Chapter 14
The rush from ziplining stays with me as I get ready for dinner. Nate is outside writing, and I’ve holed up in the bathroom. I’m slipping my black sundress over my head when Brody calls. I yank the dress into place and answer on the last ring, even though the call will set back my prep time.
“I was worried you wouldn’t answer,” he says in place of a greeting. With our videos on, I can see he’s in his hospital bed and probably driving himself crazy, wishing he could be anywhere else. The window is dark beside him, but there’s enough fluorescent light flowing in from the hall.
“Sorry.” I lean the phone against the bathroom mirror so I can continue getting ready while we talk. “I’ve been busy.”
“Tell me about today’s excursion. Did you and Nate kill it?”
“It was ziplining, and it went…great. We both did the full course.” I’m smiling at the memory. I hadn’t woken up this morning expecting or wanting to zipline, yet Nate and I tackled the entire thing by the end of the day. Enjoyed it, too.
“Ziplining?” Brody asks, a note of confusion or annoyance in his voice. “They’re taking it easy with these first few. Guess that’s a result of the newbie angle. Hey, at least it’s all stuff you two can do. I mean?—”
Brody’s still talking, but his voice is background noise as I apply mascara. Nothing about Fiji has been easy for me or for Nate. He had also been afraid to do the zipline, yet he put aside his fears and conquered the course with me. Insinuating that was easy is both infuriating and insulting.
I bite my tongue, add a light layer of lavender eyeshadow, and wait for Brody’s monologue to come to a natural end before jumping in with a question I’m desperate to know the answer to. “Do you remember Nate falling from a treehouse as a kid?”
Brody takes a sip of water from a plastic cup next to his hospital bed. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “I can’t believe he told you about that.”
I choose my next words carefully. “Do you ever think about it?”
Brody nods several times. “A lot. It’s what convinced me he could do the show and the rest of this plan.
That dude is invincible and brave as shit.
Even back then, I knew it. I was always trying to impress him; prove I could be the cool older brother, even if I’m only older by four and a half minutes. ”
“Wait, you think Nate is brave?”
“Don’t you?” Brody asks as if the answer is obvious. “If you had seen him fly out of that treehouse…it was like the dude thought he had wings. I was convinced he flew. Heck, part of me still thinks it. Nate fucking flew.”
I consider telling him Nate was terrified and falling, just trying to be like his big brother.
That he was floored by the kindness Brody showed by letting Nate “win” their latest contest. That I am too.
But what would that accomplish? It’d only shatter Brody’s deep-rooted belief in Nate’s bravery and perhaps instill a sense of guilt. It wouldn’t help Nate either.
Despite the brothers’ similar appearances, they are different in ways that don’t mesh with what I knew going into Fiji. The more time I spend with Nate, the more the contrast rears its head—and it’s admittedly not an ugly one.
That’s the most confusing of all.
I don’t realize I haven’t been listening to Brody until his voice cuts in. “What are you getting ready for?”
It’s taken him long enough to notice. “Dinner with…” There’s nothing wrong with saying Nate, but I can’t do it. “Just dinner.”
Brody frowns but doesn’t question it. “Don’t let me keep you.”
Being confined to bed with limited movement, crappy TV choices, and not enough relevant tabloids to read, I know Brody is going stir-crazy. I should insist he’s not keeping me from anything important and stay on with him, but I don’t.
“Dinner is important to the plan,” I say instead.
Brody grunts something that could be agreement or pouting.
“You should get some sleep. It’ll help you heal faster.” No idea if the last part is true, but it’s worth a shot. Better than him calling every day for updates and staying up all night brainstorming how to “save” the show while bedridden at a hospital thousands of miles away.
I say goodbye and hang up before Brody can further protest, then grab my chapstick. I swipe on a quick layer, but something is still missing to complete my look. My hair. It’s flat with a side of frizzy.
I flip my hair upside down and give it a vigorous tussle, hoping for some lasting volume. When I stand upright, my look screams just had sex rather than effortless glam. I quickly smooth my locks back down with argan oil and a brush. Good enough.
“Ready, Gnat?” I ask, entering our shared living space, but the bungalow is empty. There’s a bluish glow from the deck, confirming Nate is still out there writing, which is a relief. I slip on my sandals, slide open the deck door, and lean out. “Getting some writing done?”
