KEPT: A Small Town Second Chance Romance Novella (Reckless Falls Book 0)

by Vivian Lux

  I hauled myself up the few feet, flopping rather inelegantly onto my belly like a fish, then took a deep breath. There was a pleasant burn in my arms, that kind of tingling that let me know that yes, I was alive. Adrenaline and dopamine flooded my system, giving that same sort of high I used to achieve with a bottle. They say this way is better, that hard exercise is preferable to hard liquor. I still wasn't certain that was true, but I needed something.

  My boots needed to be waterproofed again. I'd forgotten to do that before I left this morning. The shallow trickle of the water along the side was still deep enough to seep through the worn-out leather and my toes were starting to get cold. But I grasped the second rope and climbed the shorter middle cascade with no problem.

  I always liked the view from up here the most. The middle pool was just high enough above the valley floor to meet up with the tops of the trees, and you could see your first inkling of the lake below. It wasn't as popular to come to this viewpoint as it was to go to the very top. So for that reason I thought of it as mine and mine alone. I stood at the edge, careful to stay far enough away, and rested my hands on top of my head as I caught my breath.

  I've done this climb I don't know how many times, but each time it was different. In spring it was next to impossible with the runoff of the winter snows. In summer I climbed directly in the falls, letting the icy water cool in droplets on my skin, soaking through my shirt until it hung off me in wet rags. In the fall, like now, it was a crapshoot. Some days it would be cold enough to come in climb in raingear. Other days, like today, the sun baked into my skin, still strong enough to make me regret that I had forgotten to wear sunscreen.

  In winter, this whole place was transformed into an icy wonderland. I crunched through the snow along the side, taking the long way around rather than the more direct route right through the falls, and I'd watch the way the ice sparkled in the sunlight. In the winter, everything up here was silent and glittering and the only sound was the wind. I was almost looking forward to it.

  But I was here now, and I still had the last ascent to make. I took a deep breath and grabbed a hold of the third rope.

  This climb was the most nerve-racking. That uppermost falls fell straight down almost thirty feet. And the rocks up here were much more slippery with mist and run off. It was as much of a mental challenge as it was a physical one to figure out a way to safely ascend. It was the kind of thing I craved, mentally taxing enough to shut off the constant flow of thoughts in my brain. I hauled myself up - my breath coming in short bursts, my heart thudding in my chest like a jackhammer - making sure always to have my feet planted before I reached for the next grip. I shut off all the parts of my brain except the ones that were focused on where to put my toes, how to hold my fingers. And I was almost sad when I reached the top and hauled myself over the edge.

  I crawled away from the edge, turned and sat back on my knees. The blood thudded in my ears as my breathing returned to normal.

  The view below me never ceased to amaze me no matter how many times I saw it. Up here, the sounds of the valley below echoed strangely, far-off noises sounding like they were right on top of me. I could hear the boats off on the lake, dedicated boaters still out there in spite of the plunging temperatures. I could hear a car, wending its way along the country road down from Whaleback Mountain. But more than that I could hear the sound of crows, calling overhead, their strange croaking cries echoing as they wheeled overhead. And all around me the sound of the water, rushing and plunging over the boulders before heading straight over the edge, two hundred feet below where I was just now.

  The sigh of the wind filled my ears as I sat back and unwrapped my packed lunch. I peeled off my T-shirt, laid it out in the sun to dry and let the sun warm my shoulders. I leaned back, ready and anxious for the meditative quiet to overtake my mind.

  I came up here for the solitude, but for some reason today the silence and the sound of birdsong only made me realize that I was alone.

  I gave up, shoving the remnants of my lunch back into my pack. Then I headed off into the woods to take the gentler path back down again. Being alone wasn't working for me today for some reason.

  So when I saw the lone climber making her way toward me, I was almost happy, even before I saw who it was.

  She looked around and when her eyes lighted on mind she gave me a friendly grin.

  "Hey there Derek," she said as she came over to greet me.

