Playing for Love at Deep Haven (30 page)

“
Fuuuuck
!”

“Z, is
everything okay?”

“No.
Everything’s not okay. I’m going to be sick. Stop the fucking bus.” Zach
lurched forward, taking his phone with him, without thinking, and yelled, “Pull
the fuck over.”

A moment later,
he was standing outside the door, on the edge of the M6, retching. Whether it
was the frustration of his plan failing when they were so close to forever or
the fact that he was sure he had just, essentially, lost Violet, he didn’t
know. He didn’t care. He pretty much just wanted to fucking die.

He swiped his
sleeve over his mouth and looked at his phone again. No updates. Just Violet’s
three-line text. His fingers moved quickly to respond to her.

I’m not letting
you break up with me.

I didn’t do it
because you couldn’t. I did it because I could.

You are so
fucking talented, it’s unbelievable.

Don’t you give
up on me, goddamn it, Violet.

Don’t you give up
on us until I can explain.

Not now when
we’ve come so far.

I love you so
fucking much it hurts.

Z

He wanted until
the message was sent, and then, for the second time in as many months, he threw
his phone into oncoming highway traffic and watched as it got run over. After
all, if he didn’t have a phone, he wouldn’t be able to read the words,
It’s over
.

***

When her
twentieth text sat unanswered on Thursday morning, she decided he must have
turned off or destroyed his phone. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and in
a weird way, it made sense—he’d gotten the last word in their conversation.
Worried, she called Cora on Thursday evening, but his sister had had no luck
getting in touch with him either. “He’s probably a mess over this, Violet. You
didn’t see him. After Yale, when he moved to New York? I was going to Columbia
so we saw each other a lot. He was a wreck. He knew what he’d lost, and it ate
him up inside like acid. He never got over you. Never even had a serious
girlfriend. Just a string of flings. I only ever met one girl, and it was by
mistake because I bumped into them at a bar. He’s probably just really worried
he’s lost you again.”

“I know,” Violet
said, feeling miserable. “He totally misunderstood me. How could I have been so
stupid as to send that text without any indication of my feelings? I couldn’t believe
he would do that for me—give me what I wanted more than anything else in the
world just to take care of me and make me happy. It took my breath away. All I
could think was that I couldn’t wait to tell him I loved him anymore. Right
then. Right away. Instead I . . .”

“He’ll be pretty
raw when he gets home. Zach bottles up a lot. Our folks, well, they were old
when they had us, and they were old-fashioned. They didn’t hug us and kiss us,
but they went easier on me than Zach. I was the girl. And I wasn’t as talented.
They were so hard on him and it didn’t do any good to make a scene, so he just,
you know, kept a lot inside. Except with you. Somehow with you, all those
feelings came out. The poetry you write, I’m guessing. Somehow it speaks to
something inside him and lets him be free. So I don’t know. Be ready when he
gets there tomorrow. Go easy on him.”

“I will. And
I’ll tell him to call you.”

“Thanks, Violet.
Merry Christmas.”

“Merry
Christmas, Cora.”

Violet put the
phone in the back pocket of her jeans, looking around his apartment. The tree
was almost finished. She just needed to add some tinsel and put the empty
ornament boxes in his closet to keep things neat for him. His fridge was
stocked with everything she’d need to make a lasagna tomorrow for Christmas Eve
dinner. She’d packed an overnight bag at his place so she’d wake up there
tomorrow, ready to create the perfect Christmas Eve homecoming. It felt so
right, so natural and comfortable, staying in his space. Maybe she’d misjudged
New York. Maybe, if she was with Zach, she could consider living here, after
all. They’d be close to her publisher, close to the theaters that could produce
his opera. Anyway it wasn’t something they had to decide immediately. As long
as it was okay with him, she’d stay with him through Christmas, and they could
figure out the rest together.

“Blue Christmas”
played on the stereo, a reminder of Zach’s favorite lights and his probable
mood. From the fourth-story window in Zach’s living room, she could see the
lights of the Village all around her, twinkling in whites and oranges and
lavender blues. She saw her reflection too, in her jeans and her Yale
sweatshirt, brown hair tumbling around her shoulders, barefooted. She was a
poet and a lover, a free spirit and a friend. She was loved. She was someone’s
everything. And Zach had laid all of this—this entire sweet life—at her feet.

She plugged in
the Christmas tree, loving the blue lights that twinkled against the silver
garland, then sat curled up on his couch, hugging herself tightly and laying
her cheek against the cool leather cushion.

He’ll be home tomorrow.
Tomorrow she’d
make everything right. Within moments she was asleep.

***

Zach didn’t wait
for his scheduled flight on the 24
^th
. After explaining everything to
Sev
,
Sev
called one of his
old
bandmates
from Oxford who was delighted to play
in Zach’s place on the last concert date in London, which meant Zach was able
to leave London on Thursday night, a day early.

By the time Zach
landed at Kennedy Airport it was almost midnight, but he rented a car and
headed into the city to swing by his apartment and pack a bag before heading
north. He wasn’t waiting until tomorrow to leave for Maine. He was driving up
tonight straight through the early morning, arriving in Portland sometime
around breakfast time on Christmas Eve.

