Could have? Could have? Could have?
My senses are blurred but I still notice the deck upstairs creaking. For a week now, Renegade has been moored in the small harbor close to my family home. There’s no security guard protecting it. Tonight it’s only me, Renegade and the Atlantic.
I don’t even have the reflex or the urge to look for a weapon: a knife, a harpoon, anything. The door opens.
Long legs perched on stupidly high heels appear at the top of the steps. “Lenor?”
I see more and more leg as their owner makes her hazardous way down. There’s no big reveal when Louise reaches the floor of the cabin. I knew it was her. I can smell trouble and Louise Carrington stinks of it.
“Sorry to disappoint. It’s not that sweet daughter of mine.”
“She’s looking for you. Should I let her know you’re safe and sound?” I grab my cell from the table next to the bottle.
“Don’t,” Louise hushes me.
I hear despair in her voice, so I force myself to pay better attention. Her hair is messy, her cheeks have a hint of pink, her eyes burn with a glassy light that is either alcohol, or drug-induced, or both. I glance at the remains of my broken promise—the Smirnoff and the small shot glass. What she said after the funeral, it’s true. Louise and I have more in common than I want to admit. We’re not worthy of Lenor’s love.
I sigh and rest my head against the wall behind the bench. Defeat crashes over me. I’m about to board a train wreck. “What do you want, Louise?”
“I—I don’t want to leave it between us the way… the way we left it at Ashton’s funeral.”
“We should leave it exactly like that.”
She stumbles towards me and sits down. She has one of those stupidly sexy wraparound dresses like the kind she wore at the country club. With no warning, her hand sneaks its way up and down my thigh. I let her. Shame crashes over me and I know, with deadly certainty, that I’m about to hit rock-bottom.
“I know what you think about me, but it’d always been heading to that kiss.”
I reply with a bitter chuckle. “Louise, you sticking your tongue down my throat hardly qualifies as a ‘kiss’.”
Her hand forces itself over my crotch. She squeezes gently and a triumphant smile parts her full lips. It still doesn’t make me hard. I yank her hand away, but it’s too late, I’m officially the sleaziest douche in the world.
Undeterred, she stands and wedges herself between my legs. With the side of her knees she parts my legs and shuffles forward so that her breasts are right in my line of sight, five inches from my mouth. She bends and her hair falls on both sides of her face. Her scent reminds me of Lenor and my brain decides to shut down. I swear I’ve stopped breathing when I seize her waist and pull her against me. My lips touch the skin between her tits left bare by the plunging décolleté of her dress. She runs her hands through my hair and in the next move we’re kissing.
Her tongue collides with mine, searches the inside of my mouth, licks my teeth. Her lips suck mine. I flatten my hands on her ass and she moans. Next she’s straddling me, grinding against my dick. She starts moaning my name. The noise breaks into my blurry brain and fizzles my senses. It wakes me up.
I push her away and she stumbles backwards. Disgust makes me shut my eyes.
“Get out of here.” I shake my lowered head and fight back the acrid taste of the vodka making its way back up my throat. “If not out of self-respect, then for her… for Eleanor.”
I hear a faint sob. I force myself to open my eyes.
“I want to be like her. Why can’t I have it all over again?” Louise’s voice has turned both high-pitched and whiny.
Really? Am I going to play shrink to a woman convulsing through her mid-life crisis? A French woman at that. She’s bound to be more complicated than any of her American counterparts. This clusterfuck starts feeling more like a plane crash than a train wreck.
I let out a long sigh and my shoulders drop. “Jumping the bones of your daughter’s boyfriend isn’t going to help you rewind time. You’ll lose the only person in your life who actually gives a shit about you.”
The sobbing doubles in volume. I glance at the bottle, grab it and finish it in two gulps. I keep staring blindly at Louise’s body crumpled against the opposite wall of the cabin. I despise her almost as much as I despise myself.
