Say You Still Love Me: A Novel

by K. A. Tucker

  “Yes, that light is awfully blue and sparkly.” I stare pointedly at the signature robin’s-egg-blue Tiffany bag peeking out from his satchel. It contains a diamond pendant that Lawan had been eyeing online one day but would never dare ask him to buy for her. “I wasn’t mocking you, by the way. I loved the spoon sculpture. And the lamp that just arrived.”

  “Yeah?” His eyes twinkle with delight. “And what’d Dad say?”

  “He . . . uses it daily.”

  Rhett bursts out in laughter and I can’t help but grin. He’s always had a big laugh, but somewhere along the way, it evolved into a hearty, booming sound.

  “I hesitated too long, didn’t I?”

  “You’re a shitty liar, Piper.”

  “It did grab his attention, momentarily, if that means anything.”

  “Whatever. I gave up on pleasing him years ago. And I’ll tell you, it was liberating.” He sighs heavily. “Okay, enough about Dad and that place. Tell me what else is going on in your life, so I know you have a good excuse for not coming out to visit us for eight months.”

  I cringe. “Has it been that long?”

  “Since our store’s grand opening. Lawan’s trying not to take it personally.”

  “I’m sorry, really. It’s just been so busy with work, and then the whole breakup and moving and all that . . .”

  He tips his bottle of Corona toward me. “Best decision you’ve ever made, shedding those two hundred pounds, by the way. Not gonna lie: I may have cracked a bottle of champagne after Mom spilled the news.” To say David and Rhett did not click is an understatement. The moment we pulled up to their house in David’s Maserati and David stepped out in his polished leather shoes and suit for a casual weekend, Rhett had made his mind up. David only validated his opinion of him when he point-blank told Rhett he was an idiot for not signing a pre-nup to protect his money from Lawan, an especially prickly thorn in my father’s side as well.

  It’s the only time I’ve ever seen the pre-Thailand version of my brother: seconds away from knocking my fiancé’s teeth out.

  “How’s the condo?”

  “Besides the psychotic Siamese cat that was sitting on my nightstand watching me sleep the other night?” I fill Rhett in on my new living situation.

  “I really need to meet these camp friends one day.”

  “If you weren’t already married, I’d be setting you and Ashley up. You’d be perfect together.”

  “Happily married,” he corrects with a warning look.

  “Whatever. Just make sure you let me know when Lawan runs off with the gardener and half your money.” A scenario my father offered up when trying to convince my brother to sign the pre-nup his lawyers had drafted, the day before their wedding.

  I’m only teasing, of course. I’ve never seen a more content and loving couple than Rhett and Lawan. He makes her tea every night and drives to a bakery one town over every Saturday morning for her favorite almond croissants; I’ve never even heard him raise his voice to her.

  Rhett takes a swig from his beer. “And what about you? Dating yet?”

  “Not yet.” It’s funny, just a few weeks ago, that answer would have been more along the lines of “Hell no,” and punctuated with a bitter laugh. Now, though, the second Rhett asked, my mind instantly veered to the lobby at work, and to the man behind the security desk.

  “Don’t worry, someone decent will come along soon enough.” He adds in a grumble, “Preferably as opposite to Worthington as possible.”

  “He definitely is that,” I mutter under my breath as I take a sip of my wine.

  Too loudly, it seems.

  Rhett leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Okay, spill it. So there is someone?”

  “No . . .”

  “An architect.”

  “No.”

  “Investor.”

  “No.”

  “Tennis pro?”

  I cringe.

  “Masseuse?”

  “Stop it.”

  “The gardener?”

  I laugh and joke, “I don’t want Lawan’s sloppy seconds.”

  Rhett’s knowing eyebrows arch as he waits expectantly. Another Calloway trait he’s inherited is tenacity. As in, the rest of our dinner will be hijacked by this one topic until I give in.

  I groan. “Okay, but don’t tell anyone. Especially not Mom.”

  I wait to get his nod of agreement.

