Now or Never

by Victoria Denault

  “Fuck, that’s harsh.” Her expression wavers, for just the slightest second, but then it goes back to angry.

  “You convinced me to throw a party when my parents were out of town and then you stole from my house. I was grounded for half my junior year,” she says, still as angry as if it were yesterday. “You took my grandmother’s pearls, the only thing she left me, and pawned them.”

  “I know,” I tell her. And sigh. “I also hurt your feelings. On purpose. I was a jerk.”

  “And I don’t care if you’re a fucking angel now. I don’t like you,” Cat counters. “I’ll never like you. So I suggest you make the trek down to Hogan’s Market next time you need coffee or sustenance or anything. I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

  “Fair enough,” I say even though it doesn’t feel fair. I know I earned her anger. I am a little disheartened by how much damage I did at such a young age and how no one is letting it go. Literally no one. I knew coming home wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t think it would be this hard. I head to the door but pause before leaving. “For the record, I would put you out if you were on fire.”

  “You’d piss on me?” She cocks a blond eyebrow.

  Oh fuck, that’s not… “No I’d use water or a fire extinguisher. I just…forget it. Take care, Cat. I’ll try to stay out of your way this winter.”

  I leave before I can make it worse or she can come up with another way to express her fury. I head up to the beach, sit on a bench and devour the bun and strawberry milk as my coffee cools. This was a treat my mom used to get me. I still love it. The tide is high and the waves are few and far between. There are very few people around. It’s such a dynamic shift from last week when the tourists were still here and the beach was packed. The first week of September and the second are like pre- and post-apocalypse when it comes to the amount of people in this town.

  I knew it was going to be a lonely winter, but I’m beginning to realize it’s going to be a hostile one. I wasn’t banking on that. I toss the bag from my bun and the bottle from my milk in the trash can and pick up my coffee as I take off my shoes and make my way back to the Braddock house along the sand. I guess if it gets really lonely I could call Kidd. Maybe I can hang out with those guys again without being brought into whatever bullshit they’re involved in…Maybe they’ve changed? Even a little…Or I can just force Winnie Braddock to see me in a new light.

  I laugh to myself at the improbability of that.

  5

  Winnie

  He’s gone when I head out for groceries and, more importantly, wine. But he’s back when I come home an hour later, with aching feet, sore arms and sweating like a stuck pig. I realized a few things on my walk to Super Shop and Save. First, I’m going to need a car if I’m staying. Second, I’m not going to be able to get rid of him. Which means I’m going to have to tell my family what I’m doing. I just hope I can wait long enough to figure it out myself.

  I have no idea why I came back here. It’s not going to help. Nothing is going to help, but I figured at least here, I would be alone. And everything—I mean every single thing—about this place reminds me of my dad. When I woke up this morning, to the sound of Kidd’s truck hauling Holden’s trailer, for a brief second I forgot what happened. I thought I was here with the family—all of them, including Dad. But then I remembered. And then I had to deal with Holden.

  I’m furious at my brother, which isn’t fair, but I can’t seem to shake the anger. He’s doing a good thing, renovating this place, but I just want to be alone here. I want peace and quiet. But Jude wants to honor Dad by creating the cottage he always dreamed of. I feel tears welling up in my eyes and try desperately to ignore them as I approach the cottage. Holden’s sprawled out in a lawn chair under the awning he’s opened on the side of his Airstream.

  He’s shirtless, and I can’t help but stare. Holden Hendricks, who started out as a good-looking boy, turned into one hell of a specimen of a man. When he was a kid, he was athletic and fairly muscular from playing hockey. But now…well, now his muscles have muscles. He’s broad shouldered, with smattering of hair across his well-developed pecs and both his ample biceps are covered in tattoos. The tat on his left arm that I saw peeking out from his shirt on the bus the other night is an octopus, and his right biceps has a bunch of intricate images twisted together—a ship’s wheel, an anchor, a nautical compass and words I can’t catch without staring much longer than I should.

