by Lili Valente
“Thank you,” Addie mumbles, but she doesn’t move out of Eduardo’s arms or look my way.
The Adeline I knew wasn’t the kind to accept hugs from strangers. But maybe she’s changed. Or maybe Eduardo gives really good hugs. Or maybe she’s so traumatized by seeing me again that she’s willing to settle for any comfort in the cold.
She has every reason to despise me. She doesn’t know what was at stake or how hard I tried to find her. She doesn’t know that loving her is the truest thing I’ve ever done, or that leaving her is my number one regret. Full stop.
So tell her, asshole!
You finally have a chance to make things right. If you let it slip through your fingers this time, there will be no one to blame but yourself.
My hands curl at my sides as I silently vow to make this right. I owe Addie the truth, and whatever comfort might come from knowing that I never meant to turn my back on her.
Looking at her now, though, with her forehead on Eduardo’s chest and her skin so pale, I wonder if that makes a damned bit of difference. Cut off a person’s hand on purpose or by accident, the result is exactly the fucking same.
CHAPTER SIX
Adeline
The world is spinning, and my head feels like it’s been invaded by a swarm of very angry, very confused bees.
I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe that Nate pulled over to help me. Nate, and his very nice boyfriend, Eduardo, who gives absolutely spectacular papa-bear hugs.
His boyfriend, Eduardo.
His boyfriend.
Oh my God…
Oh my flipping God…
The swarm of bees clears, and I step out of Eduardo’s very nice smelling arms. “Good to see you again, Nate.” The words sound forced, but I’m resisting the urge to flip him the bird and scream that I would rather be stranded on the road forever than accept a ride from him.
So that’s good. Or at least a start, anyway.
“You two know each other?” Eduardo’s dark brows furrow as he glances over his shoulder at his boyfriend.
His boyfriend. Oh my God. Will that ever not be totally weird?
“Addie and I were friends in high school.” Nate moves closer with that smooth, confident stride of his, the one that made it so easy to believe he was some pretty devil who’d crawled out of the hellmouth to tempt me into losing my way.
He still walks like an athlete and looks even more like a supermodel than he used to. My clothes come from thrift stores and fifty-percent off sales at the Bargain Basement, but I’ve spent years surrounded by obscenely rich people. I know the cut and texture of very expensive clothes, and the outfit Nate is wearing probably cost more than I make in a year.
And he looks damned good in it, too, damn him. So good—damn it, damn it, damn it—that it’s hard to think, to swallow, to continue to breathe without gulping like a landed fish.
But somehow I manage to say, “After high school, really. We were summer friends.”
“What an amazing coincidence!” Eduardo’s eyes widen dramatically. “What are the odds, darling?” He chuckles as he reaches out, twining his fingers through Nate’s. “But you know what this means, don’t you, Prince Charming?”
I stare at their joined hands and the swarm of confused bees takes another spin through my head, making my temples ache.
“It means I’m about to get some good gossip,” Eduardo continues in a teasing tone. “I can’t wait to hear the dirt, Addie darling. I insist you tell me all about baby Nate and how good he looked in his football uniform. I’ve heard he was a star back in the day.”
Nate clears his throat. “Actually, Adeline never—”
“I never saw him play,” I cut in, forcing my gaze from their hands to Eduardo’s kind face. “We weren’t that close, actually.”
I can’t look at Nate right now, not when I’m still reeling from the shock of seeing those melt-your-heart brown eyes for the first time in years, not to mention realizing that the only man I’ve ever loved is gay.
Nate is gay. Gay. Dicks over chicks, penis over Venus, “No thanks, Vagina, I’ll have my love with a side of dick” gay.
Jesus Christ, how could I not have known? Sure, I was a kid with no experience, but there hadn’t been the slightest sign.
Had there?
