by Kate Meader
“Then you should be with your kids.”
“You and I are separate from that.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Bren. If I’m considered a threat to your children’s well-being, then I can’t exist on the fringes like some tropical storm that may or may not make landfall.” There was Violet as afterthought, and then there was Violet as a handy vessel for Bren to sink into when he needed to bury all that tension.
The magnitude of that conclusion slapped her hard. “You knew this and yet you still came in here and woke me up with your tongue buried inside me. You knew you were going to tell me I wasn’t good enough for your kids—for legal reasons—yet you still got your rocks off because hell, at least I’m good for something?”
“Violet—”
She cut him off. “A while back, you said you didn’t have the bandwidth to give me 100 percent and I said I was fine with that, that I only needed the tiniest sliver of your time.”
She almost laughed bitterly at that patent lie she’d told herself because it would seem she’d been faking that all along. She needed the love of a man who thought this pink-haired, tatted-up, vino-swilling chica was worth 100 percent of his love. Who would fight for her to be in his life.
But Bren was a parent first. He was doing the right thing in removing any barriers to winning his custody fight, even when the primary barrier was her. She couldn’t fault him for it, but she had to retain some semblance of self-respect.
She threw back the covers and grabbed her clothes from where she’d slung them over a chair. “This was never supposed to be more than a casual thing, us playing out the hot dad and nanny cliché. Something to relieve the stress you were going through with the play-offs and my drama in the wake of that health scare.”
“Relieve the stress? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Keep your voice down. Think of the girls.”
He shot up in the bed, pulling his sweats on with an angry jerk. “Do you really think this is just about stress relief, Violet? Do you think I’m that much of an asshole?”
“No.” She was just lashing out, not herself at all. She understood it had meant something to him for a while, but now she felt dirty. Expedient. “You didn’t want me as your nanny until I was in the right place at the right time with Franky. You didn’t want to sleep with me until I gave you the sad eyes when I found out I wasn’t going to die. With each game we get closer to the win, the pressure mounts and I’m here. Va-Va-Voom Violet. Geographically convenient.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her down under him.
“Does this feel geographically convenient?” His back-in-action erection pushed against her core, eliciting a moan.
“You hadn’t been with anyone for over a year,” she panted, her body straining both toward and away from the man who owned her completely. “Then you started getting some regularly. Who’d say no to that?”
“So any woman will do?”
She reached for his face, stroked his craggy beauty. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, Nessie. We were supposed to enjoy each other and move on. You always knew I’d be gone soon, only now with Kendra back and your life so complicated, it’s better to make a clean break.”
He still loomed over her, her fierce, grumpy Bren. “You think this break can be clean? You think we can just turn off what’s happening between us? I’ve wanted you from the minute I saw you in that bar, Violet.” He slipped his fingers inside her panties, and her body switched on at his rough touch. “No one’s gonna do you this good, Violet. No one’s gonna make you feel like this. I know because no one makes me feel like you do. I can’t be the only one caught up in us.”
She gasped at his words, at his touch, at his everything.
But she knew what it was like to want a dad, to cry in his absence, to need the comfort of those strong arms telling you everything would be okay. Bren’s girls had gone through so much, and she wouldn’t dream of endangering their futures with their father. He needed space to fix his life.
She would have fought for him if he gave any inkling that he’d fight for her. For what was inside, not just the great ass and straight-from-a-catalog rack.
Pushing his hand away from her center, she slipped out from under him. Then she grabbed her overnight bag, not caring that she was probably leaving half her belongings behind. Underwear, toiletries, her shriveled, useless heart.
At the door, she stood and turned to find him holding himself taut, a Scottish beast about to strike.
“Violet, this isn’t finished.”
She blinked away a tear but kept her fist clenched at her side.
“Win the Cup, Bren. Love your daughters. Sort your life out. No one is rooting for you harder than me. Truly.”
Then she shut the door quietly behind her so as not to wake the girls.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Hey, it’s me!” Isobel’s voice echoed from the kitchen.
“In here,” Violet called back. Damn, prepare for awkward. She’d hoped to stop by Chase Manor first, then Vadim’s house, where Isobel now lived, and make a quick surgical excision.
Iz walked in, arced her gaze over the strewn-about clothes and half-filled suitcase, and twitched her nose. “Going somewhere?”
“Thought I’d visit my mom in San Juan.”
“We’re only two games into the finals with a possible five to go. Don’t you want to wait until it’s over?”
It already is. Violet grabbed a bustier and stuffed it into her case. “Look, Iz, you know I said I’d stick around until you guys made the play-offs, and then I had the nanny gig, but really, you have it from here.”
Middle Child sat on the bed and picked up a cowboy boot. Dropped it. “Does this have anything to do with a blond, blue-eyed piece of work whose name rhymes with Bendra?”
“No. Okay, sort of. They have unfinished business. I don’t want to be in the way of that.” Bren might not have intended to hurt her when he said her nanny services were no longer required, but he had. Deeply. “With me in the picture, it just confuses everyone.”
“Is that what Bren said?”
“Sort of.”
