Elliott’s dads are at the far side of the gym, but they both turn abruptly at the sound of the door.
“Ellie!” A lanky blond guy with a loose ponytail that hangs past his collar jogs over. His long shorts sit low on his hips, exposing a bit of tanned skin with each stride. I catch a glimpse of a tattoo—some kind of script writing peeking out from beneath the hem of his Patagonia T-shirt. As he gets closer, I can see lines around his eyes and bits of gray in his hair, but from a distance he didn’t look much older than Elliott. He spends a few seconds taking me in before he holds out his hand. “Garrett,” he says. “So you’re the girl Ellie can’t stop talking about.”
“Dad.” Elliott gives Garrett a look.
Garrett laughs. “He told me you were a natural on the Quintuple Steps and the Spinning Log.”
“I don’t know about all that.” I reach out to shake his hand and nearly double over from his strong grip. “Nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m Jen.”
“Don’t break her hand, Dad,” Elliott says. “She’s going to need both of them for the Salmon Ladder.”
“Salmon Ladder! Hard-core. High five!” Garrett holds his palm out toward me.
I slap it. “I’ve seen that one on TV. I’m not sure if I can even do a pull-up, but I’ll give it a try.”
Elliott’s other dad chuckles. “I’m still working on my first pull-up.” He runs a hand through his thick black hair. “I’m Ezra Helberg. Welcome to our playground.”
“Jen.” I extend for another handshake, this time one that doesn’t make my eyes water.
Ezra nudges Garrett with his elbow. “Go ahead and show off for the pretty girl. You know you want to.”
Garrett grins as he bounces up and down on his toes. “Which obstacle do you want to see me do?”
I look around the gym and point at a series of narrow ledges nailed to a flat wall. “What’s that one?”
Ezra groans. “Not the Ultimate Cliffhanger.”
“Dad’s a rock climber,” Elliott explains. “The Ultimate Cliffhanger is pretty easy for him.”
“How about I show you proper form on the Salmon Ladder?” Garrett says.
“Sure,” I say.
The four of us walk over to the Salmon Ladder. It looks like a standard pull-up bar that’s been fit into an angled slot. There are five more slots above the starting one and you’re supposed to jump the bar from the bottom to the top in a series of pull-up moves. Like the Warped Wall, I’ve seen it on TV. And like the Warped Wall, it looks impossible in person.
“Do you know why it’s called the Salmon Ladder?” Ezra asks me.
“Because the angled rungs look like fish bones?” I guess.
“Close,” he says. “The act of jumping the bar from rung to rung mimics the movement of salmon swimming upstream.”
“The first thing you need to do is get a good jump off the mini-tramp so that you’re positioned in the middle of the bar. Like so.” Garrett takes a running jump and hits the trampoline directly in the center. He flies through the air and grabs onto the bar. He checks his hand positions and moves his right hand slightly outward. “Next you want to make sure you don’t favor one side or the other when you’re transitioning from rung to rung.”
“Alternatively, next is when you dangle helplessly from the bar while your husband laughs at you,” Ezra says.
I smile. “I’ll probably be right there with you.”
Garrett jumps the pull-up bar up the rungs of the Salmon Ladder with ease.
“You look like you’re defying the laws of gravity,” I say.
He releases his hold on the bar and falls down to the thick mat beneath it. “You should see Ellie. The kid has wings.” He turns to Elliott. “Show her.”
“Nah.” Elliott shakes his head. “She didn’t come here to see that.” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Want to show them your mad skills on the Spinning Log?”
I blush. “I only made it across once, and it’s been a couple weeks.”
“Whose fault is that? I told you that you could come by anytime you wanted. I would’ve given you the key even if I couldn’t stay and play.”
“I know. I just didn’t want anyone to catch me and think I was a burglar.”
“That’d be the biggest news story this town has had in months,” Garrett says. “Come on, sister. Let’s see what you got.”
“Jen. Jen. Jen,” Ezra chants.
“I don’t know. I might—”
“Jen. Jen. Jen.” Garrett adds a clap to the chant.
“Make it across the first try and I will cook you dinner,” Elliott says.
“Ooooh. Now there’s motivation.” Garrett hoots. “Ellie cooks like a dream.”
“That’s because I taught him,” Ezra says.
I hold up a hand. “All right, all right. I’ll do it.” Muttering something about peer pressure under my breath, I cross the gym and step up onto the platform by the Spinning Log. I am acutely aware of Elliott and his dads watching me. Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes for a second and envision the way I crossed the log last time.
I shake out my arms and then, without any warning, I dart across the log, trying my best to keep my feet exactly in the middle, exerting a direct downward force to minimize rotation. One. Two. Three. The log spins beneath my feet, but I leap to safety, hitting the mat with my right shoulder..