I rack my brain, trying to make sense of what Eduardo is saying as he guides me toward the BMW parked in front of my rent-a-wreck, while mentally combing through every moment of that summer with Nate, looking for clues I could have missed. But there isn’t anything, except maybe my own boyish, sixteen-year-old figure. Hell, Nate thought I was a kid when we first met. I was barely a B cup with help from my very best bra, and so slim that in a ball cap and a baggy tee I probably looked as much like a boy as a girl.
The year I graduated, I had a hell of a time keeping on weight. I’d shot up three inches in twelve months, which probably contributed to—
I shut the thought down, cutting it off like the head of a snake coiling to strike. I don’t think about that, ever, and certainly not when I’m within spitting distance of Nate.
“You don’t have any suitcases, Addie?” Nate asks.
My name sounds so wonderfully, terribly familiar on his lips that I have to fight to keep the misery it inspires from my face as I turn to tell him, “No, no suitcases.”
“Oh. Okay.” His expression as he slams the trunk of my rental car is intense and concerned and so totally inappropriate that I’m tempted to throw a rock at his face. But the side of the road is covered with snow—evil snow that hides all the good rocks that I could be grabbing if it weren’t winter.
“No luggage?” Eduardo clucks kindly as he pats my shoulder. “You’ve been through something, haven’t you, dear?”
“Nothing too bad. Just decided to take a last minute trip,” I say, because I refuse to let Nate know how shitty my life has been lately. I don’t want him to know anything about me, except that I am super, awesome, amazingly fine without him.
“But things are looking up,” I add with forced chipperness. “Thank you both for being so sweet. I really appreciate it, and would love a ride up to the lodge.”
“Absolutely! Life can be a bitch, but sometimes she sends us help when we need it.” Eduardo pats my back again, his touch surprisingly comforting. It’s been a while since a father-figure type has shown me kindness. It’s nice, even if Eduardo is sleeping with the only man I’ve ever slept with.
You and Eduardo have both touched Nate’s penis. Probably more than touched it…
The thought, unexpectedly, makes me giggle.
“Atta girl!” Eduardo cheers. “Laughter is the best medicine.”
“It is,” I agree, reaching for the door to the backseat. I’m still tittering when Nate slides into the driver’s seat, filling the car with his irresistible Nate smell.
“You okay?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.
“Awesome.” I bite my lip and nod, forcing myself to shut down the giggle fest. But inside, I’m still down on the ground, rolling. I’m in a laugh or cry situation, and considering I already wasted a year of my life crying over Nate, laughter is clearly the better option.
Now I just have to make it up to the lodge without embarrassing myself, so I can retreat to my room, laugh until I throw up, and figure out what I’m going to do about being stranded at a romantic mountain hideaway with my ex-lover, his new boyfriend, and a hundred or so other couples who will do their best to remind me that I am single and alone and that Eduardo’s friendly hug was the most action I’ve gotten in so long that I can’t think about it without wanting to jump out of the car and start looking for rocks again.
So I don’t think.
I smile and listen to Eduardo talk about the weather and the storm that could be headed in tomorrow and how much he hates snow. I agree that spending the weekend in the spa sounds smart and pretend I can’t feel Nate’s soulful gaze on me in the rearview mirror. I survive the final ten miles up to the lodge the way I�
�ve survived the past seven years—by staying in the moment, taking one shitty second at a time, and never, ever looking back.
Because the past is a predator hot on your heels. It’s just waiting for you to stop and look back, to slow down enough that it can pounce, dig in its claws, and rip your stupid, naïve, maybe-things-will-get-better head off.
CHAPTER SEVEN
From the text archives of Adeline “Addie” Klein
and Shane Willoughby Falcone
Addie: Shane, are you awake? I have no idea what time it is in Paris, but I REALLY need to talk to you. Really, really, REALLY bad.
Shane: Yeah, I’m awake. How’s it going, babe?
Addie: Um, not too good.
Nate is here, Shane. He’s here at the lodge with his boyfriend!
Yes, you read that right. His BOYFRIEND.
