I want you to go to Yale, Lily. I want you to take so many art classes that you piss off your dad. I want you to wear the black nail polish that your mom hates. I want you to never be in another car accident for the rest of your life. I want all of that for you, and I know I can’t be a part of it.
You always believed in me, and you always believed in us, that we were stronger than the world around us. So I know this won’t make sense to you right away. Maybe it never will. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but most of all, I’m sorry for that, for breaking your belief in me. I have never wanted to hurt you, and knowing that I have cuts deeper than I imagined.
And I’m sorry for leaving when you’re still healing from the accident. That night will haunt me for the rest of my life, but I hope it never haunts you. You deserve better than that. Your future is bright, Lily. Always has been.
My world is infinitely better because you’ve been in it. Thank you for everything. I hope you can forgive me one day, even if I don’t deserve it.
Hayden
I read it once, and then I read it twice, having to stop when tears blur my view entirely.
The ten years that have passed might as well have been a week, for all the strength I have left. I cry for myself—for how crushed I’d been when he left and broke my heart without a word, while the explanation was hidden somewhere in the very house I lived in.
I cry for young Hayden—for thinking he had no other choice, for leaving the one place that was home because of me, and the one person he trusted failing to see how intensely guilty he felt after the accident.
I cry for the ten years that feel wasted in longing. For how I’ve seen him everywhere, in everything, even when I desperately wanted nothing more than to forget him. For how I heard his encouraging words in my head during difficult times. For how I could curse his very existence and at the same time wish he was right there alongside me.
He had been honest. He had left because he wanted to pursue college.
But the words written here, in a strong, sprawled hand, speak of anguish and desperation. Of guilt and fear. And somehow, I’d failed to see that entirely, or even consider the possibility that he felt that way.
So I cry for that, too, for good measure. For my own blindness, and for clarity and insight that comes too little, too late.
13
Hayden
Hayden, 18
Gary rolls his neck and shoots me a look I know well. I put down my cup of coffee. I’m not going to like what’s coming next.
“Your dad called again.”
My breakfast turns to unease in my stomach. “You answered?”
Gary sighs. “Yes. And I told him the same thing I’ve said before—that you don’t want him in your life. I didn’t tell him where we are.”
“Good.”
“He mentioned that he’s been texting you.” Gary bends down to tie his shoelace, the picture of studied ease. “That true?”
Damn. “Yeah. I haven’t been answering, though.”
“How’d he get your number?”
“Through Aunt Ella, I think.”
“Of course. That woman couldn’t keep a secret to save her own life.” Gary sighs. “You know it’s your decision whether to talk to him or not. I can’t decide that, kid, even if you know where I stand regarding that man.”
“I know.”
“Just… be careful. Don’t give him any clues about where we are, okay?”
“I haven’t. I won’t.” I haven’t seen my father in nearly six years and I have no intention of changing that. There’s only so many times he can lure me in with the promise of an apology before I know to leave well enough alone.
The years I’d spent with Dad, after Mom died, were the worst of my life. I had been lucky that Gary had taken custody of me instead. He’d come to see how his nephew was doing, blissfully unaware of his brother-in-law’s addictions and violence. He’d taken one look at the situation and called social services. Without him, I would have been in my tenth foster home by now.
Plus, the absolute last thing I need is that man here, in Paradise Shores. The Marchands can never cross paths with that part of our past.
There’s just some filth that stains, never to be washed out.
Gary throws me an apple. “Don’t forget your lunch box.”
“Funny.”
“I’m a straight-up comedian.” He grabs his jacket from the hook on the wall. Another day as the handyman. “Won’t you be late if you hang around here?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re not hanging out with the other kiddos as often lately, by the way.”
I zip up my leather jacket and ignore him.
“I’m not gonna meddle. But Hayden… You’ve got a good job at the docks. A good place to stay. Don’t screw this up.”
“I won’t.”
He pulls on his cap and shoots me a warning glare. If I thought I was too old for guilt, I’m not. The familiar feeling creeps through me. I know this job is solid for him—I can’t be the one to fuck that up.
“I know,” I tell him, one hand on the door. “You don’t have to say it.”
“Good. And about the girl, Lily… Be careful, kid. Be very careful.”
The sea is gray and so is the sky. On days like this, there’s nothing charming about living right next to the ocean—it’s cold and miserable. I take the long route toward the garage, avoiding the back lawn and the Marchands’ wrap-around porch. Gary’s right.
I have been riding with the Marchand kids less likely.
I’ve also been feeling intensely guilty, all on my own.
It’s hard to avoid thinking about the reason why. Lily. Beautiful, strong-willed, sweet, soft Lily. Lily-with-the-wild-dreams, Lily-with-the-shy-smile.
Lily, who my own uncle warned me to stay away from.
She thought I’d been angry when she arrived at Turner’s party, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. Seeing her was amazing—it always was—but it drove me to despair. How could we act within the finely set parameters of our friendship in that kind of environment?
