Playing for Love at Deep Haven (27 page)

Mrs. Smalley
nodded sadly, then extended her hand across the desk in a gesture of farewell.
Violet nodded back, grateful for the unspoken peace between them, and took it.

Chapter 19

For the first
time since
Shep’s
death, the terrible guilt, the
awful heaviness, had lifted. Although she would always grieve
Shep
, who’d been a shelter from the emotional storm of
Zach’s rejection, Violet would finally be able to say good-bye to him now and
move on with her life. She had given him happiness, and he had given her
comfort, and somehow that was enough.

She rolled down
the window and turned up the heat, enjoying the cool breeze while her toes
stayed warm. She was going to give Zach his song tonight and, if her courage
didn’t fail her, tell him that she loved him, that he was, is, and would always
be the only one for her. Her heart pounded at the thought, but she hushed it.

There was a part
of her that wished they hadn’t gotten quite so serious quite so fast, so she
could have caught her breath.
When, Vi?
When he kissed you the first or the second time and you stayed at Deep Haven?
When he carried you to his bed and you welcomed him into your body? After the
concert when you could have held onto your uncertainty and anger but instead
you spent four heavenly days in front of the fire in his arms? When would you
have liked it to slow down? And if you wanted it to slow down, why didn’t you
push him away?

She knew the
answer.

She wouldn’t
have changed anything. Not a moment in his arms or a second in his company. It
was about courage now. It was about finding the courage to say what she needed
to say—what he needed to hear. At last they had time, plenty of time together
to figure it all out. She took a deep breath and smiled.

Her
iPhone
cut through the white noise of the wind, and she
glanced down at an unfamiliar 212 number. Who did she know in New York? She
pressed the talk button.

“Hello?”

“Is this Violet
Smith?”

She rolled up
the window quickly, turning up the Bluetooth on her stereo speaker. “Speaking.”

“Smith, this is
Herman Healey from Masterson House.”

Her heart
started racing and she gasped lightly as her adrenaline kicked in, making her
feel tingly and over-excited.

“M-Mr. Healey.
Yes. Hello.”

“I’m one of the
senior editors here, and one of my assistants found your poetry collection
tod
—um, a week or so ago. Great stuff. I’m impressed.”

“Oh, Mr. Healey,
you have no idea what that means to me!”

“We don’t do a
whole lot of poetry collections, but you have a unique voice.”

“Thank you,
sir.”

“They need
edits. And we’d need a few more, perhaps, for the first volume.”

A first volume? Implying there could be more than
one?
Her hands started shaking, so she pulled over.

“You have more, Smith?
Poems?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, that’s
excellent. Who’s your agent? I don’t see one listed here on your contact
information.”

“No agent, sir.”

“But you’ve been
published before?”

“A work of
fiction. With a small press.” Her voice felt thin and emotional. She wished she
could calm down and sound more professional.

“Ah-ha. Well, I
guess I just contract directly with you, then. Forty thousand okay? For the
advance?”

Violet’s breath
came out in a single, violent puff that made her dizzy.
Forty thousand?
That was
twice
her advance for
Us After We
,
which was the sequel to a book that had fared well in the marketplace. She
couldn’t contain the rush of excitement she felt at his words. He must have
loved her work to offer her so much!

“And seven
percent royalties too, of course, on the hardcover sales. Standard, you know.”

Her eyes burned
with tears, and all she wanted was to race to Zach, to watch his face as she
told him her incredible news. He’d always believed in her, even when she hadn’t
believed in herself. The thought made her eyes flood with tears.

“You still there,
Smith?”

“Y-yes, Mr.
Healey. Yes, that would be fine,” she managed. “I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“Well, you’ve got
talent, Smith. Real talent. This Greenwich address still valid? I’ll send out
the contract ASAP. Can you be in New York next week? Come meet with me? We’re
old school. We like a face-to-face with our new authors.”

“Next week is
fine,” she said, remembering she now had somewhere, and someone, to stay with
in New York.

“That’s just
terrific. Good stuff, Smith. We’ll set it all up. Keep writing.”

“Good-bye, Mr.
Healey.”

“Good-bye.”

The phone
clicked off, and Violet looked at her hands resting in her lap. They trembled
lightly, so she clapped them together, and out of nowhere she started giggling.
Giggling and clapping, with tears falling down her face. She’d sold her first
book of poems. To a major New York publisher! She barely even needed the
songwriting money now. She’d be able to pay back her advance, buy out her
Us After We
contract and still have some
cash leftover. For new beginnings. For a fresh start with an old love, her only
love.

She turned the
key and put the pedal to the metal. She couldn’t wait to tell Zach. Peace with
Mrs. Smalley, a poetry contract with Masterson, and Zach Aubrey, who loved her,
back in her life.
It doesn’t get any
sweeter,
she thought, watching the Maine seascape whiz by.
It doesn’t get any sweeter than this.

***

Zach pulled his packed
duffel bags into the front hallway, then went back in his bedroom to pack up
his keyboard. He wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye, but he wouldn’t be
able to bear a long, drawn-out farewell either. Best just to tell her they
turned down the songs and gave him the chance at a good-paying gig, which would
also give her the space she needed to figure out what she wanted.

He zipped up the
black nylon keyboard case and looked around the room. Barely a sign he’d been
there now, but he remembered the first time they’d made love in this house, the
way she’d taken the condom out of his hand so gently. He clenched his jaw,
swallowing down the lump in his throat. Leaving her sat like lead in his
stomach. Was there any other way?