  “See something you like?” he asks and it startles me back to reality. This man may look pretty on the outside but he’s not on the inside. I will never forget that.

  “Definitely not,” I reply and turn to climb the stairs to the cottage.

  “I need to do a walk-through,” I hear him say behind me and turn to find him at the bottom of the stairs I’m halfway up. His abs look like they’re cut from marble. And his well-worn jeans are so low on his hips I can see the waistband of his underwear.

  “Why?”

  “So I can get a feel for where to start tomorrow,” he explains.

  “You’re starting tomorrow?” I repeat, stunned and annoyed. “Why so soon?”

  “Because it’s my job,” he reminds me. “I promised Jude it would be ready in six to eight weeks, and I have other gigs lined up afterward.”

  “And you just have to start tomorrow or you can’t make it?” I question and try not to sound as annoyed as I am. Again, Holden might be a dick, but he is just doing his job. It’s not just the fact he’s here that annoys me, it’s the fact that anyone is here—in my space. I came back here to be alone and grieve without an audience. Now I not only have an audience, it’s a childhood nemesis who used to make me feel like a loser on my best days…and I’m nowhere near my best days right now. “I was hoping to have a week before you started.”

  “I was hoping there wouldn’t be a squatter on the property, but we don’t always get what we want,” Holden replies with a small shrug of those incredible shoulders. “You get today. Rest up. I work early and I work late.”

  “Well, I’m not even getting today if you need to bother me with a fucking walk-through,” I snap.

  He raises his eyebrows. “You have an inordinate amount of anger. Your boyfriend not giving it to you regularly?”

  “Excuse me?!”

  “You heard me. You need to get laid to get rid of all that anger.”

  “Sex doesn’t fix things.”

  “Well, sweetheart, you should really try something because being that infuriated all the time isn’t going to do you any favors.” He gives me a wide, snarky smile. “Trust me I know. And if you’re trying to give me a taste of my own medicine, it worked. You are on my last nerve right now.”

  “You haven’t changed at all.”

  “I have, but damn you seem hell-bent on bringing out the old me,” he says and heaves a frustrated sigh. “Winnie…we’re getting off on the wrong foot.”

  “We’ve been on the wrong foot for years. There’s no right foot for us.” I swing open the door to the screened-in porch. I can hear him climbing the stairs and as much as I want to stop him I won’t. I put the key in the lock for the oak door and glance at him over my shoulder. “Please be done by the time I finish unpacking my groceries.”

  I swing open the front door and he steps in behind me, then walks past me, his head turns to glance into the grocery bag I’m carrying. “Not sure I can get everything done in the time it takes to unpack some junk food and wine.”

  “Yeah you’re a dick,” I retort and stomp off to the kitchen before he can reply. I start to unpack my groceries, which include blueberries, yogurt, bread and four frozen dinners on top of the two bags of Humpty Dumpty potato chips and three bottles of pinot grigio that jackass noticed when he snuck a peak. I can hear him walking around. I walk into the dining room to put the wine bottles in the wine rack under the window and can’t stop myself from glancing his way. He’s crouched down in the bathroom measuring the width of the room with a tape measure he must have
had in his pocket. Then he types the measurements into his phone.

  He looks up and notices the Plexiglas box on the rickety shelf above the toilet and his eyes grow two sizes bigger. He looks at me and back at the trophy. “Is that a fucking Stanley Cup ring?”

  “Yeah. Jude’s first,” I explain. “He gave it to my dad. Dad used to keep it here. It was a prized possession in his favorite place.”

  “In the shitter?” Holden is both stunned and horrified as he rises to his feet and leans forward to admire it.

  “He kept it on his dresser, where he could see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night,” I say and I almost smile as I explain the rest. “But Sadie, Dixie and I always move it to the bathroom. At first, Jude actually thought Dad kept it there, but then he realized it was our way of keeping him humble. Reminding him rings and trophies mean shit to us. He still has to be a good person.”

