Chapter Fourteen ADAM
Chapter Fourteen
ADAM
Jackie reels back slightly, a frown knotting her brows.
William’s smug smile grates on me. He’s been looking down his nose at me since we all met up in the little square downtown. Like I wasn’t supposed to infiltrate their little circle.
“Adam might have an advantage,” Blanca says with a sweetness that makes your teeth ache. “I imagine you grew up playing these…hillbilly sorts of games.”
“No lobsters in Minnesota,” I reply breezily, smiling back at her. “Didn’t they teach you that at Columbia?”
Over the years, I’ve learned not to react to every subtle barb once people realize I’m not one of them. Just roll with it, and eventually, they forget about it.
“Care to put that confidence to the test?” William presses.
I’ve always kept away from macho competition disguised as stupid games. But my pride can handle only so much.
I look out over the water, at the two parallel lines of floating lobster crates lashed loosely together. About twenty of them bobbing between the dock and the floating platform.
“Name your wager,” I say. “How about fifty bucks?”
“Adam—” Jackie reaches out, fingers closing around my arm, forehead creased.
“Money.” William’s mouth curls into a sneer. “So…plebeian.” Then he adds smoothly, “One way ticket back home. I’d gladly lend you my jet.”
This fucker wants to get rid of me that badly? I should teach him what happens to people who underestimate me.
Blanca claps, delighted. “This sounds like fun.”
“Blanca, don’t encourage them,” Jackie mutters through her teeth.
I extend my hand without looking away from the British prick. He straightens and shakes it, aiming for a tight grip without success. He’s far too confident for someone whose favorite sport is probably bridge.
The festival volunteer, a scrawny teen in a red T-shirt, explains the rules when our turn comes, bare toes wiggling over the edge of the wooden planks.
“You each get an empty crate and one with a live lobster in it.”
I peer at the animal’s claws, thankfully bound together with a blue rubber band.
“Crate and lobster must make it across. You fall, you swim,” he continues, his voice spiking mid-sentence. “Lobster gets into the water, you’re done.”
William watches him, arms crossed, like the kid is outlining the theory of relativity.
When he’s done, the volunteer crouches and steadies the first crate in each lane. With one foot on the solid surface, I test my footing, holding the boxes the way I used to hold heavy trays at the diner I worked at during high school.
The uneven weight might prove a challenge. It immediately makes the first crate in the line wobble.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see William flailing before he finds his balance. I lock into years of hockey muscle memory, learning to keep my balance on ice.
The teen sticks the whistle into the corner of his mouth and mumbles around the metal, “On my mark.”
I tune everything out, just like before a game, and focus on the unstable path across the water.
“Three, two, one,” the volunteer shouts.
The whistle shrieks in my left ear.
With careful movements, every muscle tense, I move to the next step, already feeling my abdomen burning.
He, on the other line, is doing a sort of plié, sliding his foot across the wet wood.
“Let’s go, Adam!” Martha’s booming voice carries over the sound of the water lapping at the line of boxes, followed by a sharp whistle.
Another step, another crate. Halfway across, my abs are screaming, but at least I have a slight advantage. I’d chance a look back to see if Jackie is still watching, but I really want to show this pompous prick he’s got nothing on me.
William’s right behind me.
When I glance sideways, he smirks. Then plants his foot, hard, on the edge of his crate.
The impact sends a low wave rolling beneath my line.
“Let’s make things more interesting,” he grits out, crouching lower, crates above his head.
I steady my stance, but it’s becoming more difficult as the lobster shifts, agitated.
“That’s what people who are about to lose usually say,” I shoot back, stepping toward the next crate. The platform is so close I can almost reach it.
That’s when I hear the slap of his foot again.
Then another.
Multiple ripples crash against my crates, and the empty cage flies out of my hands.
The stuffy motherfucker.
He looks ready to do it again, so I make a split-second decision. I shove off hard with both feet. The water underneath rebounds me like a trampoline.
