Pickleballers

Chapter Twenty-One

Twenty-One

The ringtone knocked her back to her senses and, frenetically, she tried to get her frigid fingers to cooperate. Whoever it was, they could help get her off this godforsaken mountain before nightfall. By the sixth ring, she managed to swipe open the call.

“Meg?”

Meg let out a cry of relief. It could have been Santa or the secretary of state or both, and she would not have been more stunned.

“I got a vibe,” Dina Bloomberg said. The line cut in and out, rendering her mom’s voice a distant, staticky lifeline. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, Mom.” Meg released a sigh that emptied her lungs.

“Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound so good. What’s going on?”

“It’s…it’s…Oh, Mom.” Her gaze landed on Ethan’s. “I can’t really talk right now. I’m on top of a mountain.”

“A mountain—”

Tears stung Meg’s eyes, and a droplet cooled quickly on her eyelash. Where to start? There was nothing Dina Bloomberg could do from Bribri, Costa Rica, to help Meg right now. But it had been months since she had been able to reach her mother. And now, when she was at the top of a mountain in the valley of her life, she wanted to unload. About everything. About Vance and his stupid Home Depot receipt, about her pickleball plight and Rooster’s busted hand, about the damn blasted goat on the fricking freezing mountaintop, and about the annoyingly unattainable man standing not ten feet but a million miles away from her.

She turned away from Ethan and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s that everything kinda sucks right now.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dina Bloomberg sighed. “Aw. I am so sorry, honey. My poor, sweet darling. What can I do?”

Come home , Meg thought. Come back to the Northwest and be here to kiss my metaphoric bruises. Meg pouted, knowing how selfish it was to ask her mom to put her life on hold to give her daughter a hug. But it had been almost three years since she had seen her in the flesh, and was it asking so much? Stepping toward the vista, Meg faced the expanse of space and whispered, “I miss you, Mom.” She angled her mouth close to the receiver. “I don’t know. I wish you were here. Not here, here. Because I’m on a mountaintop. But when I get down, if I get down, and back to Seattle…I just miss you.”

There was silence. The buzzing background noise on the other end of the line had stopped. “Mom?” Meg peered at her phone.

The call had dropped. As fast as her stiff fingers could manage, she dialed the fourteen digits and waited. One ring. Two rings. Then, nothing. Her phone’s black screen blinked up at her, mocking.

Meg glared at it in disbelief. “Stupid…phone!” she grunted, resisting the urge to throw it down the mountain. She cradled the useless thing like a frozen candy bar that was too cold to eat without breaking a tooth. What was the point of frozen chocolate, anyway? It ruined the taste. Maybe she could warm it under her armpit. Not the chocolate, but the phone. But that would only make her colder. Damn phone. Damn escape plan. She should have stayed put in Seattle and fought for her place on Lakeview’s team. Or kept her two feet on the non-mountainous ground back on Bainbridge. When would she learn that running away was just another way to run smack into something worse?

Like freezing to death.

“Meg.” Ethan stood at a distance, his eyes scanning the dimming sky. “We oughta get a move on. Take advantage of the daylight. Look.” He pointed into the distance. Whatever uncomfortable issue he had been about to broach had been replaced by pragmatism.

Her relief at dodging the conversation shifted to concern once Meg’s gaze followed Ethan’s finger. A curtain of shade was creeping across the wide landscape. How late in the day was it?

Using a trick her dad taught her when she was little, she held her fingers at arm’s length along the horizon to calculate the time until sunset. Ten minutes per finger. Squinting between her hands and the sun, she counted three fingers’ worth. Half an hour!

“We only have thirty minutes till the sun goes down!” A fresh panic set in. What would happen if she survived and he didn’t? Would she eat him? She considered the dilemma for longer than she was proud of. No. Never. Instead, she was going to freeze to death as the sun went down, with the oat and honey bar, six gummy worms, the sweaty thermal, the dead phone, and the man who despised her and who wouldn’t be good eating anyway because he didn’t have a lot of fat on him. She tried to keep the freak-out in her voice to a minimum. “We’re gonna die if we have to sleep up here in the cold. How are we going to get down before nightfall?”

