"And watch what? There's nothing in the theaters right now, and we have no way of getting there. Come on. Why not just pretend you're someone else for the night? If you want, we can even get you a new name and a wig from the boardwalk. You can be anybody you want."
She glanced at the glittery new machines again, her nostrils flaring. He was right.
Her only options were to spend the night on the casino floor or head back to that miserable hole of an apartment, and only one of those options came with free drinks.
"I'll watch you play, how about that?" she said.
"Fine. Come on." He made a motion like he was going to grab her hand, but just before their skin met, he pulled away again.
Scanning the rows of machines, he stopped short in front of an old, Adam West Batman game and shoved a twenty in the slot. Beside it, a Wonder Woman machine was clanging about all the chances she had to win, and she took a seat to watch him.
He slid into the chair in front of his machine, but before he pressed the button to begin, he shoved another twenty into her machine.
"Tonight, you can be Natasha. Natasha loves casinos and Wonder Woman." He winked and Zoe frowned back at him.
"You can't make me play." It wasn't that she was afraid. She knew herself well enough to know that the impulsive, addictive streak that ran through her father and sister had skipped her almost entirely.
No, it was more the futility of it. The idea that she could lose twenty dollars in just as many minutes. It was insane.
"It's my money, and you're mad at me to begin with," Ian argued, almost as if he could read her mind. "What have you got to lose?"
She glared at the screen then watched as he pressed the button on his own machine.
The joker appeared once, twice, and then… nothing.
"See?" She gestured toward the screen. "It's designed for this, you know…"
"Cock tease?" He offered, and she suppressed a laugh.
"Exactly. Even if I did play your money, nothing is going to happen." To prove her point, she slammed her hand on the highest roll—a five dollar spin—and the machine whirred to life.
The reels spun and spun, playing the cheery, 60s-style theme song as they went, and when the first reel stopped, it was filled with "Bonus" signs.
The next one did the same. And the next. And the next.
Her heart jumped into her throat, but she blinked at Ian, trying to remain nonplussed. "See? Nothing is going to happen. This last row will be—"
Nothing but bonuses.
The machine trilled a loud, metallic tune and then filled with glitter and explosions of sound and color. Wonder Woman flew across the screen in her invisible jet, and her golden cuffs turned all the Bonuses into Wilds.
She blinked at the screen again. Little, digital gold coins started falling from the top of the screen, pooling at the bottom until the number grew larger and larger. First two digits, then three, then four.
"Holy shit," Ian whispered, and it felt like the money never stopped. It just kept pooling in the corner, and she didn't know whether to be happy or irritated.
But as the numbers went up, there was obviously no choice. She let out a little squeal of delight and tossed her arms around Ian, sharing the moment with him as the numbers climbed higher and higher still. The people around them turned to watch and, when at last the machine stopped, she tapped the payout button and waited while her receipt printed.
Carefully, she pulled away from him, only slightly embarrassed of her reaction, and he stared at her arms as she slid back toward her machine.
The heat, the energy she'd felt? It had to have been from the moment, from the high of winning. It had nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with Ian himself.
At her side, a waitress appeared with a bottle of champagne. Zoe blinked up at her, confused.
"Complimentary champagne for your big win." The woman explained. Ian took the bottle gratefully, tipping the woman handsomely before she backed away again.
Zoe handed him her ticket. "That was your money. This belongs to you."
He shook his head. "Not on your life. It was worth it just to see somebody win for a change. You keep that money, but you have to buy at least one frivolous thing with it. Let's go."
He cashed out then took a huge pull on the Champagne bottle before holding it out to her.
"What?" she asked.
Ian rolled his eyes. "Drink."
"Oh, I…"
"Am I going to have to force you into everything tonight? You just won three grand. Have some champagne."
She glanced at the bottle wearily then took a huge gulp, reveling in the dry, bubbly liquid.