“Never tell Eleanor about what just happened.” I manage to get to my feet again. I have to wait for the space around me to stop whirling. When I’ve found my balance again, I take my T-shirt that lays crumpled on the floor and put it on. Then I get closer to Louise, take hold of her shoulders and pull her up. “We’re going to get out of here and find a way back to your house.”
She sniffs but doesn’t argue or fidget. It takes all our gymnastic skill to climb back to the deck and onto the pier. Nothing’s broken. I extend my arm and Louise jumps too. Maybe she’s acting more sloshed than she really is, but she’s now snuggling against my chest. I step back but keep hold of her.
“I couldn’t stand you not wanting me. You wanting her,” she mumbles. “I felt so old, so used…” I switch off from her rambling. She’ll never come up with a fucking good reason for what she did. What we did.
Same for me. At least I don’t try to.
I’m about to ask Louise to get her cell and call someone she can trust to give her a lift home. But people always talk. I hear an engine roar and headlights flash over the deserted waterfront. We stand on the edge of it, still visible. There’s never anyone here at night. I’m not even allowed to moor Renegade here so there’s no reason for any other yachtsmen to be anywhere near.
A door slams and the shit hits the fan.
“Non,” Louise whimpers and shudders against me. “Pitié non. I’m so sorry, Zachary.”
“Too little, too late,” I groan under my breath.
Bruce Carrington has left the engine running and the lights on, and is marching towards us. He stops two yards away.
“How did you find me?” Louise asks pathetically.
“Let’s call it a hunch. I tried to figure out who your latest crush might be. Given how you looked at that boy at the country club, it was worth a try. Eleanor mentioned he was hiding here.”
“Why can’t you leave me alone? Let me be?” she moans.
Shit, I don’t want to be treated to a full-on domestic.
“Because we’re flying to D.C. tomorrow morning. That diner at the White House has been planned for months. I need you by my side and I won’t let you bail again at the last minute. Not in front of the President.”
He punctuates his little speech by extending his hand in Louise’s direction. She doesn’t budge so he gives her an impatient wave. “Now, Louise.”
Looking more like a zombie than her bitchy self, she tears herself from me and joins Carrington.
The wind picks up, lifting a wisp of hair on Carrington’s head and flips it over. His comb-over is ruined. If the moment wasn’t so fucked-up I’d be having a ball.
“You won’t tell anyone about tonight, boy. Especially not my daughter.” That isn’t a request.
“I had no intention to.”
“I want you to make yourself scarce. I will let you break it up with Eleanor, but after that you won’t come close to her ever again.”
He doesn’t need to tell me that. The moment I stopped making out with Louise, I knew there’d be no way back. But Carrington’s command still sounds like a death sentence.
“Have I made myself clear?” he hammers.
“As crystal.”
“I don’t want Eleanor pining after you either, so make the cut deep and final.”
I know I’m in deep shit when Bruce Carrington and I are on the same page. I stare as they make their way back to the SUV and I welcome the darkness when they finally turn at the end of the road, their taillights vanishing. All I hear now are the creaks made by Renegade. I watch the contours of my old friend etched against the backdrop of the night.
The conf
rontation with Carrington has sobered me up. I need to be done with this mess, this place. With Lenor. Carrington is right. It must be deep and final. Otherwise I’ll end up sniffing my way back into her life like a rabid dog.
It takes me a mere twenty minutes to work out what I need to do for my farewell party.
I must leave nothing behind, neither a girl nor a best friend. Renegade is both. She’s been there for me since I was old enough to waddle on her deck. Mom used to get really angry with Grandpa when he took me sailing behind her back. I already had my life jacket on when I was not much more than four years old. I fight back tears and address a mute apology to the old man, wherever he is. If Renegade is my friend, she was his child.
The piles of clothes and linen have ignited nicely and the fire is now starting to spread. The flames warm my face and I stare at them blindly. They swirl up the mast, feeding themselves on the sails.
I hear the roaring of an engine behind me.
