Playing for Love at Deep Haven (9 page)

Violet thought
about the possessive way he’d held her against his body as he kissed her. The
way his voice had sounded, drugged and deep, when he told her he wanted her.

“No. I don’t
think this is just about forgiveness.”

“Is it just
about sex? You’re there. He’s there. You’ve got old feelings.”

Violet
swallowed, pondering the question, and hated it that she couldn’t answer.

“Vi, seems to me
you have a decision to make. And it involves a big risk. And you don’t really
do big risks.”

“I do!”

“I’m not talking
about ordering a gin and tonic instead of merlot. This is real, Vi. This could
break your heart again.” She paused. “Then again, it could be exactly what you
need. I’m not trying to be mean, but you’re stuck. You live with a ghost. You
can’t finish your book because you’re trying to write a future that never
happened—a happily-ever-after that might not have happened with
Shep
even if he’d lived.” Another pause as she got worked
up. “Vi, I’m not sure marrying him would have been the right choice for you. I
kept that opinion to myself at the time, but it’s been over a year now, and
that’s the truth. That’s how I felt. But it’s like you were so certain you
would end up a suburban housewife—Mrs. Shepherd Smalley—that you adopted the
mantle before it ever even happened, and now you’re sort of stuck there. You’re
stuck being Mrs. Shepherd Smalley, when that’s never going to happen. You’re
like Miss
Havisham
. You know, in
Great Expectations
. Only updated. Younger and cuter. And not as
mothbally
.”

“Sophie!” Violet
struggled to take a deep breath, but her diaphragm wouldn’t fill. It was a
little too much truth all at once.

“Okay. You’re
not Miss
Havisham
yet. But you’re on your way.”

“Thanks,” said
Violet, a
sobby
giggle escaping as she swiped her
hand under her eyes. When had she started crying?

“Aw, don’t cry,
Vi. Don’t you want love?”

Don’t you want love?

Good question.

She’d really
only known romantic love once in her life. And it wasn’t with
Shep
. The only time she’d been in love, it had been a
gut-wrenching, heartbreaking experience. She couldn’t honestly say she was
eager to re-experience it. And yet, she’d had a glimpse of what it could be
like with Zach that lost weekend at Yale. How complete she would have felt, how
whole. Whenever she rewrote their final farewell in her head and heard him say,
“I love you too,” she’d shudder with longing before sternly reminding herself that
it wasn’t, in fact, how things had turned out.

“So you’re
saying I should go for Zach.”

“No! I’m not
saying that. I am not advocating that you jump back into bed with a hot musician
who broke your heart and regrets it ten years later.”

“How do you know
he’s hot?”

“I can hear it
in your voice. He’s hot. Admit it.”

Scorching.

“Fine. Don’t. I
know he’s hot.” Sophie laughed when Violet didn’t answer. “I’m not saying to
jump into anything. Definitely not into bed. That’s a great way to confuse
everything. No, Vi. Here’s what I’m saying: sometimes life offers you something
unexpected, and when it does, you have a
responsibility
to explore it.”

“I am. I . . . I
will,” said Violet.
If he ever comes out
of hiding.

She brushed more
tears from her face, feeling grateful beyond measure for her friend.

“If nothing
else,” Sophie added, and Violet could hear the easy humor infusing her voice.
“Consider it research. It’ll make a hell of a book.”

“An unexpected
sequel to
Me and Then You
,” said
Violet in a shaky voice, chased with an uneasy giggle.

“What does he
play? Guitar? I have to say it: I bet a hot guitarist screwing your brains out would
do a number on your writer’s block too.”

Violet gasped,
then burst into giggles. “Sophie!”

“I’m just
sayin
’! I bet
something
would get unclogged pretty quick.”

“You’re
terrible.”

“Yeah, I know.”
Sophie said, giggling
 
like a seventh-grade
girl watching a cute boy from across the library with her best friend. “But
you’ve been pretty lonely since
Shep
. I mean, you
never banged
Garreth
from the club, did you?”

“N-no!
Ew
!”

“So, it’s been a
mighty long time since you played hide-the-salami. I mean, unless you’ve been holding
out on me?”

“Sophie!”

“Think of it
this way: if you have to pop your cherry a second time, you could do worse than
the guy who did a decent job the first time.”

“Sophie!” Violet
exclaimed again, wiping the last remnants of wetness from her cheeks. All her
tears were gone in the face of Sophie’s teasing. “Tell me how Hugh and the kids
are doing. Less me, more you!”

They spoke for a
few more minutes. Sophie, who lived in Westport, Connecticut, with her husband and
two small children, was working on a book of steamy short stories and had
finally gotten a request for her work from an agent she’d been pursuing. Violet
celebrated her good news with a squeal of delight, promising to call later in
the week.

“Hey, Vi,” said
Sophie, right before they hung up, her voice uncharacteristically soft and
serious. “You’ve loved him for a long time. Don’t
overthink
it.”

Violet swallowed
the lump that reappeared in her throat.

“Good luck.”

Violet put the
phone back in her pocket and took a deep breath. Sophie, as usual, after all
the giggling and heckling, was simple and elegant in her summation.

You’ve loved him for a long time.

Somewhere deep
inside, Violet knew Sophie was right, even though common sense insisted that too
much time had passed since she had loved Zach Aubrey. She knew so little about
the man he’d become. Maybe the flurry of feelings that confused her had little
do to with
real
love and lots to do
with remembering the way she’d felt for him so long ago. Coupled with a few
steamy kisses, it was enough to make anyone lose her head a little.