"Ready?" he asked then made another motion like he was going to take her hand before pulling away again. This time, though, she was sure he could tell the motion hadn't been lost on her. She remembered the feel of his warm skin beneath her as she'd hugged him close, watching the number climb on the screen.
"Yeah, okay," she said then got up and walked with him toward the nearest little casino shop.
It was a typical sort of place, filled with cigarettes and bottled soda and the kitschy sweatshirts only tourists bought. In the corner was a rack of expensive wine and, beside it, another rack of things exclusively for winners—designer purses, jewelry, money clips—all things to make sure the casino got their money back one way or another.
The sort of place her father used to come to buy her gifts on the rare occasion that he won.
She took another swig from the bottle of champagne.
"How about this?" Ian pointed to something bright and glittery in the display case, and Zoe frowned. It was a gaudy diamond necklace with a pear-shaped stone in the center. It was the sort of thing that would only be fit for wearing to the Oscars or to a rich husband's will-reading. Definitely not the sort of thing she'd wear every day.
"I think not," she said, and he elbowed her again. Another little surge of electricity coursed through her at the touch, but she knew it was only from the win, from the excitement of the night.
"Okay, okay," she said. "I'll try it on."
They got a shop girl to come over and let her try on the necklace, and when she did, she glanced into the mirror and straightened it out. She had to admit, when it was on, it didn't look quite so garish as it did in the case. In fact, it was almost… elegant. Refined.
"We'll take it," Ian pronounced, and Zoe rushed to wave him off.
"No, no, no, I—"
"You said you wanted me to have some of the money. Well, this is what I want to buy. You have no choice."
She glanced in the mirror again and touched the necklace lightly. "All right, if you insist. But I'm not happy about it."
"You're not happy about anything," he teased, and secretly, Zoe found herself smiling back at him as he checked out at the counter.
Sunday shore traffic the next morning was murder, but no less murderous than Zoe's constant struggle to change the radio station or nail down their plans.
All through their wait at the mechanic's that morning, she'd yammered on about how Quinn wouldn't have enough money to stay at a hotel, so they'd have to head back to Connecticut and start again, but Ian wasn't so sure. Quinn already had a day on them, and the fact that she hadn't messaged him was beginning to make him uneasy. He knew, of course, where Quinn had probably gone, but the idea of telling Zoe the truth…
Well, that was the rub, wasn't it?
Still, after watching her toss and turn all night, wondering where her little sister was, he knew he'd be nothing short of a monster if he didn't come clean this time. If Quinn was smart, she would have left some sign that she'd been there and moved along, something to comfort her sister while still giving her all the closure she needed.
"I don't think she went back home," he said after another long, anxiety-fueled rant from Zoe. "I think she probably went to my house on Fenwick Island. She had keys to the place, and she knows she can stay there."
"Fenwick Island? Are you kidding?" Zoe sp
luttered.
"Nope, I go there to fish, and Quinn always has an open invitation. If she wanted to get away but didn't have much money…"
Zoe pinched her nose between thumb and forefinger then took a deep breath. "That's another three hours away."
He shrugged. "I can't think of anything else we could do."
"Oh, I don't know, how about mentioning all this yesterday?" She asked, and he bit back his retort.
"The car still would have broken down."
She glanced away from him, but after a few moments, she agreed to go along for the ride.
Which was how they'd ended up here—five hours into a three-hour drive (thanks to the murderous beach traffic) and bickering over the radio station.
For the millionth time, he turned the dial from her bubble gum pop music to a twangy, more down-home country tune, and she made a retching sound.
"Something wrong, princess?" he teased.
"This is God awful," she said then rolled down her window and stuck her arm into the warm, summer air.
He couldn't blame her. After sitting so long in the car, he would have done just about anything for some fresh air. Just the idea of getting away from the radio was beginning to sound like a treasure.
