Can't Get Over You (Fortune's Island, Book 2)

by Shirley Jump

  “You love me.” He grinned at her. “Everyone loves me. And everyone is going to love listening to you sing, if you quit being such a weenie about it.”

  “I’m not a weenie. I’m just not…ready.” Okay, so maybe she was just terrified. But either way, the end result was the same.

  She’d made two major changes in her life in the last few months—breaking up with Zach and enrolling in college—but had yet to take this one final step. Singing into her iPhone’s video lens wasn’t the same as performing in front of people, not even close.

  Carter snorted. “You know, we are more alike than you think. I’m scared as hell to go out on my own, you’re scared as hell to perform for anyone other than the cat.”

  “I don’t even have a cat. Singing in front of a pet would be a huge step forward for me.” She grinned, then shook her head. “You’re right. And I hate that.”

  “Couple of scaredy-cats here. And you know, I don’t blame you for being scared. Sometimes something bad happens—”

  “We’re not talking about that. And it has nothing to do with me singing in public.”

  “Fair enough. Maybe it doesn’t. But I think that one bad scary thing can impact everything else in your life more than you think. Or admit to.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Could that night she’d been attacked impact her psyche more than she realized? Or was she just trying to apply some really bad Dr. Phil analysis to herself?

  “I’ll tell you what. If you sing, in public, meaning in front of more than just your own reflection, I will take the leap with Brian and open shop here.”

  “You’d quit your job and go into business for yourself, if I sing?”

  He nodded. “Yup. We make the leap together, remember?”

  That warmed her heart and coaxed a smile across her face. “That was when I was seven and scared to dive into the ocean. You took my hand and jumped with me.” Her brother had always been like that, the kind who would never leave anyone behind, never leave Jillian scared or alone. He’d been there when she had a bad dream or a terrible date or a big decision to make. Taken her hand and given her that quiet, confident smile that said he believed she could do it. The same smile he had on his face right now. “I’ll think about it,” she said, then put up a hand before he could argue his case further. “For now, I have to go back to the job that pays me in real money, not imaginary checks.”

  # # #

  Zach finished his set, then looked around The Love Shack for Jillian. He saw her, across the room, laughing with one of the customers. A little flicker of jealousy ran through him at whoever was coaxing that musical laugh out of her.

  The kiss they’d shared earlier still burned in his memory. He wanted more, so much more. He wanted everything to be the way it used to be. He stepped off the stage, heading across the wide plank floor toward her, that invisible tether that had existed from the very first day they’d met pulling him.

  Before he could reach her, Jillian gave the customer a wave, called out a goodbye to Darcy and Carter, then slipped out the door. Damn.

  “Missed His Chance” should be his new middle name. He debated running after her, but it was too late. He glimpsed the roof of her car pulling away from the restaurant.

  Zach crossed to the bar and slid onto a stool. He ordered a soda he didn’t want, and clasped the cold glass with his palms. Whit, Jillian’s father, dropped onto the stool beside him.

  “How you doin’, son?” Whit said.

  Son. Zach had always liked Jillian’s dad, and especially liked the way the older man had accepted Zach into the family as if he were already blood. Both of Jillian’s parents treated him like one of their own. He’d been invited to family dinners and barbecues, birthday parties and Christmas Day gift-giving, always with a gift or two under the tree for him. Zach had felt more comfortable in the Mathesons’ three-bedroom bungalow than he ever had in the house on the cul-de-sac where he’d grown up.

  Whit and Grace were good people, the kind Zach wished he’d had as parents. Maybe then he and his brother would have turned out differently. “I’m okay.”

  “I know it’s rough,” Whit said, “what with seeing Jillian near every day here. You guys still not talking?”

  “We’re…talking.” If you could call kissing talking. Zach wasn’t about to tell her father that, though. He was pretty sure the acceptance branch only went so far. “But we’re not getting back together. She’s pretty adamant about that.”

