Page 33 of All the Ways You Save Me
The man’s eyes widen, his expression transforming from detached concern into one that must mirror my own. The look of someone who’s seen a ghost.
I lean into his solid frame, closing my eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against my cheek as he takes another breath. My thoughts veer in all directions as I sift through a thousand memories of my adolescence, of being in Adam’s arms, of this place that feels like home. Could this be him? Am I really back here again? “Adam,” I repeat.
Abruptly, he lets go of me and takes two full steps backward. A cool breeze blows off the ocean, through my soaking dress, and without his warmth, I shiver.
“Who is Adam?” He stares at me with absolutely no emotion, and for a moment, I wonder if I imagined the shock and recognition I saw on his face a moment ago.
“I… You’re…” I step closer. “You’re Adam. You must be.”
He steps back. “Sorry. I don’t know anyone named Adam.My name is Garrett.” He squints, tilting his head as if he’s a doctor examining me for a head injury. “You really got tossed around in those waves. Should I call a paramedic?”
What is happening right now? I wave my hand as if that will clear his words from the air. “No. No, you’re…”Adam. Is he?I stare at the man in front of me. He’s a decade older—yes. But helooks so much like Adam.His shoulders are broader, but he’s close to thirty now. His face is tanner… but of course it would be. The last time I saw him it was winter, and now we’re standing on the beach in the sunshine. But those eyes. Those blue eyes, the depth of them, the intensity. He can’t smooth out the intensity of his eyes like he smoothed out the shock of seeing me.
“Miss?” he prompts.
“No, I don’t need a paramedic.” Why is he calling meMiss? Why is he pretending he doesn’t know me? Why is he calling himselfGarrett?
He rubs his hands across his forehead, as if a headache is forming. “What about a friend? Do you want me to call someone to come and get you?”
“I don’t need you to call anyone. I need you to tell me your real name.” I take a step toward him, and unbelievably, he takes another step back.
“Uhhh… my name is Garrett. Are you sure you’re okay?” He looks so confused and concerned now that for a moment, I hesitate.
Is it possible he’s not Adam?I shake my head. No, he must be Adam. There is no way that there is a man in this world who looks this similar. Especially one standing on the beach where I grew up.
“I…” Weirdly, I find myself looking tohimfor reassurance, the way I used to look to Adam all those years ago. “You look so much like him.”
He blinks slowly. “I look like this Adam person?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s…” He waves a hand like he’s waiting for more information.
“Someone I used to know.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “And why don’t you still know him?”
“He died.” My voice wavers and tears spring to my eyes. “He died tragically, a long time ago.”
The lines around his eyes deepen, and for a moment, a pained expression crosses his face. He raises his arms slightly, as if he’s going to reach for me. But then his hands ball into fists, and he drops them to his sides. “That sucks about your friend.” He shrugs, cold, detached again. “But sorry to say that I’m not him, risen from the dead.”
It occurs to me how unhinged I sound right now. If the man in front of me isn’t Adam, what does he think of me?Except he must be Adam.He’s sofamiliar.
“You look exactly like him.”
He gives a half-laugh. “They say we all have a doppelgänger or two somewhere in the world. I guess you just ran into your friend Andy’s.” He rakes a hand through his hair, just like Adam used to.
“It’s Adam.”
He reaches up to grasp a strap hanging from his wetsuit, unzipping it down to his navel. My gaze flies to the expanse of tan chest and then slides lower, taking in his flat abs and the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his wetsuit. A shiver comes over me that has nothing to do with the wet, clinging dress I’m wearing. I probably pictured what Adam might have grown up to look like about a thousand times, but my imagination didn’t even come close to doing him justice.
He clears his throat, and I drag my gaze from hisabs to find him watching me with one eyebrow raised, his expression so like the way Adam used to look when he found me amusing that it nearly steals the breath from my lungs.
“If you’re not Adam, then why did you look so surprised when you saw me earlier?”
“Only because you were acting so strangely.” His shoulders lift in a shrug. “And if you’re sure you’re okay from your battle with the waves back there, and you don’t need me to call anyone, I should be going.” And with that, he turns and heads toward a surfboard abandoned a few feet away in the sand.
I take a step to follow him, and a sharp pain shoots through my heel. That seashell I stepped on must have cut my foot. He grabs the surfboard and hurries toward the dunes.