He’d had plenty
of time to think on the plane and he’d have more time in the car. But it was a
simple plan: he would throw himself at her feet, assure her that he believed in
her talent and beg her to forgive him for rigging her contract. He had no other
options. He had to be with her. He had to convince her to give him one last
chance, and if she wouldn’t, he honestly had no idea what he would do, because
his life wouldn’t be worth living without her.

He flung open
the door of his Sheridan Square doorman building, walking past the desk
attendant without a glance, and
beelined
for the
elevator. He resented even this stop, but he couldn’t show up at her mother’s
apartment with nothing to wear but his filthy sweat-soaked concert wear. He
pressed the button, still wondering how best to word his feelings, how to
convey the depths of his regret and the vastness of his sorrow in contemplating
a life without her. Telling her that he loved her seemed inadequate. It simply
didn’t seem like enough.

The elevator
doors opened onto his floor, and he turned left toward his apartment, fumbling
in his pockets for the key. He turned the lock and walked inside.

His first
thought was,
Shit. I’m in the wrong
apartment.

But then he noticed
that the blue Christmas tree in the corner of the room and thought,
Someone else likes blue lights besides me.

Staring at the
tree for a moment, he willed his feet to turn around and leave, but just then
he noticed someone stir on the couch. Wait a minute. It was a black leather
couch. His couch.

He jerked the
door back for a moment and looked at the number on the door: 4G. He was in his
apartment. Where did that Christmas tree come from and who was on his couch? What
the hell was going on?

Stepping all the
way into the apartment he closed the door, backing against it, feeling confused
and disoriented. As his eyes adjusted to the glow of blue lights, he noticed
the figure on the couch raise her head, awakened by the sound of the door
closing.

Oh my God.
He’d know that hair anywhere.

“Violet,” he said
in a strangled, disbelieving voice.

It was like waking
up inside a dream. Or going utterly crazy after too much traveling, too many
hours awake.

“Violet?” he
asked again in bewilderment, rubbing his wrist as he moved toward her.

“Zach,” she
murmured in a tired voice, extending her hand to him over the back of the
couch. “You’re finally home.”

He took her hand.
She was real. He knelt on the floor and buried his face in her lap.

***

Cora had known.
She’d predicted it.

He was
altogether undone.

Violet felt his
shoulders tremble under her hands, and her heart broke for the depths of his
sorrow. For the little boy who never knew he was loved. For the man who feared
she didn’t love him back. For the endless, exhausting travel he’d endured just
so that she could have her contract and her freedom. She moved her hands from
his shoulders to his hair, running her fingers through the dark strands.

“I didn’t think
you’d be home until tomorrow,” she finally whispered, leaning down to kiss the
top of his head.

“It
is
tomorrow,” he said, looking up at
her.

His eyes
glistened, and he swiped at them with his sleeve, then reached out to grab her
hips and pulled her down on the floor with him. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“You don’t hate
me? For the contract?”

“
Hate
you? For putting your dreams aside
to make mine come true? Oh, Zach, I’m so sorry that’s what you thought. I could
never hate you for that. I know how you feel about my work. I trust you. You
take my breath away.” She touched his cheek tenderly, and he closed his eyes,
leaning into her. “Is this okay? Me invading your home?”

“Okay? I told
you. Wherever you are
is
my home, you
crazy beautiful girl. I thought I had lost you for good.” He pulled her onto
his lap. “When I walked in, I didn’t think you were real.”

“Oh, I’m real,”
she said, leaning forward as his head dipped to claim her lips with a primal,
urgent growl of possession. She ran her hands from his chest up to his neck,
resting them on his
jawline
so she could move his
head where she wanted it. She wanted it flush and perfect so she could explore
the satin warmth of his mouth with her tongue. His hands fell from her hair, down
her shoulders, to her back, until he found the edge of her shirt and slipped
his hands underneath, flattening them against the skin of her back.

“I missed you,”
he murmured. “I missed you so goddamn much.”

He placed gentle
kisses along her jaw and down her neck as she
arched
into him.

“How is this
possible?” he asked. “You were going to break up with me.”

“No, Z,” she said.
“Never.”

“You wanted to
talk,” he mumbled into her neck, fingers kneading lightly over her back as his
arms held her tightly.

“I had something
to say,” she answered and his hands stilled.

He leaned back,
his eyes searching hers as they held each other, sandwiched between his couch
and coffee table, bathed in soft blue light.

“I love you,”
she said softly.

A shudder made
his whole body tremble, and his face contorted before he looked down. She
placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her.

“I love you,”
she repeated, her voice breaking as tears flooded her eyes.

Her voice was
stronger as he gazed at her, and she said it one more time, “I love you.”

“Violet . . .”
he started, but his breath hitched and his voice caught as he stared at her,
his fingers unconsciously playing something on the soft, warm skin of her back.
Something beautiful.

