Page 244 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“You ready?”

Nate looks irritated that I’m not reacting. “Sure. Yes. Sorry.”

“Who was the woman?”

“Someone I haven’t seen in a while.”

“An old girlfriend?”

“Nah. We’re talking third grade here.”

“It’s you, Malone. You probably had the girls lined up to play four square with you back then.” He chuckles, and I roll my eyes. “Why’d she bail?”

“I’m not quite sure.” I look down to where I’m turning the card over in my hand and stare at Desi’s name but think of Emmy instead.

One thing is certain, Desi isn’t here on vacation. The address on the card and area code are both local, which means she lives here. Does that mean Emerson lives here, too?

Forget about it. If Em lives here and hasn’t sought me out, she doesn’t want to see me.

But I know I can’t forget.

I’ve never been able to.

She obviously doesn’t want this ghost from her past around.

That’s the funny thing about ghosts, though.

You can’t control when they appear or how they might affect you, but they always haunt you.

The engine’s roar fills my ears.

I run through my mental checklist. Finish. Then begin it again as the rush of cold air dances around me and whips against my cheeks. My earplugs shift as I slide my jaw out of habit to equalize the pressure in my ears.

I glance over to where Leo is double-checking his own gear. “Head up. Wings out!” I shout over the roar. He gives me a thumbs-up, and with that, I loosen my grip on the door and dive headfirst.

My breath catches. My blood is flooded with adrenaline. My body spirals and hurtles and tumbles in a seemingly endless free fall.

But there is silence in my head. Peace. A bliss I can’t find anywhere else as I gain control of my dive, stabilize, and master the arch of my body. The ocean in the distance and the rolling green hills of northern California laid out like a topography map beneath me are as stunning as the first time I saw them like this.

There are no demands from Chris and his bank.

There are no duties left to fulfill for Travis before I can call it a night.

There are no thoughts of Grant Malone and those brown eyes of his that met mine yesterday and surprised the hell out of me.

There are no demons from my past—the ones seeing him again brought out of hiding—trying to weasel their way in.

It’s freedom.

It’s just me hurtling toward the earth at what feels like a million miles an hour in what could be certain death.

It’s my hand deploying the ripcord and my body jolting against the force before rebounding up as the parachute opens and saves me from that death.

Yanking me back to reality.

My parachute.

Saving me.