After the Climb Page 3

  “I didn’t mean angry, I meant crazy,” I explained.

  “Then I’m not that. I’m very sane and I’m very serious.” He took a step toward me. “And you know it.”

  “I actually think you’re crazy,” I contradicted.

  “You couldn’t get enough of me,” he declared suddenly.

  It took all my talent, of which many were convinced I had a great deal, to force nonchalance.

  I waved my hand between us. “I was twenty-four years old and—”

  “I’m the love of your life too,” he bit out.

  “You were then, Duncan, but my life went on without you at your choice.”

  “I had no reason not to believe him.”

  Oh no.

  I shook my head. “We’re not doing this.”

  I tried to step around him.

  He stepped in front of me.

  I snapped my head back. “Let me out of this room, Duncan.”

  “It destroyed me, walking away from you.”

  I threw my arms wide. “And yet here you stand, healthy, living your dream.”

  “Yeah, you’d know about my dream, Genny, wouldn’t you?”

  Goddamn it.

  But he wasn’t finished.

  “And here you stand, tricked out, showing at my cabin in a Rolls.”

  “This isn’t a cabin, Duncan, how many square feet are in this house?”

  “Six thousand.”

  Oh my God.

  Was this the stupidest conversation in history?

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “He wanted this, Genny.” He jabbed a finger at the chair with the box and flood of paper on the floor. “Those apologies mean dick. That is not his final message for us. What he really wanted was you standing in a room with me, knowing what would happen if we did.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen, Duncan.”

  “Nothing never happens between us, Genny.”

  This was frighteningly true.

  And thus, I was at my end.

  I changed tactics.

  “I cannot describe how little I care that Corey maneuvered this nearly thirty years down the line,” I shared. “He doesn’t get to explain away tearing the man I loved from me with the proverbial thousand apologies and the lame excuse of, ‘I didn’t have the guts to right my wrong.’ He’s not fifteen anymore where we covered his awkwardness for him, and he wasn’t fifteen back then when he drove us apart.”

  “Gen—”

  “I’m not done,” I clipped.

  Duncan closed his mouth.

  “And I’m not going to stand here and listen to you try to explain why you didn’t believe me.”

  “It was Corey.”

  I touched my hand to my chest. “And I was me.”

  That again shut his mouth.

  “We can’t go back, and not only because I don’t wish to go back, because we can’t. I have a life, a career, and three children—”

  “All grown and no man.”

  “After what you put me through, and what Tom put me through, do you think I want a man?”

  There was a subtle but distinct rumble to his, “What’d that guy put you through?”

  And again, there was my Bowie.

  Protective, almost to a fault.

  I shouldn’t have brought Tom into it.

  I shook my head. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Genny, for Christ’s sake—”

  “It really turns on a dime like that for you?” I demanded.

  “It never turned the other way,” he shot back.

  Oh my God.

  I felt those words through every cell in my body.

  And so, I had to do it. I had to pull her up.

  Bonnie.

  Sweet and kind and funny.

  But more importantly, strong and smart and able.

  “Well, I’m very sorry, Duncan,” I said quietly. “Truly, I am. But it did for me. And there’s no turning back.”

  We stood there, staring at each other.

  And it was with no small measure of pain that I took him in, knowing the last time I saw him in person he was twenty-six and glorious.

  And now he was fifty-four and no less glorious. Silver in his hair. Also his beard. Lines on his forehead, around his eyes. And maybe part of that heft he had was some weight in his middle, because Duncan was always active, but he loved his food.

  And oh, how much I would have treasured being beside him along the way to see him become the man who stood before me.

  But that was gone.

  Corey took it away.

  And Duncan let him.

  Yes, most importantly, Duncan had let him.

  And that was the Duncan I had now.

  Because he was going to do it again.

  He stepped out of my way.

  But this time, he allowed me to walk out of his life.

  And that was what I did.

  Chapter Two

  The Operation

  Chloe

  Sitting in her car, she watched her mom walk into the hotel.

  And her mom could fool a lot of people.

  But she couldn’t fool Chloe.

  Therefore, once Mom disappeared inside with Rodney, Chloe put the bright red Evoque in drive and slid out of the parking spot.

  Driving while hitting the buttons on the dash, she called Mary.

  “Oh God, I knew it,” was Mary’s greeting.

  “Instigating Operation Happiness,” Chloe replied.

  “Your mother is going to fire me.”

  “She is not.”

  “If I interfered in your love life, would you continue to be my friend?”

  “If you reunited me with a serious hot guy who stood for everything I stand for who I’d pined after for years, yes.”

  Mary didn’t have an answer to that.

  “There’s no time to waste,” Chloe told her. “And anyway, you’re hardly on the front lines with all of this.”

  “You’re always so dramatic.”

  “Someone in this family has to be.”

  “You compensating for your parents’ absolute dedication to being down to earth always gets me into trouble.”

  “Now who’s being dramatic?”

  “I have things to do.”

  “Yes, you do. Byeeeeeee,” Chloe signed off.

