Page 35 of All the Ways You Save Me
Did he get them to cover up the scar? I lean closer, my gaze tracing the lines of a bird landing on a tree branch. My fingers ache to gently touch his skin. Would the texture reveal his secret? I’m about to reach out when I realize he’s stopped cleaning my wounded foot and is staring up at me.
His gaze roams over me. Is it because he’s equally in shock to see me after all these years? He clears his throat, his eyes stopping below my collarbone, and suddenly, I know why he’s staring.I’m soaking wet, my dress is a pale cream color, and let’s just say the flower pattern isn’t quite covering all the places I’d like it to be covering. Iamwearing a bra, but it’s lace, and also cream-colored. I wasn’t exactly expecting to go swimming in this outfit.
I’m embarrassed, but the more I stare at that face—those eyes—the more I’m sure he must be Adam, and I’m hit with a wave of defiance, too. I pull the wet, clinging fabric away from my chest. “If you’re the guy I think you are, you’ve already seen it all.”
If this weren’t the weirdest moment of my life, I’d laugh at his mortified expression. His face flushes, and he quickly slaps a Band-Aid on my heel and practically lunges to his feet. “You’re all set.” He picks up the first aid kit gingerly, as if he’s trying not to accidentally brush a hand against my thigh. “Try to stay off it. No more chasing strangers through the sand.”
“I absolutely won’t,” I agree readily. “Chasestrangers, that is.”
He shakes his head as if I’m an exasperating toddler. “I really need to go.” And before I can react, he’s heading back toward the Jeep, tossing the first aid kit in next to his surfboard, and climbing in the driver’s seat. He’s leaving this time, and I have no idea how to find him again. If he really is Adam, and he doesn’t want to talk to me, he probably won’t come strolling along this beach again tomorrow evening.
My head spins. If heisAdam, why wouldn’t he want to talk to me? Is it possible he doesn’t remember me? The idea that he has amnesia seemed ridiculous a couple of days ago, like something that happens in the movies, not in real life. But now that I’ve looked into those blue eyes and felt that pull of attraction for this man, nothing seems impossible.
The car engine revs and all I can do is stare at the Jeep’s tailgate as he presses the gas and zooms down the street.He hasJersey plates, I think absently. And then my gaze shifts left to the sticker on his bumper. Hudson’s Bar. I remember that place. It’s a divey bar on the bay side where the locals used to hang out. It must still be there all these years later. And if this guy cares enough about the place to put a bumper sticker on his car, then it looks like I know my next stop.
TWENTY
PRESENT DAY
Madeline
I pull open the wide wooden door and step inside Hudson’s Bar, blinking to adjust to the dim light. Though this place was here when I was a kid, I wasn’t twenty-one yet, and I wouldn’t have been allowed inside. It’s pretty much what I would have expected though. Dark wood paneling covers the walls, giving the room a vague resemblance to an old ship. Over the wood, faded photos of lighthouses and ocean sunsets hang almost out of obligation—it’s a beach town, after all. Nobody is coming here for the art, though. It’s a place to unwind after a long day of dealing with tourists in the summer. And in winter, it’s a place to get out, chat with a friend, and escape the darkness and numbing ocean winds.
To my left is a pool table where a couple of people in casual shorts and faded T-shirts choose pool cues from a rack. They look to be about my age, and I wonder if they’re friends with Adam. Or, I guess he said his name is Garrett. I should probably call him that if I don’t want to draw attention. Approaching abunch of strangers and asking them if they know my dead boyfriend probably won’t have the effect I’m hoping for.
I’m not sure what I’m hoping for, though, and I need to figure out my strategy. Locals on this island look out for their own. I can’t just barge in here and start asking questions about one of them. Just the fact that I’m an unfamiliar face in this bar might ruffle some feathers.
I’m not exactly a tourist, though. I grew up here and belong as much as the next person. Turning my attention to the bar in front of me, I take in more shipwrecked wood, draped with fat jute ropes straight out ofPirates of the Caribbean. Behind the bar, liquor bottles line a shelf beneath a giant plastic marlin. Before I do anything, I should probably order a drink. The bartender is a pretty, dark-haired woman with tanned skin and toned arms, probably from lifting all those beer kegs and ice buckets. Or maybe she’s one of the surfers I saw earlier. She seems to be about my age. I don’t recognize her from growing up, but she looks like someone I might have been friends with.
I’m about to approach when she slides beer bottles in front of two men at one end of the long bar and then props an arm on the shiny wood to chat with them. My gaze singles in on one of the men, and my heart flips. It’s Adam—I mean Garrett.I thought I’d maybe get some information about him, but I can’t believe my luck that he’s actuallyhere. His drinking partner is another dark-haired man, and I’m pretty sure he’s the surfer I saw on the beach earlier and briefly mistook for Adam. I take a few steps back into a dark corner to watch them. The other surfer picks up the beer, takes a drink, and leans casually back on his stool. He’s doing most of the talking, telling a story and emphasizing a point with a wave of his hand.
Garrett takes the second beer, but he doesn’t drink it. Instead, he slowly spins it in his hand. His shoulders hunch, and though he smiles at his friend’s story, there are deep worry lines across his forehead. I wonder if anyone else notices. Does healways look like that or does his pained expression have to do with our encounter on the beach?
Garrett’s companion pauses to take a call, turning his body slightly away as he presses the phone to his ear. I take a beat to consider how I’m going to play this. After Garrett drove off, I went back to the motel to shower and change as my thoughts swirled with the events of the afternoon. I didn’t imagine his surprise when he looked at my face for the first time, or that immediate jolt of attraction that I’ve only ever felt with one person. And if he recognized me, then he’s intentionally hiding and lying, and I deserve to know why.
I leave the safety of my dark corner and cross the room, sliding onto the stool on the other side of Garrett. He’s staring at his beer bottle and doesn’t notice, but the bartender sizes me up. Not used to seeing a stranger in here, I’d guess. She puts a cocktail napkin in front of me and asks what I’d like to order.
“I’ll have what he’s having.” I hitch my chin at Garrett’s drink.
She nods and turns around to grab a bottle from the cooler as Garrett glances in my direction. His face is tan, a little weathered, with fine lines that crinkle around his eyes. This man is exactly what Adam would look like if he’d spent the last decade doing manual labor and surfing in the sun.
His eyes widen with that same surprise I saw slide across his face on the beach. I’m even more convinced that Adam is sitting in front of me, so when his blue eyes narrow and he barks, “Are you kidding?” I can’t help the acid that seeps into my reply.
“Did I tell a joke?”
He spins in my direction. “Are you following me?”
“How would I have followed you? You kicked up so much dust peeling down that street earlier, I nearly choked to death. I thought for sure there was an emergency. But it looks like you were just eager to get to your beer.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “After the day I had, I needed a beer.”
“I get it,” I say, nodding for emphasis. “It’s not every day you run into your girlfriend who thought you were dead.”
His eyes widen. “Keep it down.”
“They don’t know you’re Adam?” I wave a hand at the people across the bar.
“I’mnotAdam,” he hisses. “I want you to keep it down because I’m afraid someone will worry for your well-being and call the authorities.” His eyes narrow. “Or maybeIshould call them. Stalking is illegal, you know.”
