Rogue: A Paradise Shores Novel

by Hayle, Olivia

  “I know,” she murmurs against my neck. “I know, Hay. Thank you for taking care of me.”

  I rest my head against her hair and close my eyes. It’s a thank-you I don’t deserve, but I ignore my guilt, lost in the familiar scent of her hair. She’s going to be fine. The apology is dancing on my tongue. I want to go down on my knees and ask her for it, but I know she won’t let me. Lily has always had an impressive track record in trying to make me feel better. But that’s the last thing she should have to do at the moment.

  Lily gets tired fast and I help her back up to her room, my arm still around her waist. Her parents are somewhere in the house—I can hear them talking—but we manage to avoid them.

  She sits down on her bed. “I wish you could stay.”

  “Me too, baby.”

  “Kiss me again.”

  I do. Her lips are warm against mine, her taste sweet. I feel like I’m drowning and flying at once, afraid to touch her because of my own shame and guilt.

  Lily leans back. “You’re being too careful.”

  I shake my head at her. “Lie down, Lils. Do you need another pill?”

  “No. They make my head a bit fuzzy.”

  I frown at the bottle of painkillers. “Is that normal?”

  “Yes, you worrier, the doctor said that would happen.” She burrows down in her covers and I hand her the book she’s been reading. “Here I am, in bed and it’s not even eight p.m.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “You’re healing.”

  “My new hobby. Come closer, Hay.”

  I bend down obediently and close my eyes as Lily runs a hand over my cheek. Her fingers feel cool against my skin. “We’re in this together, Hayden. Aren’t we?”

  I nod, feeling like my heart might break from the war between guilt and desire wagering inside it. “Yes, we are.”

  I close the door softly behind me and head down the stairs. I’ve nearly reached the kitchen door when Michael Marchand stops me with a single nod of his head. He has his hands in his pockets, the thick hair brushed back. I’ve always tried to stay out of his way—the business tycoon of Paradise Shores—but I can’t hide anymore.

  “We need to talk, Hayden.”

  The small, faint trace of hope I’ve harbored sinks like a stone. Of course we need to talk. I can imagine what he’s going to say, the words that will cut like knives. The accusations. The betrayal of trust. The crashed car. The time has come.

  “All right.”

  “I have great respect for your uncle,” he says quietly. “He’s been a fine employee all these years.”

  Unease makes my stomach flip. Where is he going with this?

  “I’ve always been happy to pay for your schooling. You’ve been a good friend to my boys, too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that.” He pauses, waiting for my response. It’s late and it’s summer, but he’s still in a button-down and slacks. I’ve never seen him in a T-shirt.

  “Thank you,” I say lamely.

  He nods, like I’ve said the right thing. “Now, I’m going to talk to you man to man, because you’re grown. The same way I talk to my sons.” His voice turns glacial. “I’m not going to insult us both by asking why you were driving my car in the middle of the night with my daughter in it. I’ve got eyes of my own, as does my wife.”

  I want to sink through the floor. “Yes.”

  “Lily’s always been a bit… wild. I’m not surprised that she’s drawn to you. But I am surprised that you gave in. You know it’s not in your best interest.”

  “Yes.” My voice sounds weak to my own ears. I find myself agreeing with everything he’s saying.

  “And it’s definitely not in Lily’s. My daughter nearly died two weeks ago, partly because of you.” He holds up a hand, as if to stop me from protesting. I wasn’t about to. “Now, I know the truck was in your lane. The police have confirmed that. But she shouldn’t have been out there in the first place.”

  “I know,” I say again.

  “You know where I’m going, I’m sure. You’ve figured it out yourself.” He pauses, face impassive. “You’re not welcome here anymore. Not around my daughter, and not in my house. It’s time for you to go, son.”

  The pain laces through me at the words. I’ve always known this isn’t home, not really. A place where you’re staying thanks to someone else’s mercy can never truly be home. But for years, it had been as close to one as I’d ever come.

