Renovation (A Golden Beach Novel)

by Loraine, Kim

  Angela frowned at him from the dock and shook her head. “Nope, it’s the other one.”

  “Sorry, Angie.”

  He motioned for her to come aboard and offered her a chair while he leaned against the entry to the cabin.

  “What are you doing, D?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Running away. That’s such a bitch move.”

  He laughed at this spirited woman. She’d never give up on him. “She’s done with me. I fucked it all up.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, you did. Mind telling me why, exactly?”

  “It’s a long, seriously fucked story.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  So, he launched into the story of his childhood. Bared his soul to the one person he knew would be most likely to share it with Valerie. When he finished, she was pale, her eyes shone with unshed tears, and she stood and took his hand.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me how bad it really was for you?”

  “You never told me the details of Simon,” he countered.

  “You’re not your father, Donovan.”

  “No? I’ve completely destroyed the only good thing in my life. I can’t manage my life for shit. She deserves someone who can give her stability, not someone who’s only ever seen love end with a fist to the face.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  He shook off her words, not wanting to hear them.

  “I hit her,” he admitted.

  “You were having a nightmare.”

  Shock radiated through him. “She told you?”

  “We’ve spent many nights rehashing the details of your complicated relationship. She’s not doing as well as you think.”

  “You think she’ll be happy with the douche?”

  “Blake? God, I don’t know. She’s so different now, and from what I can see, he’s exactly the same. But probably, yeah. They’ll probably pick up where they left off. Marriage, babies, she’ll be his beautiful trophy wife.”

  Her words cut him deep. He wanted all of that with Valerie, except for the trophy wife part. She was so much more than a trophy. The idea of her walking down the aisle toward anyone but him, not to mention carrying another man’s child, growing old with anyone else, he couldn’t stand it.

  “You don’t like that much, do you?” Angela’s eyebrows raised in question.

  “I can’t do anything about it.”

  “Fine, have it your way. Stubborn ass.” She hugged him tight and turned to leave. “Be careful.”

  “Thanks, Angie. You, too.”

  He watched her step out onto the dock and was about to head in for one last check of his route, when she turned and delivered a parting shot. “You’re the douche if you don’t fight for her, Donovan.”

  As Valerie walked from her car to Angela’s apartment complex, she jumped at the beep of a car horn. Blake smiled at her over the steering wheel as he pulled into the visitor space in front of the building. Try as she might, she couldn’t get her body to react to him the way it always had with Donovan. There was none of the insane passion, electricity, or palpable tension. Blake was handsome, kind, and he loved her. She was comfortable with him, safe. They’d been dating officially for two weeks and moving forward in their relationship seemed like the next step, but she wasn’t ready. Sex always complicated things and since her slip-up with Donovan on Halloween, she’d been avoiding the topic with Blake.

  “Hey, babe. How’s my favorite girl?” He crossed the parking lot and pulled her into his arms.

  “Tired. Long day today.”

  “Really? Why? Didn’t you just have some swim lessons?”

  She bristled at his dismissal of her job, but pushed it down. “Actually, I had a meeting with my admissions counselor and put together my schedule for school today, as well as ten swimming students.”

  “You’re still planning on school, then?”

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

  He took her hand and squeezed. “I figured you might be making other plans now. I mean, I’ve got enough money to support you completely, get you designer clothes, a better car, anything you want.”

  She backed away from him, disgusted. “Why would you think I’d want that? You’re not my sugar daddy, Blake.”

  His expression turned from pompous to sour. “I just want to provide for you. I want to be proud to call you my girlfriend, and have people know that you’re well taken care of.”

  “I don’t need you to take care of me. I can do that on my own.”

  “Fine. You know what, I’m going to go. Call me when you realize what I’m offering. I’m not some working-class fireman who can’t support you.”

  She clenched her teeth against the unreasonable flood of anger and defensiveness. The slamming of Blake’s car door made her jump and she swiped at the hot, angry tears his words brought.

  “What the hell was that?” Angela leaned against the porch rail outside of her apartment, a quizzical look on her face.

  “That was the Blake I used to know.”

  “Haven’t seen him in a while?”

  “Nope, not until recently,” Valerie said, offering a wan smile.

  “Come on, let’s have some dinner and a drink. I’ve got stuff to tell you.”

  The smell of hot pizza filled the cozy space. Angela must’ve remembered Valerie’s packed schedule and planned ahead, bless her. Music played from the speaker on the kitchen bar, causing her head to turn toward it for a more focused listen.

  “That’s Donovan.” She was sure of his voice. “Why am I listening to Donovan singing on your speakers?”

  Angela blushed and fumbling for her phone, she switched the song.

  “Angie?”

  “He recorded a demo of one of the songs we wrote together. I’m working on it with the band. It’s just a rough recording, so we could get it down.”

  “When did you do this?”

  Again, Angela’s face flushed a bright red.

  “Before or after we broke up?”