They picked me up on the side of the road after my rental car broke down and gave me a ride to the lodge, where they are both staying for the entire five days that I’m here. Both of them. Together.
In the same room, because they are BOYFRIENDS and in love and Eduardo wants them to adopt a puppy together, one that has Nate’s hazelnut eyes and Eduardo’s curly black hair and NO I am not making any of this up!!
Shane: Crazy.
You should come see me at the bar.
Addie: What? You’re in Paris.
And did you see what I wrote up there?
About Nate and his boyfriend? HIS BOYFRIEND?!!!!
Shane: Some guys like other guys, Adeline. No need to get your panties in a twist about it. Speaking of panties…are you wearing any?
Addie: What?!!
Shane: How about a bra? Wearing one of those?
I could go for a tit shot right now.
Addie: Who the hell is this?!
Shane: I’m Shane, your boyfriend.
Come see me at the cocktail club on Rue Saint-Sauveur
Bring your tits smiley face emoji
Addie: Shane is a woman, asshole. And SHE has no interest in my tits!
Now take this phone back to wherever you found it right now! Stealing someone’s phone and texting their friends is a jerk move. Not to mention illegal!
Shane: You texted me. I was just trying to be polite.
Addie: By asking for pictures of my tits?!
Shane: You’re the one that hates gay people, lady.
You should get therapy before you commit a hate crime.
Love is love, sister.
Addie: I’m not going to commit a hate crime! Nate is my ex-boyfriend, that’s why I’m upset that he’s gay. I have nothing against gay people. At all. Not even a little bit.
Shane: I think you protest too much.
Addie: Well, I think you’re a thief so I don’t care what you think!!!
Shane: That’s an awful lot of exclamation points for someone who doesn’t care.
You seem pretty high strung, Adeline Klein.
I don’t think I want a picture of your tits, after all…
Addie: MY TITS WERE NEVER ON THE TABLE!
Shane: And to be honest, I don’t get why you’re so upset about your ex being gay. Isn’t that a good thing?
Addie: What?!
Shane: Well, he’s your ex, so that clearly means it didn’t work out.
And seeing how high strung and against showing your tits you are, I’m guessing he broke things off with you. Am I right?
Addie: He didn’t break up with me. He told me he loved me, and that he was changing schools to be with me because I was more important to him than anything else in the world, and then he left town without even saying goodbye.
No explanation. Not even “just kidding, Addie, ha, you got played!”
Just gone. Bam. Vanished.
No forwarding number, no Dear Jane letter, no nothing. He went off to pledge a fraternity and drink beer like we’d never quoted Einstein or fallen in love or had the most magical, beautiful, perfect summer in the history of summers.
Shane: Wow, that’s a total dick move.
But well… Maybe he was dealing with some heavy shit, too.
Addie: Like what?
Shane: Maybe he was coming to terms with the fact that he was gay. That can be pretty fucking painful, you know. It’s not like society or your family or anyone else really makes it easy for people to come out of the closet. They want you to stay stuffed in there, so they can keep saying that equal rights only belong to straight, white people.
Addie: Okay, listen, I get your point, but—
Shane: Do you really? Have you ever had to deal with anything like that?
Do you know what it feels like for your father to tell you he would have cut off your dick when you were a baby if he’d known what you were going to grow up to be?
Take a second and check your privilege, Adeline.
Addie: Check your privilege! Being a woman in this society isn’t always a super fun joy ride either. And I’ve had to deal with more than my share of that.
But why am I even talking to you?
You’re a jerk stranger who stole my friend’s phone and asked me if I was wearing panties. You are not to be trusted or taken seriously!!
Shane: I didn’t steal it. I found it on a bench. And sometimes strangers give the best advice. A stranger helped me find the guts to quit my job and travel the world.
I’m living my dream because of a stranger.
Now it’s my turn to help.
Let me help, Adeline. I’m sorry I asked you about your panties.
(Not sorry about the bra, though, gotta keep it real.)
Addie: Sigh…
Is this day from hell ever going to end?