  I can’t argue with him. There’s no point, no point at all. Because he’s right. I hurt her, and I don’t deserve her. And if I stay, she’ll have to fight with her parents over this. Over me.

  “I see.”

  “Now, don’t look sullen. We can find someplace for you to go, I’m sure. It’ll be a quiet thing between the two of us. Do you need college tuition? There are good schools out West. I could make some calls. How does one of the UCs sound?”

  I’d rather kill myself than accept more charity from him. “No, thank you.”

  “Don’t turn down a good opportunity because of pride, son. I’d let you pay me back.”

  “No,” I grind out.

  “Very well. Make your arrangements soon, then.” He takes a step forward and shakes my hand. “Don’t be a stranger to your uncle. Make something of yourself.”

  “I will.”

  “Do you need money for bus fare? Plane tickets?”

  “No,” I say. “Thanks.”

  He pauses for a second. His eyes are clinical, like we’ve just signed a business deal. “It’s nothing personal, Hayden. It’s just better this way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I walk back to the beach house. I pack a bag with my clothes and my belongings. I write a note for Gary, too short by far to encompass all that he’s been for me. I promise to call as soon as I can.

  I write a letter to Lily and slip it into the Marchand mailbox.

  Then I grab the pamphlets Mrs. Abrams gave me about enlisting and military colleges and board the first Greyhound out of Paradise Shores. Because Mr. Marchand had really only told me what I already knew. It’s time for me to go.

  It’s better this way.

  22

  Lily

  The present

  I try to focus on the blueprints in front of me. Stop thinking about Hayden. But it’s very, very difficult. My mind keeps wandering to the past weekend, to the greenhouse and the conversation we’d had the day after.

  We’d slept together again—and not in the romantic, soft way. It had been passionate and intense and everything I’d ever wanted.

  And now… now he wants to give dating a chance. Tonight, after work, I’ll head to his house for dinner. His idea.

  Maybe I was being stupid, agreeing to the prospect of dating him. I knew I risked getting hurt again. I didn’t want that. But for years, I’d lived carefully and quietly, been the good girl at every turn, and that got old, too.

  My mom used to say that sometimes, the only thing a person can do is take it day by day, and that’s what I’m going to do.

  Blueprints… a large room with a fireplace. Dining room. Yes. I need to work on a staging theme for the new development over in Restwick. We have less than three weeks before it hits the market, and it’s bound to cause a bidding war. This area of New England attracts a lot of buyers, and Harris Property is sure to take advantage of that.

  As I look through our files later, my gaze gets caught on a small, abandoned storefront here in Paradise Shores. It’s a tiny place, really, but it’s still on the market. The location is good. As is the natural light.

  It’s easy to imagine paintings on the wall and the soft artificial lighting of a gallery. Or an art studio, for kids in the region. Maybe both.

  Could I combine them? Showcase up-and-coming artists during the days and have classes in the evening?

  Before I can stop myself, I’m pulling up all the stats I can find about the property. The year it was built, the square-footage. It’s doable. The space is good, and I have the money for it. It could po
ssibly even be discounted, having been for sale for so long. I’ll basically be doing them a favor by taking it off the market.

  My heart is beating fast, and for the first time in a long while, it’s because of art. I’d given up even trying to combine it with my life in Paradise Shores—I’d thrown myself into family life and work and reconnecting with this place. But now, I’m realizing maybe I don’t have to leave that life behind. Maybe I can have both.

  I photocopy the listing and slip it into my purse.

  Turner comes into my office after lunch, his trademark smile in place. “Did you get my email on the Craft house?”

  “I did, yes. I’ve looked over it. I agree with your comments.”

  He breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. I usually have full faith in the architectural design team, but this time, it just seems…”

  “It’s too art nouveau. We’re never going to get it sold with those plans.”

  “Exactly. I understand the virtues of design and all, but very few people want a perfectly round living room.”