No. You can’t tell her the truth. She can’t know
that you’re going on tour in exchange for her contract. And face it, Zach, she
can’t even tell you “I love you.” She needs time, and you need to go on tour,
or she’ll be broke and stuck with writing a book she doesn’t have the heart to
write. You’re doing this for her. You’re doing this because you love her. You
stay the fucking course.

“Zach? Zach?”

He heard her
excited voice in the front foyer. Herman Healey had offered her the contract.
It was done. He could tell from her tone. A high C-major, full of hope, full of
joy.

She peeked her
head into his room. “Oh my God! Zach! You’ll never guess what happened!”

For the rest of
his life, especially if he lost her, he’d remember her face in the doorway of a
bedroom at Deep Haven. She was Deep Haven Violet now, fully restored to her
beauty and freedom, more mature than she’d been in college, more open than
she’d been in Greenwich. Bright brown eyes shining, her glorious mane of dark
hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, her smile totally focused on him in
confidence and expectation. She was so beautiful, it hurt his heart. It crumpled
his heart into a mangled blob of bleeding flesh. The lump in his throat tripled,
and he forced a smile.

“Why don’t you
tell me?”

Her brows
furrowed lightly as she took in his face. Her glance skittered uneasily to the
keyboard all packed up on the bed. She must have been so excited she missed the
packed bags in the hall.

“I got a, um, a
contract. From Masterson.”

“That’s
amazing,” he said, still standing across the room from her. He realized he was
rubbing his wrist and dropped his hands, shoving them into his back pockets.

Her eyes
registered confusion, the joy fading. He was a fucking bastard for doing this
to her. He hated himself.

“Are you, um,
are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” he
sighed, trying to sound casual and probably failing. He picked up his backpack
off the floor and slung it over his shoulder, then reached for the handle of
the keyboard case. “I got a gig.”

Her face fell.
Fell. His heart twisted like a helix.

“A gig? A tour?
Are you—”

He couldn’t bear
it. He moved around the bed and brushed by her. “Yeah.”

She followed him
out to the foyer.

“Turns out they
didn’t want the songs, but they do need a guitarist for the Mechanics tour.
European leg.”

“Wait. Stop for
a second. They didn’t want our songs?”

He turned to
face her, keeping himself from reaching out to touch her, keeping himself from
pulling her into his arms and telling her everything.

“No, baby,” he
said, his face carefully neutral as he lied to her. “But our songs are too good
for them. I’ll sell them eventually. I’ll let you know when I do.”

In a month or
so, he’d tell her that Cornerstone had bought the songs without an advance and
they’d split the royalties. If she’d turned her back on him by then, it would
be an excuse to get in contact with her again.

“B-but why? Why
are you going? I don’t understand why you’re leaving. You didn’t want that
life. You didn’t want to tour with Cornerstone anymore. Is this because of me?
Did I get you back into that life by writing songs for them? If it hadn’t been
for me, you wouldn’t have had any contact with them! You would have just
written your rock opera and—”

He dropped the
bags roughly and pulled her into his arms. He ran his hands over her back,
trying to memorize what she felt like against him. He whispered fiercely into
her ear, “I didn’t protect our deal by getting it in writing. It’s not your
fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He leaned back,
catching her sad, glassy eyes, and lowered his lips to hers, forcing them open
so he could taste her mouth one final time, memorizing her taste and texture,
the small moan as their tongues danced, the way she leaned into him. When he
pulled back from her, he was wild, breathless.

Her eyes were
guarded and her countenance crushed. “You’re leaving. What about us?”

He took her
hand, pulling her into the living room and tugging her down next to him on the
couch. “Violet. I think you need some time.”

“What? Why?”

“Baby, I’ve been
ripping out my heart for two weeks, reassuring you in any way I can, but you
can’t even say you love me back. Every time I try to bring up a future
together, you get skittish. I think we’re in different places. I think you need
some time to figure out what you want. And in the meantime, I can make some
money . . . while I give you the space you need.”

Although he
still held her hands, she leaned back from him, and his breath caught from the
pain on her face.

“They didn’t
want our songs so you’re running away. You’re selling out and blaming me!
You’re walking away from your dreams just like you walked away from me. Just
like you’re walking away from me right now! You promised you’d never do that
again!” Tears coursed down her face, and she yanked her hands away from him.

And he was the
biggest bastard who ever lived for hurting her like this, but there was no
other way to give her the life she wanted. He took a deep breath, trying to
stay in control of himself.

“Violet?” His
voice was low and sharp and decisive. He brought his hands to her face, pushing
her tears away with his thumbs before holding her face firmly and demanding she
look at him. “You own me.”

He reached down and
pulled one of her hands roughly to his heart, forcing it to flatten on his
chest when she tried to pull her fist away. “Nothing changes that. I’m not
walking away from you. I love you. I want you. I’m giving
you
some space to figure out if
you
want me, if
you
can
love me back.”

“I do, Zach,”
she sobbed, her fingers curling into his shirt over his heart.

“You do what?”
he whispered, looking at her, capturing her brown eyes. She stared back at him,
her face a mask of pain.

“I was almost
ready . . .” she murmured through tears.

He released her
hand gently, kissing her palm before standing up. “I’ll be back in two months. If
you can love me back, come find me.”

He picked up his
bags and headed out the front door, leaning everything against the SUV as he
popped the trunk.
You have to go. You
have to go. You have to get away from her because this is un-fucking-bearable.

“Why is it so
important to you? They’re just words! Just fucking words!” she half sobbed,
half yelled as she followed him. Her face was furious and red now and she had
her fisted hands on her hips standing on the front steps.