  Holden chuckles and I’m surprised by how good it feels to make him laugh. “You girls sure know how to keep a guy in place…and dishonor a symbol of the hardest trophy to win in sports.”

  “Whatever.” I shrug. He shakes his head in disbelief, takes one last long look at the ring and lowers himself back down to take more measurements.

  After a couple of minutes, he glances back and catches me watching him. The shithead grins, all cocky like I haven’t seen on his face since he was a teen, and then he has the balls to wink. He fucking winks at me. “You can deny it all you want, you like what you see.”

  “I’m just admiring my handiwork,” I flat-out lie. “I’m assuming I’m the one who made your nose a little crooked when I clocked you.”

  He slowly stands up. I can’t stop my eyes from slipping to his stomach to watch his abs as they flex and ripple with his movements. I know it’s impossible, but I swear his six-pack is more of a twelve-pack. “Eyes up, Larry,” he chides with amusement. I roll my eyes and then glare, but his smirk doesn’t leave. “It’s cute you think you’re the only one I’ve ever made angry enough to attack me.”

  “Oh I’m sure I’m not,” I reply coolly.

  His eyes stay on me as he reaches up and runs his index finger slowly over the bridge of his nose. Honestly, the crook in it is barely noticeable. “You and your left hook broke my nose the first time. But it’s been busted by a couple hockey pucks and a few fists since. I am happy to report it has stayed in one piece for about a decade.”

  “Are you almost done?” I ask, changing the subject because I just want him gone. This conversation is pointless and exhausting and his hot body is impossible not to stare at, which is annoying.

  “Nope. Because you keep ogling me and reminiscing fondly about the time you punched me,” he replies and my jaw drops. He ignores me and heads into the kitchen.

  Of all the people in the entire world, my brother had to pick him. I sigh and walk over to the bar cart, grab the wine opener and head back into the kitchen. It’s a small L-shaped room, which makes it almost impossible to not bump into Holden. I manage to squeak by him as he measures the counters by the sink, but after I grab the chilled bottle of wine from the fridge I have to wait for him to move from the counter so I can uncork it. I sigh impatiently. He smiles passive aggressively and I swear he moves way more slowly than he has to. “Thirsty?”

  “I just walked to and from the grocery store, so yeah, I’ve earned a beverage,” I reply and wonder why the hell I feel like I have to defend myself to him. “And it’s been a rough…couple of years.”

  That seems to take his snark level down a notch and his smirk disappears. “Yeah, I can only imagine how hard it is being from a loving family, with a rich brother who probably helps you out when you need it and a long-term boyfriend who puts up with your attitude. Completely rough. Drink up.”

  I tense. I can feel my anger rush through my entire body. I feel it in my earlobes, for God’s sake. I turn to him with venom dripping from my voice. “Don’t even begin to think you have any clue about me or that you have any right to judge. How do you even know anything about my life?”

  “Your brother was more than happy to update me while I was talking to him, trying to keep the stupid secret that you’re here,” Holden says calmly, not ruffled in the slightest at my fury.

  “My brother doesn’t know everything,” I say and pause. “Thank you for not telling him I’m here.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says simply.

  The moment feels like a bit of a truce so I use it to retreat onto the porch with my wine, the opener and a glass. I’m halfway through my first glass, rocking slowly in my dad’s old chair, when he appears in the doorway. He barely glances at me before he opens the screen door and starts down the stairs. Good, I think, but at the same time, I feel a little disappointed. Maybe it’s because I feel like a good fight right now and well, he was giving me one.

  He walks straight to his trailer and instead of hanging out in front, on his shitty lawn chair, he heads inside and closes the door. I hear my phone ring from where I left it on the dining room table. It’s probably Ty. Again. He’s called about twelve times today, but he has yet to leave a message. I should talk to him. I know that, but instead I head into the kitchen to grab a bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips. I haven’t eaten all day and my stomach is growling. I refill my glass while I’m in there too.