“Woohoo. That was show-worthy.” Garrett gives me a slow clap.
“Impressive,” Ezra agrees.
“Thanks,” I say. “I fell off about twenty times before I made it across the first time.”
“You and me both, sister,” Garrett says.
Everyone laughs and then it gets quiet. There’s an awkward moment before Garrett says, “We’ll get out of you kids’ hair. I trust you won’t let her get hurt, Ellie.”
“We’ll be safe,” Elliott promises. “But don’t let her small size fool you. She’s a tough chick.”
It’s a nice thing to say, especially after he’s caught me crying multiple times. “We’ll be careful,” I agree. “It was nice to meet both of you.”
“Likewise.” Ezra surprises me by leaning in for a hug. I pat his back awkwardly. “Elliott doesn’t ever bring girls around, so you must be special,” he whispers in my ear.
“Dad,” Elliott says. “Not everyone likes to be hugged.”
“It’s okay.” I smile shyly at Ezra. “It was nice.”
“See. Nice.” Ezra winks at Elliott. He slings an arm around Garrett’s waist as the two of them head for the parking lot.
When the door closes, Elliott turns back to me. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”
“They seem really great,” I say.
“They have their moments.” Elliott arches his eyebrows. “And hey, now you can say you know someone famous.”
I laugh weakly. If he only knew.
Elliott gives me a lesson in using the mini-trampoline and some tips for how to climb ropes and cargo nets in the most efficient way. We fool around on one of several rock climbing walls and he explains to me how various skills combine together to equal success on different obstacles.
Then we go from obstacle to obstacle, Elliott showing me how it’s done, me trying my best to copy him. Some of the things are completely impossible for me to even try, like the Ultimate Cliffhanger. I just don’t have the grip strength to hold on to the tiny wooden ledges. I also can’t do the Salmon Ladder, but Elliott is impressed that I can even do a pull-up and he helps me go up a couple of rungs by holding my legs while I attempt to jump the bar.
After my arms give out, I drop to the ground. “Show me how it’s done,” I say.
“If you insist.” Elliott grins. He gets a great jump off the mini-trampoline and goes straight up the Salmon Ladder in five easy pull-ups. The total elapsed time is less than twenty seconds.
“Holy shit,” I say. “You rocked that even harder than your dad.”
Elliott’s eyes widen. “Do not ever say that in front of him or I’ll never hear the end of it.” He checks the time. “It’s ten-thirty,” he says. “You want to go hang out on the roof?”
“Sounds good.” I follow Elliott up the ladder and we grab the sleeping bag we sat on last time we were here. I tug the ponytail holder out of my hair and undo my braid with my fingers. The breeze is cool against the dampness at the nape of my neck.
Elliott sits across from me, his broad shoulders backlit by the starry sky. Being face to face with him feels strangely intimate.
“Another gorgeous night,” I say, my mouth going dry. I lie back on the blanket and look up at the stars.
Elliott reclines next to me. “Do you know what would make this moment perfect?” he asks.
“No,” I say, a little afraid of the answer.
“Cactus Cooler.”
I snicker. “We can go get something to drink somewhere if you want.”
“Nah. I can live.” Elliott looks over at me. “I don’t really want to move right now.”
“Me neither.” It’s a perfectly clear night and if I had to count the stars, it would take me hours. “Do you know anything about the constellations?”
“A little bit,” Elliott replies. “Garrett is kind of a star nerd.” He points up almost straight above us. “So there’s the Big Dipper, which you can probably find.”
“Yes, but I’m not sure I’ve ever found the Little Dipper.”
“Straight across from the far top star in the cup part of the Big Dipper is the cup part of the Little Dipper.”
“Cup part? Is that a technical term?”
“Bowl? Ladle?” Elliott offers. He scoots closer to me on the blanket and then holds up my hand toward the sky. “Right there,” he says. “Do you see?”
“Uh-huh,” I say, even though I can’t focus on the sky when he’s touching my arm. I can’t focus on anything when he’s so close to me that I can smell his wintergreen deodorant and the faint scent of his sweat beneath it.
“And there’s Cassiopeia.” Elliott moves my hand slightly. “Those five stars right there. If you connect them they make an M-shape.”
“Holy crap. I can actually see it.” I grin. “That’s awesome.”
“This whole night has been awesome,” Elliott says, his hand still on my arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I swallow hard. “So tell me about your dads,” I say, trying to get my mind off the warmth of Elliott’s hand, off the solidness of his form now pressed up against me.
