by Wendy Wax
She waited, miserable. Afraid he’d get up and storm off, afraid he wouldn’t. He’d gone very still but she couldn’t read his face anywhere near as easily as he could read hers. “You’re mad, aren’t you?”
“I am,” he said. Though he didn’t raise his voice, it had turned decidedly cool. “But not because you can’t talk to Malcolm. I’m angry that you don’t seem able to take me at my word. That after all this time together you don’t really know me and don’t seem to want to. To me a real relationship is not a quid pro quo. My speaking to Annelise and asking the locals to take another look isn’t dependent on you talking to Malcolm. It isn’t dependent on anything.”
“But . . . I can’t let you do that when I . . .”
“You’re not letting me. I insist.” He searched her face for something, but she could tell by the way his eyes shuttered that he hadn’t found it. When he spoke again, his voice had gone a few degrees cooler and was as sharp-edged as a knife. “I’ve always assumed I’d ultimately convince you that we belong together for good. But I don’t know.” He removed his hand from her thigh. “It looks like I’ve grossly overestimated my abilities of persuasion. And just how much you actually care about me.” Each word sliced through her, but it was the way he was looking at her that hurt the most. As if he were finally seeing her—the real her—for the first time. Just as she’d always feared he would.
“It’s not . . . I . . .” Now when she needed them most, the right words eluded her. Her head fairly echoed with the old “It’s not you, it’s me,” which was completely true. But she couldn’t toss clichés at him now. Not when she could feel everything hanging in the balance, could feel him shutting down. Shutting her out. Looking at her as he had when they’d first met and she was nothing more to him than a potential link to the man he’d set out to apprehend.
“I . . . I didn’t mean . . . I . . .” Her voice trailed off. She had nothing new to offer and certainly not the one thing he really wanted to hear. “I’m sorry.” That was it, the best she had.
“So am I.” He got up, his movements as tight and rigid as his voice. “But this is on me. You’ve been clear from the beginning. You’ve told me repeatedly that you have serious trust issues, that you won’t get married again, that you don’t see yourself in a family or as a parent. And I’ve refused to listen because I didn’t want to believe you. Because I’ve always assumed if I just tried hard enough I could change your mind, scale all the walls you’ve thrown up to protect yourself. Like you were some obstacle course in a training exercise that I had to master.” He shook his head, and the disappointment that peeked out from behind the iron curtain he’d drawn down on his emotions broke her heart. “I’m done living in denial. It’s not really fair to either of us. What do you say we just call it a day and spare ourselves another world of hurt?”
Even then she might have salvaged things or at least delayed the inevitable. But she didn’t have the words. Or the confidence that she’d ever be able to give him what he really wanted. No matter how much she wanted to or how hard either of them tried.
She nodded mutely, holding on to the tears that were welling in her eyes, swallowing back the emotion that clogged her throat. She simply sat there, her fingers clutching the sheet until he’d turned and left the room pulling the door closed behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
“You want me to do what?” Kyra quickly checked Nikki’s face, but although her expression had been both guarded and strained since she’d gotten back from Miami, she didn’t appear to be joking. “I’m pretty sure we’re not with the network anymore. We quit. On camera.” Kyra didn’t look at Avery’s face as she said this. It was during their heated showdown with Lisa Hogan that Deirdre had died. “I don’t think they’re going to just hand over a copy of season two. I can’t even get the new program head to return my calls.”
She’d put Dustin to bed and then joined the others out around the pool to watch the sunset. They’d fallen silent when she arrived, but she’d assumed it was because they were dishing about the details of her mother’s “unbelievably fabulous” weekend with Will. Unlike Nikki, who’d been inexplicably tense and preoccupied, her mother had been grinning like a goon since they’d gotten back from Miami. Kyra definitely didn’t want to picture her mother in bed with William Hightower or anyone else—there were some places a daughter’s mind should not be forced to go—but it wasn’t as if she was a child or anything.