  “Do you remember that guy I was with at summer camp? I’m sure Mom must have told you about him. Kyle?”

  “I don’t think . . .” His mouth curls with a frown and his brow tightens with concentration as he struggles.

  “He was from Poughkeepsie.” I hesitate. “His father and two of his brothers were in prison.”

  “Oh yeah!” Recognition fills his face, as I knew it would eventually. “Daddy’s sweet Princess Piper got caught with her pants down on the wrong side of the tracks that summer. Finally took some of the heat off me. Especially when you got fired.” He starts humming Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Anyway, I kind of ran into him.” I explain.

  “He’s working as a security guard at Calloway?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. That’s something.” He frowns. “If I remember correctly, you guys got into some serious trouble together. Wasn’t there some kind of accident with a kid?”

  “With one of the counselors, yeah.” My stomach tightens with the memory of that night, with how lucky we were, how bad it could have been.

  Rhett’s fingers draw along his chin, scratching at the day-old scruff, as he processes. “Does Dad know this guy is working there?”

  “No.” I shake my head to emphasize this.

  A wide grin slowly splits Rhett’s face. “So, are you two—”

  “No.”

  “But you want to?”

  “I don’t know what I want.” Is that even true?

  My brother’s curious frown tells me he knows it isn’t.

  “I want to know why he disappeared like that on me. It was a jerk thing to do.”

  I want to know when exactly he stopped caring. Was it right away or over time? Or did he never really feel anything at all?

  Was I just being naïve?

  I grind my teeth with the thought that Kyle might have fed me adoring lines and intimate touches to get what he wanted from me before summer was over.

  “Huh. Small world, I tell ya,” Rhett murmurs.

  “That’s the thing.” I relay what Gus told me about Kyle requesting the transfer to our building. “What do you think that means?”

  “That he wants back in your life. Obviously. And damn, wouldn’t that be something. Daddy’s princess with the building security guard? One with a bunch of convicts for a family?” He chuckles. “I might be back in Kieran Calloway’s good books once he finds out.”

  “So glad you’re entertained,” I mutter. “But he doesn’t want to reconnect. He’s been avoiding me for the most part. Plus he’s living with someone.”

  His lips purse with thought. “So what are you gonna do, then?”

  “I don’t know! But he keeps getting into my head, messing up my day. I can’t concentrate.” Heat climbs up my neck. “It’s embarrassing! I’m all wrapped up in this. In him. It’s like I’m sixteen all over again.” Except I’m not. I’m twenty-nine years old and getting sucked into nostalgia when I should be focusing on my career, on these projects worth billions of dollars!

  “So then there’s only one thing to do—you confront him.” Rhett shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” He squeezes the bridge of his nose like he’s in pain. “Didn’t you once walk out of a meeting owning a building that the guy didn’t even want to sell?”

  I roll my eyes. “That idiot couldn’t negotiate worth a damn.” A perfect example of where a guy had no business inheriting Daddy’s empire and was too stu
pid and arrogant to realize it.

  “And didn’t you sit in a lecture hall and lob argument after argument for an hour straight until your professor finally yielded to you?”

  “He was a misogynistic ass! I mean, who debates a room full of women about women’s reproductive rights? And how do you even know about that?”

  “Mom. She was so proud of you, she forgot about the time difference and woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me about it. My point is, you’re Piper Fucking Calloway! So get this security guard in a room and get your answers. Because there is a reason for him wanting to work in your building, and it has to do with you. And hey,” he raises his hands in a sign of surrender, “say what you want about making unfair assumptions, but given this guy’s family and who you are, there’s fair reason to be worried.”

  “Kyle’s not there to hurt me.”

  Rhett gives me a flat look.

  “I guess I could ask him to meet—”

  “Ask? No, you tell him to meet you. Because you are Piper Fucking Calloway.” He emphasizes each word with a jab at the table’s surface, earning my laugh.

  “Fine, I will.”

  “Good. Let me know how it goes.”

  “I will. But. . . .” I lift a finger in warning.