  The bartender left Whit an ice water, then moved down the other end to help a group of women who had just come in. Whit took a sip, taking his time before he spoke again, the way he often did. Whit was a man who thought things through, who rarely wasted a sentence. Every conversation with Whit was part exercise in patience, part The Waltons wisdom. “Did I ever tell you about the time my Gracie broke my heart?” he said.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Damned near killed me. I thought I lost her for good. She was a lot like our Jilly,” Whit said. “Smart, and determined, and not about to wait for some man to get his act together.”

  Zach chuckled. The laughter burned his throat because the truth had hit a nerve. All this time, he’d thought he had his act together, had everything he ever wanted—until he saw that ring sitting on his amp and realized he was lying to himself. “That’s Jillian, all right.”

  “Now, I know you have your dreams,” Whit said, laying a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “And I think that’s great. Everyone should have a dream. And the chutzpah to go after it.”

  “That’s what I’m doing. Got an audition coming up and everything. Could turn into something. Or not.” Zach shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, though. Jillian wants me to quit music and get a regular job. Put on a suit and tie or something.”

  “Did she actually say that?”

  “Well, not in so many words. She said she wanted me to show her that being with her was a priority. Meaning, more important than my music, my career.”

  “You think you can’t have both? The dream and the girl?”

  “I think the quote-unquote ‘having-it-all’ thing is a Hollywood fantasy,” Zach said. He thought of his father, who was still bitter, decades later, about being forced into a job that paid well but left him no time for his own hobbies. And his brother, who had been smart and popular and should have ended up graduating top of his class, but was instead sitting in a jail cell.

  “It’s simple, son,” Whit said. “You just gotta decide which one matters more, and then put the majority of your eggs in that basket. Life is about balance. Doing what you love, yes, but always putting the people you love at the top of your list. I almost learned that lesson too late myself.”

  In other words, start acting like a grown-up, responsible man with a wife and two-car garage. Like Duff, who was giving the band one more shot before he quit to take a job at his dad’s HVAC company. Duff had decided that the regular paycheck that paid for diapers and minivans was more important. Zach could understand that—he could see how happy Duff was with his wife, with the baby on the way. But he also didn’t want to end up like his father in ten years.

  “I want both,” Zach said. “I just don’t see how I can make that work.”

  Whit spun his straw, sending the ice cubes in his drink into a tinkling mini-tornado. “When I was twenty-two, I got a job offer to work a lobster boat up in Maine. I thought it would be great. Spend my season out on the water, hauling pots, making cash. Gracie wasn’t happy. At all.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I had a good job here. We were living on the mainland then, and I was working for a property management company. Doing just about anything they asked of me. Regular paycheck, regular hours. Nothing fancy.” Whit nodded. “It was a good job.”

  “But it wasn’t exciting and fun.”

  “Exactly. I thought lobstering was going to be it. Go out there, haul up the pots while the sun beat on you and the ocean sprayed you with waves. Gracie told me I’d
regret it, that I wasn’t going to like making money here and there, rather than every week, and that she wasn’t going to marry a guy who went off on some fool’s errand because he read too many Robert Louis Stevenson books.” Whit chuckled. “Damn, it hurt my ears to hear that.”

  “What’d you do?”

  Across the room, a table of four burst into laughter. Whit waited for the sound to subside before he continued. “What any stubborn man would do. Decided to prove her wrong. I quit my job, thumbed my way up to Maine, because my car was too old to make the trip, and signed on with the lobster boat. The first week, I made five dollars.” He splayed a palm. “That was it. Five bucks.”

  “Five bucks? That sucks. Why so little pay?”

  “Let’s just say the captain of the boat liked naps too much and Sam Adams even more.” Whit shook his head. “We hardly ever went out. The pots were falling apart, which meant the lobsters escaped more often than not. I damned near starved the first two weeks I worked there.”

  “Did you come back?”