She was too good for the good-for-nothings who went to those parties, with the alcohol and drugs and the closed bedroom doors. They were for people who wanted to escape, not for people with things worth fighting for.
Turner had always joked around about Lily, and Parker had taken it good-naturedly, but I knew he wasn’t just kidding. Any man with half a brain cell would see what a catch Lily Marchand was. And as for Turner, half a brain cell was exactly what he had.
Lily had been angry with me for pushing him away, angry at me treating her the way I know she hated to be treated. And then…
I try to stop my mind from going back there, to that hallway, to her body against mine, but it’s pointless. The feeling of her lips is imprinted in my memory. I wake to feel them against my own, dreams receding like the high tide, too fast for me to catch.
She’d been a living flame in my arms.
Auburn hair soft through my fingers, her body soft and inviting. It had been easy, far too easy, to be swept up in her sweetness. I could still feel the sigh she’d given against my lips, the soft sound of surrender, her trusting hands around my neck.
Hayden, she’d whispered.
I knew I couldn’t go there. Couldn’t be what she wanted, give her what she needed. She might have a crush on me, but that would pass with time. All it would take was one good look at what I had to offer compared with everyone around her, and the illusion would shatter. She’d break my heart, and I’d break hers by not being more.
I had to save us both from that if I was to have any hope of keeping her in my life, even from a distance.
I cut through the garage to where Parker’s BMW is parked. The trunk is already open, his sports bag thrown in there. The engine is running and the driver’s door is open. I roll my eyes at his predictability and get into the passenger seat.
A minute l
ater he comes running into the garage with a protein shake in hand.
He shoots me a grin as he gets into the driver’s seat. “Forgot breakfast.”
“I figured.”
“I’ve got to say, you’ve got the timing thing nailed down.” He presses the controller and we both watch as the garage door opens slowly. “It’s a bit creaky, by the way.”
“Oh.”
“The door, I mean.”
“Yeah.”
Parker looks sheepish. “Sorry. I meant… never mind.”
“I’ll ask Gary about it.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He cranks some old-school rock as we roll through the broad, tree-lined streets of Paradise Shores toward the marina. Working on one of the fishing boats that left from the marina, I was at sea for days at a time. It was hard work, but it paid well. Parker taught sailing at the yacht club, so we caught a ride together most days. It was a good summer job.
It also meant I didn’t have to see Lily.
Not that she hadn’t avoided me too, since the party. I’d tried nothing more than to catch her eye that first week, taking any opportunity to be where she might see me. Playing video games with Parker, just across the hall from her? Check. But she made it clear that she wanted space and I wanted her happy, so I left her alone.
It’s just that I figured she’d wanted a few days, a week tops. Not over a month. The sudden lack of her in my life feels like a black hole inside, swallowing all light.
Parker’s discussing the intricacies of fly-fishing when he suddenly goes quiet. “You’re not listening, are you?”
“Of course I am,” I say. “Place bait on the hook. Let it fly. Catch fish. See?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Sorry. I know this is boring. I just have to… Dad’s taking me next weekend and I’ve sort of become obsessed in preparation.”
“No worries,” I say. Each of the Marchand kids has their own complicated relationship with their dad. In some ways, Mr. Marchand is larger than life itself, with his cold eyes and calm, measured words. He invests millions at a time in building projects and is rarely home. And when he is… I know he’s impossible to impress.
So I know Parker wants to make a good impression. Must be a nice feeling, to have standards to live up to.
“Is something wrong between you and Lily, by the way?”
“What?”
“Look, I can’t say I haven’t noticed that the two of you barely speak anymore. That’s cool, you know. You’ve never exactly been friends, but I just wanted to check in.”
Despite myself, I want to laugh. Trust Parker to be a month late to the party, not to mention completely wrong in his assessment.
“No, we’re cool. Everything’s good. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not, mostly because I already spoke to her.”
“Oh?”
He shoots me an amused sideway glance, long enough that I feel like telling him to keep his eyes on the road. “Yeah. And she said the same thing. So I know you’ve had an argument or something. Your stories are too similar.”
“Maybe.”
Parker sighs. “Look, she’s my baby sister. Just watch yourself, all right? Even if she gets cranky or annoying, which she can be sometimes, you still have to be nice.”
I grit my teeth. “Sure. Noted.”
“Good.” He turns up the volume and starts whistling, brotherly duty done. Not for the first time, I hate him a little bit. For his privilege and ignorance and thoughtlessness. But it passes, as it always does. I owe him more than he can fathom for his friendship and acceptance. Not to mention, he’s right on the money, too.
I do have to watch myself around Lily. Even if the way things are looking, I might not be around her much at all.
I walk home from the marina later that day. It’s a long walk, and my body aches from the day spent hauling nets, but Parker finished early and already drove home. Besides, I don’t want him around for what I want to do next.
