Page 83 of Rebound

It makes me smile. My five-foot-nothing driver is worried for my safety. “Sure. Thanks, Gretch.”

Light spills from the windows of the sprawling building, and I catch a glimpse of a garden, walls covered in spectacular graffiti art. It’s bright and welcoming, and I’m met by a familiar face at the reception desk. “Mr. James,” Vicky says as I stride toward her. “Welcome to LOJ—it’s great to see you here. This is Alfie. Alfie, this is Miss Amber’s hubby.”

The adolescent boy smiles at me. “I like Miss Amber. She’s real nice.”

“She is,” I agree, smiling back. “That’s actually why I’m here. Where would I find her, Vicky?”

She checks the screen in front of her and tilts her head. “Uh, I’m not sure Mr. J. She’s here, I’ve seen her, but she’s not down to lead a class. Here, take this.” She hands me a clip-on name badge that labels me a visitor. “You can go on in and look for her.”

The building smells of cleaning products and baking, and the walls are covered in more graffiti art, along with a variety of posters and flyers. I take in the signs for cooking classes, exercise clubs, bingo nights. Music and children’s laughter drift from behind closed doors along the hallway. I can see why Amber likes this vibrant, friendly hub of activity. There’s more genuine warmth in this center than all of her society functions put together.

I pop my head into a room where a boxing lesson is taking place and watch with interest. The kid in the ring is young and slightly built, but powerful and clearly talented. A lot of great fighters come out of local community centers like this.

I look out of place in my suit and designer shoes, but people still nod and say hi as I wander the halls. Eventually, I start to wonder if she’s even here. One room remains, and I peer through the small glass panel to check what’s going on inside. With a roar, I burst into the room.

My wife is lying pinned to the floor, her arms held above her head, some massive Viking motherfucker lying on top of her. I vaguely register there’s someone else in the room and know I should slow down and assess the threat, but I can’t. Amber is in danger. Someone is hurting my wife.

I crouch low and barrel into him, slamming him off her and onto the ground before he has time to react. I straddle him and punch him in the side of the head, white noise filling my ears and red mist filling my vision. I pummel the guy, vaguely aware of Amber screaming, “Stop!” in the background. I pause and look around in case the second guy has her, and the Viking makes the most of it. He takes a swing at my jaw and knocks me backward onto my ass. I get right back to my feet and am about to dive in again when I’m grabbed from behind. Strong arms pull me backward, and my feet lose their grip on the floor. I struggle and pull one arm free, snarling.

I’ve never felt so wild—I will fucking kill them. The Viking stays on the ground and stares at me, shaking his head and holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Amber walks toward me and places her palms on my heaving chest. “I’m okay, Elijah. I’m okay.”

Her hands on my body and the placating tone of her voice take hold, and I suck in a breath. “What the fuck is going on?” I demand, shaking myself free of the man behind me. He lets me go, and when I turn to glare at him, I see that he has blood coming out of his nose. I must have headbutted him, and I can’t say that I regret it.

“This is Erik.” Amber gestures at the blond giant scrambling to his feet. “And that is Rafael. They’re teaching me how to defend myself.”

My anger is still bubbling away beneath the surface, but I force myself to calm down. She’s wearing gym clothes, her hair is tied up for exercise, and she is totally unhurt. I place my hands over hers on my chest and gaze into her eyes, and only then do I finally start to relax. And then I feel like an asshole.

“This must be the husband,” Erik says, laughing and offering me a big paw to shake. Blood dribbles from a cut above his eye, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. “Nice moves, man—though I almost had you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t think so, Erik. But fuck. I guess I’m sorry?”

Rafael, equally large and covered in tattoos, wipes the blood from his face. “No need. We’ll let that go. Must have looked bad.” His voice is low and quiet. “But she’s doing great.”

“She’s a natural.” Erik laughs again. “Took out a baby gang banger all by herself.”

“She didwhat?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes at my wife.

She shrugs. “I did no such thing. I merely… spoke to him sternly.”

“You broke his fucking nose,” Erik says.

Amber grins devilishly, a glint in her eyes. “Yes. I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

I shake my head, letting this new reality settle in. My wife, the ass-kicker. “Amber, can we go somewhere and talk?”

Both of the big men look at her, waiting for her response. I tense, because they won’t get in my way, no matter how big they are.

She nods. “Okay. There’s a pub two blocks over called O’Shaughnessy’s. Let me get changed, and I’ll meet you there.”

O’-fucking-Shaughnessy’s? Since when did Amber start hanging out at Irish dive bars? Over the summer, before any of this divorce stuff, I took Drake to a real spit-and-sawdust joint in the East Village. I said I loved it because she would hate it. God, I was such a dick. But it really does drive home how much she’s changed in such a short time. She hasn’t only shed her fucking skin—she swapped out every cell of her DNA.

With a nod toward Erik and Rafael, I head out and let Gretchen know where I’m going. I’m not surprised that she knows the place—her brother’s a cop in Queens, and she spends time here. Turns out it is Irish, but it’s not so much of a dive. In fact, it’s pretty nice. I order a Guinness and a Bushmills for myself and a pinot for Amber and settle down at a table to wait for her. Fifteen minutes later, she walks in. She’s obviously had a quick shower and is dressed in yoga pants and a tank. Her hair is shaggy and damp, and she’s not wearing a scrap of makeup. She looks like a complete stranger—a gorgeous, intoxicating stranger. She nods at me, sits down, and gulps a mouthful of wine. Some things, at least, haven’t changed. Thank god.

“I’m sorry,” I say, determined to start this off the way I should. “For what happened back there. I just saw you on the ground, and…”

“It’s okay. I get it. They get it. If I saw you in that position, I’d have done the same.”

I smile at her. “Yeah, I think you would. You’re full of surprises, Amber.”

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