Playing for Love at Deep Haven (5 page)

“Yeah, I know.
I’m not making excuses for them or anything. PCP. That was your life.”

PCP. Practice, compose,
perform. Anything else, like being a normal kid, got him a whack in the head
from his father and zero sympathy from his mother. And if he cried out? It
earned him another smack because then he was an ungrateful whiner who wasn’t a
good steward of his God-given gifts. So he learned how to keep his feelings
hidden deep inside, locked away in the depths of his cold heart . . . until a
free-spirited
poet unlocked the door, shining
sunlight and warmth into the dark, lonely space.

“I don’t want to
discuss it,” he said. “So if they’re not dying or something,
why’re
you
going
home? You don’t like it there any more than I do.”

Cora may not
have been pressured or hit as much as Zach, but she hadn’t been treated with a
whole lot of love either. She was an afterthought, mostly ignored, unless she
convinced Zach to blow off PCP and be a normal kid for a while. Those times,
she was called a “conniver” and felt the shoe on her cheek with the same force
that Zach did.

“Oh! Didn’t I tell
you? I got the job up by them. The Bolton Castle restoration project.”

She sounded
casual, but Zach knew exactly how much this job meant to his sister. She’d been
lobbying for a job restoring a turn-of-the-century castle up near their folks for
the better part of a year. The island where the castle ruins were located had
been their favorite place to play hooky as kids. The place was special to her—to
both of them.

“Hey,
Cor
, that’s great. Really great. Bolton Castle. Wow. I’m
proud of you.”

“What’s up with
you?” she asked with the blunt directness of a twin.

“What?”

“Your voice is
all distracted and flat. It’s weird.”

“It’s
not
weird.”

“We shared a
womb, dipshit. If I say I hear weird, I hear weird. What’s going on? You regret
blowing off that Savage Sons gig? Principles, Zachariah. You’re doing the right
thing.”

He took a deep
breath. Did he want Cora in his business? Not really, but he didn’t have a long
list of people he could talk to.

“
Cor
, you remember that girl in college? Violet?”

“Violet, who was
the catalyst for you transferring to Juilliard halfway through your sophomore
year? Violet, who you cried and bitched about every time you got fall-down drunk
for about five years after that? Violet who married the preppy frat guy? Yeah,
Zach. Violet rings a bell.”

“I never cried
about her.” He was already regretting his decision to talk to Cora about this.

“Fine. You
didn’t actually cry. But you did bitch, if memory serves.” She sounded so much
like their father for a second his hands curled into fists. He only relaxed
when she continued in a softer tone. “So, what
about
Princess Violet?”

“She didn’t
marry the preppy frat guy. She’s here.”

“She’s where?”

“
Here.
In Maine. We showed up at the same house.”

“What are you
talking about, you ‘showed up at the same house’? On purpose? I mean, when did
you hook up with her again? Why don’t you tell me these things?”

“Cora, shut up
and listen to me. John’s going through a divorce, and his ex, Lena is in some
ladies club in Greenwich with Violet. She scammed Violet out of a thousand
bucks and told her she could use the house at the same time John told me
I
could use it. I couldn’t fucking
believe it when I got here. And then I saw her eyes, and I . . . I mean . . .”

“Holy shit!” Cora
said.

“Yeah.”

“Whoa.”

“I know!”

“How does she
look?”

“Beautiful.”

Cora laughed.
“No, I mean . . . the same?”

“Completely
different, at first—”

“Well, that
makes two of you.”

“—but then, I
don’t know. The longer I stared at her, the more I could
see
her, you know? Like, recognize her.”

“Fate, Zach,
fate. That’s what this is.”

For someone as
pragmatic as Cora, she had an inordinate amount of faith in fate. It bugged the
shit out of him. Although, in this instance, he couldn’t help wondering if she
was right.

“So, did you
talk to her?” Cora asked.

“I talked to her,
yeah, after I finally realized who she was. I was surprised as hell. Really
thrown, you know? Then she left to go find a hotel.”

“Huh.” Long
pause. “
Kinda
don’t blame her for leaving, Zach. You
did a number on her.”

“Thanks. I
really need to hear that.”

“I mean, she
poured out her heart to you, and you walked away. And not for nothing, but it’s
not like you’ve evolved a ton since. I’ve never even seen you
in
a relationship.”

“Oh, are you the
poster child for healthy, mature relationships, now,
Cor
?
How many have you had? One? None? Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“We’re not
talking about me, douche bag. Do you want my advice or what?”

He heard Cora
take a deep breath and sigh. He knew she was counting backward from ten, so he
used the time to look out the front windows again. Still no headlights.

“Fine,” he said.
“I want your advice.”

“I’m going to
assume—and it’s not much of a stretch, since we both know you never got over
her—that you’d like to explore this twist of fate?”

“Yeah. I want to
explore it.”

“Okay. Listen.
You know I’m no expert on love, for
chrissake
, but
maybe this is the universe’s way of giving you a second chance. You know, to
change the past. And not be terrified if you still feel something for her.”

If?
If
was blown out of the water the minute he’d caught her brown eyes in the dome
light of his rental car. She was Violet. He’d never
stopped
feeling something for her.

“Just see what
happens. Take it slow. A lot of time has passed. You need to get to know her
again. Let her know that you’re sorry for what you did to her. See if there’s
any chance she might . . .” Her voice was low and awkward when she spoke again,
like having another chance with Violet was as good as a snowball’s chance in
hell. “It’s been a lot of years, Zach. And you broke her heart. Bad.”