  I chuckle. “Or a concrete shower.”

  “Send me any notes you might have, and I’ll forward it together with my own.” He stops by the door to my office, hand tapping against the frame. “Thanks for last week, by the way. For the Maze Party. It was fun.”

  “Yeah, it was,” I say, with a smile. “And you were right. It’s important to me, our friendship and our work together.”

  He nods. “I completely agree.”

  “And I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

  “Me neither. And for the record, it wouldn’t. I wouldn’t.” He shrugs, looking a bit uncomfortable, before shooting me another big smile. “Anything is at your pace, Lily.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now back to work.”

  I smile. “Sure, sure. I’ll send you the email as soon as possible.”

  “Fantastic.”

  He leaves and I’m left with my work and my thoughts. I know Turner wants more from me, but it’s not fair to him to suggest another attempt at a date. Not after what happened at my parents’ dinner—not knowing that what I feel toward him is nothing compared to the tangled jumble of emotions that Hayden evokes.

  And there’s no denying I’m excited about tonight.

  The butterflies multiply in my stomach until I have a veritable garden by the time I have to leave work. For so many years, I’d missed having him in my life, and here he is now. I’ll be damned if I don’t take advantage of that.

  I pack up work and head home with my thoughts swirling. It doesn’t take me long to change into the casual dress I’d already picked out that morning, to brush my hair out and put on a bit of lip gloss. I put on upbeat music in the background, trying and failing to still my nerves.

  I park outside Hayden’s house on Elm Street. I wonder, not for the first time, how he affords what must be a significant rent. He’s been here for nearly two weeks by now, and it can’t be cheap. But his financial situation has always been a sore topic. I remember that from childhood, from asking about college prospects and jobs and getting monosyllabic answers. It used to kill me that he didn’t want me to help. Now I understand that it came from pride.

  I walk up the steps with a wine bottle in hand. I raise my hand to press the doorbell, but the door opens before I can ring.

  Hayden is so handsome it hurts. A plain white button-down makes his dark hair stand out in contrast, the cut of his shoulders wide and imposing. It never stops hitting me just how different adult Hayden is from the teenager I once loved.

  His eyes, though. He looks at me like I’m late—like he’s been waiting forever, like he can’t look away—even though I’m bang on time.

  “I saw the car.”

  “I brought wine.”

  The house smells delicious, like something rich and cheesy. I can’t stop myself from taking a deep whiff. “This smells amazing. Are you cooking?”

  “I haven’t changed that much, Lils.”

  “Take-out?”

  “Yeah, I got food from Michelangelo’s. Risotto and pizza. Figured we could share?”

  “Yes. Yes, absolutely.”

  We grab the food as he leads me through the house and out to his backyard. It’s a beautiful little place, with green grass and a deck for dining.

  We take a seat opposite each other, the food in between us. For a while we do nothing but look at each other.

  I smile, just a little. “So, how do we do this?”

  “Dating?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have no idea.”

  My smile grows bigger. “We never did, in the past.”

  “No. We were just… together.”

  “But you must have been on dates since then.” I make sure to keep my voice light and ignore my unease at the idea. “The concept is fairly standard. Eat, talk, flirt. Repeat.”

  His smile is replaced by a faint frown. It makes him more handsome somehow, set against the square jaw and the dark hair falling across his brow. “I haven’t dated a lot. It’s not exactly a possibility in the military.”

  The answer makes me unreasonably pleased. “That’s understandable.”

  “What about you? The Yale men must have been lining up, not to mention New York.”

  I shake my head. “Not exactly, no. But I have been on some dates.”

  “I can imagine. Flowers, candles?” Hayden’s voice is light, too, but he’s not meeting my eyes anymore.

  “Sometimes,” I say honestly, though there haven’t been many. I’ve only dated three guys since leaving Paradise Shores for college. Since him. “There’s often wine, at least.”