  “Hell, no. I figured that would be failure. And remember, I’m a stubborn old coot.” The bartender swung by, gave a nod when he saw their drinks were still full, then moved on to a couple of guys who had just sat down at the other end. Whit steepled his fingers and went on. “So I stayed up there, and signed on with another boat. I made money there, but a week in, I realized I hated being out on the water in the sun every day, killing time between pots, then doing the same thing over and over and over again. I missed my other job, I missed my home, and I missed Gracie like someone had cut me in half.”

  “That’s how I feel without Jillian.” Zach sighed. A couple sitting at a nearby table leaned into each other for a kiss. Zach had to look away because it hurt something deep inside him, thinking that used to be him and Jillian, before he’d screwed it up. “It sucks.”

  Whit nodded, his eyes kind with sympathy. “I couldn’t live without my Gracie. I think that’s what you gotta decide. If you are better with her or without her. Me, I knew I was better with Gracie. Always have been, always will. Soon as I got a clue—and some of us are slower to do that than others—I saved up enough money to come home, though I didn’t know for sure if there was anything to come home to. Mind you, she wouldn’t talk to me the whole time I was gone. Didn’t answer my phone calls, didn’t reply to my letters. I was expecting her to close the door in my face when I got there.”

  Obviously, she hadn’t done that, because Whit and Grace had been married forever. They were one of the happiest couples Zach had ever seen. They worked together all day, then went home at night, often arm in arm.

  Ian and Duff were settling in behind their instruments on the stage. Ian gave Zach a what’s-up, dude look. Zach put up a hand, and turned back to Whit. Right now, knowing the answer to how Whit won Grace back was more important than anything else. “How did you make it up to her?” Zach asked.

  “I didn’t. I was just there. Every day. Eventually she realized I wasn’t going anywhere, and she started talking to me. That’s not to say I haven’t done anything stupid since then, but coming home to Gracie…” His eyes got misty and his voice grew thick, “was the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Zach missed walking into Jillian’s apartment and seeing her there, smiling at him, welcoming him into her arms, her bed. Now he went home to his own tiny, crowded, messy place and felt like something was missing, like there was a hole in his life. But she was already dating someone else, kissing someone else. Maybe even loving someone else. “I don’t know if Jillian even wants me back. She’s dating someone.”

  “I can’t say if she does or she doesn’t,” Whit said. “That girl knows her own heart. And I know better than to try to guess what any woman’s thinking.” He chuckled, then clapped Zach on the shoulder. “But I do know my daughter loves you, and that’s something. Whether you two have a future or not…well, that ball’s in your court right now.”

  Whit’s hand lingered a moment longer on Zach’s shoulder, then he headed out of the bar and back over to the host station. Zach nursed his soda and watched the door that Jillian had left through earlier, as if she might magically appear again. She didn’t. Which meant he needed to figure out what he wanted—and how he was going to get it.

  If what he wanted was even there for him anymore.

  ELEVEN

  Maybe she should get a dog.

  Or a turtle or a fish or something, anything with a heartbeat that was glad to see her when she got home. Jillian had a good time at the bonfire with Ethan—well, goodish. The northern end of the island wasn’t her world, and the conversations the others had about yachts and trips to Europe and the latest collection from Marc Jacobs left her feeling like she was living on another planet all together. Ethan had tried to draw her into the conversation, but it had been clear that this was his world, not hers, a place where he felt at ease. He’d dropped her off a little after eleven with another of those short, sweet kisses. He told her he had to fly out in the morning for a quick trip to New York, but then he’d be back. For a second, she thought there’d be more…more kisses, more connection, but he had left with just the one.

  Jillian should have been pleased. But somehow, she was left feeling…disjointed. She curled into her sofa, grabbed her cell and texted Darcy a quick, home now, had an okay time.

  Darcy texted back a few minutes later. Just okay?

  I don’t fit in there very well. Feeling like the lone zebra at a horse ranch.

  LOL. It’s them who don’t fit in, Darcy said. We’re the cool kids, over here at TLS.