He winced,
cradling the phone against his shoulder. He didn’t want to think about hurting
her at Yale. He wanted to think about how to get her to stay if she came back.
Because maybe Cora was right. Maybe this was a second chance. The hope that
made his heart thump faster should have scared him to death, but it didn’t. And
maybe it was the Scotch talking, but he
wanted
to see if fate had a second chance in store for Zach Aubrey and Violet Smith.

That is, if she
could see past how he’d treated her that Sunday evening nine years ago when
he’d looked into her eyes and lied to her. When he’d told her that he saw her
as a friend, and while he appreciated that her feelings for him had grown and
changed, his hadn’t. He cringed, remembering her crushed, tear-streaked face as
he left her in bed, pulling on jeans and leaving the room. It was, hands down, the
worst memory of his life, and he hadn’t exactly had a warm, nurturing childhood
with lots of great moments.

“I know I hurt
her,” he muttered, peeking out the window again. His heart leaped as he saw
headlights brighten up the driveway.

She was back.

“
Cor
, I
gotta
go.”

“Okay,
Za
—”

He hung up and
ran his hands through his hair, taking one of the omnipresent black rubber
bands from his wrist to make a neat little tail at the back of his neck. Remembering
the troubled way she’d checked out his piercings, he removed his ear, nose, and
eyebrow rings, grimacing with his haste as he shoved them into his back pocket.
His hands started sweating, and he rubbed them against his pants.
Dammit
. He’d played stadiums with thousands of people and
kept his cool. No woman in the world could make him feel nineteen again. Only
Violet.

Don’t fuck this up, Zach.

Instead of
waiting for her to ring the bell or knock, he opened the front door, crossing
his arms and leaning against the doorway. She parked her
Prius
beside his rental and slammed her door shut, car keys jingling in her hand.

“No hotels?” he
asked, trying to sound casual.

“Nope. Closest
one is an hour away. Or a boat ride. You got a boat, Zach?”

She stood with
her arms crossed over her hot pink sweater, looking annoyed. With her green
pants and pink polka-dotted flip-flops, she looked like she was headed to a
golf club for martinis.
It doesn’t matter
,
he reminded himself.
This is Violet.
He
didn’t give a shit what her clothes looked like. That sort of stuff had never
mattered to him. Not with her.

“That mean you’re
staying here?”

“I did pay for
the privilege,” she observed, her tone salty and her smile fake. “Zach . . .”

“I’ll get your
bags.” He didn’t let her finish. He didn’t want her to second-guess her
decision. He just wanted her to stay.

He hopped down
the two front steps, and she popped open the trunk. It took three pulls to get
her massive suitcase out, then he threw the two smaller duffel bags over his
shoulder.

“What the hell
do you have in here? An anvil? Several small children?” He dragged the suitcase
awkwardly over the gravel driveway as she followed behind.

“Two weeks’
worth of clothes and my second laptop and a bunch of books I’ve been meaning to
read. Zach, I—”

“Look, the
layout is three bedrooms and a sitting room upstairs and one bedroom down here.
I took the one down here because I figured the upstairs could be totally yours.
Does that work?”

“You knew I’d be
back?”

I hoped.

He barely dared
to look at her, shrugging as he kept his eyes down. He yanked twice to get the
suitcase up the two front steps, wondering how in the hell she’d thought she
was going to maneuver the beast by herself, and glad he could be there to help
her.

“Okay fine. I’ll
take the upstairs. But, Zach—”

“And we can just
use the kitchen and deck and living room sort of as shared space. But I promise
I won’t bother you if that’s what you want. I’ll be writing. Downstairs.
There’s a recording studio. I’ll stay out of your hair, and—”

“Zach!”

He rested her
suitcase against the newel post at the foot of the stairs and put her two
duffel bags beside it in a neat pile on the floor. She had closed the front
door and was standing against it with her hands on her small hips, frowning at
him.

“What?”

“I have a room
at the White Swan on Tuesday. This is only temporary. Just for a few nights, so
don’t worry, I’m not staying.”

His heart sank
like an anchor in the harbor. He wouldn’t have much time with her, after all. The
disappointment constricted his chest and he clenched his jaw, grinding once,
twice. She stood watching him with wide, challenging eyes, not moving from her
position against the door. He took a step toward her, brushing his thumb over
his lower lip as his eyes connected with hers.

“Violet.” He
took another step, then another, until he stood in her space, directly in front
of her. She didn’t try to slide away, but her breathing changed and her chest
lifted more rapidly. He leaned forward, and she blinked at him once from behind
those big old glasses that made her look so familiar, it hurt his heart. Made
it ache like something bruised or sprained or sorely out of use. He reached up
and tucked one stray hair back behind her ear, and she broke eye contact with
him, holding her breath, looking down.

“Stay,” he
whispered, his finger lingering on the hot skin behind her ear. “I just want to
get to know you again.”

Her mouth formed
an O as she let out a soft, unsteady breath. When she raised her eyes, they
were glassy, glistening, and exhausted, and he longed to open his arms to her,
but he didn’t.

Take it slow.
He could hear Cora’s voice in his
head, though his whole body rebelled against it after waiting almost a decade
to see Violet’s face again.

“Why? What’s the
point, Zach?” Her expression tried to be nonchalant, but she couldn’t conceal
the hurt and anger that flared up behind her eyes.

And just like
that, his strategy turned on a dime.
To
hell with scaring her away
. If her face told him nothing else, it told him
that she still felt something for him, too. And if he had only three days with
her, taking it slow wasn’t an option, was it?

“This is the
point,” he murmured, bending his head to kiss her.