  “I know, I know.” He rolls his eyes and mock-zips his lips closed. “Have you talked to Mom lately?”

  “A week ago. She’s redecorating at Martha’s Vineyard.” Again.

  “ ‘I’m glad to see she’s still enjoying the fruits of my labor,’ ” Rhett murmurs, imitating our father’s bitter, deep tone.

  “Right?” I shake my head. “I can’t even remember them ever liking each other anymore.”

  Mom ended up doing a lot of “thinking” over that summer while I was at Wawa, with the help of a twenty-nine-year-old tennis instructor. The affair ended whatever meager efforts my father might have been making toward reconciliation and instead earned his wrath. They’ve been officially divorced for twelve years now. As much as I dreaded the inevitability at the onset, as much as I despised the both of them for their roles in tearing apart our family, by the time the ink was drying on the legal paperwork of the ugly, high-profile divorce, what I felt more than anything was relief that they’d finally go their separate ways, until the wounds healed and civility might arise. Maybe even friendship.

  I’ve long since let go of that delusion.

  The last time my parents were in the same room was five years ago, at Rhett’s wedding at Naka Island in Thailand. It took months of me needling to convince my father to make the trip, a seeming victory that turned into a living nightmare when he arrived at the hotel with a stunning twenty-eight-year-old model who he’d met at a fund-raiser just weeks before. Clearly a woman who served only one purpose there. Well, two, if my father’s intent was to burrow deep under my mother’s fifty-two-year-old skin. And, boy, did he ever, if her toast, delivered after too many glasses of Cristal and with at least a dozen not-so-subtle jabs thrown his way, was any indication. Poor Lawan got a good glimpse of the family she’d married into and an even better understanding of why my brother chose to stay on the other side of the world for as long as he had.

  The server comes to clear our plates and deliver the tab, which Rhett grabs before I have a chance to even reach for it. “I’m so glad we did this, Pipes.”

  “So am I. You know, you’re the only one I can talk to frankly, about anything,” I murmur. “You never judge.”

  “I’m a huge stoner, remember? Stoners don’t judge.” He winks. “What are you going to do about this security guard?”

  I sigh heavily. “I don’t know, but I have to do something and soon. Like, tomorrow.” I can’t continue on like this, my mind muddled with the past. Otherwise I’m going to start deserving whatever belittling nicknames Tripp wants to label me with. “Any advice?”

  He grins. “You’re Piper Fucking Calloway.”

  Arriving to work at seven A.M. has its advantages.

  Namely a quiet lobby, ripe for confrontation.

  “I’m Piper Calloway . . . I’m Piper Calloway . . .” I mutter under my breath as I march toward the security desk, my heels clicking with purpose, my chin held high as I stare straight ahead.

  “Morning, Miss Calloway,” Gus croons. “How’s my boy Rhett doing?”

  I clear the sudden nervousness from my throat. “He’s good. He asked that I pass along his greetings.”

  Gus’s faces splits with a wide grin. “I hope he makes it in here again one day. It’s been a long time. He was still in college, the last time I saw him.”

  “I’ll be sure to let him know.” I shift my focus to Kyle, who’s leaning back in his chair, watching the exchange through curious eyes. “Good morning, Kyle.”

  “Good morning, Miss Callow—”

  “Please meet me on the eleventh floor, in conference room C, at ten A.M.”

  Something unreadable flashes in his eyes—resignation, maybe?—and there’s a few seconds’ pause before his golden gaze shifts to Gus. “Is that okay?”

  “No problems here.” Gus holds his hands up. “What the boss lady says, we do. Gladly.”

  Kyle sighs heavily and then nods once. “Okay,” he mumbles, reluctance in his tone. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Ten A.M. sharp. Eleven C,” I repeat. “You know where it is; you’ve been pacing past it enough times.” With that, I wave my badge and head to my office, trying to ignore the rush of nerves churning in my stomach.

  Mark’s eyes are on me the second I step into the executive wing, his brows raised in curiosity. No doubt because of the email I sent him last night, asking that he be in as early as possible, seven A.M. at the latest. I’ve never asked that of him.