  That made Jillian laugh, too. If anyone would understand, it was Darcy, who was marrying Kincaid in a few days. He’d grown up in that Mercedes/Marc Jacobs world, yet he much preferred the rough and tumble environment of The Love Shack. For years, Darcy had thought she would never fit into Kincaid’s life, when it turned out all he ever wanted was to be a part of hers. It had worked for them—did that mean maybe it would for her and Ethan?

  And did she want that? Right now, she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Her traitorous mind kept straying to Zach, even as she was texting about Ethan. She sent back a smiley face to Darcy, then, How was work?

  Is the hidden question, was Zach all mopey and miserable without you tonight?

  Jillian hesitated a long time. Darcy knew her well. Maybe…okay, yes.

  He was. Looked like a kid who lost a puppy. He didn’t stay after with the guys, just went home. Alone.

  That made Jillian happy, in a weird way. Maybe she wanted Zach to suffer. Maybe she wanted him to go through those same feelings of loss she’d had months ago. Me too, Jillian said. Just a quick kiss from Ethan, and now I’m watching a sappy movie on A&E.

  Come on over to my house for some wine and girl time. I’ll be home in an hour.

  Thanks, but I’m already in my pajamas. Next time. The last thing Jillian wanted to do was go to Darcy’s and see the happy little family of three they’d formed—Kincaid, Emma, and Darcy. She loved them all, but right now, that was too masochistic.

  Jillian thought she’d wanted to be alone, until she actually got home and realized the place almost echoed. She definitely needed a dog. Except a dog required someone who was home, to feed it, walk it. Between school and work…

  Maybe she should get a potted plant. But with her luck, that would die, too.

  She pulled open the fridge, grabbed a beer, popped the top, then headed out to the balcony. She sat back in an overstuffed wicker chair, put her feet up on the railing, then leaned her head back and let her eyes close.

  Ethan had texted a couple times after he left, saying he was looking forward to getting back to Fortune’s Island in a couple days. She replied that she felt the same. Maybe once Ethan was back, they could have a chance to see where this would all go.

  Especially if that meant kissing Ethan again. Because thus far, none of Ethan’s kisses had made her forget Zach. And then there was Zach’s kiss…

  He knew her too well, knew
exactly how to touch her to make her want…more. To want him. His kiss had lingered on her lips, in her mind, tingled along her nerve endings, for hours afterwards. She found herself craving another kiss like that, craving one more moment with Zach.

  It was just post-breakup regret. Nothing more. Either way, she wasn’t thinking about Zach, or kissing Zach, anymore.

  She paced a little, but even the sound of her footsteps seemed to echo. She couldn’t stay in this empty space, not for another second. But then her gaze traveled to the window, to the vast darkness outside.

  It was late, close to two in the morning, and a sane person would go to bed. But the emptiness of her apartment seemed to mock her, so Jillian slipped into a pair of flip-flops and headed outside. She was just going to sit on the stoop for a minute, soak up some fresh air.

  Fortune’s Island was dead at this time of night. One or two lights glowed in the houses and condos on the island, and a ribbon of streetlights cast yellow puddles across the road, but all the other businesses were closed.

  Jillian closed the door to her apartment, walked down to the ground level, then stood on the top step of the front stoop. A slight breeze danced across her skin, like a friend beckoning her over. Take a walk, it seemed to say, soak up the night.

  Darcy often walked home at night from The Love Shack, but Jillian always drove, even though she lived less than a half a mile from the restaurant. For too long, she’d been afraid of walking in the dark, afraid of being alone after midnight. Standing outside now, while the dark draped across her shoulders like a heavy blanket, that old familiar fear shivered down her spine.

  Even though she knew, rationally, that no one was behind her, that no one, in fact, was outside beside her, she still felt those prickles of awareness. Her foot turned, her body followed, ready to go back inside. To where it was light and bright…

  And empty.

  Jillian reached for the door handle, then stopped. No.

  She was tired of being afraid. Tired of letting one event rule her life. Her brother was right—she was allowing the fear to be in charge of so many things in her life. She couldn’t change all of them right this minute, but she could change one. It had been eight years since that night on the beach. Eight years was long enough. Time to do something about it.