Nothing.
No signal.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and made a mad dash to my room.
Bundling up, I grabbed my ski coat left from God knows when, and I grabbed everything possible to that would keep me warm from the incoming storm. With my flashlight in tow, I opened the front door.
It was the type of quiet one expects in the middle of nature. The type of solace where tree branches knocked and trunks hummed from wind.
The ice was falling heavier now and I secured my hood to brace the storm.
I trekked down the driveway to the security guard’s base. A twenty-four-hour officer guarded the estate at all times.
“Can I help you, Mrs. Rainshaw?”
My heart dropped to my toes. I did get that sometimes. People often said my mom and I were sisters. After all, why wouldn’t I be confused for her? I was never there at the Manor. The staff probably forgot I even existed! But just hearing that last name, my cheeks flushed and I felt like a little silly schoolgirl playing M.A.S.H., trying on your crush’s last name.
“Actually, it's Kate.”
“Oh, forgive me. I'm sorry, I thought your mother had taken a Xanax and a sleeping pill and maybe drank too much and was now walking around in a sleepy, drunken oblivion.”
“Well as you know, that did happen on—”
“Season two,” he cut in and finished for me, his jolly laughter lifting the air like Christmas magic.
It was a hilarious moment in which my mother really caused a scene while she was on one of those Housewives trips. One that the entire world saw, that took me awhile to lighten up to and actually think it was hilarious, as well.
“I’m, um… looking for Bradley. Have you seen him?”
“You know, I did. He said he was going running, that he needed to clear his mind. And given what happened with his father I didn't even think it strange.”
My teeth clattered. Worry mixed with terror traveled down my spine of the thought of him in a gutter somewhere. Or frozen to death, like an icicle.
“Yeah, but that was like an hour ago, I think.”
“Well, he does do those Iron Man competitions.”
“He does?”
I mean of course he does. With a body like that, at least the one I saw on the cover of People magazine. Smoking, sizzling hot. Every muscle had its own shiny place to be seen across that tight core and limbs, and chest…and calves…and…I cleared my throat. I had a thing for pecs, washboard abs, and that edge on the sides. God help me.
“Well, I'm kind of worried about him. I think I'm going to look for him. Which way did he go?
He pointed to the left. “He went that way, but of course you know these Hampton trails, so I don't know where he could be.”
More panic flooded my chest. “With the freezing weather, he could have collapsed on the side of the road with hypothermia or something.” Finally my fears became public.
“You’re the writer, right?”
Taken aback by the comment I looked down at my feet for a beat. “No, I'm just a student in grad school.”
“Well, everybody was really proud of you for publishing that one piece. But I can tell with that wild imagination of yours that it's time to put your speculation at ease. Let’s go look for him.”
Moments later we were in his car driving down dark, dark, dark streets from the power outages. We rolled down the windows so we could get a better look instead of squinting through the fogged-up windows. The tires crunched the ice and the first fresh snowfall. The roads were slick and I feared that we were going to crash off the road, but we drove very, very slowly.
After minutes of driving, my worst fear came to life; there he was on the side of the road. Lying down, not moving.
Oh my God.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Claire's words instantly rang in my head. “Don't let too much time pass and harden your heart.”
I was too late. It was my fault. I should've been there for him. I should have been softer, not so damn hard and judgmental. Tears pooled in my eyes as I ran out of the car, running like a bat out of hell.
Bradley I shouted. “Bradley!!!” I shouted out like a starlet from a Stephen King film. My entire being was covered in absolute horror and fear.
He moaned.
Oh thank God, he speaks! But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? He was obviously in pain as he moaned.
Panic surged. Was he hit by a car? Was he dying?
“Oh thank God, you're alive. Oh my God!” I was by his side inspecting his body for blood. Mr. Jackson’s headlights lit the scene.
Moaning, he rolled around on his back and looked up at me. He reached for my face with his gloved hand as a slow smirk appeared on his face.
I quickly wiped at the tears, embarrassed, but he didn't miss a beat.
It felt like a moment that lasted for an eternity. Our moment. This moment. But then suddenly Mr. Jackson was by Bradley’s side.
“Mr. Rainshaw, let me help you up.”
“I’m afraid I’ve twisted my ankle pretty badly.”
“Here. Let me help you,” he continued.
As soon as he was lifted, I was aware of his absence.
I reached for his backpack but it was so heavy I could barely lift it. It was stuffed to the max.
Mr. Jackson came to my rescue once Bradley was set inside the car.
“Were you weight training there, running around with this thing?” he joked. “Miss Kate, please sit in the front. I put Bradley in the back so he can immediately elevate his ankle.”
Once the doors were shut and mystery was solved, the heater warmed my worried bones instantly.
Bradley murmured in pain, “There's just one thing I would like to do right now. Soak in the hot tub. But the fucking generator decided to bust.
“Oh, not true. It’s up and running now,” I informed him.
It was beginning to look like a winter wonderland with the mysterious icicles hanging from trees, the cold air and the silence that hung. It filled the air with a mystique and I couldn’t help but also feel an excited jolt of expectation of what the morning may bring. That is, if I didn’t crash from fatigue and jet lag.
“I’ll buzz Mr. Fox and have it warm and running for you at once, sir. Anything else?”
“Scotch, please.” He winced in pain. “And a bucket of ice to ice this blasted thing while I soak.”
“A bottle of champagne please. Uh, for mimosas,” I quickly added to the mix.
I could feel all of their perplexed faces on me. I never, ever had a single request.
Well, if we were going to do this, have this talk, if I was going to see what he really meant behind those words he uttered to me, hell yeah. Bottoms up.
I wanted to ask him what he was doing
running so intensely, with such training. I wanted to tell him I would join him. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for his father’s death, for not forgiving him, for him not being able to share what really happened. To apologize for all the lost time. So much I wanted to say and yet it was as if the trees were not the only thing frozen over; my tongue wouldn’t work.
The Rainshaw manor terrace was not just your typical terrace. Designed for sleek opulence yet efficient usability for the insane parties and functions they would host, there was more than just one hot tub surrounding their grand Olympic sized pool.
One hot tub in particular was near the outdoor kitchen, close to a gigantic flat screen television. It was perfect for the men to watch all their sporting games.
It was also perfect for filming my mother’s reality show. Their home was the largest ever featured on the network.
We made our way back to the manor where we were greeted by Mr. Fox, who had crutches awaiting Bradley. Forget service at the Four Seasons, the Rainshaws’ staff were the best of the best.
Standing in the grand foyer underneath a dazzling chandelier, Bradley stripped out of his wet clothes down to his boxer briefs while leaning against the men. I nearly fell over from the shock of it all. I mean, sure I had entertained perhaps joining him outside, but there he was. Right next to me nearly naked without an ounce of body fat. And hot damn, did he look sexy as hell. And his ankle was swelling by the minute.
“Oh my God.” I covered my shock of seeking his nearly naked body suddenly with the fake awareness of his swelling of his ankle. I had to remember to point, to point at his package. I shook my head, I mean…to point at his ankle to match my confession.
“You were worried about me, huh?”
Shy and feeling the heat on my cheeks from blushing, my eyes dashed down to his backpack as a book slid out.
It was a Thoreau history book.
“Why…why do you have a Thoreau book apparently from the Hampton library?”
“Help yourself,” he said without a care in the world. “I figured you could use the help since the ‘net is down.”
My heart raced to my ears.