  After she’d disconnected, she made her second call.

  “Oh shit,” her baby sister Sasha answered.

  “It didn’t go well.”

  “Poor Mom,” Sasha whispered. Then, “Is Mary on it?”

  “Totes.”

  “Mom’s gonna be pissed.”

  “Yep. Then eventually, she’ll be happy.”

  “You know…”

  Sasha trailed off and didn’t start up again.

  “I don’t know unless you tell me,” Chloe prompted.

  Sasha sounded like she was sharing a guilty secret when she said, “Uncle Corey, he always gave me a bit of the heebie-jeebies.”

  Sasha was not alone in that estimation.

  “He was into her,” Chloe stated.

  “So into her.”

  The sisters were silent.

  Sasha broke it.

  “Okay, take good care of her, okay?”

  “You know I will,” Chloe assured.

  “Should I fly home this weekend?”

  “No. I got this.”

  “Are you going to tell Matt?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Their brother, annoyingly upright, responsible and protective, would ruin everything.

  “Right,” Sasha muttered.

  “It’s going to be okay, la petite amie.”

  “Yeah,” Sasha said.

  “Stay cool.”

  “Stay smart.”

  “Au revoir.”

  “You’re such a goof. Ciao, sis.”

  Chloe disconnected that call, and then hit more buttons.

  “Did you talk with her?” her dad asked in greeting.

  Not
exactly, she did not answer.

  “Well…”

  That was all she was going to give him.

  For now.

  “Tell me. How’d it go, kiddo?” he pressed, knowing mother and daughters had always been close, but once she and Sasha grew up, Mom shifted, and Mom-Mom became Mom-Friend.

  Chloe could not say they told each other everything.

  But they shared.

  A lot.

  And Mom had shared this, maybe because she was hurting and fragile after Uncle Corey died.

  But mostly because they were tight, and honesty had always been encouraged in their family.

  In fact, as far as she knew, it was only Chloe who played fast and loose with that last, occasionally roping her sister in on the act (though never her brother—solid, dependable, do-the-right-thing Matt was apparently working toward sainthood, and it was vastly irritating).

  And, it couldn’t be avoided, in one terrible instance, her father had done the same.

  “Not too good, Dad.”

  “Hell,” he whispered.

  “She went right to the hotel.”

  “Hmm.”

  Hmm was right.

  After whatever happened, happened, Mom not asking Rodney to take her right home was telling.

  At least Chloe thought so.

  In fact, it was lunacy (and also telling), that before she even headed up, she had Mary make arrangements so Mom could hit that hotel and book a facial for this afternoon, while Mom made plans the next day with friends who lived up in Prescott, all of this after taking that box into the mountains.

  If Mom was over that guy, she’d just come up and do what Uncle Corey wanted done and go back down.

  And after they’d done whatever Uncle Corey wanted, if Mom was pissed and over it, Mom would cancel everything and drive right back down the mountain and be done.

  But she wasn’t.

  She was sticking close.

  In Prescott.

  To him.

  All right, so it was less telling and more Chloe twisting it to what she needed to be.

  But she didn’t think she was too far off the mark, if not hitting the bullseye.

  “You’re not to get involved,” her father said in Dad Voice.

  Uh-oh.

  “Dad—”

  “Chloe, I know you. If there’s no drama, you create it. And losing Corey, especially him taking his own life, now whatever happened with this, she’s had enough drama for a while, don’t you think?”

  “There’s good drama and bad drama, Dad.”

  “Says only you.”

  Chloe could debate that, but now was not the time.

  “I’m driving, so maybe now isn’t a good time to have an annoying conversation with my dad.”

  “Honey, leave it alone.”

  She was not going to lie outright to her father.

  But she was not above a sin by omission.

  Thus, she said nothing.

  “Chloe, did you hear me?”

  “I heard you, Dad.”

  “Christ, I could have skipped a generation of another one of your grandmother. It’d be cute, having a granddaughter who was a pain in her parents’ ass. A daughter, not so much.”

  Chloe fake gasped and said, “I’m wounded, mon père bien-aimé calling me a pain in the ass.”

  “Stop speaking French at me.”

  “If you didn’t want me to speak French, you shouldn’t have sent me to France.”

  “We didn’t think you’d stay there for three years.”

  “I can’t imagine why, you’d both been to France, repeatedly. And you both know me, through and through. You knew, once France met me, and I met France, if I didn’t love you so much, which necessitated me returning home occasionally, I would never leave.”

  “The worst part about that is, I can’t argue it.”

  Chloe grinned.

  “Honey, seriously,” he said, and he did it sounding serious, “think hard about whatever it is you’re doing.”

  She already had.

  So she felt it wasn’t (exactly) even a fib to say, “I will, Dad. Love you.”

  “Love you more.”

  That was their usual sign off, so she disconnected.

  She then drove the rest of the way out of town, eventually turning into a gravel drive.

  She hadn’t gone this far when she’d followed Rodney up. She’d driven past, turned around, and waited for their exit.

  She didn’t actually need to do this sleuthing stuff; Mary had given her his address.