“My dads. Let’s see.” Elliott takes his hand back and threads his fingers together behind his head as a pillow. “Garrett grew up in Fort Collins, so he’s been climbing and mountain biking and snowboarding since he was a kid. He’s got a degree in engineering, but he never really used it, unless you count designing and building all the ninja obstacles.”
“He built all that by himself?”
“Well, Ezra and I helped some.” Elliott grins. “You’ve seen how handy I am with tools. Ezra is a couple years older than Garrett. He’s from Long Island. He worked as an ad exec for about ten years and now he’s the creative guy for the store—designing window displays, coming up with advertising, overseeing the buyers.”
“It sounds like they complement each other perfectly.”
“Pretty much. One is analytical but free-spirited, the other is cautious and creative.”
“How did they meet?”
“Garrett moved to Denver after college and ended up working part-time as a rock-climbing instructor and part-time as a bartender. Ezra used to go to Denver on business, and I guess he struck up a conversation about how hard it was to find a good guy with the right bartender at the right time.”
“Aww. That’s a great story.”
“It is, isn’t it? Everyone always says you can’t meet anyone quality in a bar. I’m glad it worked out so well for them.” He pauses. “And me.”
“So . . . you have Ezra’s last name?”
“They adopted me as a baby and gave me Garrett’s last name—Redmond—as my middle name and Ezra’s for my surname. I don’t know how or why they decided that. Maybe they didn’t want me to be the only kid in kindergarten with two last names.” He smiles. “They’ve always been overprotective of me. I’ve been a total spoiled brat my entire life.” Before I can ask Elliott if he has any siblings, he says, “Your turn. Tell me about your parents.”
I make a face. “My parents are not as awesome as yours.”
“Said pretty much every kid, everywhere, throughout all of time.”
“No, seriously,” I protest. “So they’re both cardiac surgeons, but—”
“Yeah, they sound all kinds of lame.” Elliott elbows me in the ribs.
“I wasn’t finished.” I elbow him right back. “I guess you could say they’ve had really high standards for me my whole life. I was expected to be exceptional at everything.”
“And if you weren’t?”
“Then I either got private lessons or I quit doing it.”
“I see.”
“I mean, they’re nice people. Well, my dad is, anyway. My mom is kind of . . . intense. I know they love me, but they never showed it much growing up. Just watching you with your dads tonight—I feel like you probably grew up with a lot of affection.”
Elliott coughs. “Are you saying you’re starved for affection? Because I could probably help with that.”
I roll onto my side to see if he’s kidding. “Oh yeah?” I say wryly. “That’s awfully kind of you.”
He blinks innocently. “Public service—it’s just who I am.”
“Right.” I smirk. “Remember the day we met and you threatened to give me a ticket?”
“Oh yeah. Little Miss Sneak In Without Paying.” Elliott laughs lightly. “You’re a bad influence.”
The last word catches in his throat and we stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds. My eyes are drawn to his long eyelashes, to a tiny constellation of freckles under his left eye. For a second I imagine reaching out and touching him.
“Anyway,” he says. “We can both agree you have an awesome stepmom.”
“True. I was kind of a bitch to her from the moment I found out she existed. But she’s never been anything but nice to me.”
“I’ve never seen Rachael be mean to anyone,” Elliott says.
Well, she did steal my dad away from my mom, I think. But I don’t say it. Because maybe you can’t steal someone away if they’re where they want to be. Who knows how long my dad had been unhappy? Plus, maybe there’s someone better out there for my mom—someone who can match her intensity and challenge her instead of just letting her win until they get tired of losing.
I lie flat so once again we’re both looking up at the stars. The night breeze cools my skin. A bit of white fluff floats past me—cotton from one of Springdale’s many cottonwood trees. “This is not how I imagined the desert.”
Elliott laughs lightly. “Not enough camels?”
“Not enough cacti,” I say.
“We’ve got prickly pear everywhere.”
“True, but there are so many other plants. There are pine trees here!”
“It’s unique geography, to be sure.” Elliott swallows back a yawn.
A comfortable silence falls over us. I realize I haven’t thought about Dallas or Brad Freeman or the internet for hours. For once I don’t feel guilty about that. Maybe I’m finally starting to heal. Or maybe I’m just getting better at denial.
“I wish I could stay here,” I blurt out.
“You can.”
“No, seriously. I wish I could capture this moment,” I say. “Like a firefly in a jar.”
“Fireflies kept in jars die eventually,” Elliott says. And then he adjusts his body and his hand brushes against mine. At first I think it’s an accident, but he leaves it there. And then when I don’t pull away, he twines our fingers together.
A current of warmth moves through me, followed by a rush of guilt. I do the math in my head. It’s been exactly forty-eight days since Dallas died. What kind of girlfriend develops feelings for some other guy in forty-eight days?
I didn’t even know I had feelings until right this second.
