Page 47 of The Best Worst Mistake
I did it.
All too soon, we’re back on the ground, coming to a hard stop in a field of wildflowers and soft grass in a wide meadow beside the bigger of the two lakes. My heart is still pounding when I turn to search the sky while Jett begins to unhook us, my entire body still shaking, thanking him profusely.
It’s then that I spot them.
A red dot under an orange and white canopy, floating down gently a few dozen meters behind us. Silas with Ethan strapped securely to his back, their parachute quickly dropping themdown to rest in the meadow a few yards away. They’ve made it too.
I rush to greet them while Ethan quickly unstraps their tandem harness. Then, without thinking clearly, I race straight into Silas’ arms and he snatches me up, spinning us both around, laughing in the emerald sea of green.
“I can’t believe I just did that!” I yell, pumping one arm over my head. “That was fucking incredible!”
Adrenaline can be a powerful drug, causing people to do things they’d otherwise never do — like jumping out of a perfectly good plane, or throwing myself onto a guy I normally can’t stand while he spins me around in circles. At this moment, I don’t even care. I want to celebrate this with him — my partner in this incredible crime — who just defied all sense of logic and gravity right there with me. I wouldn’t have done it without him.
“That was unreal,” Silas says, bringing my feet back down to the earth for the second time today.
“Why have I never done that before?” I ask, still beaming at him.
He looks untethered in the best way, and I can’t remember ever seeing such joy spread across his face. Out of pure adrenaline, he grabs my cheeks and turns my face down to plant a kiss on my forehead.
As quick as it happened, he turns and slaps Ethan across the back. “That was incredible, man. Thank you.” Ethan beams back at us, and throws his hand out to Si for a hearty handshake.
“My pleasure,” he says, his German accent thick through his warm smile.
I can tell Ethan’s and Jett’s veins are coursing with the same excitement that Silas and I feel, and I wonder if it ever gets old for them — doing this every day. From the look on their happy faces while they gather the parachutes back up, I can tell that if it does get old, today is not that day.
As we make our way to the SUV that will drive us back to the hangar, I make a mental note to never let the day come where I stop feeling adrenaline from new adventures either. And to never let this length of time pass before I give myself that gift again.
Chapter 19
Silas
If I’ve learned nothing else about Jules today, I’ve learned one thing: Adrenaline agrees with her.
All the way back to the hotel, she’s been a flutter of excitement, reliving the freefall and every second of the incredible view during our ride back to earth. I can’t take my eyes off her, and I don’t know which is more thrilling — the adventure we’ve just had, or watching her relive it all over again right next to me. I’ve missed this. Doing things with someone I actually care about.
But by the time we arrive back at the hotel, the adrenaline has started to wear thin. She grows quiet as we walk toward the elevator that’ll take us up to our penthouse suite. I do my best to keep her talking, but her answers become shorter, more clipped and strained with each passing second. When I unlock the suite for us, she’s silent all over again.
Take what you can get, I remind myself as we walk in, especially if it means seeing little glimpses of the old Jules screaming back to life like she did today.
She sets her purse down on a table when I shut us both inside.
“I had Monica make us reservations at the lounge downstairs,” I tell her, slowly, praying she won’t just retreat back into her bedroom again for the rest of the night. “They have a patio that overlooks the view and a little birdie told me that the sunset there is absolutely surreal. I thought we’d start there and then—”
“I may just order room service again,” she interrupts, kicking her shoes off one by one. Then she paces around the room until she finds the slippers she left beside the television console thismorning. She quickly slips her feet into them, looking absolutely drained. I’m not even sure if it’s the adrenaline crash or jet lag taking hold of her right now, maybe both. Of course, it may very well be something deeper, maybe something she read in the letter yesterday that she’s just now remembering again as we return back to this space, but she raises a brow at me and crosses her arms, like she’s waiting for a response.
“Room service?” I repeat, staring at her like I couldn’t possibly have heard her right. I get that she’s probably tired, but she can’t be serious. We’re in one of the most beautiful places in the entire world. It would be an absolute sin to sit in here wasting another evening with a wedge of lettuce sitting under another silver dome.
She purses her lips and lifts her face a fraction of an inch, not speaking yet, but the message is clear. My heart begins to pound a warning in my chest that I already know I’m going to ignore.
“Yes, I think I’ll order in. Do you have an issue with that or something?” she asks.
Definitely a challenge.
Fuck.
I’ve known enough women over the years to know that this sudden change in her attitude, paired with a not-so-subtle hint to debate about something as insignificant as ordering room service, is not about her ordering room service at all. And it’s not about me challenging her to come out with me instead. There’s a proverbial wet towel on the bed, and she wants to talk about it.
I should just let her retreat to her room. Let her win this one because clearly arguing with her in this moment is going to lead to a much bigger conversation than what our dinner plans ought to be.