Though, to be fair, she'd surprised him in that regard, too. When they'd first gotten in the car, he'd expected her to tune into NPR and listen to the news and arts all the way there. He'd even turned the dial in anticipation, but just as quickly, she'd grabbed for it and started in on a local station's Madonna medley.
On another occasion, sitting there and watching her bop along to Lucky Star might have been enough to make him laugh.
But five hours into a three-hour trip…
She switched the dial again, and he let a low breath out his nose as he crossed over into the Fenwick town border.
"Almost there," he said, and she squirmed a little.
"Good. Stop at the first pharmacy. I have to use the bathroom."
"Can't you wait until we get to my place?" He asked.
She shook her head, and his stomach twisted. It was like her superpower was making everything more complicated than it needed to be.
"Look, look. A Walgreens." She pointed, and he fought the urge to let out a frustrated sigh as he pulled into the parking lot and waited for her to slide from the car.
"Be right back," she said.
"Hurry," he called, but it was already too late.
Agnes Reed, town gossip and head of the library, was tottering toward his car, her hand outstretched.
"Why, if you aren't a sight for sore eyes," she crooned. That was saying something, given Agnes's coke-bottle eyeglasses.
"Hello, Agnes."
"I was just going to give your mother a ring. She'll be so happy to hear you're in town."
"Oh, not for long, I'm just—"
"They're such good people, your parents. Proud of you. Always talking about that house of yours."
"That's kind," he said. “But really—"
"Lonely, though. Just the two of them with you as their only child. And you living away for so much of the year." She tsked.
This was what Agnes did. In fact, it was what all his mother's friends did. Unlike regular mothers, his never told him she missed him or wanted him to come home. She never made him feel guilty about how long it had been since the last time he'd visited or called.
No, she had an entire army of blue-hairs to call him up or stop him on the street just to do her dirty work, while she got to pretend she had no idea what he was talking about. She never pressured him to visit.
"I'll tell her you said hello when I stop by," he said, defeated.
Agnes gave an approving nod. "You're a good boy, Ian. My grandson could learn a thing or two from you."
Agnes said her goodbyes and tottered off just as Zoe launched herself back into the truck.
"Got yourself a hot date?" she asked.
Ian frowned. "Not exactly. That was my mother's friend Agnes."
"What a weird place to run into her."
"Not really," Ian supplied then pulled back onto the street, wending his way around the familiar back roads. "I grew up here. My parents still live here."
Zoe blinked. "Your vacation house is near your parents?"
"Yeah. Is there something wrong with that?" he asked.
"No, no, just… I hardly know anybody whose parents are still together, let alone anybody who wants to be near them."
"Well, strap in, then, because we're going to have to go see them."
"What do you mean?"
"Now that Agnes has seen me, there's no stopping my mother from finding out I'm in town, and once she knows…" He shook his head. "Let's just say I'm dead if we don't at least have a cup of coffee over there."
"Fine, but we'll make it quick, and we'll check your house first. For Quinn," Zoe said.
Ian nodded as he pulled onto the shore-front street that led to his house. At the very edge of the property, he parked his truck, and Zoe stared back at him.
"What?" she asked. "Why'd you stop?"
"We're here." He gestured to the house. Which, okay, wasn't completely finished, but he didn't think it called for complete incredulity. It had windows and walls, if not shutters, and the bright white stucco on the outside of the house had been recently done to match the cool gray cement of the outdoor sunken fire pit.
"This is your house?" Zoe asked.
"Yeah. What's wrong?"
"It's just…It's right on the water. And it's so beautiful." She slid from the car and grabbed her bag He followed her, watching as she gaped at the wrought-iron entry way and pretty, glass front door.
"Did you do all this yourself?" she asked.
"I designed it. I work on it when I can. I did the kitchen most recently, though."
Without a word, she walked down the tiled foyer and into the wide, bright kitchen. Sliding doors led out to the patio and pier on the edge of the lake. She touched the glossy white cabinets and marble countertops in turn. "This place is incredible," she murmured, and he grinned just in time to have it fall away again.