“No one’s suggesting you march in through the front door and demand a copy,” Nikki said, pouring a strawberry margarita into a chilled glass and passing it to her. “But I’ve had to ask Joe to ‘apply’ for the privilege of trying to get the Handleman case reopened.” She said this with an odd hitch in her voice. “And Maddie, to whom we will be eternally grateful, has gotten Will to agree to some kind of meet and greet with Bitsy Baynard. We’re all stepping out of our comfort zones to do this renovation and shoot our own season of Do Over.”
Kyra’s hand tightened around the glass. “But I don’t have an ‘in’ at the network anymore. There’s no one there who has any reason to help us.” She took a big gulp of the icy red concoction.
The three of them looked at each other, then at her. “No?” Nikki asked drolly. “No one at all?”
“No. Oh!” Kyra said as realization dawned. “Oh, no. Definitely not.” She shook her head for emphasis. “I am not calling Troy Matthews.” An image of the cameraman’s smug face rose in her mind. She could see the dogged determination with which he’d shot image after image of Dustin to satisfy the network, could hear his snide comments about her relationship with Daniel Deranian in her head. The man was completely infuriating. “Especially not to ask a favor.” She shook her head again in case they’d missed it the first time, then gulped down some of the margarita, barely tasting it as it went down. “He’s not a friend of ours. He works for the enemy.”
“Maybe,” her mother said. “But he did help you keep Tonja Kay from getting her hands on Dustin and he did refuse to shoot Deirdre’s collapse.”
“Maddie’s right,” Avery agreed. “And it was his footage that got Lisa Hogan fired.”
“He’s always had a thing for you, Kyra,” Nikki added. Avery and her mother nodded.
“Don’t be silly. He never . . .”
All three of them looked at her. As if she were the one who was delusional.
“The fact that he’s shown his interest with all the maturity of a middle schooler doesn’t mean he’s not interested,” Nikki said. “Neither does the fact that you haven’t wanted to see it.” She picked up the pitcher and refilled Kyra’s glass.
“And it’s not like you’d be asking him for anything that could hurt him,” Avery said.
Kyra lifted her margarita, gulped down half of it.
“We just want to make the episodes available to Bitsy a little early,” Nikki added. “The season will be airing soon and it’s not like she’s going to share the videos with anyone.”
They might have been wrestlers the way they were double- and triple-teaming her. Kyra took another gulp of her margarita, which was when she realized that she seemed to be the only one drinking.
“Maybe we should let Kyra process this for a little bit while we each share our ‘one good thing,’” her mother said soothingly. “I’ll start with the fact that we now have clear steps to take that could make this project a reality.”
“My good thing is Bitsy Baynard,” Nikki said. “Once Avery gets the numbers finalized and Bitsy meets Will, I feel pretty confident that she’ll write a substantial check.”
“This renovation and season three are for Deirdre,” Avery said. “I’m dedicating them to her right here and now.” Avery put her hand out. Maddie put hers on top of it. Nikki’s went on top of theirs.
Kyra lifted her glass and took another gulp. There was absolutely no point in trying to stay sober when she’d never stood a chance of resisting
their combined will.
“Are you in?” Avery asked.
“I’m in,” Kyra said, grateful for the cushioning buzz from the margaritas. She laid her hand palm down on top of theirs. “And my good thing is that at least when I call Troy and grovel, I won’t have to see the cocky expression on his face.”
It was almost ten P.M. when Avery slipped out of Bella Flora and backed the Mini Cooper down the driveway. The escape was unplanned. One minute she was sitting in the salon after everyone else had headed to bed, the next she was practically sprinting out the front door and heading to Tampa—and Chase—like a swallow making its way to Capistrano.
The porch lights were off and the house was mostly dark when she arrived. She let herself in the front door and found Jeff Hardin in the kitchen, where he was in the process of decimating a large piece of chocolate cake.
