should cushion me, but the impact jars every bone in my body. The pain feels good. Real and sharp. The blinding white snow, blue skies, and a blazing yellow sun even better, but I’m struggling to get a rhythm. I sink deeper into my legs, picking up speed to see if I can lock in.

Something shifts as I move into the shadow of the mountain, and I suddenly feel Chloe racing with me, her breath in my ear, the sting of her loss cramping my fingers, making my movements jerky and stiff. The wind lashes at my face, penetrating my goggles, and my eyes water, blurring the trail.

She’s so clear to me. I feel her with me, curled in my lap in an Adirondack on the deck back home, her breath warm against my ear, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck, tickling me. I hated it and she did it anyway, and I loved that she did it anyway. She whispered our dreams to me at night, whispered everything we’d become like we were a bedtime story. A loft in Manhattan. Her, an artist. Me, starting a business. She had a plan we’d do that until she turned twenty-five, then we’d move to Paris.

But we never became anything. She never turned twenty-five. She turned into a memory. A constant reminder of my mistake and . . . and, f*ck. I can’t screw up like that again, not with Alison.

Some * in yellow ski pants bombs past me. He catches an edge and goes down hard, windmilling and blasting me in the face with a slurry of snow. I’m blind, my legs shuddering until I jam in hard and practically snap both of my knees trying to stop. A wave of rage crashes through me. I want to charge back up the mountain and wrap my hands around the guy’s throat, choke him. But I don’t. Anyway, those stupid yellow pants are their own punishment.

Breathing in deep, I feel ice form in my veins. The sky’s brilliance calms me. I dig my poles into the snow, start again. I feel rusty, my body still out of sync with my intent. I think about the people waiting back at the lodge for me. Rhett and Cookie. Mia, Sadie, and Pippa. Paolo. People whose lives depend on my getting my shit together. I dig into the powder, pushing until the snow is a blur, my poles tucked up tight against my body, a rocket shooting toward an endless horizon. I cut through a narrow crevice, along the more dangerous path. Every cell in my body warns me I’m in danger of failing, that if I crash, it’s going to be brutal.

I don’t care. I know I can’t outpace the memories. I’m alive and Chloe isn’t, and I’ll never forgive myself, or forget her. But every day is mine to determine now and I want to move forward.

There’s a chance with Alison. I’m going for her—for us—and I won’t screw it up. Not this time. Not with her.

The end of the run smoothes into a straight downward shot that finally makes me feel like I know what I’m doing. I sail over the last hundred yards, and although the run gives me plenty of even ground at the end, I come up hard near a stand of firs by a path to the lodge. I unclamp my skis, hoist them over my shoulder and step into the Four Seasons, setting my skis on a rack.

It feels too hot in the resort, but I know it’s just my body being used to the outside cold and still cooling down from skiing. Ahead of me, there’s an enormous two-sided fireplace with high-backed benches upholstered in slate and pearl leather. I head to the bar, thinking I’ll have a quick drink before heading to the cabin where my staff awaits. I just need a minute to clear away the fog.

The bartender is gorgeous—flaming red hair, pale freckled cleavage—and she locks into me with blatant interest, licking her peach lipstick as she smiles.

“What’ll it be?” she asks, her question filled with invitations.

Normally, I’d accept that invitation, but now there’s no temptation. I order a Manhattan. When it arrives, I take a few sips. Then I check my watch and find myself smiling. Ali should be here by now.

“Hey, Adam!” Rhett says, sidling up to the bar. He takes the bar stool to my left. Cookie sits to my right. “How was it out there, man?”

“Oh, cut the crap,” Cookie says. She pauses to order two more martinis. “Make them strong and quick,” she says to the bartender. “Give me some nuts, too.”

The bartender’s eyes dart to me, smiling, before she moves to mix the drinks.

Cookie folds her arms. “Okay. What the hell is going on with Alison?”

I laugh. “What is this? An Alison intervention?”

“That’s exactly what this is, and we’re serious.”

“As a heart attack,” Rhett adds.

I take a sip of my drink. I haven’t been in the office for a week, but Rhett and Cookie have caught onto me anyway. While I was in New York, I checked up with both of them a few times to make sure Alison had everything she needed. Even from across the country, they’ve picked up on where my head is. Or to be more specific, my heart.