  Distracting herself with paper plates and hot pizza, her sister successfully kept her eyes away.

  “Before or after?”

  “After,” came Angela’s timid reply.

  A mass of feelings flooded her—anger, hurt, betrayal—even warmth, love, and joy made an appearance. She breathed steadily as she walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine.

  “You’re not mad?”

  “I’m not happy, but I’m not mad, either. He’s your friend. If you want to see him, write music with him, basically anything with him, it isn’t my place to interfere.”

  Proud of herself for being so very grown-up and mature about the whole thing, she took a healthy sip of wine and settled herself on a barstool to eat.

  “So, let’s hear it.”

  Angela choked on her pizza. “What?”

  “The song. Come on.”

  “I . . . I don’t think you want to. You’re finally in a good place about him.”

  Butterflies danced in her stomach. What did she mean a good place? She rolled her eyes at her sister and snatched the phone off the bar. Scrolling back one song, she pressed Play and turned it up. Gentle finger-style guitar floated through the room, not Angela’s usual sound.

  “Him or you?”

  “Him.”

  She nodded, heart clenching. Angela’s beautiful voice filled the room, singing of heartbreak and betrayal, bringing on a wave of sorrow to crash over her. Donovan’s rich baritone joined in for the chorus. They sang together, but separately, his lyrics completely different from hers. He was begging forgiveness, admitting wrong, while she was crying for the love she deserved. As the song came to a close, her heart ached and her throat burned with unshed tears. She wou
ld not cry for this man again.

  “Who wrote that?”

  Angela refused to meet her eyes, a tear spilling down her cheek.

  “Angela. Tell me right now.”

  “He wrote his part. I wrote mine.”

  “You used my life for a song?” Anger boiled close to the surface.

  “I’m sorry. Val, I’m so sorry. I thought it would help him.”

  “Did it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” she whispered.

  Valerie nodded, unable to speak for fear of sobbing. She didn’t need this, she should have listened to Angela’s advice. Instead, her healing wounds had just been torn back open.

  “Where is he?”

  Alarmed eyes popped up to meet Valerie’s. “Uh, he’s gone. He left about a week ago.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I thought you wouldn’t want to hear about him. He broke you.”

  “I think I broke him right back.”

  Chapter 34

  The weather in Annapolis was unseasonably cool. Donovan pulled his hat down over his ears and braced against the wind as he walked from the dock to meet Colin. They hadn’t seen each other for the better part of a year, but occasionally kept in contact through social media. Colin looked like him, which meant he looked like their dad. Same dark hair, green eyes, and build.

  “Donovan, how the hell are you, man?” Colin clapped him on the back in a brisk hug.

  “Okay, considering the circumstances.”

  Colin dropped his arm from Donovan’s shoulder and shoved a hand in the pocket of his coat. “I’m just so sorry it turned out this way. Your mom was a great lady.”

  “She was.”

  “Come on, I’m starving.”

  Donovan loved talking to people who understood him. No prodding, no badgering. The two walked to Colin’s car and headed off to dinner.

  Two punchbowl-sized margaritas later, he eagerly tucked into his meal, while Colin filled him in on the life of a private detective. It seemed like a lot of cheating trophy wives and bastard husbands.

  “Can I ask you to look into a guy for me?” he asked as he picked nervously at his cuticles.

  Colin raised an eyebrow as he rolled up a fajita. “What’s up?”

  “There’s something about him that just doesn’t track.”

  “Name?”

  “Blake Monroe. He’s a resident at Golden Beach General. Went to Virginia Tech, then med school in Chicago. I don’t know where.”

  “Okay, sure. I’ll see what I can dig up,” Colin said, as he scribbled all the information and tucked the note in his pocket. “Give me a week or two. I’ll send you everything I find.”

  “Thanks.”

  Colin raised his glass and grinned. “What’s family for, right? Speaking of, you have plans for Thanksgiving? I think Grandma wants us all to come out.”

  He thought about it for a second, then grinned. “Nah, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  Thanksgiving was going to be awkward as hell. With Blake’s parents off in Aruba, on yet another vacation, Valerie had felt obligated to extend an invitation to her family gathering. He was supposed to be her boyfriend, after all. Angela hated him more, now that she’d witnessed his old personality, than she ever had before, and she was not afraid to show it.

  “I don’t see why he has to be here. You don’t even really like him.” Angela leaned against the counter, a glass of wine in her hand.

  Valerie sighed as she pulled the turkey out of the bottom oven in their parents’ kitchen. Over the years, she’d forgotten how wonderful a double oven could be. She’d spent enough time on her own to understand that kitchens like this one were few and far between.

  “He’s my boyfriend,” she offered, as if that explained everything.

  “He’s a stand-in.”

  Slamming the turkey down on the glass top stove, with a little more force than necessary, she huffed out a breath and set about basting the bird. “You mean, he’s not Donovan? Angie, no matter what he says now, Donovan left me. We’re broken, done. That’s it.”