On the little bar peninsula on the patio outside, there was an empty pint of tequila that hadn't been there before. Alongside it was a wedding veil that must have been left in the rain from the night before.
"Zoe," he said. "Come here." She turned and followed his gaze to the place where he was pointing, and his heart skipped.
He hadn't meant to out Quinn. He really hadn't.
But the light behind Zoe's eyes… the hope there…?
He couldn't help but feel more conflict than he'd ever felt before.
"Well, she's obviously not here at the moment," he said. "Maybe my parents have seen her, though. She knows them well enough that she might have stopped by. We'll go over there and then come back and check for her."
"Right," Zoe nodded. "Okay."
"You can leave your bag in the guest room."
And if we're lucky, Quinn will see it and get the fuck out of here before we get back…
Five
Ian's parents' house was almost as impressive as his own.
The white stucco on the outside matched his almost entirely, and though the place wasn't on the water, it was dotted with so many flowerbeds that it was easy to forget it wasn't a hotel, but someone's property. Near the corner of the house, a lady lay in a hammock, reading a book with a racy cover. When they hopped from the car, she struggled to get out of the swing and over the greet them.
"Ian!" she shouted, waving her hands so wildly that Zoe was half-worried she'd mess up her perfectly coiffed tuft of silver hair. Her eyes were bright and blue like Ian's, set off by a pair of bright red glasses that matched her lipstick.
"Hey, Mom," Ian said, and he folded the older woman into a hug, holding her close for a long moment before finally releasing her.
"My goodness," she said when she pulled back. "You must be Zoe."
Zoe blinked. "Um, yes. Nice to meet you.”
The other wo
man took her hand in both of hers and shook it gently. "I'm sorry. You just look so much like your sister."
Zoe blinked again. Strictly speaking, this had never been true. While she and Quinn did have the same golden hair, they were hardly the same in terms of build or temperament. Where Zoe moved with rigid determination, Quinn practically floated from one place to another. Where Zoe was all neutrals and nudes, Quinn was color and life. Quinn, in short, had always been the beautiful one, the entrancing one.
And Zoe?
She'd been the practical one. Always.
"Thank you," she said, realizing she'd paused overlong, and the other woman smiled back at her.
"I'm Charlene. So glad to meet you. Almost time for dinner. Ian always did know when to make an entrance." She winked and then asked them to come in. Zoe followed her into a bright white room with navy and gold accents.
It was exactly the kind of place she'd always wished her house had been when they were growing up. Above the wide navy sectional was a family portrait from what must have been years ago, featuring Ian's mother when she'd been a spritely blond woman with twenty fewer pounds but the same broad, warm smile. Ian's father looked just like Ian did now, with the same mane of dark hair, though his eyes were dark as well. He wore a mustache and a smile much like his wife's, and in the picture, his hand rested on a teenage-Ian's shoulder while he beamed at the camera.
"Okay, okay. Time for coffee." Ian's mother flapped her hands, and Ian made an excuse to follow her into the kitchen while Zoe lingered in the drawing room, studying the pictures along the mantel. Along with photos of Ian's graduation and a few of their family on fishing trips, there were a good dozen pictures of Charlene and her husband in all sorts of exotic locales—Hawaii, India, England, and even a few she couldn’t recognize right off the bat.
Beside the mantel hung an ornate frame with a single piece of lined paper inside it. The paper was trimmed with dried flowers that had once been pink and red but were now the brownish maroon of dead flowers. Zoe turned her attention to the words on the paper, though the handwriting was nearly illegible.
My Dearest Charlene,
I'm sitting here on the night before our wedding, thinking of you and wondering about the future that's ahead of us. Together, I know we can take on the world, and with you at my side, I have no doubt that years of happiness lay ahead. Still, as I think about our future, I have a few things I'd like to apologize for in advance.
Ride: Hearts Wild Series Page 4