The murmurs and hollers of the crowd rise and fall in unsynchronized waves.
“What are you—” He throws his arms out, his traps flying as he loses balance.
With a last push, both lines become too unstable, and William goes tumbling into the water with a splash—but not before grabbing the hem of my shirt.
My crates roll from under me, but I’m ready. I slide into the chilly water smoothly, lobster trap held high, the cold stealing my breath. I surface, lungs burning, and swim one-handed to the platform, hauling myself up the slippery metal stairs.
William’s head bobs above the water behind me. I give him the two-finger salute and ring the bell fixed on a piling.
Chest heaving, muscles on fire, but with a secure lobster under my arm, I squint into the distance to catch a glimpse of Jackie. But by now the crowd is larger, excited to see two grown men taking a plunge into the freezing water.
A dingy motorboat curves round the gulf and stops next to William, two men hoisting him out of the water. When I climb down to the bench beside him, we’re both shivering. At least I have my victory to keep me warm.
Jackie’s waiting at the dock, Blanca in tow, watching us closely. Her eyes travel from William’s strained smile to my scraped knuckles. I hadn’t even noticed.
She says nothing, but her pinched expression speaks volumes.
OK, it might have been a juvenile competition. And we got a little carried away, but it’s pay-up time.
Martha hands me a towel with a huge smile on her face.
“Call your pilot,” I say to William, drying my hair, “Warm up the jet.”
“Oh, come on,” he sneers. “It was obviously a joke.”
So that’s how it’s going to be.
“Gentleman’s honor, my ass,” I mutter under my breath, bending to retrieve my sneakers.
Jackie stands between us, the corners of her mouth downturned. “What were you thinking?”
For half a second, I think she’s scolding him. But no, her icy glare is directed towards me. “You could’ve gotten hypothermia!” she snaps.
“Best I change before lunch,” William says smoothly, before retreating toward the B I’m not above throwing her into the water.
“I told you to leave her alone.” She snarls in that tone of somebody used to getting whatever they want.
“Aren’t you too old for this type of shit?”
Last time I found her waiting outside my office. She told me to stop pestering Jackie, that she was too nice to say something. But Blanca wasn’t. She made it clear that girls like them don’t get serious about someone like me.
“What?” she taunts. “Now that you’ve managed to wiggle your way into polite society, you think you have a chance. Ha!”
I wonder how much money would be enough to erase the sin of being born into a working-class family.
Back then, words like those shattered me. But I’m not the same man. “Maybe that’s something you should let her decide.”
“She didn’t want you back then,” she spits. “She doesn’t want you now.”
“What the fuck, Blanca?” Jackie’s voice cuts in.
She stands in the middle of the tent with a steaming cup and a bag of pastries, shock written all over her face.
Blanca doesn’t seem fazed. “You said he kept calling you in London. I knew you wanted to be left alone.”
“So, you decided to—what?”
Blanca doesn’t say anything.
“To remind me of my place,” I say, all of a sudden sick of this whole conversation.
Jackie’s big blue eyes are round, confused. “What do you mean by your place?”
I stride past her toward my car, but she follows.
Why does she act like she has no idea? “Please, Jackie. Your fake ignorance is insulting to both of us.”
She bristles at that. “It’d be easier if I knew what you were talking about.”
Over her shoulder, I spot William approaching, Blanca leaning in to whisper something in his ear.
“Your friends are waiting,” I say flatly.
“Jackie!” William calls, holding his Italian shoes in one hand. “We’re heading two towns over for lunch. Blanca found a spot.”
Jackie’s lips move, but nothing comes out. She hesitates, then presses the tea and the pastry bag into my hands. “You looked like you were freezing.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, but I turn away before I can watch her walking toward him.
When Blanca told me to stay away because I don’t belong, she voiced something that had already been sitting in the back of my mind.
I’m so stupid. What did I even want to prove today? He’s got it all, and I only managed to make an ass of myself.