“I said I would
go on loving you until I didn’t anymore,” Violet said. “And I never stopped. I
loved you at Yale. I loved you when we were apart. I loved you at Deep Haven,
and I love you now.” She smiled at him with glistening eyes. “I love you
forever.”

“
You’re
my forever, Violet.”

“Yes,” she
nodded, pulling his head back down to hers. “I am.”

EPILOGUE

One year later

Violet stared at
her reflection, second-guessing the peasant-style blouse. It was almost
identical to the one she’d worn so often at Yale and was her most favorite
piece of clothing since Zach had given it to her for her 29
^th
birthday
last summer. She cracked her knuckles nervously, smoothing the blouse again
with lightly shaking fingers.

But the part of
Violet who had lived so primly and properly for so many years told her she
should be wearing a tailored skirt suit with pearls on national TV. A peasant
blouse and her favorite jeans, even though they truly represented her, still
somehow felt too casual.

Suddenly her
mane of curls was gently pushed aside, and Zach rested his chin on her shoulder
as his strong arms slipped around her waist. She took a deep breath, which made
her breasts swell over his forearms lightly as she leaned back into him.

“I’m nervous,”
she admitted, letting her eyes close for a moment as her head rested against
his shoulder.

“I know,” he
said, kissing her neck. “But don’t be.”

“You’re used to
this. How many times have you been onstage in front of thousands of people?”

“Hundreds.”

“How many times
have I?”

“You did that awesome
reading at Yale,” he reminded her, his lips resting on her skin, so comforting
and so electric at once.

She scoffed
lightly, opening her eyes to find his in the mirror, peeking up at her from the
curve of her neck. “To a few kids, Z. College students. It’s hardly the same as
a Grammy special on ABC. I still don’t know why we were chosen to be
interviewed.”

His lips quirked
up in a grin. “Yeah, you do. In one year, you’ve become the best-selling poet
of this decade. Not to mention the lyrics on the amazingly brilliant record
Playing for Love at Deep Haven
, which,
if I’m not mistaken, is nominated for a Grammy this year. It’s your record,
Vile.”

“
Our
record, Z.”

He took a deep
breath, and she was pretty sure she heard it catch just a little. “Okay,” he
whispered, tightening his hold on her. “Ours.”

“What about you?
Finding a producer for
Phenomenon
?
And casting starts in a few weeks.
Idina
Menzel
, Zach. You know she wants the part.”

“She’ll be great
too,” he said. “She brings the whole
Rent
legacy to the table.”

“You did it,”
she said softly, her voice filled with pride and awe. “You wrote a rock musical.”

“We, Vile.
We
wrote a rock musical.”

“Okay,” she
conceded. “We.”

He kissed her
neck again, and his eyes dipped greedily to her cleavage and lingered there.

“Pretty sure
there’s no interview going on in there,” she said, smiling.

“There will be,”
he promised, gray eyes darkening. “Later.”

“You going to
blow my mind again, Zach Aubrey?”

“That’s the
plan, Violet Aubrey.”

Her face burst
into a smile, and she giggled. “I’m still not used to that.”

He shrugged, his
smile as wide as hers. “It’s only been a few weeks. You’ve got a lifetime to
get used to being my wife.”

“A forever,” she
said, turning in his arms. She kissed the pad of her thumb before brushing it
lightly over the mole under his eye.

“Your spot,” he
murmured, looking at her as he always did, like he’d never be able to repay the
debt he owed to fate for a second chance with her.

“It belongs to
me.”

“It all belongs
to you. I love you.”

“I love you too,”
she whispered back, closing her eyes and tilting her head as his lips descended
to hers. She wound her hands into his hair, touching his tongue with hers. He
groaned into her mouth, pressing more intimately up against her as his hands
kneaded her lower back, pushing her closer to him.

Finally he
pulled back from her and stared at her intently. “Let’s tell them all to fuck
off and leave us alone.”

She glanced down
at his waist and smiled at his obvious arousal. “Sorry, Z. Too late to back out
now.”

“I don’t feel
like doing an interview.”

“Too bad.”

“I’m going to be
grouchy.”

“They’ll call it
artistic.”

“You do the
talking.”

“Fine. You just
look pretty.”

“You’re
insisting?” he pouted.

“I’m afraid so.”

Suddenly he
smiled, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’re not nervous anymore.”

She marveled, as
she often did, at how well he knew her. Her heart overflowed with gratitude
that he belonged to her, that she’d been given a second chance with him.

“How’d I get so
lucky?” she asked softly, playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“It wasn’t luck.
It was fate. We were
always
meant to
be together. We just messed it up the first time.”

He put out his
hand, the one with a simple gold band on the ring finger, and gestured with a
nod to the bedroom door. Just beyond it, a small TV crew had set up in the
living room of the beach cottage Zach and Violet owned on the Connecticut
coast, for the weekends they spent away from the bustle of New York City.

“You ready to
meet the world, Violet-like-the-flower?”

“I’m ready for
anything,” she said, slipping her hand through his. “As long as you’re sitting
next to me.”

“Then we’re
ready for anything.”

He leaned down
and kissed her, then tugged her through the door into the next chapter of forever.

THE END