Lily’s eighteenth birthday party is in a week. It’s the massive event of the summer—the highlight of the Marchands’ social calendar. Eloise Marchand has rented a marquee, waiters, catering… the whole thing. Henry and Rhys are both coming back home for the summer and the house will be full.
Lily has been dreading it and looking forward to it in equal parts.
I’ve only dreaded it—the house filled to the brim with snobby family friends and relatives—but I know it’s important to her. To the family.
Paradise Shores doesn’t have much of a shopping center, but it does have a small jewelers store. Nothing too fancy, but I’d seen them sell bracelets with charms, everything from seashells to unicorns to little Eiffel Towers. I’m sure it’s something her mom or grandmother would call tacky.
But I think, if I manage to find the right combination of charms, it might just say the things I can’t bring myself to.
14
Lily
The present
I look in the mirror. A casual skirt that reaches just above my knees. A blouse in soft blue silk smooths down my arms and leaves just a little bit of cleavage free. It’s a perfectly respectable outfit for seeing an old friend.
Because that’s what he’d asked for, on the beach, after revealing that he had left me a letter. Friendship.
And in honor of what we once had, I decide that I’m going to give it a try. Even if being friends with Hayden—who had meant everything to me—feels like dancing with danger.
But I would have to overcome that. We might have been childhood sweethearts, but we’re grown now. A lot has happened in those ten years. Lord knows I’ve been on my fair share of bad dates, and no doubt he has as well.
We should be able to be friends. And popping by an old friend with a pie is a perfectly ordinary thing to do. A welcome to the neighborhood. I’d done it for people in the past—why should Hayden be different?
But as I park outside of the big red brick house on Elm Street, I’m suddenly overcome with nerves. My heart is beating a steady, cacophonous rhythm in my chest. After reading his goodbye letter, I’d felt raw, like I was still eighteen years old. The days that had passed since then hadn’t made that any easier.
“Friendship,” I whisper to myself. “Friendship.”
I’d missed him so much, and here I was, with another chance to have him in my life. Even if it hurt a little bit—even if it wasn’t exactly what I’d once envisioned—could I really deny myself the opportunity?
I ring the doorbell. It’s a little past seven in the evening and he might very well be having dinner or be out with friends. Maybe I should have texted, but I wanted the opportunity to chicken out at the last second if I wanted to.
Hayden opens the door. Thick, dark hair falls across his forehead. It’s wet—and so is the towel he’s slung over his shoulder. Dressed only in a pair of slacks and a gray T-shirt, it’s clear he’s just come out of the shower. His feet are bare.
Amber eyes widen in surprise at seeing me. They flick down to the pie in my hands, my skirt, my small studded ballerina shoes.
“Hello. Sorry to drop by like this, unannounced. I was curious about this place you’re renting and I made tarte tatin. I know you used to like Mom’s, so I thought… well, it’s like a welcome present.” I hand it over to him, my stupid mouth still going.
“Thank you.”
“No worries. And no need to return the pan. I have plenty. You’d actually be doing me a favor if you took it off my hands.”
This time he actually smiles, and when he does, he completely takes my breath away. The T-shirt stretches tight over his chest and around large, muscular arms. There’s a faint scar around his left bicep, the hair on his forearms more pronounced than it was years ago. He’s a man—and an extremely handsome one at that.
“Do you want to come in?”
“Me? Oh… If it isn’t a bother.”
“It’s not. Come on.” Hayden pushes the front door wide and steps
back to let me pass. As I do, I breathe in the scent of him. Shower soap, male deodorant, and just a hint of cologne. The scent does odd things to me. He never used to wear cologne.
“Thanks.”
“Let me just put this in the kitchen.”
He walks past me, but I stay in the hallway, peering into the living room. The house is big, I can tell that much already. There’s a massive fireplace. A dining-room table that fits eight people. Peering in the other direction, I see a white-and-blue kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances. This is a really nice house. There’s a wide staircase that no doubt leads up to his bedroom.
“My mother hid the letter,” I say to no one in particular, heart still pounding in my chest. “So that’s why I never got it.”
Hayden is back in an instant, a hand braced against the doorframe. “She admitted it?”
“Yes,” I say thickly. “She’d even saved it.”
His amber eyes hold the question—I can see it clearly—but his voice is tentative when he finally asks. “Did you read it, Lils?”
“Yes.”
We look at each other. I can tell that he wants me to continue—to tell him what I think—but I feel too hot, all over, like I’m exposed. He’s always been able to see far too much of me.
His words in the letter brought up my own feelings, and I’d found that they weren’t gone at all. They were just buried. My world is infinitely better because you’ve been in it.
I want to ask him if he still thinks that. If he thinks about kissing me, the same way I remember his lips on mine. If, staring at me now, he feels the same pull between us that I do.
But he had asked for friendship.
And he’d left, letter or no letter. And I haven’t forgiven him for that yet.
Rogue: A Paradise Shores Novel Page 9