“Meg.” Ethan’s calm repetition of her name was beginning to irk her. “First of all, those finger measurements work best at sea level. The sun won’t set for another hour. At least. And we’re not going to freeze to death up here. It’s kinda warm today. Look.”

He gestured toward a snowdrift. At the edge of one glistening patch, a yellow crocus poked through the ice. Its delicate petals, no bigger than Meg’s pinkie nail, trembled in the light breeze. It stretched—unhindered by the unforgiving elements—and reached for the sun.

A flower. Huh. She guessed it was not that cold. In fact, the weather was kinda balmy. So she was not going to freeze to death with only the remnants of a breakfast bar. And she should not forget the gummy worms, which may have been left over from Halloween. But the point was she had resources, and if that fragile flower could brave the elements and come out smiling, so could she. She had crossed a plank bridge, faced off against a goat, and summited the toughest climb of her lifetime. Damn straight she was not going to die here.

Ethan said, “I know this peak. It’s about an hour’s hike from where I was planning to camp tonight anyway. We’ll make it, no problem.” It was then she noticed Ethan wasn’t sporting a daypack like hers, but a full backpacker’s overnight pack. How could she have missed that? “And it’s lower in elevation, so it’ll be fine for sleeping if you don’t mind roughing it.”

For the time being, thanks to Ethan’s preparation, at least they would last through the night. And with her layers and boots, she was warm enough. But still, as Ethan began bouldering down the incline, she swallowed her hopes to melt the frost that glazed their every interaction and wondered if she should press him on the conversation he had started before her mom’s call. Instead, she followed silently, picking her slow steps, loping over the slick rocks, and wishing her mind would stop stress-alliterating like a sappy inkslinger in a sonnet slapdown. Sigh.

As she stepped deeper into the gathering evening, Meg’s senses went on high alert. She listened to the crunch of their shoes along the stony path and noted the change in the forest. The pines here were interspersed with alder, cottonwood, and maples. By the time they approached the forest, the sun had disappeared behind the trees, and Meg’s pulse whirred at the thought of being outside in the dark. The sensation was amplified when, within the blanketing canopy of the woods, the terrain changed to softer dirt and the sound of their footsteps was eaten right up by the earth. As she marched, her gaze traveled up the rugged trunks toward the sky, searching for the last patches of twilight. Pace by pace, for what had to be way more than an hour, she treaded the monotonous trail, wishing she didn’t feel like a wound coil begging to be sprung.

“Here we are.” Ethan’s words woke her from her thoughts. They had meandered into a clearing backed by a grove of enormous trees. By now, night had fallen in earnest. Her eyes strained to get a better view of the campsite, but beyond the small space, the trees grew together so thickly that they formed a coal black wall.

“I’ll build up a fire,” he said, gesturing to a circle of stones set on the dirt. The remains of a few charred logs lay in a shallow pit, the blackened scraps of an old campfire. “And then we can eat. I brought plenty of food for both of us.”

“So, you’ve camped here before?”

“This is where I planned to come when Rooster said he was hiking in this area. Though it’s usually not so hard to get here,” he said, and she could sense both the effort and the strain in his joke.

Ethan knelt low to the fire pit, scraped magnesium into a nest of dried leaves, and struck a spark off his flint. Meg wanted to sit beside him, wanted to help build the fire, but she sensed him maintaining a circle of space around himself. So instead, she found a suitable log across the fire pit. As she watched him work, she waited, biding her time. When a flame appeared, he nursed it—wordlessly placing small sticks, cradling the fire, blowing on the flames. Her thoughts vacillated. Instinct told her to break through the discomfort and just go for it: leap over the fire, jump into his lap, run her tongue up the length of his neck, and bite his earlobe. But reason pinned her in place.