“What’s going on? Oh my God, Oh my God!” Lenor is now by my side, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes round like marbles. Next she’s touching my forearm, I don’t react, and she tugs on it. “Zach, what happened?” I’m still not reacting and her pressure on me weakens. “What happened?” she repeats. “What happened?” This time her question breaks over her sob.
It takes me every remnant of willpower to turn away from Renegade’s lingering death and face Lenor.
“I’m leaving.” I deliver my message with a flat voice. She only manages a frown. “I’m leaving here. I’m leaving you.”
She makes a noise that sounds both like a grunt and another sob. She keeps frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want anything to tie me down to this place, to my family, to this summer. I want out.”
She’s shaking her head and she clenches her fists at her sides. “But we’re good together.” She steps towards me and lays one of her hands over my chest, over my heart. There’s no way she can miss its mad staccato. “You’ve lost your mom, Zach. You’re hurt. You grieve, but please don’t shut me out.”
My fingers circle her wrist and I tear it away from me. Her arm falls back limply. Her lips tremble and she cries. I want to kiss them. I want to soothe them.
Deep and final.
“We’re done, Eleanor. I’m done with you. Remember what you told me on the Fourth of July when you joined me on the pier? That we have a lot in common. Emotionally unavailable fathers. Unstable mothers. Well, you were right. That’s all there is to it. For me.”
She stamps her foot and shouts, “You’re just scared and confused and tired.”
“I’m tired of you.”
She throws herself at me and thumps my chest with her fists. “Noooo,” she yells. I should break the contact but I can’t. Even her fury directed straight at me is something we share. I know that a gaping void will be what comes next.
A loud crack makes her shudder. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the mast crash into the water on the ocean side of Renegade. I rush Lenor further away from the inferno and force-march her towards the waterfront. Soon our feet are buried in the sand.
She hides her face against me and her whole body is shaking. I’ve never wanted anything or anyone more. I shut my eyes and picture myself not even an hour ago with Louise. The memory of what I did, what I could have done is what keeps me going.
I stare up at the starless sky hanging above us and pull my strength together. I tear her away from me but she’s barely standing so our bond is still there, tangible and unspoken.
Renegade’s flames swirl above us, throwing a reflection of golden light and shadows to dance across her face. That final image of Lenor will be etched into my soul forever.
“I’m in love with you, Zachary.” She sniffs but still doesn’t stop staring at me. “I love you.”
I can’t listen to her. I can’t hear those words, so I snap. “Go, Lenor. Go now before you make a fool of yourself.”
The shuddering, the crying, the sniffing, it all stops. I’m pretty sure she’s even stopped breathing until she exhales heavily, her shoulders dropping.
She shakes herself from me as if my touch has turned dirty. Her jaw tightens and her shoulders square. I expect her to lash at me, but she swivels round and runs back to her car. She gets inside without even looking back at me.
I was right. Even her anger and resentment was better than that nothing at all.
Over my shoulder, I can see how quickly Renegade is sinking. I am efficient at destroying things. I have nothing left here. I won’t have anything anywhere I go from now on because, even if I won’t say these words out loud, Lenor could very well have been my everything.
Chapter 24
LENOR
Paris ~ Present.
“Is that really how you want to deal with it?”
Charlie sends me a glance that conveys her utter lack of conviction in my decision.
“Absolutely.” What I mean is: Absolutely not. But if I start thinking too hard about how to approach—or should I say, confront?—Zach, I’ll lose any momentum I’ve managed to muster.
“Okay, let’s make our move then.” Charlie leads me by the hand to the top front of the line. The bouncer lets her in—no questions asked—since she’s been at Le Duke every single night for the past three days.