“You don’t sound so sure. In fact, it sounds like the only one confused here is you, Vi. And what about us? Are you just giving up on us?”
Violet placed a hand on her hip and dialed up her best cheer. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me, Iz! I’ll be back looking for my cut as soon as the Rebels win the Cup, when my third will be worth a fortune. Better work on raising the funds to buy me out or start tapping your Russian billionaire almost-fiancé.”
Isobel didn’t smile and Violet felt like the bitch she knew she was projecting. But she’d never fit in, not really, and their connection was forced by circumstance. She hadn’t even stayed for them in the first place. She’d stayed for him. The minute she saw Bren St. James fending off those haters in the Empty Net, she’d crashed.
So what if every day since, she’d become more embedded in the fabric of this family? So what if she loved her sisters and they loved her? How could she look at them, hear a word about hockey, go to a family cookout, and not be confronted with the evidence of her loss?
She rubbed at a knot of pain pulsing beneath her breastbone.
“Well, at least I can help you pack,” Isobel muttered.
They worked side by side, though it went slowly because Isobel insisted on picking up every single piece of clothing, holding it to the mirror, and asking, “Would this look good on me?”
After a few minutes, she said in a quiet voice, “You’re not in this for the money, Violet.”
“You think I stayed to help you out? To help you fulfill the terms of the will? You’re wrong.”
“Then why?”
“It—it doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, I think it does,” the voice of a new arrival said from the entrance to the bedroom. Harper stood at the door, all five feet one and a half inches in full-on battle mode.
Violet glared at Isobel. “You called
her?”
“Hell yeah, I called her. No way are you leaving without completing your exit interview with the boss.”
Oh, for fucking out loud. Harper moved closer and in such a stealthy manner that Violet didn’t even realize what was happening until the petite blonde had taken Violet’s hand and splayed it over where the new life was growing inside her.
“You’re not getting off the hook that easily. Now I know it’s too early to feel the baby kicking, but she knows you’re here. She knows you’re waiting to play Stevie Nicks tunes and teach her how to swear in Spanish and be generally inappropriate. Every girl needs a crazy aunt, and let’s face it, Isobel is far too reasonable to fit the bill.”
What was it with these women? They needed to be doused with an iced cold vat of truth water.
“Harper, I’ve been lying to you from the beginning. My mom—she planned it all along. Saw Clifford in Vegas. Targeted him. Made sure there was an empty net so that puck could go all the way.”
Her sisters stared at her, their expressions ranging from hurt to confused, and Violet’s heart shattered for the second time in twenty-four hours. She was a rotten human being and it was about time they figured it out.
Isobel broke the silence. “I’ve always suspected you’ve known more about hockey than you let on.”
“Did you not hear what I said? This has been a shakedown twenty-four years in the making!”
Harper gave her arm a condescending pat. “Listen to me, mi hermanita. So your mom saw an opportunity and sent you to collect—how is that your fault? Do you think we care that this is what brought you into our lives? Clifford owed you. We owed you. Now maybe you’ll sort things out with Bren, maybe not. But there’s no confusion about how we feel about you. It’s very likely that if we weren’t actually related and we met on the street, we probably wouldn’t have found a single thing in common. We’re all very different, but it’s to our advantage, because we each bring something unique to this family. Somehow, these past nine months we’ve given birth to something.”
“We have?”
Isobel stepped in and slipped an arm around Violet’s waist. “A holy trinity of such power and awesomeness that nothing—not the press, NHL brass, fanboy haters, crappy exes, bad memories, and awkward sister bonding nights—can break it.”
“Damn straight,” Harper said approvingly. “We’ll let you go and visit your mom because we recognize that you need to get away from everything hockey. We’ll fill in the huge, yawning void you’ll leave for the moment, but I refuse to accept that this is something more permanent. Your niece needs you. Your sisters need you. And the Rebels need you.”
“Could you be any more of a manipulative bitch, Harper?”
“I haven’t even started.” Her big sister grinned through tears and gathered her into a hug. All this strength in such a tiny package. How her father had underestimated her. How he had underestimated them all.
Violet pulled back, swiping at her eyes. “You keep calling the peanut ‘she’ as if you’re so sure.”
Harper laughed. “Remy has four sisters, I have two, and we need a new generation to take over the team. Only a girl could do it, don’t you think?”
She wasn’t wrong. Besides, if Harper Chase decreed it, who would dare to mess with her plans?
The house felt hollow. Stuffed with furniture and books and slugs, but it was missing something—a piece of Bren’s soul. His insides felt jagged, like he was going through detox and his heart was screaming at him to feed it what it craved.
A shot of Violet.
“Dad!”
He faced Cat, realizing that she’d been trying to get his attention from the other side of the kitchen counter.
“What, sprite?”
“Do you think I’ll be able to play Remy’s guitar at Harper’s house?”
“Sure, assuming he’s left it there.”
She stuffed a notebook into her backpack. “I’m writing a song and I think it would be easier if I could play along.”
He tried to focus on parenting. His job. What he was made for. “We can go shopping for a guitar tomorrow, if you like. Maybe Remy can help, because he knows all about them.”