But how much
more of her head was she willing to lose? The old Violet, the College Violet
she’d been long ago, would have leaned into these confusing feelings, would
have told her to take a chance on Zach and explore this second chance. But that
impetuous Violet had learned about heartache the hard way, had, in fact, been
crushed to bits by baring her heart to him, had evolved into the person she was
today: careful, cautious, wary.

Is that who she
wanted to be? Emotionless and pragmatic, tamping down her natural instincts to
embrace messy, chaotic life? She’d only meant to heal and protect herself, not
change entirely. And yet she had. She had become someone else, and suddenly she
wasn’t so sure that she liked Greenwich Violet very much. It was like wearing a
coat that didn’t fit quite right for too long. Maybe it was time to find a
better fit.

***

Zach almost
threw the guitar across the room in frustration. He’d been at it for five hours,
but it was all the most excremental, banal shit. It wasn’t that he didn’t have
ideas: the entire outline for
Phenomenon
was finished—the placement of various solos, duets, and choral numbers. For
most of his adult life, he’d been gearing up to orchestrate a big piece of
music like this, but now that he’d carved out the time and space, he couldn’t
make the music work.

He heard her
feet on the floor upstairs when she moved from room to room. He heard the
engine of her car when she left yesterday and felt palpable relief when he
heard her return an hour later. He was desperate not to alienate her further,
but he didn’t trust himself to be around her and keep his hands to himself. So
he’d hidden away in John’s masterpiece of a studio.

Kudos to John
and his good taste. It was fucking beautiful. There were several guitars to choose
from, and he had the choice of working in a proper recording studio or a
sensual, white leather writing room. It should have inspired something.
Anything. But it didn’t. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered but the fact
that Violet Smith was upstairs, and his body wouldn’t let his mind concentrate
on anything but being closer to her.

Since Zach had
started writing music for Cornerstone and frequently touring as an alternate
guitarist for various bands under contract, he’d had no shortage of women in
his life. Groupies aiming to sleep with a band member were just as happy to
sleep with him once he stepped offstage, and while he wasn’t as much of a man-whore
as the other musicians he knew, Zach certainly got laid regularly.

But the reality
was that he hadn’t
made love
to
anyone since Violet, because in his mind there was Violet, and then there was
everyone else. It wasn’t like he
wanted
to be ruined for love, but no one compared to her, and he couldn’t fabricate
the sort of intense love and admiration he’d felt for her with anyone else. No
one else knew him when he was a scrawnier, more awkward version of himself and
loved him all the same. No one else wrote poetry that blew his mind, forcing
him to meet her talent with his own. No one else had held his virgin body
against hers as she had, with her heart beating in perfect rhythmic time to
his. No one else, simply, was Violet. And he’d pretty much decided that if he
couldn’t have Violet, he’d have occasional meaningless recreational sex and
mutually-beneficial flings that went nowhere. It’s what he’d settled for. It’s
what he’d inadvertently agreed to when he’d pushed her away and into
Shep
Smalley’s arms. It was for the best.

But now here she
was, back in his life. Marginally, but back. And his Frankenstein heart, which
had been dead for so many years, was suddenly alive, keening with want for her.
Unless she recued it, his vulnerable heart would be left to bleed for the rest
of his miserable life.

He took a deep
breath, looking at the guitar in his hands and got up from the white couch.
There was no point in trying to write anymore. He knew she didn’t want to see
him, but he needed to see
her
.

She was the
girl. The only girl. Ever. Nothing good could come from a life spent without
her—he’d learned that the hard way. He’d do anything not to lose her again.

He set the
guitar gently in the corner of the room and took the stairs two at a time. Fuck
music. Fuck operas. Fuck her wanting nothing to do with him. Fuck everything
else in life because only one thing mattered right now:

If he was going
to keep her in his life this time, first he had to convince her to stay.

***

Me and Then You
had come easily. The story was about
a girl, Veronica, who falls in love with a boy, Nash, in college, only to have
him reject her, and the chain reaction that it sets off in her life. Veronica meets
a sweet frat boy, Shane, who spills a beer down her blouse at a party and
offers her his shirt in an unexpectedly gentlemanly gesture. Because she is
lonely and brokenhearted, she and Shane end up making out and somehow discover
there’s room in their lives for each other. Neither is filled with passion;
neither is looking for true love. But they kiss a lot and fall asleep next to
each other a lot, and become used to each other. They’re kind to each other.
Somehow years go by, and they stay together. Their lives intertwine; their
affection for each other grows into a solid, loving relationship that finally
ends in a long-awaited engagement. A mostly happy ending, but with a twist
because the reader is left wondering if Veronica’s heart ever truly evolved
from the brokenness of her failed college affair with Nash. Had she hidden
herself away, settling for second best because first best rejected her? And
would her happiness with Shane ever be complete?

After a year and
a half of writing, eight months of waiting on submissions, and another five
months of edits, her book hit bookstores everywhere. And lo and behold, she
wasn’t the only woman in the history of the world who’d had a college
heartbreak. Women everywhere added it to their book club lists and she was even
profiled in the
USA Today
“Happily
Ever After” column as an up-and-coming new author.

But despite some
decent e-book sales, the buzz had quieted down and her publisher wanted a
follow-up with a bona fide, no-twist happy ending. Violet accepted a contract
and eagerly planned the sequel: Veronica’s wedding to Shane and finding
fabulous and complete happiness with him: the bright, beautiful attorney who made
her feel loved and safe. She was going to write about their gorgeous wedding
and lovely home in Connecticut, about their summer vacations to Maine and
perfect children, and the trials and tribulations of newlyweds and young
parents. She would leave all mention of Nash in the dust and show her readers
the perfect happily-ever-after.

But the story,
like the fantasy, had died when
Shep
did. And despite
numerous contract extensions, she was out of time now. She either needed to
write the book or break the contract and pay the price.