  I leaned back against a tree. "Hi Brynn,” I said. "How are the kids?"

  She rolled her eyes. “You always say that," she said. "They're not my kids. They're just my class."

  "Same thing," I teased. "You're the one who thought it would be a good career path to spend your life wiping noses."

  "I'll have you know that kindergarten is a heck a lot more than wiping noses," she grumped.

  I laughed. "School just started up again?" I asked.

  She nodded. "I have this one kid, I cannot get stop him from eating the Play-Doh. I've been to the store like six times now, getting a new supply, but he just chows down on it like it's an all-you-can-eat buffet"

  I wrinkled my nose. "Can you eat Play-Doh?”

  She shrugged. "Well it is non-toxic, so I guess so."

  "What is it taste like?" I wondered.

  She shrugged again. "Salty." I gave her a look. Her eyes widened. "What? On-the-job hazards."

  "I can't believe it that you teach kindergarten," I said shaking my head.

  She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's been a couple years now. Get with the times."

  "I'm still not used to it. Do the parents know that you used to be the queen of keg stands?"

  An odd look passed across her face. "Actually, yeah, they do. Jesse's kid is in my class now."

  At the sound of the name, I stiffened out of old habit. Brynn’s eyes softened. "He's doing good, Derek. I wish you guys would talk again. You were so close."

  I turned back to the trail. "Yeah," I grunted, taking a step. She stood there for a second longer, then, reading my body language, she sighed. I wasn't looking at her, but I could feel the hurt radiating off her in waves. "Glad he's doing well," I ventured.

  "He is. He's going to be fine, the new prosthesis fits beautifully.”

  I could feel her ready to say something else, and held up my hand to ward off her praise. “Good,” I said shortly. “But is he going to walk again?"

  "Well?” she wheedled. “No. But you know that."

  “Yes, I do," I said, and this time I really turned away.

  I heard Brynn exhale one more time before she finally turned and left me blessedly alone. “You should tell him what you did for him!” she called. But the sound of the falls was so loud that I could pretend I didn’t hear her.

  My mind was whirling as I got into my Jeep. All I wanted to do was get back to my workshop. A new prototype was taking shape in my brain even as I drove. I’d have to do some research and see if this type of joint I was envisioning was feasible, but if it was it had the potential to be a lot more comfortable. Might even feel like it belonged there.

  I was so wrapped up in my idea that I almost didn’t notice the cars in the driveway until I was right on top of them. A sleek Benz and an old station wagon were pulled right up to the great house.

  I got out of my jeep and looked, pausing for a second to try and figure out who the heck was here. Aria had told me how much she wanted to keep her presence here a secret, so why would she be having people over? I stood there, watching the windows for any clue as to what was going on, and as I did, I tried to figure out what the hell I was feeling right now. This strange protectiveness. Was it guilt, still?

  Guilt of a different sort was what finally tore my gaze from her blank windows and forced me to head back into my workshop. But for the first time ever, I left the long rolling doors open.

  So just in case she needed me, she’d know where to find me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Aria Jane

  I gripped the porch r
ailing and leaned over to watch the two cars slowly parading up the winding drive. My knuckles were white as death but my hands were not shaking. Instead, my whole body was.

  I couldn’t see inside the first car, but that didn’t matter. My father drove Cadillacs. In his day, they were a rich man’s car, a show of his status, and he’d never let them go. This one looked exactly the same as the one he’d been driving seven years ago. Maybe the styling was a little more modern now, but there was no mistaking the man behind the wheel.

  I gave up trying to stand and sank heavily into the chair my grandfather had left behind.

  Because even from up here I could see my father’s face. Or rather, sense it. The tightly set glower, the controlled fury behind his eyes. No, my father wouldn’t blow his stack when he saw me, but that would almost be preferable. After seven years of Killian’s explosions, I was quite used to tantrums. I was quite adept at throwing them myself.