“Sweet tooth keeping you up?” she asked, startling him.
“Have to be proactive in this house,” he said, recovering quickly and giving her a wink of the bright blue eyes he’d passed down to his son and grandsons. “I think Josh and Jason may be training for the professional eating circuit and Chase is no slouch, either. Got to be quick and relatively devious.” He studied her face for a long moment. “I’m willing to share if you want to sit down and join me.” He slid the plate closer to the place beside him. “Grab a fork and some milk if you want it.”
Settling at the table, she took a generous forkful. “Mmmmm.” She let the buttercream icing melt on her tongue. “From Alessi’s?”
“Yep.” He took a bite himself and then a sip of milk, his eyes closing briefly in contentment. He’d been her father’s closest friend and longtime business partner, a second father in all the ways that counted. He kept silent as she took another bite. When she set down her fork and pushed the plate back toward him, he asked, “So, how’s the project going?”
She sighed, the bitter taste of frustration replacing that of chocolate and sugar. “It’s not. At least not yet. Joe’s coming in to talk to Annelise and Renée, but there’s such a chasm between those two I don’t know if they’ll ever be able to agree. And even if we can lock the renovation up there’s no guarantee we can put the money together.”
He nodded but didn’t interrupt.
“I’m just . . . I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to pull this off. That we’ll lose Do Over and have nothing to show for the last three years. That everything will have been wasted.” She snorted inelegantly. “And I never thought I’d say this, but it’s just not the same without Deirdre.”
Jeff took the last sip of his milk and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I know how it is when things don’t turn out like you expect,” he said. “I never thought Margaret would go first.” At the mention of Chase’s mother Avery felt the old squeeze of envy she’d had for the Hardins’ tight family unit after her own mother had run off. “Or that the same thing could happen to Chase. I never imagined being in the business without your dad.” It was Jeff’s turn to sigh. “But I’ve learned that change is the only constant. And that nothing that’s come before is wasted.” He gave her a lopsided smile and reached for her hand. “Come here.” He enveloped her in a hug and she felt none of his frailty but only his strength. When he’d let go he said, “You’ve got us, Avery, whether you want us or not. And you’ve got Maddie and Nikki and Kyra—you’re in this together. And I believe you can help Renée and her sister and maybe find a way to honor their parents by bringing that hotel back to its former glory.” His smile was sad but certain. “I have every confidence in you. You do honor to your parents, too. You carry all the best parts of them.”
He sat patting her hand while she cried. When she managed to sniff to a stop he rose, using both hands on the table to do so. “I’m going to bed. I think you should do the same.”
She sat absorbing all that Jeff had said as she watched him navigate his walker down the hall to the suite she and Chase had built for him. Then she stood and walked to Chase’s room. Removing her clothes she slid naked into bed beside him. “Mmmm,” he murmured sleepily as he folded his body around hers and wrapped her in his arms. His breath was warm on her neck. “Who says dreams don’t come true?”
Though she didn’t plan to ever admit it, Kyra spent most of the next day working up the nerve to call Troy Matthews. Late in the afternoon, unable to take the pointed looks a moment longer, she strapped Dustin into the jogging stroller, stopped on the beach path just long enough for him to blow kisses to the waiting photographers, whose number had begun to dwindle, then turned and pushed the stroller onto the beach. When she hit the hard-packed sand, she broke into a slow jog and tried to give herself up to the salt breeze and the sunshine as gulls wheeled and cawed in a pale blue sky dotted with cotton ball clouds. It took a good half mile before her breathing evened out, another before her thoughts began to clear.
As she ran past the dunes that bracketed the Sunshine Hotel, she reminded herself that the call to Troy was not about her. If getting the Mermaid Point episodes to Bitsy Baynard could help jump-start the funding, then she would do whatever it took. A little groveling might make her ill, but it wouldn’t kill her. At a quiet stretch of beach just past the Don, she stopped and lifted Dustin out of the stroller. He shed his tiny flip-flops and curled his toes in the warm sand smiling happily.