  “But you love him.”

  Valerie’s lower lip trembled as she tried to build up the courage to deny it. “Clearly, that’s not enough for him. He wouldn’t have left if it was.”

  Their mother bustled in, carrying the plastic storage bin that held their special Thanksgiving dishes. She set the bin down and stared at Valerie, suspicion plain on her lovely face.

  “Why are you upset? What’s happened?”

  “It’s nothing, Mom. I’m fine.”

  Their mom looked from Valerie to Angela. “Angela? What is it?”

  “Boy trouble.”

  She shot her sister a withering glare, but Angela shrugged it off.

  “Oh, honey. I thought you’d moved on.”

  “She hasn’t. No matter what she says.”

  Their mom looked her up and down. “Well, that’s up to her, Angela. Right now, we need to get this place ready for a Thanksgiving for ten people. Angela, you peel the potatoes. Valerie, if you could wash the plates and get Riley to help you set the table, please?”

  Leave it to their mother to shift the focus at just the right time. Their guests were due to arrive in just over an hour and, looking around the kitchen, they still had a ton of work ahead of them. The pies were done and chilling in the basement fridge, but they still needed to make the yams, the salads, stuffing, and potatoes—practically everything.

  “Mom, why didn’t you ask us to come over for prep work last night?” Valerie asked.

  Her mom shrugged and waved the question away as she started on the green bean casserole. “With the three of us doing it together, we’ll be done in no time.”

  The girls worked the hour away, chatting and laughing, and most of all, avoiding the topic of romance altogether. When the doorbell rang, Valerie nearly jumped out of her skin. Blake, of course, was the first to arrive. He came bearing gifts, beautiful flowers for her mother, expensive wine for the table, and scotch for after dinner.

  Blake dropped a kiss on her cheek and whispered, “You’ll get your gift later.”

  The rest of the guests arrived in a flood. Garrett walked in with Parker, the bass player for Panic Station. A pang of sadness hit Valerie at the thought of Lena, all alone in the Far East, probably working on Thanksgiving. Usually, Lena and her mom joined the Peters family.

  The table was set and appetizers were being enjoyed with a cocktail, while Valerie and her mom put the finishing touches on dinner. They were all just sitting down to eat when the doorbell rang

  “Are we expecting anyone else?” her dad asked, carving knife poised and at the ready.

  Angela’s face went pale. “I’ll get it.”

  “Angela?” Alarm bells rang, and with a sinking feeling, she realized who it was.

  She shot a glance at Blake, sitting next to her, one arm possessively draped around her shoulder. He shrugged, clearly not concerned.

  Donovan strode into the dining room, a cocky grin on his handsome face. Unable to help herself, she ogled. Her eyes scanned his tall frame, taking in the broad shoulders wrapped in a dark leather jacket. He sported a dusting of stubble, just the way she liked it. He was every inch the delicious rake she’d fallen in love with and her heart splintered at the sight of him.

  “Donovan, we didn’t know you were coming,” Valerie’s dad greeted over the turkey.

  “I, uh. I didn’t know if my invitation was still open. I figured I’d take a chance.” He locked eyes with Valerie, tension and a vulnerable pleading passed between them.

  “Valerie? Is this okay with you?” her dad asked.

  What could she do? The right thing, the thing she should have done, was to send him home. That w
ould be the respectful choice, in consideration of Blake. She looked at Blake, his lips were pursed in a distasteful grimace. “It’s fine.”

  Blake tightened his grip on her shoulders, pulling her closer to him as he caressed her arm. All the while, his eyes were burning holes in Donovan’s as he took a seat next to Riley.

  Dinner was awkward and conversation stilted as everyone tried to avoid the elephant in the room. After the plates were cleared and desserts served, Blake made a big show of opening a bottle of eighteen-year-old scotch he’d brought.

  “Anyone care for a taste?” he offered, taking requests. “Valerie, go get me six glasses.”

  She started at the order, but shook it off and headed to the china cabinet to collect the appropriate glasses.

  “Donovan, are you sure you don’t want any? I’ve heard you’re a scotch man.” Blake’s eyes twinkled with malice, and the dig didn’t go unnoticed by those around the table, except for Asher who’d fallen asleep with his head on the table.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Probably a wise choice. We don’t want you beating anyone here to within an inch of their life.”

  Donovan’s jaw set, his eyes revealing the anger just beneath the surface.

  “That’s enough, Blake.” Valerie slammed the tray holding the glasses down on the table in front of him.

  As Blake poured measured amounts of scotch in each glass, he motioned for Valerie to pass them out to everyone. Donovan’s eyes never left her, she could feel him watching every move. A beep from the kitchen signaled that coffee was ready and she moved around the table to grab the pot. As she passed Donovan, his hand shot out and grabbed her arm, sending delicious tingles through her.

  “Sweetheart, can we talk?” His eyes were haunted and tortured.