  But that wasn’t my parents’ way. Their way was slow, drawn out. Endless rounds of “reasonable discussions” that circled endlessly back into themselves like a snake eating its own tail. Nothing was ever resolved and the real feelings still simmered under the surface.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was seven years older and had a vast world of experience under my belt now. There was no reason for me to feel like a squirming child. I’d made my decision and I was proud of the life I’d led, even if it ended rather abruptly. My parents were reasonable people most days. Maybe if I showed them my press, played them our songs, maybe they’d be able to understand that I had left for a good reason and I hadn’t wrecked the life they’d tried to give me.

  The Cadillac nosed carefully into the topmost parking space. Behind it rolled a sleek Mercedes Benz. It was shiny with new wax and gleaming everywhere - except the mud- spattered wheel wells that gave it away as a local’s car. Mr. Banner, the lawyer, hopped from the driver’s seat and stood for a moment appreciating the view.

  Then my parents emerged from their car and looked up towards the porch. It was all I could do not to run away from their gaze.

  What the hell was I seeing in my mother’s eyes? I expected surprise and a lot of anger. But even from up here I could see the tightness of the skin at the corners, steely and hard even under her prescription sunglasses. She took them off and carefully tucked them into a case in her purse. She pulled out her ever-present reading glasses and my hands shook.

  “Mom,” I exhaled.

  My father walked around and took her arm, ever the dapper, gallant gentleman. They picked their way up the stone walkway with deliberate, almost passive-aggressive slowness. Mr. Banner followed quickly behind. The three of them converged on me. Three against one.

  My heart thudded like a bass drum. For one brief, hopeful second I looked over the lawn to Derek’s place. While he wasn’t a friend - he was an asshole player who was thwarting my attempts at a new life - he wasn’t the enemy either. At least in this instance, he’d be the lesser of two evils. He’d driven me to pick up my rental car, a gesture that had seemed almost friendly, and he’d let me sleep in his car. I had the sudden urge to go bounding across the lawn - without tripping of course - to pound on his door. I could imagine him answering, shirtless hopefully, and then following behind me. I’d sit him down on my side of the table, so I could face my parents with someone in my corner.

  Was he in my corner? Why would he be there? I’d done a pretty effective job of burning every bridge I’d ever come across.

  Was there anyone left to stand beside me?

  The dull thunk-thunk of footsteps on the wooden porch stairs raised the hair on the back of my neck.

  My father was the first to round the corner and stopped dead without a word. My mother slid in next to him and the two shared a brief, silent hand-squeeze.

  The only sound were the crows overhead. Their raucous cawing seemed to mock the silence that stretched between us.

  I folded my arms protectively over my chest. The same silent power struggle raged between us. Whoever spoke first was the loser. This was how it had always been.

  “Aria! How you’ve grown!” The silence was broken by Mr. Banner’s booming chuckle. He was slightly out of breath from climbing the stairs, but he still neatly sidestepped my frozen-in-place parents and moved to shake my hand.

  I pasted on a winning smile and gripped his hand firmly. “Mr. Banner, good to see you again.” His white beard was just starting to grow in and I suppressed a little grin when I remembered that it was because it was September. In three month’s time, it would be a bushy white cloud on his face, ready for fat, toddler fingers to grab ahold of. Mr. Banner spent all of December sitting in a little, red-painted plywood house on the town square, ho-ho-hoing at the top of his voice. That same glee that danced in his eyes when he played Santa Claus was dancing there now.

  I breathed a small sigh of relief to see that maybe he might be slightly my corner. “Shall we go in?” I asked.

  By mistake, I glanced over at my father. His face was a mask of offended indignation and I realized my mistake in inviting my father into his father’s house. I clenched my fist and cast one more look at Derek’s house. His Jeep wasn’t in the driveway. I had no idea where he might be and I had no idea why I desperately wanted to go to him.

  Instead, I walked into the great house and sat down at the farmhouse table.

  My parents seated themselves at the other end. Mr. Banner paused for a second before deliberately choosing the seat in the very middle. I tapped my fingers on the surface and traced the whorls and knots of the wood.