During this time, I’ve indulged in my daily intake of croissants, brioches and chocolate éclairs without an ounce of guilt. My nights have been far more patriotic since they’ve been spent relishing in repeats of Law and Order in French—local title: New York Police Judiciaire—and shopping carts of Ben & Jerry’s. The result of seventy-two hours stuffing my face, my butt glued to the sofa, is that I’m now free-diving inside my jeans: I’ve had to hold my breath just to zip them up. Charlie isn’t in the same predicament and is presently sporting a mini-skirt and her trademarked pins. No need to read Why French women don’t get fat? to understand why.
Every night, she offered to stay by my side but I wanted to be on my own. I’ve pretended nothing happened and filled my mind and body with junk. Apparently, I’m highly proficient at denial, but even denial has an expiration date.
That date is tonight.
Once inside Le Duke, we follow the usual drill. All the way up the stairs, weeding through the dense crowd, then another human barrier—i.e. another bouncer—and finally into the VIP area. We don’t even need those friendship bracelets to get in because Charlie has become part of the furniture. They don’t play the same music here as in the main area. I guess, at ten p.m., it’s still kind of early and people aren’t yet begging to be deafened. The VIP room looks more like a restaurant—albeit one with dimmed lights and a decadent air—than the club I’ve been to twice before. There are customers snuggled in the alcoves enjoying oysters and champagne.
Charlie stops in front of one of the tables. A shadow passes across her features. It’s gone so fast I think I imagined it.
“I thought you were working all night tonight.” Her voice is falsely cheerful.
I follow her gaze and discover Ziggy in the alcove. There’s no sign that he’s been having a late diner, as only a bottle of Taittinger stands in the center of the round table. He’s sharing it with another guy—an older one—wearing a sharply tailored suit jacket.
“I’m about to start,” Ziggy answers.
The silence that follows is awkward enough, even for someone as socially-inept as me to notice.
Charlie isn’t the type to give in to awkwardness, so she hits it head on, “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?”
“Yes, yes, of course, Charlie and Lenor, this is Thierry. Thierry, this is—”
“—I’m Charlie.” She extends her hand. Thierry stands up graciously and shakes it. “And this is my cousin, Lenor.”
I take his hand too. His handshake lacks strength and he averts my gaze.
“I’m about to start anyway,” Ziggy slides out from between the banquette and the table to stand next to Charlie. “I�
��ll have another bottle delivered to your table shortly.”
Charlie doesn’t say anything so he kisses her on the cheek and has already passed by me. I’ve come here to tackle a problem and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
“Can you tell me where Zach is?”
Ziggy doesn’t answer right away and his face remains devoid of expression. Finally, he asks, “Are you sure it’s the right time, the right place for that?”
I do not want a scheduled confrontation with Zach, one he’ll have time to prepare for. I want the element of surprise over him. “Yes, I’m certain.”
“Fine.” Ziggy’s voice is tinged with reluctance. “Follow me. I’ll take you to him.”
I send an apologetic look in Charlie’s direction. She smiles back at me, “It’s what you came here for. Good luck, sweetie.” She gives my hand a gentle pull that injects me with a degree of courage.
Thierry casts a general goodbye our way and heads back to the main area. That’s when I notice Pierre sitting in one of the alcoves to the right of the VIP entrance. He’s in deep conversation with a girl who’s only visible at her crossed ankles. I’d recognize those legs among hundreds at the peak of Paris Fashion Week. Clara’s. Pierre doesn’t notice me and I have no intention of making myself known to him.
I focus my attention on Ziggy’s back. By the time we reach the elevator tucked in the back corner of the VIP room hidden behind a thick velvet curtain, I’ve forgotten about everything that isn’t Zach, me, and our upcoming conversation. Once we are in the elevator, my pulse breaks into a sprint and I fear my heart will leap out of my ribcage. I clear my throat. Once. Twice.
The ding of the bell startles me. We are back on the ground floor next to the main entrance. I follow Ziggy to the door of Zach’s office, practicing my yoga-breathing. In. Out. Ziggy is about to punch the code to enter when his arm falls back by his side.
“He’s been calling you for the past three days. He sent you text messages. You didn’t even answer once. He wanted to see you.”
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