  He laughs and proceeds to open the bottle. “As you wish,” he says with a flourish, pouring me a glass. He puts the bottle down afterwards.

  “You’re not having any?”

  Hayden shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

  “Oh. Well, now I feel like a lush.”

  “Don’t. It’s…” He runs a hand through his hair, the telltale sign of nerves. “We’re supposed to talk about happy things on our first date together. I want to know about Yale and school and rehabilitation. About New York. About your future plans.”

  “We can talk about that, too, if you want,” I say. “Or about the first thing. You never have to tell me anything.”

  He shoots me a smile, and it’s grateful and rueful at the same time. “Well, you always managed to get everything out of me in the end, anyway. Why should it be any different now?”

  I smile back at him. I remember whispered confessions in the dark, over a decade ago, about things in his past. Hayden never liked opening up. He fought it tooth and nail, every time, against his own best interests.

  “All right. Well, I don’t drink anymore.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Stopped about five years ago.”

  Hayden had never been a massive drinker, although I remember him drinking at parties. I remember us in a hallway, our first kiss tasting like whiskey and danger. “What made you decide to stop? Not that it’s a bad thing, of course.”

  He looks away, jaw working. “You know that my dad struggles with it.”

  “Yes, I remember,” I say, although from what he’s told me, struggles with it is a mild way to put it. I know he’s always wanted to hide this part of his history from me, and always hated when it showed through. I never truly understood why. I still don’t.

  “It can be genetic. Addiction can, I mean. And I’m not going to be like him.”

  “Hayden, from what you’ve told me, you’re nothing like him at all.”

  He looks at me with eyes that hold a fair amount of disbelief. His armor is still up, though, and I know better than to push. “Thanks. But that’s the reason. I don’t want to fall victim to the same thing. I don’t trust myself enough for that.” He’s quiet for a beat, looking at his glass of water. “Or rather, I don’t trust the part of me that’s his.”

  “Have you spoken to him lately?”

  �
�No, not for six years. Last I heard, he was somewhere in New Jersey. But I’m not looking for him and I don’t want him in my life.”

  Flashes of what he’s told me run through my head. The images aren’t pretty. I know there was heavy drinking; I know there was violence.

  “Gary isn’t in contact with him either?”

  Hayden scoffs. “No. Lord knows he always hated his sister’s husband. That didn’t change after she died.”

  “You never told me how she passed.”

  “No,” he murmurs, eyes unreadable. “I never did. And I don’t think that’s a topic for our first date, Lils. Even with you.”

  “All right.” I take a deep breath and paint a smile on my face. Grabbing my wineglass by the stem, I pour it out in a nearby pot. “You know what? Who needs wine anyway.”

  Hayden looks completely stunned. He blinks twice before he breaks into surprised laughter. “You’re crazy.”

  “Always was. Anyway, that plant looked a bit dry. You should take better care of this place.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He puts a spoonful of risotto on my plate. “You didn’t have to, you know.”

  “I know. But I should probably cut down anyway. You’re practically doing me a favor. Thanks, Hay.”

  He shakes his head, like he doesn’t believe that at all, but doesn’t comment. The small smile on his face is back and I feel warm inside. It feels unreal to sit here and share a meal with him. With Hayden, who I dreamed of every night growing up. Who wore the school uniform with such disdain. Who never teased me the way my brothers did.

  “So,” he says, voice deepening. “Tell me about Yale.”

  “Hmm, well, I was there for four years. I don’t know where to start.”

  He gives me a look that sends shivers down my body, all the way to my toes. There’s something about his gaze—there always was—that reaches all the way to my very core. “I have nothing but time.”

  So I tell him. I tell him about the annoying professors and the brilliant ones, about the seminar tutor who asked a student out during class and got fired, about the late nights at the library. He laughs when I talk about my crazy roommate who used to wash her socks in the sink and hang them along the heater, even when I told her repeatedly that it would cause a fire.