Shane: I’m serious! Let me help you.
Here’s why you should feel better now that you know your ex is gay:
This guy didn’t love you and leave you because you’re not lovable. He cut and ran because he needed something from a romantic relationship that you could never give. And that something was a DICK, Adeline, and all the other stuff that goes along with it. It wasn’t your fault. You just happened to be born without the right equipment.
Addie: Ugh. You’re just…
I can’t even…
Shane: And maybe he bailed BECAUSE he cared about you. Think about that.
Maybe he knew he wouldn’t be able to give you what you needed, either—a straight guy to be hetero-normative with and shit—so he ghosted before it was too late.
Addie: But it was already too late.
But… I don’t know…
I guess he didn’t know that.
Shane: You guess?
Addie: I know.
I know that he didn’t.
The really bad stuff happened after he was already gone.
Shane: See there? So he was innocent. Maybe.
Either way, you’ve got a load off your shoulders. Because you can’t turn someone gay. I promise. No matter how often you refuse to talk about your panties or send sexy pics.
Addie: You’re kind of funny.
Shane: Does that mean you’re going to send me something sexty?
I promise I won’t share it with anyone. I’ll just brag about it.
A lot.
Like pretty much all the time.
Addie: This conversation is over.
I’m calling Shane’s hotel and telling her to stop service on her cell phone.
Shane: Tell her to call Hillary while you’re at it. She texted a little while ago about some charity thing—and was quite willing to show her tits, I’ll add.
Addie: Hillary is ninety years old.
Shane: Yes, she is. I’m going to need about a gallon of bleach to get that shot out of my head, but I guess that’s what I get for being a phone-stealing asshole.
Addie: I guess so. Goodbye, Pervert in Paris.
Shane: Goodbye, Adeline. And good luck.
It’s all going to work out. I promise.
And if it doesn’t, we’ll all be dead soon anyway.
Addie: The worst…
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The very, very worst…
CHAPTER EIGHT
Adeline
Virginia Wolf once said, “I ransack libraries and find them full of sunken treasure.”
I’ve found more than my share of treasure in libraries. I’ve also found peace in times of struggle, hope in times of despair, and windows into worlds bigger than my own. When I need to remember that the world is full of small, stubborn light giving the middle finger to the darkness, I head to a library. And thankfully, Tomahawk Mountain House has a lovely lending library on the top floor.
I step out of the elevator and into a safe place, crossing thick carpet patterned with tribal symbols sketched in silver and gold. The floor to ceiling bookshelves, roaring fire in the stone fireplace, and plush couches and chairs arranged to offer readers privacy, immediately put me at ease.
The view isn’t too shabby, either.
Two picture windows frame a stunning vista of the frozen lake and the snow-capped mountains beyond. In the distance, speck-sized skiers swish along downy drifts of snow, while closer in, skaters in hats and heavy coats circle an ice rink at the top of the first rise. I couldn’t bring myself to focus long enough to read my entire welcome packet, but I believe it said something about free skate rental and a night skate under the stars coming up soon.
Normally, I would jump at the chance to get back in skates, but that was before Nate and Eduardo and my disturbing textual encounter with a pervert stranger somewhere in Paris.
A maybe sort of wise pervert stranger…
Maybe?
I settle into a loveseat near the windows, kick off my boots, and wonder what the perv’s story is, because that’s easier than wondering about other things.
I used to love making up stories for strangers when I was a kid, back when I thought I might be a novelist as well as an architect, a senator, and an inventor of interesting gadgets to use around the kitchen. At fifteen, I had no doubt that I could do anything I set my mind to. I was sheltered, coddled, and completely clueless as to how easily a big, fat eraser named Nate Casey could smudge out all my dreams.
Be fair. He did a terrible, hurtful thing, but he wasn’t the eraser. Not really.
I sigh. It’s true. My mother was the eraser. And the more I think about what the Paris Pervert said, the more I think it might make sense.
