Page 45 of Rebound

“Wouldn’t be Thanksgiving unless I mashed the potatoes.” Grinning, I slip on my apron and pull my cap over my hair.

“It would not, Miss Amber.” He heads back to the counter and continues rolling out the pastry dough.

We chat for a while about everything and nothing, and it’s nice to have a slice of normalcy, a conversation that doesn’t involve divorce or Elijah and his family or anything to do with my other life. I get to be an entirely different person here, and that’s a big part of why I love it so much. Soon, Andréa joins us along with a couple other volunteers, and between us we prepare a Thanksgiving feast that will feed at least two hundred people today.

When it’s time to serve, I plaster on a huge smile and dish out food to the various people who came out today, from individuals to families who have no place else to go and don’t have the resources to feed themselves or their children. It’s heartbreaking and truly humbling, and every year I make a bigger donation to the charity.

Despite their circumstances, most of the people here are still filled with hope and the promise of a better tomorrow. And as well as tears, there’s always laughter too. I listen to as many stories as I can and provide a willing ear, a soothing word, or an appropriate dose of humor. It makes a difference when people know that someone’s listening. That someone cares.

Today, as I serve food and wipe tables and mop the floors, it hits me that I have the privilege to make choices that will make me happy, and I am more determined than ever to do something with my life that will make a positive difference in the lives of others.

ChapterTwenty-One

ELIJAH

Sitting in the den, full of turkey, surrounded by most of my family—my dad and my brothers, Mel, Amelia, and Luke, and Tyler and Ashley, Mel’s cousin and sister who’ve become as much a part of our family as she has—I should feel nothing but joy. So why is that not the case?

I’ve spent every Thanksgiving of my life with my family, and Amber hasn’t been to a Thanksgiving here in well over a decade. So why the fuck does it bother me that she’s once again spending the holiday with her friends instead of me? I don’t understand why I miss her so much. Why I can’t stop thinking about her.

When we went around the table and shared what we were thankful for at dinner, I gave my usual answer—my family. In my mind, that’s always included her, but tonight, she was the first person who popped into my head. I am most thankful for this second chance we’re getting, no matter how long it lasts. But I couldn’t say that aloud.

Nathan hands me a Scotch. “At least we don’t have to worry that Amber might show up tonight, huh?” He laughs and Mason joins in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I try to keep my tone even, but inside I’m already burning up with anger.

“Mase and I used to make a pact every year—if she showed up and ruined our Thanksgiving, we said we’d pretend to have the stomach flu and go drink Scotch in the wine cellar. This is the first year we haven’t had to make it.” He says it so casually, like he’s not talking about my damn wife.

I scowl at him and Mason, my jaw clenched tight. “Are you fucking serious?”

Mason at least has the good grace to look contrite. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. It was a joke. Of course we’d never actually fake having the stomach flu.”

I jump up from my chair, ignoring Nathan’s outstretched hand and the offer of a good Scotch. “Jokes are supposed to be funny, assholes. That’s my fucking wife you’re talking about.” I look to my dad and my other brothers. “Did you all feel like this?”

Drake instantly declares that he didn’t, Maddox reminds me this is his only his second Thanksgiving in years, and Dad simply shrugs noncommittally.

“Jesus Christ. It’s no wonder she never wanted to be around any of you.”

“Hey,” Nathan says, frowning. “This started long after Amber froze us out.”

Stepping away from him, I take a calming breath before I say something I regret. Is this how she feels when she’s around them? Belittled? Like she’s someone to avoid at all costs?

“It really was just a joke, Elijah,” Mason says, sounding apologetic.

I shake my head, swallowing down the anger burning in my throat. “She is still my fucking wife, and I expect you to treat her with some goddamn respect.” I snatch my jacket from the back of my chair.

“Where are you going, son?” Dad asks with an exasperated sigh.

“Home.” I ignore their protests and Mason’s and Nathan’s half-assed apologies. “I need some fucking space,” I shout as I march out the door, thankful that no one tries to stop me.

I climb into my Bacalar, a gift from Nathan for my fortieth birthday. If I didn’t love it so much, I’d go back inside and shove the keys up his ass. Instead, I pull out my cell and send Amber a text on her regular number rather than the burner phone. Tonight, I want to spend time as Mr. and Mrs. James.

Hi, baby. I know you’re busy, but is there any way I could see you tonight?

I stare at the screen, wondering if she’ll reply or if she’s too busy having fun with people who actually want to be around her. My heart beats a little faster when I see the dots that signal she’s typing.

Is everything okay?

No. Everything’s gone to shit, and you’re the only person who can make any of it feel better. I don’t type that though.

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