Rebound (Boomerang #2)(68)

He turns and spreads his hands. “Happy Turkey Day, bro.”

I drop my weekend bag and stare at him.

For an instant, I’m tempted to tell him about everything that happened in Wyoming. But that urge is gone pretty fast, leaving no trace behind.

“What’s going on, Adam?” Grey says.

I look at the food he’s obviously spent all day preparing. “This is cool of you, but . . .”

I can’t finish. I can’t say the words I can’t. They go against my moral code.

I move to the bar and grab a lowball glass, a bottle of Dewar’s, and head for my room. My favorite leather chair sits in front of a floor-to-ceiling window to the Pacific. I sit and pour and take a long pull. The sun is just setting over the ocean. The moon is rising. Such a solid, eternal thing, planets and continents and oceans.

The surf pounds against the sand. The gulls circle and dive.

Clouds float and night falls.

Nothing is steady.

Friday.

At some point, in the morning I’m almost sure, Grey comes in and asks me to surf. We argue. About surfing or something, and I tell him to f*ck off.

I watch the beach and I try to forget.

I try to stop replaying every moment with Ali.

When it works, it’s because I’m thinking of Chloe, or the mistake I’ve made that could affect my company like a cancer.

At some point Grey comes back and tells me I need to talk to him. Rhett’s worried and he’s been calling Grey to check in on me. Mom—“your mother”—called him directly since I didn’t check in with her on Thanksgiving, which Grey’s especially pissed about. Not that he ever answered the call. He let it go to voicemail.

I let him finish then I tell him to f*ck off again.

Saturday is more of the same except I switch my brand to Maker’s Mark for a little variety, and my scruff is starting to itch.

Sunday, I feel better. Well enough to leave my room and take the bottle out to the back deck for some fresh air.

“What the f*ck, Adam?” Grey says, when I sit at the table and refill my glass.

“Grey, come here.”

He comes over, and stands over me. His eyes are drawn and he looks tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping, which is weird because insomnia is my job, but I also see a flicker of desperate hope in them.

“Check it out.” I point to the beach. “Lucky’s figured out his timing. He can launch over waves for the tennis ball now.”

“Fuck you, Adam. You’re not allowed to f*cking fail,” he says as he walks away.

I spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how he could possibly say that to me when he knows about Chloe.

Monday morning brings a surprise.

Someone pounds on the door. Since it doesn’t stop, that means Grey’s out somewhere. I get up from my spot on the deck and answer it.

Graham Quick pushes past me and looks around my living room like a repossession agent, measuring my worth by my furniture and the prints on my wall. Seeing everything he’s going to take from me.

“You screwed up, Blackwood,” he says, his back turned to me. “And by the smell of you, you know it.”

“I just want to be clear about something, Graham. You’re trespassing right now.”

“Are you going to call the police?” He turns, regarding me with Alison’s intelligent eyes. There’s no gentleness in Graham’s though. But maybe there never was in Ali’s either.

Adrenaline makes me feel weightless. “No. I was thinking I’d take care of it myself.”

“Relax, I’m not going to keep you long,” he says, his eyes darting to the patio outside. Through the open glass door, the bottle of whisky and my glass shine on the table, gold and amber in the sunlight. “You look like you’re busy with important matters. I’ve come here with a proposal.”

“Is that right? Let’s hear it.”

“I’m willing to increase my investment in your company to thirty million. That’s a lot of money, Adam. I think even a spoiled little shit like you can recognize that. But in exchange, I want majority share. Fifty-one percent. And I want the chairman position on the board. You agree, and I don’t say a word to anyone. No one needs to know you’re a pathetic drunk who wrapped your wife around a tree four years ago.” He smiles. “That would be bad, wouldn’t it? For Boomerang’s bottom line? For the studio venture with Brooks Wright?”

My head feels scattered with all the whisky, without any sleep, and it takes a minute for the words to hit. When they do, I’m transported back to that night with Chloe. I’m seeing the car spin out, and the tree move at us so fast, like it’s flying over the icy road instead of the other way around.

I feel a shaking inside me, deep in my chest. This was my grief and I kept it safe. I kept her safe and now she’s not. Her life is cheapened by Graham Quick’s words. She’s a bartering tool now. A weapon.

Chloe would have hated this.

But not as much as I do. As much as I hate that I let this happen.

“You’ve built a good foundation, Adam,” Graham continues. “Blackwood Enterprises is healthy, I’ll give you that much. You seem to have enough balls to get things started. A business. A marriage. But you’re a real f*ck-up on follow-through. At some point, you’ll see that I’m helping you. You need me. But for now, it’s time to step aside and let a real businessman take over.”