By the time the flickers grew into a bona fide campfire, a fresh awkwardness had settled over them like a scratchy wool blanket. Ethan, too, seemed to be twisting through an emotional wash cycle. Whatever had caused his cool detachment back on Bainbridge Island, whatever he had been struggling to say at the summit, weighed heavily on him again.

She dug out the smushed gummy worms from her pack and stuck a piece in her mouth. It was a mistake because a chewy bit stuck in her back molar. She tried to pry it off with her tongue, but when she noticed his eyes on her, she let it dissolve naturally.

“Did you want one?” She proffered the unappealing goo.

He shook his head, nodding toward the pouches of dehydrated food. “This should be ready in a few minutes,” he said, and returned his attention to the water pot he had set to boil. His eyes flashed with firelight. He seemed to be avoiding looking at her. Meg wished she could come up with something to say that would break the stiff mood between them.

Ethan poked the fire with a stick. He poured the boiling water into the pouches of food and set them aside. He adjusted the fire logs and stared at the coals. And when the food had steeped enough, he reached beside the fire and handed her a foil bag, open at the top and steaming. She still felt the tension coming off him in waves, but for the moment, the food took precedence.

“Whoa.” She peered inside the pouch at a heaping portion of spaghetti and meat sauce. When the scent of the Bolognese sauce and rosemary hit, she swooned. “I can’t think of anything better right now. Thank you.”

She dug in. The sauce was thick and piping hot. The pasta was perfectly al dente. No matter that the spaghetti was chopped into rice-sized pieces. It was campfire food, and after a long hike, nothing could taste better.

And as the warmth of the food traveled through her system, Meg felt strengthened. From beneath her lashes, she studied the cool expression on Ethan’s handsome face. She couldn’t stand it one moment longer. It was time to get to the bottom of the issue. An image of that brave little crocus at the snowy summit flashed through her mind. She, too, would use all the force of her will to crack through the ice.

“Ethan?”

He glanced up, and she had half an urge to drop it, but now that she had done the hard work of starting, she might as well get to the point. “You…you wanted to talk about something?” She pushed the words out before she lost her nerve. “Back on Bainbridge, on the courts, we were getting along so well, or at least I thought we were, and then suddenly— Did I say something wrong? Or was it the…”

“Are you married?” His question was so direct, she wasn’t sure she had heard him right.

“Am I married ?”

He stared at her, his expression pained.

Out of the blue, the lightly healed scar of Vance’s hasty departure scratched open.

“No. I’m not married.” Her voice wavered defensively, reeling from the unexpected sting. His gaze took her in, uncertain. “Not anymore,” she admitted.

Embarrassed, she flushed. She felt the guilt like a slap. She should have told him, answered with the truth when he asked on the courts. Now she backpedaled, understanding the weight of this moment and hoping that her honesty now would be enough.

“I’m— Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. I should have said something.” She blundered on. “He…left me. We haven’t been together for months—”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“I want to. I mean, honestly.” Her words spilled out, hot and fast. “We’re officially divorced. It’s over. But I should have told you…” She trailed off, feeling wetness spring into her eyes.

Why, really, had she avoided mentioning her recent divorce? She tried to shove down the guilty answer, but it bubbled up again. She was ashamed to admit that her ex had viewed her as unworthy. That was the crux of it. She wished then for a time machine—to go back to the courts, so she could explain to Ethan that she was recently out of a marriage, or back even farther, and not marry Vance to begin with. Meg winced. Stop that , a voice inside her whispered. Stop beating yourself up. You are not less than you are.

But still, her thoughts fled to her unfinished phone call with her mom. Her parents had been like sea horses or shingleback skinks. Mates for life. Why couldn’t her love life be easy, like theirs?

In her heart, she knew the answer. And the truth was the only way to mend this rift.

“My marriage was…Well, we never really fit right, you know what I mean? When my dad died”—she tensed with emotion, feeling the ache of it still—“it took my mom years to get back to herself. They just belonged together. But my marriage? It wasn’t like that.