“Katsle!” he said. “Wanna katsle!”
Together they pulled the sand toys out of their mesh bag. As he toddled toward the damp sand and began to shovel mounds of it into the turret-shaped pail, she sat down, pulled out her phone, and dialed before she could chicken out. Best-case scenario, she’d get Troy’s voice mail and be able to ask for what she wanted without actually having to speak to him. Four rings in, she was mentally composing a brief but friendly message. Then Troy answered.
“Well, talk about a blast from the past,” he said. “I wondered how long it would take you to get in touch.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, I guess that’s a start.”
“A what?”
“A start. On the thank-you you owe me for getting rid of Lisa Hogan. You really want to close that loop before you ask me to help smooth things over and put a good word in for you with the new program head.”
She scrambled to her feet, unable to take his smugness sitting down. So much for Troy Matthews having a “thing” for her. “I’m pretty sure we sent you a thank-you note,” she bit out before remembering she did in fact need his help. “But we are, of course, really grateful that Lisa Hogan is gone. And I’ve already left a message for the new program head.”
“You’ve left three. But who’s counting?”
She drew a breath and began to pace the area around where Dustin sat. He was digging happily, his expression intent. Far better to focus on her son than the man on the other end of the line.
“What’s he like?” she asked, clamping down on her temper.
“He’s smart and he knows what he’s doing,” Troy said. “He’s a lot less combative than Lisa. But you don’t get too far at a network by being overly warm and fuzzy.”
There was no arguing with that. Which was one more reason why they were better off taking control of their own destiny.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“Who says I need anything?” she asked. “Maybe I just wanted to say hi.” Or maybe she’d rather just slit her wrists and call it a day.
“Let’s not pretend we don’t know each other,” Troy said. “It’s me you’re talking to, Kyra. The person who’s been shooting you, warts and all.”
Kyra gritted her teeth and drew in what she hoped would be a calming breath. He did know her, and she was going to have to stay as close to the truth as possible if she had any hope of getting what she wanted. “I’d like a copy of the Mermaid Point episodes,” she said.
Silence.
“Just to see how they turned out,” she added careful
ly.
Still no response.
“And for Avery. She’s having a hard time. I think it would help her be prepared if she could see how things were, um, handled.” She told herself to stop talking, but she was afraid if she did he’d hang up. For all she knew maybe he had. “Listen, all we want is to see the programs. I won’t share them with anyone.” Except Bitsy.
“Why do I feel like you’re not telling me everything?”
She wanted to say that that’s what came from skulking in bushes and portraying people in the worst possible light, but she was so glad he was still on the line she said only, “I have no idea.”
Dustin toddled over and reached toward the phone with a sandy hand. “Who is at?” he asked.
“It’s Troy.”
“Broy!”
He broke into a smile and a little cartoon light bulb lit up in Kyra’s head. “Someone wants to talk with you,” she said. Then she crouched down and held the phone up to Dustin’s ear.
“Hello, Broy!” Dustin said, clutching her hand. “I’m bidding a katsle!”
She couldn’t hear what Troy said, but her son smiled all the way through it. Then he said, “Bye-bye, Broy!” and toddled back to dig some more.
The line was quiet when she got the phone to her ear. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” Troy said. “I gotta go. But . . .” He hesitated and this time she managed to keep silent. He hesitated for so long that once again she feared he’d hung up.
She was about to abandon hope, when he finally said, “I’ll see what I can do.” She’d just begun to breathe again when he added, “In exchange for a favor to be named at a later date.”
Chapter Fourteen
Joe arrived for the meeting with Annelise and the Franklins looking every inch the seasoned FBI agent that he was. He greeted Maddie and Avery warmly, but only nodded to Nikki as he entered Annelise’s home, his manner cool and professional. Just as it had been when he’d first been tracking Malcolm and had seen her only as a potential accomplice.