“That’d be awesome.”
He eyed his youngest daughter, who had just come in from the garden. “No slugs over at Harper’s, Franky. We need to be respectful of our host.”
“I’m going to free them all.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. It’s getting kind of crowded in Slugville.”
She didn’t elaborate—very unlike Franky. Then she leaned on the counter like she wanted to tell him a secret. “Dad, did Violet leave because of us?” He knew when Caitriona didn’t say the question was dumb that it was weighing on her mind as well.
“Nope. She just missed her mom and wanted to go visit her.” He hadn’t told them that Violet wouldn’t be their nanny again. They’d had enough upheaval, and once the finals were done, he’d be available for them full-time.
“And will Mom be coming to live with us again?”
Not on your life. “No, love. We’re both happier apart, but we’ll be sorting it all out very soon.”
“So Violet just needed a break from us,” Franky continued. “Like you when you went away. And Mom.”
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Franky was peering at him with those wide, wise saucers.
“Gimme a hug, sprite.”
She threw her thin little arms around his neck. “I never needed a break from you, baby girl. I needed a break from myself.”
Cat watched them closely, her mouth set in a grim line. Finally, she asked, “Are you going to get scary again now that Violet’s gone?”
He inhaled sharply, the pain of what he’d put his girls through redoubling with the fast beat of Franky’s little heart.
“No more scary Dad. And I’m going to work things out so you see both me and Mom. If that’s what you want.”
Franky drew back and shared a glance with Cat. “We’ve discussed it and . . . we’d like to stay with you most of the time. And Gretzky.”
Gretzky barked at the sound of his name, while Bren’s heart expanded so much his chest hurt. For a year, he’d been cultivating new habits. The habit of self-respect, of fatherhood, of teamwork, of pride. Even if the Cup eluded him, he’d still had his most successful season to date—not because of hockey, but because his daughters had forgiven him.
Damn, but he missed Violet.
He missed the life she’d sparked in him, the man who was a better person for knowing her. He swiped away a tear, not sure if it was for what he’d won or what he’d lost.
“Dad, don’t cry,” Franky said, gazing on him with her usual scientific curiosity.
“Just something in my eye, love.” He cupped their beautiful faces. “Now, go take his lordship out for a potty break before we head over to Harper’s.”
His gorgeous family trooped out, leaving him to finish an important task. He opened the cupboard above the sink and pulled out the bottle of Johnnie Walker. It had given him false courage and nothing but trouble. It had unearthed his ugliness and brought his demons out to play.
He would always want it, but he sure as hell didn’t need it.
He unscrewed the cap and watched as the amber liquid spilled its deceptive promises down the drain. If Violet had been here, he suspected she would’ve been proud.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Violet shook hands with Dr. Nielson, a lot more at ease now than when she’d walked into the woman’s office forty-five minutes ago. No doubt the doc saw all sorts crossing her threshold, especially on a campus as big as Vanderbilt, but Violet had still taken the precaution of toning down her Violetness. A long-sleeved blouse and knee-length skirt covered up most of her ink. Gone were her weathered Lucchese cowboy boots, and in their place she wore strappy black sandals. Perfectly conforming. Harper would’ve shed hormonal tears of pride.
The pink streaks in her hair had stayed, though. She had to maintain
some link with her wild child credentials, after all.
“I hope after our chat that you feel Vanderbilt might be right for you, Violet,” Dr. Nielson said with a warm smile. “A substantial segment of our student population is considered mature. Not everyone can be attending keggers.”
Violet chuckled at how the word keggers sounded coming from Dr. Nielson, who had to be in her late fifties.
“Hard to believe twenty-four years old is considered mature around here,” Violet said. Around anywhere. The campus was officially in the summer semester, most of the undergrads on break, but on her way in to meet with the program director, Violet had passed by several small groups lounging around the quad. All of them looked like babies, the perfect fodder to wither under the force of her smart mouth and life experience.
“We like a nice mix of students in the early childhood education program,” Dr. Nielson was saying. “Getting a few years under your belt, especially in an environment where you supervise children in a professional capacity, can often be as valuable as traditional grades. You have an interesting backstory that gives you compassion and empathy, great qualities to have in our future educators, especially when our charges are so young. Your youthful attitude would help you fit right in.” Her knowing grin activated the fine lines around her kind gray eyes. “You have my contact information, Violet. Let me know if I can answer any more questions about the program.”
“Thanks, Dr. Nielson. I will.”
Violet headed out into the Nashville sunshine and tipped her face to the sky, shaking her arms out to get loose after sitting still for so long. What a beautiful day. For the past three days, she’d been taking college tours, something she’d never had a chance to do. She’d missed out, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t catch up now. First stop had been the University of Texas at Austin, where her usual fashion sense fit right in. Tomorrow, she’d head to NYU to see if the hustle and bustle of the big city suited her. She had her eye on a couple of programs in Illinois, but she didn’t want to think about those just yet. The wound was still too raw, thoughts of Bren like a fingernail scraping across it.