Polar Plunge
Anton
The thought of Rose wearing a jersey that has anything but my name on the back makes my stomach clench to the point of physical pain.
She climbs out of the back of my truck with a scowl on her pretty face.
“You know, people always romanticize snow globes, talking about how they want to live inside one, but that’s a bunch of crap. This is the worst.” She peers at the sky as big, fat snowflakes drop down like pillow feathers, and she looks like she wants to shake her fist.
I hide my smile. Do I feel guilty for signing her up for the Polar Plunge without her consent? Slightly. I know she’s permanently cold, so this is probably her worst nightmare. But like I told her in California, I’m going to make her work for this interview. More than that, I want to find out if the woman I once knew and loved is still in there, buried under the layer of flippant dismissal she tossed my way when she was breaking my heart outside a beachside bungalow.
So far, and given the determined sparkle in her eyes, all signs point toward yes, and the little hum of hope that’s pulsing through my veins is turning into a full-blown song. She’s the same Rose—as deadpan as ever and not afraid to share her opinion. Perhaps she has a little more edge to her, some grit that she’s acquired, but as time passes, don’t we all?
“You asked for a full picture of my life. This is it.”
“Right.” She rolls her eyes, but the cutting effect is diminished because her teeth are chattering. “Let’s get this over with.”
We drop our extra clothes and cell phones into the assigned cubbies and walk up to the dock to wait in line.
“Anton Bates!” a woman squeals from nearby. I pause and say a couple words to her before begging off to make it to my jump in time. I feel Rose’s gaze on me during the entire interaction.
“You’re a natural with the fans.” She rubs her hands up and down her arms, shifting from one foot to the other.
I can’t help it. My chest puffs up at her compliment.
“They’re the reason I have my career. Giving them some of my time is the least I can do.”
“Some may say you could do less,” she says with a pointed look at the icy water.
I chuckle. “This is one of my favorite events.”
“Do any of your teammates participate?” She scans the crowds. “Or anyone else from the organization?”
“Nah. We all have our own things. One of the guys works with a local center for autism. Another does a lot with the homeless shelter. It makes more sense to work in the areas we’re passionate about rather than forcing people into commitments. Then they’d just be going through the motions.”
Rose stares me down. She looks like she wants to say something.
I give her a second, and when she doesn’t speak, I ask, “What’s going on inside that brain of yours?”
“Nothing. It’s frozen solid and incapable of forming a coherent thought.”
“Wait until you go under the water.” I laugh. “There’s nothing like it. The first time I did it, I figured it wouldn’t be so bad. I mean, I sit in ice baths every week. But the bay is a thousand percent colder. Plus, we’re outside, and all your adrenaline is pumping. It’s such a rush.”
Rose’s eyes are wide. “Not really selling this, Bates.” She darts her gaze around, as if looking for a way out, but we’re in the next line of plungers. A guy with a megaphone is calling out the names of the people in the line before us, and then he counts them down, and they leap off the end of the pier. The splash hits our legs.
Rose whimpers, and I grab for her hand.
She drops her gaze to where our skin is touching and then looks up at me. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t run off on me.” My voice sounds rougher than I intend. In the wind that kicks up, I can hear the faint echo of the word I left unspoken:again.
Rose squares her shoulders, that gritty flicker darkening the blue of her eyes. “I’m not going to bail on you.”
The recognition of Rose’s determination and competitive spirit stirs a long-dormant feeling of affection deep inside my chest. I tried to bury my feelings for her, but I never got rid of them. They’ve been lying in wait, ready to rise up like a phoenix. “That’s my girl.”
The words tumble out of my mouth without a thought, and Rose’s eyes bulge.
“I mean…” I swallow. “Not my girl. You’re not my girl. You made that very clear.”Goodnight, I’m babbling. I do not babble. I set my jaw. “Anyway, I appreciate you doing this.”
