Page 3 of Someone Like You
A terrible, cancerous, all-consuming lie.
2
Wind and water sprayed Dawson Gage’s face as he leaned into his Jet Ski and tore across Portland’s frigid Columbia River that sunny May afternoon. Dawson locked in on the back of the female rider a few yards in front of him, focused on the way she flew over the water. He couldn’t catch her no matter how hard he tried. Not here on the river. Not in life. Not since high school. Whatever he did, he could never quite catch her.
London Quinn.
The machine was louder than her laughter, but Dawson could hear it all the same, the music and harmony of it. Her long brown hair whipped across her pretty face and every half minute she glanced back at him. Those amber eyes all lit up with the ride and the cold water, with her love for life and whatever this was the two of them shared.
Whatever it had always been.
She made a sweeping arc, and as she headed toward the other shore Dawson caught a glimpse of her smile. In the time it took him to wipe the spray from his face, he could see the younger London again. Second day of their senior class trip the week after high school graduation. They had flown from Portland to Los Angeles to spend a day at Disneyland. The park’s annual Grad Night.
And there, sometime before midnight in an hour-longline for Space Mountain, as they weaved their way through the dimly lit futuristic tunnels toward the ride, Dawson had done something he hadn’t planned on doing. He had taken her hand. Without saying a word, he eased his fingers between hers, and she did the same. They stood there that night, side by side, inching along, so no one saw their hands, not even their friends in line with them.
Then, before they climbed into the roller coaster, she leaned close and whispered, “Don’t fall in love with me, Dawson Gage.” Her sparkling eyes held his for a long moment. “Promise.”
Dawson chuckled, but he could still feel the way his heart had pounded in his chest. “Don’t worry, London.” He had grinned. He’d been an eighteen-year-old kid and saving face took precedent over honesty. “I’m not looking to fall in love with you.”
That was ten years ago. It was the only time he ever lied to her.
The memory lifted with the next spray of river water. Dawson waited till she looked back at him again, and he made a circle motion over his head. He didn’t have to yell. She knew what that meant. Back to the pier. He had an investor dinner that night with his father and a few executives from the firm. Time to bring it in.
Dawson’s house sat on the Vancouver side of the Columbia River, making him a Washington State resident, even though he worked in Portland. In the last five years, Gage Development had singlehandedly transformed the waterfront on both sides of the river. Properties had been remodeled and replaced, high-end tenants clamored for space, and prices were at an all-time high.
And Dawson had been a major part of all of that.
They docked the Jet Skis and peeled off their wet suits. She slid her bare arm free and cast him a look. “How long have you lived here?”
She was playing with him, after all she’d been here when he bought the place. He rolled his eyes and stifled a laugh. “I know … I know.”
“Three years, you say?” Her arm brushed against his as she stepped free of the wet suit. She adjusted her bikini, her attention still on him.
Dawson shifted his gaze to the house. “Three years. Yeah, yeah. And in all that time I only beat you across that river twice.” He shook his head and turned his back to her. London danced for a living and she was easily the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Long ago he’d learned not to stare. A chill ran over his body. Bare chest and flimsy shorts were no match for a Northwest afternoon.
Even when the sky was clear.
“It’s freezing.” His clothes were a few yards up the dock. But before he could make a move toward them, he felt her hand on his shoulder.
“Dawson.” Her fingers were silk on his skin.
A quick glance over his shoulder. “Don’t worry … I’ll beat you next time.”
“No, not that.” She came around to the front of him. “Look at you.” She raised her eyebrows. “CrossFit should make you their poster boy. Your six-pack’s an eight-pack.”
“Funny.” His quiet laugh filled the space. He could feel her eyes on him as he pointed to her sweats folded nearby. “Get dressed, crazy girl. Cold’s getting to your head.”
“Okay.” She did a low whistle. “Remind me again why we’re just friends?”
Only you can answer that one,he thought. But he kept that to himself as he pulled his sweatshirt on and stepped into his jeans. Better to pretend he hadn’t heard her, because she wasn’t serious. She was currently dating another guy. Dawson couldn’t remember his name. There was a different one every month or so.
London was dressed now, and the two of them walked up the dock, onto Dawson’s back deck. The place had been a fixer-upper, something thrown in on one of his father’s deals. His dad gave it to him as soon as they signed papers on the deal. “It’ll take a year of work and half your salary,” his father had told him. “But it has a ton of potential.”
Now London hesitated before they stepped inside. “I still can’t believe what you did with the place.” She smiled. “It’s the house everyone wants. You know that.”
“Thanks.” He walked her out front to her Honda and they hugged a little longer than necessary. The way they always did. “See you tonight?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes softened. “I wouldn’t miss it. Grad Night Anniversary.”
