Rebound (Boomerang #2)(61)

It’s only five minutes before a ski patroller shows up with a snowmobile. He introduces himself as Bob. I help him lift Alison onto the back and briefly consider taking over and making him ski down the hill.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I tell Ali.

She nods, and I notice her eyes are strained. She’s in real pain.

I fly down the mountain and reach the bottom only moments after the snowmobile does.

Ali is taken around the ski school entrance to a medical clinic, where I relieve Bob, the patrol guy, of his duties and pick Ali up, carrying her inside. Bob directs me to a small room with two gurneys, a chair, and an awaiting physician’s assistant who introduces herself as Darla Mead.

As soon as Ali’s ski boot comes off, I know we’re in deep shit. It’s swollen badly and as Darla checks mobility and feels around the bones, Alison sucks in a hissing breath and reaches for my arm.

“Is it broken?” she asks.

Darla gives me an apologetic look. “We can’t know without an X-ray.”

“Let’s get an X-ray.” I’m trying to stay calm, but it’s not easy.

Darla looks at Bob, who answers. “The blizzards closed all the roads around the resort.”

“I’ll get her there on a snowmobile.”

Bob shakes his head. “You don’t want to go out there right now. We’re looking at up to two feet of snow coming in tonight. In another hour, you won’t be able to see your own hands. St. John’s is clear across town. That might as well be a state away in these conditions. You’re going to have to wait for the storm to blow over.”

Unlike Darla, his delivery is cavalier, like he’s said this a thousand times and couldn’t care less.

“Not an option, Bob. She’s hurt.”

He shrugs. “She doesn’t have a choice.”

“Bob, your choice is get her to a hospital or get the shit beaten out of you by me. What’s it going to be?”

“Adam.” Ali slips her cool hand into mine and squeezes.

Bob’s palms come up. “I’m done. I’m out of here.”

He’s not done. He’s just smart enough to know my threat was real. I feel powerless. Not a feeling I wear comfortably.

“I’m sorry,” Darla says once he’s gone. “Bob doesn’t have the best bedside manner in the world, but he is right. It’s dangerous out there right now. We can’t move her, and we can’t bring a doctor here. And, anyway, it’s possible that even if you could see a doctor right away, they’d tell you to rest it and let the swelling subside before you could get a diagnosis. In the meantime, I can give you some prescription meds for the pain. They’ll take the edge off and make you more comfortable.”

Ali gives my hand another squeeze. “Okay,” she says to Darla. “That sounds fine.”

I’m on the phone as Darla prepares a to-go kit of bandages, ice packs, and pain meds. By the time Ali is ready to leave on crutches, I’ve checked us into the resort and arranged for our bags to be sent over from the retreat house.

Ali listened as I made it all happen and didn’t argue. She still doesn’t say anything as we take the elevator to the penthouse suite and meet one of the resort employees, who’s there with our bags and key cards.

Inside, I get her settled in the all-white living room. White couch, plush white rug, soft white blankets—and, through the window, white snow. The wood floors and the rustic fireplace look colorful by contrast, adding warmth to the modern space.

I set Ali’s crutches inside the door—they’ve been more of a problem than a solution—and get my arm around her. When she gives me her weight like she can barely hold herself up, I lift her into my arms and step inside. The moment feels strangely matrimonial, but also definitely not.

“You want to go to bed?” I smile as I hear myself. “I’ve been meaning to ask you that for a long time, but in this case, I mean to prop up your ankle and rest.”

Ali’s smile is sweet and a little tired. She wraps her arms around my neck and lets her head settle on my shoulder. “Can we just sit out here for a bit?”

“We can do anything you want.” I carry her to the couch, but she doesn’t let go of me when I set her down. So I sit and keep her on my lap. The feeling of her weight and closeness makes me hungry for her, and suddenly I’m not sure what comes next.

I want to kiss her slowly. For a long time. And everywhere.

I want to tell her I’ll do anything to keep her comfortable and safe.

I want to get her a pillow and put her foot up on the coffee table.

“You didn’t have to stay, Adam. You probably could’ve still gotten back to LA.”

“No offense, Ali, but that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Do you really think I’d leave you?”

“No.” I can’t see her face—her forehead’s nestled right under my neck—but I know she’s smiling. “I’m okay,” she says after a moment. “I know you’re worried, but I’m okay. I’m actually . . . good.”

“Vicodin kicking in?”

“No. I haven’t taken it yet.” She snuggles closer, her hand coming up to my chest, her finger slowly twisting around the zipper of my ski shell. “If only Jasmine could see us now.”