  My mother sniffed. “You changed your hair.”

  I reached up and touched the bright red tangle. “I did,” I nodded.

  “It doesn’t suit you.”

  I licked my lips. “It suited the job I had,” I said, leaning forward. “I’m a musician you know. A singer and a guitar player in a band….”

  My mother waved her hand. “I know all about your band.”

  I sat back on my chair. Only the solid surface of the seat kept me from feeling like I was falling through the floor. “You know about…”

  “Not my taste,” my father piped up. “You scream a lot.”

  I was still trying to put my thoughts in order. “You mean…you’ve listened to Wrecked?”

  “Of course.”

  “What do you mean of course?”

  “You’re our daughter.”

  “But you…” I was babbling, my hands shaking. “You mean, you knew where I was?”

  “Of course we did.” My mother gave a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Then why….” Tears were collecting in my eyes and I blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall. “Why didn’t you contact me?”

  My father’s voice was low and terrible. “Because you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to be contacted.”

  “I come from a shitty little backwater in the ass-end of nowhere,” my mother sing-songed in a high mocking falsetto. “Isn’t that what you said?”

  I swallowed, cheeks burning. I’d given that quote years ago, flippantly and off-the-record, but it had followed me ever since. It had permeated my mythology, the rock star reborn. It added to the whole backstory of anonymity, the mask I wore as Jane Doe, the rockstar alien with no history at all.

  Here was my history sitting across the table from me. The freedom of anonymity was shattering around me. “I did,” I said. It was useless to lie. “But I can’t believe that in seven years you never once thought to check in and see if I was okay.”

  “I guess I could say the same thing to you,” my father rumbled.

  I looked at him. He blinked once and stared right back. My mother pressed her lips together and turned them down. She tapped her fingers on the table in rhythm with me.

  Mr. Banner cleared his throat and tapped his papers on the table. “The reason we came here today,” he announced, blithely ignoring the freezing cold silence that had ensued, “is to discuss the division of
the estate amongst the heirs. Now,” he ran his fingers along the paper. “Miss Dolan has expressed her interest in selling off her portion of the…”

  “Absolutely not,” my father interjected firmly.

  “Are you kidding me?” I blurted.

  “No, I am most assuredly not kidding you. This house belongs in the family. You may not have any reverence for your roots, but I sure as shit do.” My father never swore and the force of his words made me sit back in my chair. “You will not sell it, not while I still have breath in my body.”

  “So what the fuck am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Way I see it you have two choices. Live in it. Or leave.” My mother slipped her hand over my father’s and he turned his palm up to squeeze her hand. I saw fierce tears blaze in his eyes and I looked down at my hand, suddenly guilty.

  “Dad,” I whispered. “I’m sorry about grandpa.”

  My father cleared his throat several times. Without a word my mother got up and fetched a glass from the cupboard. She ran it under the tap and brought it to my father who drank it down greedily, then coughed for a second. “I am too,” he finally said. Then he twisted his hands around each other. “Thank you for saying.”

  “Miss Dolan also raised another question,” Mr. Banner added, his lawyer mask firmly in place. “About the presence of the tenant in the carriage house.”

  “What tenant?” My mother interjected.

  “Derek Granger,” I said.

  My mother sniffed. “So that’s where he’s been hiding.”

  “Hiding?”

  She glared at me. “Of course you don’t know about the accident. Why would you care about a shitty little backwater in the ass-end of nowhere?”

  I cringed. “What accident?”

  “Ask Derek,” she said, sliding back her chair and standing up. She turned to Mr. Banner. “If my father-in-law had a tenant, then the tenant remains. Everything remains exactly as he left it,” she said, reaching out to pat my father’s trembling shoulder. “And we do not consent to any splitting of the estate or selling off of the assets.” She turned back to me and narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you go back to New York now, with your silly band and your slimy older lover? Isn’t that your home now?”