  But she couldn’t track her mom’s movements real-time if she didn’t.

  Now, by the time she’d stopped in front of that magnificent house beside that stunning lake she oh-so-totally saw her mom loving, and loving to live there, and she got out of the Range Rover, he was standing at the top of the steps.

  She’d Googled the hell out of him when her mom shared all that was going down, so it was not lost on Chloe that Duncan Holloway was a looker.

  But even if he wasn’t her type, and he was old enough to be her dad, IRL, he was gorgeous.

  She rounded her car and he called, “Can I help you with something?” as she headed toward the steps.

  Nice voice too.

  She kept going and stopped two steps down from him. “Hi, I’m Chloe Pierce.”

  She sensed a pang of not-quite-recognition, maybe because she had some of her mom’s features, maybe because he knew the name Tom Pierce.

  But he did not know her.

  Beautiful, super-famous Imogen Swan and talented, hot stud tennis player Tom Pierce suffered the paparazzi and fans like the pros they were.

  But both morphed straight to feral when it came to their children.

  In other words, she, nor Sasha nor Matt, had been paraded around as accessories.

  Her parents’ public life was public.

  Their private life, especially family, was vehemently private.

  To the point the world went apeshit when they broke up, thinking that they were solid and always would be.

  But after some time, they got it (or got used to it), when Mom and Dad did it in a way they actually fulfilled the usual lie of “we remain the best of friends.”

  They were, to this day, the best of friends.

  Chloe had struggled with it at the time of the split. Her relationship with her dad took a hit.

  She might be a drama queen, a personality trait she nurtured gleefully.

  But she was still her mother’s daughter.

  And in that, the lesson of, “People do things for a myriad of reasons, darling. Just because you don’t know what it is, or you do and you don’t like it, doesn’t mean it isn’t valid. But at the end of the day, you have the power to forgive and move on. It’s the most selfish thing you can do, letting go of that weight so you can move forward in life without carrying it. It just happens that it’s the most compassionate thing you can do too.”

  Chloe had a feeling she was going to need to count on this.

  “I’m Genny Swan’s daughter. And we need to talk,” she finished.

  Instantly, he gave her precisely what she needed in order to know she was doing the right thing.

  His middle swayed back like she’d delivered a gut punch.

  And his handsome face went haggard.

  He also did not move to hide this last.

  And the kicker?

  He drank in her features like he’d been a man straggling through the desert for days and she was his oasis.

  And then he asked, “You drink beer?”

  “I’d prefer a martini.”

  “I’ll see what we got.”

  He then moved to the side in invitation.

  Chloe proceeded up the steps.

  And she did this fighting a smile.

  Chapter Three

  The Hotel

  Imogen

  Shaken after the events at Duncan’s home, and because of that, and the necessity to box it up, set it aside, and move forward without
falling apart (until I could do that alone), I was going through the motions as I walked into the hotel.

  Since Trisha and Scott (my friends who lived in the condo next to mine, but had moved up here permanently three years ago) had shared that this property had been purchased in order for an extensive renovation that would end in it being an exclusive boutique hotel, we’d wondered if the owner was a lunatic, or a visionary.

  And I’d wanted to visit since it had its grand opening.

  Thus, I decided to take that opportunity on this trip, as well as spend some time with Trish and Scott, not to mention Heddy.

  Therefore, after I’d given Corey his final wish for me (and now, the fact I’d done it for that man infuriated me) I’d planned to stay the evening, booked a late facial in their spa, and after, intended to get room service, relax and read that night.

  The next day was all about Heddy, shopping, tapas at El Gato Azul for lunch, and dinner with Trisha and Scott at Farm Provisions.

  In fact, I always enjoyed a visit to Prescott, even knowing Duncan lived close.

  It wasn’t exactly a remote, low-population town. It was relatively large in and of itself, and a favored destination for Phoenicians to go for a day, or a weekend, to avoid the heat in the summer. And others to buy properties up there, again to avoid the heat (something, once Trish and Scott moved up, Tom and I had considered…but then…Duncan).

  But it wasn’t Flag. It didn’t have ski slopes to attract greater masses.

  It had lakes. Hiking trails. The Dells. Shopping. Whiskey Row. And for a week in the summer, Frontier Days.

  Mostly, it was pretty sleepy, and partly because it was beautiful, but undoubtedly because it was laidback, slower-paced and the people less harried and more friendly than in the city, it was enticing.

  I should not have been enticed.

  Not this time.

  I should have headed home, to the condo, holed in, made myself a pitcher of gimlets, and contemplated how I’d gone so very wrong for so very long when it came to Corey.

  Instead, I took in the interior of the lobby of the hotel, which was decidedly Victorian in a rather close, heavy, dark, fabulous way, with its green-and-gold scroll wallpaper. And the tall desk behind which stood a stylish young woman wearing a slim-fitting, dark-pink dress that had an attached scarf artistically tied at the side of her neck.

  I unconsciously braced as her eyes fell on me, ready by rote to handle however this proceeded.