The pain returns like a blade between my brows, sharp, sudden, and unrelenting. It’s bad enough that I consider diving headfirst into the cold lake to shut it off.
I don’t want to wake up anyone at this ungodly hour, which leaves me pacing the grass-covered side of the yard, battling the migraine and the more confusing ache of the past week.
Something’s shifted in Jackie. She’s stopped treating me like the devil. No more icy silences, less punch to her quips.
And just like I told her brother, my opinion of her hasn’t changed. Behind that exterior she’s polished over the years, my Jackie is still there. I catch glimpses when she lets her guard down, see her kindness, that cheeky sense of humor. And her laugh. God, it still makes me dizzy. I hate it.
It wasn’t enough that I made a fool of myself in that stupid contest yesterday. Blanca had to remind me that it wouldn’t matter how much I was trying to prove myself. I was not one of them.
Lost in my thoughts, I almost miss the faint rustle on my right and the huge black shadow, hovering behind the thick bush.
When I register it, time stands still.
As slowly as humanly possible, I move my head slightly to get a better look at the wild animal.
Bad idea. A gasp lodges in my airways. The beast is rummaging at the base of a blueberry shrub, oblivious to me.
I mentally rush through every half-remembered talk about bears at school, and how to avoid becoming its breakfast.
At least it would be a cooler way to go than choking on my own vomit at a fancy bar in New York. My dad would be proud.
Under my feet, the crisp grass sounds too loud.
I want to warn everyone inside and slowly start to turn, ready to bolt for the door, when a hand clamps over my mouth. Another keeps me in place, with her steady palm sprawled on my abdomen.
Jackie’s warm breath grazes my ear. “Don’t make any sudden moves. Back away slowly.”
I grab her hand and nod, my heart beating out of my chest. Why the fuck did she come outside? We could both get mauled.
She squeezes my fingers to guide me back, step by careful step.
The bear jerks its head up. We freeze, hand in hand, while the enormous animal stares right at us. I steal a look at Jackie, but she doesn’t look scared.
The bear suddenly slaps the ground, huffing, blowing, and snapping its teeth. All I can think about is how fast I can reach the house if I haul Jackie over my shoulder and sprint.
“Look down. Don’t run,” she whispers, lips barely moving.
How the hell does she know this? How can she stay so calm? Fear rips through me, mixed with guilt. She must’ve seen the bear through the kitchen window and come out anyway. For me.
Slowly, we shuffle closer to the deck stairs, and I push Jackie behind me. “Open the door.”
I don’t breathe until she tugs my shirt and I stumble backward over the threshold, slamming the door. Chest heaving, my entire body sags, the panic in my blood dissolving into a cold sheen coating my skin.
Jackie already has her phone out, and it’s only then that I see her fear. Her hand’s shaking so terribly that she keeps missing the keys.
“Alert the guards making the rounds. There’s a bear near the lake. Don’t hurt it,” she says. Then, dialing again, her voice trembles as she tells the sheriff, “Walker, there’s a bear in our yard.” She nods, listening, then adds, “Yes, we know. Of course, stay inside.” Her gaze flicks to me.
I’m rooted to the floor, watching her in action, clear-headed and commanding.
When she hangs up, her arms drop by her side, and she slumps against the kitchen counter, pale and shaking.
“You rushed into danger. For me.” It’s not a question.
She shrugs, brushing it off, as if her insane act of bravery didn’t just turn my world upside down.
Gratitude twists into irrational anger. “It was fucking dangerous. What were you thinking?”
Her brows twist into a scowl. “I knew what to do. I saw it in a movie.”
“A movie,” I croak. “Are you insane?! You’re terrified of bugs and you…What the hell possessed you to come out?”
“It could have attacked you!” she yells, hands trembling. “Don’t get so worked up. A thanks will do.”
“A thanks?!” My voice cracks. She still doesn’t get it. “Jackie, if something happened to you because of me…I would never forgive myself.”