Elliott lifts up on one shoulder and looks down at me. “That day by the Visitor Center when you were upset. What was that about?”
“I was thinking about my ex-boyfriend,” I say. The half-truth doesn’t feel any better than an outright lie.
Elliott reaches out and traces the scar on my cheekbone with one finger. A tremor races through me. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, no.” I shake my head. “Not like that, anyway.” Not as bad as I hurt him. “He cheated on me once, but we got past it.”
“You’re a better person than me. I don’t know if I could get past that.”
“No I’m not,” I say, almost violently. “I mean, I don’t know if I did the best job either. He confessed the whole thing and I could see he felt awful about it. And I appreciated that honesty, so I forgave him. But forgetting is harder than forgiving, you know?”
Elliott strokes my face again. He hooks one arm under my waist and pulls me close to him. “Come here.”
I tense up as I feel his body against mine. His heat radiates through his clothes and my own. His forearms are still damp with sweat. I trace one finger along his ropelike veins and a yearning starts to build inside me. My hand finds the curve of his biceps. His skin goes taut beneath my touch. My fingertip falls into a groove between two muscles.
“Can you feel that?” Elliott asks.
“What? Your big biceps? Yeah, I feel them.” I roll my eyes.
“No, I meant the way you’re giving me goose bumps,” he says.
Sure enough, the hair on Elliott’s arms is raised and his skin is covered with tiny goose bumps. “Wow,” I say.
“How about a taste of your own medicine,” Elliott murmurs. He drags his fingertips along my inner arm. I close my eyes and focus purely on the sensation, the gentle stroking. He cups his hand around my biceps. “Flex,” he says.
I bend my arm and flex, but I’m quite sure it’s nothing close to his definition.
“Not bad,” he says. “You know, for a girl.”
My eyes flick open and I look up at him to protest, but his lips are quirked into a smile.
“I thought that might get you.” And then he leans in and brushes his lips against the scar on my cheekbone.
I take in a sharp breath, surprised by the warmth of his mouth and the current of heat inside me.
Elliott rests his forehead on mine. “Is this okay?” he asks. Gently, he traces the line of my jawbone with his lips, slowly making his way toward my mouth.
I don’t answer.
I can’t answer.
I should pull away.
I need to pull away.
But I also need to feel like this. Accepted. Wanted.
I blink back tears as I reach up and run my fingers through his short dark hair, feeling the contours of his skull beneath it. Elliott rests one hand on my waist and cradles my face with the other as he brushes his lips against mine.
His kiss is gentle, tentative, as if he’s expecting me to push him away at any second. I feel the tears coming on again but I tamp them down. They’re not allowed to wreck this moment.
I kiss him harder, my lips parting. My shirt rides up slightly and I guide Elliott’s hand onto my bare skin. His fingers tentatively explore my rib cage and the small of my back. His tongue tastes my lips, but then my headband slips off and I flinch.
Disentangling myself, I quickly try to put the circle of cloth back in place, but one of Elliott’s strong arms wraps around my wrist. “No,” he says.
He tugs my body up on the blanket and turns my head so he can see my craniotomy scar and the new hair growing in around it. Gingerly, he traces the pink line with one finger. “Your roots are showing,” he teases. “I think you’re the only blonde I know who dyes her hair brown.” Before I can even reply he leans in to kiss me again.
“Hold up,” I say, scooting back away from him. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” Shame weighs down on me. Maybe it’s all right if a day goes by where I don’t think about the accident, but kissing another guy feels like cheating on Dallas. It’s bad enough that I killed him. I don’t want to add to my list of crimes.
“Do you still love him?” Elliott asks.
My gut instinct is to say yes. How can I say I don’t love Dallas given what’s happened? But every day I don’t come clean about the accident makes it a bigger and bigger lie. I don’t want to lie to Elliott about this too. “No, not the way that you mean, anyway.”
Elliott brushes my hair back from my face. “I’m sorry he hurt you, but not all guys are cheaters.”
“I know.”
“Look. It would probably be stupid to start something,” he says. “Since you’re only going to be here until the end of the summer. But I can’t help it. I want to. I want to be dumb for once.” I can see the questions in his eyes.
“As someone who has done a lot of dumb things recently, I don’t really recommend it,” I say, a hint of bitterness leaching into my voice.
“So is that a no?”
I sigh. “I like you, but . . . I don’t think I’m ready.” I turn away from Elliott because it hits me that’s just one more lie. I’m ready, I just don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve anyone. But I’m afraid to tell him any of that, because he’ll ask why. And then I’ll have to tell him the truth, about what I did. About what I’m still doing. And then I’ll lose him from my life.
And that’s what I’m really not ready for.