He jumps in his seat, almost dropping his laptop. With it, whatever he’s writing.
I wince. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He clears his throat. “You didn’t. Writing might be a generous word, but I’m making some progress. More than I was in Vegas, at least.”
“You want to keep at it? We can do dinner later or tomorrow.” My stomach sinks at the offer.
“Absolutely not.” He closes his laptop and stands. “We’re doing this tonight. I cannot risk incurring those crazy rainforest therapy interest rates.”
The restaurant is everything I expect after seeing other areas of the resort and peeking at the photos online. There’s an elegant open-air dining room boasting stone walls, mid-century modern furniture, and panoramic views of the water.
“This is incredible,” Nate says as we’re seated at a table for two by a stone wall framing a stunning view of water lapping below.
I hum in agreement, taking it all in as the server hands us menus.
Aside from being roped into filming, Fiji has some perks.
Stunning scenery is at the top of the list, though Nate’s frame interrupts my view.
Not a horrible interjection; it’s like looking at Brody, or a version of him that looks nice in a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled, and pressed khaki shorts.
“Staring?” The man across from me asks, a swift reminder this isn’t Brody but Nate.
I shift my attention to the tabletop, adjusting the cloth-wrapped bundle of silverware in front of me. “You look…presentable.”
Nate lets out a laugh. “Thanks. You look…” His voice trails off when I look up and our gazes lock.
Behind his gray eyes, there is a world of words racing through but not making their way to his lips.
When his attention falls somewhere near my chin or mouth, I wipe at the spot in case of dried toothpaste or something else stare-worthy.
“You look halfway decent yourself,” he finally says.
“Halfway decent? I took twice as long to get ready!” Partially because of my phone call with Brody, but still. I put in effort!
“You don’t get props for being less efficient, Gingersnap.” He gives me a teasing grin. My eyes roll on their own, but I can’t bite back my smile.
“I spoke to my lawyer friend,” Nate says after we’ve ordered a round of tropical cocktails. “She knows the perfect employment lawyer to put you in touch with.”
My eyebrows raise. “You work fast. When did you have time to reach out?”
Nate shrugs. “It’s important. I sent her an email on the way to the zipline course, and she responded by the time we returned to our bungalow. Happy to pass along the information if you still want it?”
I hesitate, then nod. I’d been thinking about our conversation from earlier today, and I want to help the other women at BrandMe if I can. A small step in the right direction is better than no step at all.
“Consider it done,” Nate says. “So, what’s next for Abigail Adams?”
I buy time by placing my napkin on my lap, even though we haven’t ordered food yet. “This. Brody’s brand. Then, a few more clients, hopefully. I’m still trying to figure it out.”
“What do you want to be doing?”
I twist the cloth napkin in my lap. “It’s going to sound ridiculous?—”
Nate stops me. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ve thought it over.”
My cheeks warm at the recognition. I have put years of thought into it, researching late into the night and forming a plan to somehow make a risky thing a safe bet.
Planning doesn’t stop me from questioning the strategy or whether I’m good enough to pull it off.
Anyone can have a dream, but not everyone can turn it into their reality.
“I want to make a real go of it. Start a boutique brand management agency that’s hands-on and supports more than just athletes. But who would hire me when I have no specific experience in any other realm?”
“That honeymooning couple seemed impressed by your knowledge.”
“They don’t know better.”
“Or they realize you’re someone unafraid to go after what she wants.”
I have to laugh at that. My mind is nothing but doubts and fears. I have this big, scary dream that’s all mine. Most days, it feels big enough to swallow me whole.
I’m not about to explain this to Nate, so I settle on “thanks.”
“I mean it,” Nate says. “You quit your job to pursue your dreams and become your own boss, going above and beyond for Brody’s career and Rush to ensure you get there. You even agreed to take part in Rush. That’s a level of dedication some can only aspire to.”
The way Nate describes me, it’s as if I’m doing something noble with my life rather than starting back at the beginning after all this time. “Thanks, I needed to hear that.”
“Anytime.” Nate reaches across the table and gives my hand a squeeze. His lingers for a second but pulls away when our drinks arrive.
“Are you ready to order food?” the server asks, pulling out a notepad.
Nate gestures for me to go ahead.
“I’ll take the mahi-mahi.”
“Excellent choice. You, sir?”
“I’ll take the sirloin. Medium.”