Rebound (Boomerang #2)(53)

The others cheer us on, but Jasmine stands frozen, her hands pressed to her lips like she’s witnessing a legitimate miracle.

“Oh, my, that was the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen! You two are perfectly in sync. I predict great things from your partnership.”

All of which brings my father, Adam’s secrets, my obligations, crashing right back down again.

Next, Jasmine tells us we’re going to do an old-fashioned trust exercise.

“You’ll climb up to the platform there, and all of these beautiful souls around you will gather to give you a safe place to land. But you’ll line up with your buddies, all right? I want you to get in a row before the platform. Hold hands, and really latch onto each other. Imagine that there’s a steel rod running between you that’s unbreakable. And know that you’re responsible for the safety of another living being. That we’re all trusting each other with our hearts and our lives. Understand?”

This all feels a little dramatic for what’s essentially a five-foot drop. But when she asks for volunteers, I find my arm is the first to shoot up. I have to know what it’s like. To fall into the arms of people I barely know. To open myself up to their strength. To trust.

My whole body trembles with excitement—and with cold—as I climb up the log ladder to the platform.

“Oh, my dear, kudos to your bravery!” Jasmine says, and the others applaud for me.

Mia comes to stand near Jasmine. She looks up at me, her wild cloud of dark hair whipping around in the wind. “We’ve got you,” she says and smiles. Then she and Jasmine clasp hands.

Next to them Rhett and Sadie. Then Paolo and Pippa. Then Cookie and Philippe. All clasp hands, making a kind of human rope bridge for me, with Adam standing at the end.

“You’ve got this, Quick,” Adam says, making me want to believe.

I turn, smiling, even though no one can see me.

Then I stretch my arms out over my head and let myself fall.





Chapter 30



Adam


On the afternoon of our first official day at Camaraderie Camp, Ali and I pile out of the Four Seasons’s vans with the rest of the crew and shuffle into the snowmobile park. Rhett and Jasmine have already arranged for everything, and I know where I’m going from past years, so I lead Ali around the small double-wide that is the park’s office and head to the snowmobile course around the back.

I move to the helmet rack and hand one to her, taking another one for myself. We pull them snug over our ski beanies.

“Looking Mmm good, Quick,” I say, remembering her apron from the other night. I offer a hand down the slushy slope to the course below.

“Thanks, Blackwood,” she says, grabbing onto my arm.

We keep touching each other now, thanks to all the camaraderie work. We’ve only been at this for eight hours or so, but it’s already become natural. My hands are almost always on her, zipping up her coat for her or resting on the small of her back. Trust work—the art of supporting your partner in ways big and small, as we’ve been told endlessly by Jasmine—completely rocks. Jazz is getting a huge tip from me this year.

The snowmobile is my favorite event of the retreat, and I’m more pumped for it than usual because of my partner this year. At some point yesterday, between trust falls and scavenger hunts through the lodge, I started having a legitimate blast with Ali.

She’s competitive, maybe even more than I am, and her eagerness, the way she’s enjoying herself, her whole attitude, is addicting. Totally addicting to be around.

“Hold up, guys,” a snowmobile guy says, blocking us at the bottom of the path. “Hey, I’m Gooter.” He steals a glance at Ali beside me—who looks amazing with her cheeks pink from the cold and her hair in a long braid that hangs to the side—and I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Sorry, but, I just need to show you how to work the snowmobile and tell you how to run the course.”

“That’s all right,” I say. “I’ve done this a few times. Just point me in the direction of the fastest vehicle.”

Gooter appreciates a speed junkie when he meets one. He smiles. “Cool, bro. That one’s got the best pick-up. Get her running for a minute to warm her up, and she’ll fly for you.”

I snag it, and Ali swings her leg over, mounting behind me and scooting close. The feeling of her thighs tight against mine is one I have to take a few moments to enjoy.

“I didn’t even ask you if you want to drive,” I say.

She wraps her arms around me. “You drive. I’ll grab flags.”

I fire up the engine and get us out on the starting line then explain the rules to Ali.

The object of the game, I know from past years, is to ride the course while keeping an eye out for yellow flags along the way. Each team has to collect four flags to qualify, and then it’s pretty much a race to the finish line.

“What do you think?” I ask, as the other teams assemble around us. “Who do we have to look out for?”

She’s quiet, and I feel her studying the others. Rhett and Sadie, who are ten kinds of awkward together. Paolo and Pippa, who’ve created some kind of leg kick and cheer. Mia and Jasmine—who, in snow gear, looks surprisingly like she was born riding snowmobiles across Alaska. And Philippe who stalls again, and again, and again, until finally Cookie yanks him back into the passenger position and takes over.