  I’m not in the mood for exchanging pleasantries right now. “I need you to find out everything you can on Hank Kavanaugh from KDZ. Where he lives, who he’s married to, where he went to school, their construction projects, everything. I want to know how Tripp knows him, and every meeting they’ve had. See what Jill can tell you. On the down-low, of course.”

  Mark eagerly jots down notes, his mouth working over questions he’s dying to ask but knows better than to, just yet. Finally, he dares murmur, “So you have a plan?”

  “Oh, I have a plan.” I can feel the vicious and defiant smile stretch across my lips. “We’re going to lance a giant boil.”

  Chapter 12

  THEN

  2006, Camp Wawa, Week One

  “He’s, like, in love with you!”

  “Oh my God, no he isn’t!” My cheeks burn even as I grin, my eyes darting around us, making sure no one else heard Ashley’s enthusiastic hiss. Thankfully everyone’s attention seems to be on the screen ahead or on their nearby friends’ giggles, or on stretching their sleeping bags out on the grass as they prepare for The Parent Trap. Night Four of camp is “movie night” every week—barring rain—and I’ll admit, the sea of small, squirming bodies over the soccer field is impressive.

  The image from the projector flickers a few times before it finally fills the screen, and the opening score blares through the speakers and carries through the calm, warm night air.

  “Please. His eyes are, like, glued to you.” She drops her voice. “Did you two hook up last night?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I can’t stifle my wide grin fast enough.

  “I knew it!” Ashley starts giggling hysterically. “What was it like?”

  “We just kissed. That’s all.” That’s a lie. There’s nothing “just” about kissing Kyle, I’ve decided. My lips were still puffy when I woke this morning, with a content sigh despite the early hour and lack of sleep, and the sound of Christa’s voice, urging everyone on their feet.

  I’ve been on a high all day, my body humming with life and expectation every time I catch a glimpse of him. Nothing has been able to dampen my mood—not the sight of Izzy’s bloody knee when she tripped over a log, not the icy temperature of the lak
e when we went swimming, not the overdone and unappealing fish sticks that landed on my plate for dinner.

  “You’re coming out tonight, right?” Ashley asks.

  “Of course.” I’ve been anxiously counting down the hours since my eyes cracked open.

  “Wear your bathing suit. We’re going night swimming.”

  I shudder.

  “It’ll be fun. Trust me.” She adds in a coy voice, “I’m sure Kyle will be going.”

  My gaze wanders over to where he sits, ten feet away, behind his campers. He’s laughing at Eric, who’s furiously brushing his hands through his blond curls.

  “Glitter,” Ashley explains with a giggle. “The kids must have stolen it from the arts tub and played a joke on Eric. That or Kyle did it. They’re such jerks to each other sometimes.”

  Midway through a laugh, Kyle turns my way and I feel the shy smile curl my lips, memories of his mouth against mine still firmly emblazoned in my mind.

  “See? He can’t keep his eyes off you! You’re like a magnet.”

  “Stop!” I elbow her, but I’m grinning.

  Kyle seems to pick up on the gist of our conversation because he reaches into a bowl of popcorn and tosses a kernel at us. It misses us entirely, pinning Christa in the head.

  The soft strum of a guitar and laughter carries and the day’s warmth lingers in the air as Ashley and I approach the lake, our bathing suits on beneath our clothes. My campers were asleep before hers, leaving me to pace around the girls’ restroom, waiting for her to arrive. Christa didn’t say a word when I clambered down the steps and grabbed my things.

  The way things are going, I doubt we’ll ever see eye-to-eye on anything.

  People are already in the water, trading splashes, though it’s too dark to identify anything beyond a few silhouettes.

  Someone has carried a metal firepit down and settled it in the sand. Flames now dance within it, toasting the marshmallows held close while illuminating the circle of faces that surrounds it. Avery and Maria sit on either side of Colin, seemingly lulled by his throaty voice as he sings the chorus to “Wonderwall” by Oasis.