“My ex was…” But she bit back the easy route. “ I was…” And then it came to her, clearly. “I guess it was easier for me to be with someone who was a little wrapped up in himself. You couldn’t really get too close to him.”

She was five toes into the water. This was wading, but if she wanted to make this right, she had to dive in. “The truth is, I never had the guts to open myself up enough to find a partner who balanced me. The real me, making a real connection. Like my mom and dad had.”

He had been regarding her with such intensity she felt she might melt like wax right into the fire. She stalled, heart in her throat, watching for his reaction.

“You seem pretty authentic to me.”

The tenderness in his voice washed over her, and she grabbed on to this bit of forgiveness. It struck her that she and Vance may never have had a truly honest conversation. Like this.

“Wait a sec.” Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know I’d been married?”

She startled when he rose from his rock. Ethan strode the few feet around the campfire and eased beside her on the log. Without a word, he laced his fingers through hers, and the simple brush of his knuckles against her skin awakened her senses. Gently, Ethan lifted her hand toward the firelight and traced a fingertip along her finger.

Then she saw it. A ring-shaped tan line.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Hey.” He squeezed her hand and caught her eyes with his, a small gesture, but filled with understanding. His steadiness sank into her like water into sand. “I’m sorry about how I reacted back on the courts. How I cut you off without any explanation.”

Emotion welled in his eyes. It pressed her lungs against her rib cage to see that he was hurting, too. “When I saw that ring mark, my head jumped to the worst conclusion, and I couldn’t drag myself out of it—” He sighed. “That’s why I took Rooster up on his offer when he said he was going hiking. I thought he and I would hike up here, and I could spend a night or two in the woods, and the fresh air might clear my head. I…shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Oh, Ethan.” Remorse coursed through her for withholding, with or without intention, the history of her real self. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“Well.” Ethan stared into the dwindling fire and nodded his understanding. “I’m just glad you’re not married.” A puff of a laugh escaped his nose. “The whole hike, I went over and over it in my head. I kept telling myself to get over you. But in the back of my mind, I kept thinking: dammit, I really like you.”

Above the hum of his uncertainty, I really like you boomed through a megaphone. Her heart somersaulted. He really liked her! “Me, too,” Meg managed. “I really like you, too.”

And when she matched his firelight-flecked gaze, Ethan smiled, full on this time; a smile that reached his eyes and said, I forgive you. I understand you . Little ice crystals around her heart tinkled as they thawed.

A sizzling hiss and a pop sent a spark shooting from the fire. Overhead, the sky had darkened to indigo, and two stars poked through the blanket of the night. Light as a feather’s touch, his hand rested on hers, his fingertips folding into the soft skin of her palm. Each of them stilled, listening to the amplified crackling of the fire and the harmony of their synchronized breathing. She felt the delicious charge trickling like electricity between them.

For a long moment they watched the dwindling fire. “Look at those coals,” Ethan said, his voice hushed as a heartbeat. His lips were near enough to her hair that her scalp tingled with arousal. “It’s like a light show.”

When he turned his face toward hers, she could hardly bear it. She longed for a kiss that would heal their hurts and seal them together. But she did not move toward him. Not yet. She wanted to hang on to this moment. She did not want to stir the stars.

And then Ethan drew back, leaving a sensory shadow on her hand. “You ready to get settled in for the night?”

She kept her voice light while her body fought off the adrenaline. “Sure.”

“Good.” Rising to his feet, Ethan doused the fire, simultaneously extinguishing her hopes for rekindling the fleeting fire between them. He stepped into the thick blackness of the woods behind her. “I’ll be right back.”

Meg stood there listening to the crunch of his footsteps behind her, feeling every bit as charred as the smoldering logs, wondering, as she waited, why she had withheld such an important sliver of her past, how she had splintered the trust between them so easily, and how difficult it would be to repair the damage.

Ethan spoke, his voice carrying through the trees.

“Okay. You can turn around now,” he said, and she twisted to look behind her, amazed by what had been there all along in the darkness.