  With an open family-size bag of chips in one hand and my wine in the other, I wander back toward the porch but pause at the open door to my parents’ room. I stare at the oak sleigh bed and old white chenille quilt that they’ve had since…well, as far back as I can remember. I walk into the room and my nostrils are instantly hit with familiar scents. The room is an elixir of pine from the floors and walls, roses from my mom’s perfume and musk from my dad’s aftershave. An almost empty bottle of it sits on his tallboy dresser next to the small closet. I walk over, put down my chips and wine and gently pick it up. I pop the top off and sniff. The scent fills my heart, but it also makes me ache and tears instantly start falling down my cheeks.

  “Oh God, Dad, I miss you so much.”

  6

  Winnie

  It’s been two days. Two long days. This guy gets up at the crack of ass and marches in here to start work every damn morning and it’s killing me. I haven’t been able to sleep much at night. Somehow I can only fall asleep around four or five in the morning so I need him to not wake me up at nine. But that’s what he’s done for the last two days. And it’s only going to get worse. He’s spent the last two days clearing the rooms of belongings and pulling down the wallpaper in the bathroom, but eventually he’s going to start knocking down walls and my sleep, and any sense of quiet, will be gone. I feel like him being here, ruining my chance at peaceful mourning, is the universe kicking me while I’m down. That and the sleep deprivation is making me feel like a cornered animal all the time.

  He steps onto the porch at almost six in the evening and glances over at me. His silvery eyes land on my wineglass. “Wine o’clock again, huh?”

  I ignore the comment. “Done for the day?”

  “Yep. Fair warning. Tomorrow is the last day before demo. Then it’ll start getting loud and dusty in here.” He opens the door and leaves without giving me a chance to respond. He probably assumes I’ll complain, and he’s right.

  I sigh and watch him go. When he closes the door of his trailer, I stand up and head inside. I have to eat something. I’m not doing enough of that. Cooking has always been a passion, since I was a little kid. But now it feels like a chore. I head into the kitchen, there are boxes piled up everywhere so my path is a long, meandering one. I open the fridge and stare inside. I could make a grilled cheese. I could whip up a salad. I sigh, sip my wine and give up, grabbing a jar of spicy mustard out of the fridge and reaching for the bag of pretzels on top of it.

  I head back to the porch, sit down, dip a pretzel into the mustard and pop it into my mouth. I can hear Holden banging around inside his trailer. He’s playing music—Foo Fighters—and he must have made dinner becaus
e the scent of something tomato-y and garlicky wafts through the screens. I glare at my pretzel. “Why can’t you be pasta primavera?”

  A car drives slowly up the street and I wonder if he’s expecting company? Having someone over to share that delicious-smelling dinner? A woman? My brain jumps there immediately. I have to be honest with myself, Holden Hendricks is a great-looking man. It would make sense that he has a girlfriend. I mean, some girls like the bad boys. They feel like they can love them into behaving better. I’ve never been that woman.

  But when the car door opens, it’s Ty who steps out. The pretzel in my hand drops to the floor. I stand up. He doesn’t know I’m here, I haven’t bothered to turn on the lights and the porch is shrouded in darkness. And for a brief, crazy moment, I ponder ducking down and hiding until he goes away. But he came all the way here from Toronto, I doubt he’ll go away.

  He starts toward the porch, but his head is turned toward the trailer. I put down my wineglass. “What are you doing here?”

  That finally gets his head to swing toward me. He finds me, or probably just a dark shadowed outline of me, on the porch and starts to climb the stairs. “I came to get you back.”

  I wish those words made me feel good and loved and gave me hope, but they don’t. “Ty, I don’t want to work through this.”

  He opens the screen door. “I can’t believe that.”

  “You’re going to have to,” I reply and glance at his car. “You came all the way back from Toronto?”

  He nods. “I can’t just walk away. I’m not going to let you.”

  Oh God. Why is this happening? He’s standing in front of me, looking anguished. Guilt floods me. “I’m sorry, Ty. I handled it poorly. I know that. But I still know that it’s the right decision. We can’t be together anymore.”