9781631056314TattooedHeartsJolieNC

by Mika Jolie

  “You’re a Montgomery.”

  Jason stood a little straighter, the Montgomery pride and arrogance in full effect. “So are you.”

  Absolute stillness. The two men stared at each other. Alpha against Alpha. Chests lifted then expanded. Claire’s stomach twisted. Seeing them at odds made her nauseous.

  She looked at Forrest. “You wanted to talk.”

  With his hand still on her lower back, they walked outside of the room and down the hall. They stood with barely an inch between them, eyes locked. Neither spoke. “You’re with Tyler?” he asked after a long beat of silence.

  She blinked. “What?”

  “He’s a nice guy and all, but…”

  “I kissed Tyler when I was sixteen.”

  His gray eyes darkened. “Only then.”

  Claire held her breath behind pursed lips to steel herself against the burst of laughter to come. It always came. Especially when she was feeling excited or nervous, in this case, it was a combination. Forrest was jealous. “Only then,” she repeated.

  “Claire, about the other day…,” he said after another long silence.

  Her heart skipped. She waited.

  “I apologize if I came off a bit…”

  “Cold,” she finished for him.

  He let out a slow deep breath. “Distant.”

  She smiled tightly at him. “It’s okay, Forrest. I’m a big girl.”

  “Are you okay then?” He removed his glasses and stared at her.

  She hated when he did that. It made her feel naked and vulnerable. Claire brushed her hands over her sweater and peered at the window, focusing her attention on the blackness outside. “I’m fine.”

  He closed the distant between them in one stride and touched the pad of his thumb against her cheek, drawing her eyes to his. “Once upon a time I would have done anything for you. For us.”

  “And now?”

  “That was ten years ago. A lot has changed.”

  His words splintered her, smashing her heart. Tears threatened to spill. She swallowed them down. “You don’t love me anymore.”

  He straightened himself, took several steps away from her, and shoved his hands in his pockets. Every muscle in his face was tense and without a word he communicated a deep mistrust, anger, and a time lost. “You left without saying goodbye.” There was a beat of accusatory silence. “Without telling me why.”

  “I wasn’t good enough for you.”

  “You should have let me decide that.”

  “Forrest.”

  His jaw ticked.

  “You’re over me?” she asked, holding his gaze.

  He squinted at her through hardened eyes that once gleamed with love and devotion. But now, as his gaze dissected her bit by bit with the least bit of care, Claire was struck by their coldness.

  “Go back to L.A., Claire. That’s your home.” He pulled his coat tight and walked out of the center.

  Her heart contracted then shrunk from Forrest’s blow. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The hairs on her arms stood at attention as a militia of chills marched down her spine.

  “You all right?”

  She glanced over at Jason and gave him a tight smile. “Yeah.”

  He came to stand next to her and wrapped one arm around her shoulder as he’d always done. He was in big brother mode. She’d always loved that about him.

  “No, you’re not. You’re still in love with the big goof. Why did you leave, Claire?”

  “I wasn’t good enough,” she whispered.

  “Says who?”

  “Your mom.” The words leaked out of her lips. “Jason…” She aimed for damage control, but his hands gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him, crystal blue eyes crashing into hers.

  “What are you saying?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “What did my mother say to you?” he persisted.

  “Nothing.” But her voice shook a little. More importantly, Jason knew her better than anyone else in her life. “I’m sorry, Jason, there’s no need to talk about it. It’s been ten years.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You left that night over something my mother said.”

  She could deny it, but what would be the point. Claire stepped out of his hold to the other side of the hallway. “Yes,” she whispered. “I overheard her telling my mother I wasn’t good enough for Forrest or any of you.”

  “What?” His voice resonated her shock a decade ago.

  “How are things between you and your dad?” she asked, changing direction of the conversation. “The night of the funeral you were pretty upset with him.”

  “We spoke. We are fine.” His blue eyes stared straight through her. “Let’s talk about you and the night you hightailed out of town.”

  “It hurt then.” She rubbed a hand over her arm. “It still hurts.”

  “My mother was sick.”

  Something they all later found out after the sickness took her life. Perhaps that explained why she held no grudge toward Victoria. “I didn’t know that then. I don’t think you knew.”

  “I didn’t realize she was sick until it was too late.” Jason leaned against the wall, head hung to the floor, eyes fixed on his shoes. Neither spoke, silence lay between them as they wallowed in a valley of despair. “How come you don’t hate me or my father?” he asked into the silence.

  “I never hated your mom. I admit for a while I was angry, but never hate.” She swallowed back some of the hurt. “As for you and your dad, neither of you ever made me feel inferior.” She let out a soft laugh over the memories. “Your dad never wanted me to find out what your mother thought of me.”

  “She was sick,” he said again.

  “I know.”

  He exhaled. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He came to stand next to her again. “No, you’re not. You’re broken just like me and I never knew.”

  “I’m fine,” she said again, but her inside was damp with uncried tears.

  He pulled her into his arms once more, and placed a kiss on top of her head. “Are you going to fight for him?”

  Claire blinked the tears away. “He doesn’t love me anymore.”

  Jason chuckled. “He still loves you, Claire. You shredded him to pieces, but Forrest has never gotten over you. The question is do you have it in you to fight for him.”

  “His dad just died. He’s hurt and angry right now.”

  “Fight or flight, Claire. I have to go home to my wife.” He gave her arm one final squeeze. “I hope you stay and fight.”

  * * * *

  The bitter cold bit Claire’s face, seeped through her woolen hat, and crept under her clothes. Chill spread across her skin like the delicate tide on the frigid desolate beach. She wrapped the thick coat around her tighter and continued her walk. Other than the howling wind, a frozen puddle here and there cracking under her winter boots, the beach was empty, barren, yet still with beauty. She exhaled, puffs of white vapor floated in the air. A blustery beach walk was a great way for her to combat post-Forrest comedown.

  Two weeks had come and gone, her heart was still empty. Something throbbed in her guts, deep and warm, but not in a good way. She inhaled and exhaled again, time to pack up and leave.

  Fight or flight. Jason’s words replayed in her head.

  Regret was never sweet. It washed over her like the long slow waves on the beach–icy and cold, sending shivers down her spine. She longed to go back and take a different path, but now that was impossible. There was no way back, no way to make things right between her and Forrest. He even told her to go back home.

  Home. A home was where the heart felt the most at peace, where one was surrounded by friends, family, traditions, and safety. A place where one hung their hat.

  She hadn’t had a home in years. As much as she enjoyed living in Los Angeles, it was semi-permanent, a short-term accommodation. It always felt that way. Clair
e kicked a small rock with the tip of her boots and sent it flying. Remorse ate at her the way it had every day since she left. She’d lost her chance at love, her one chance to truly be happy. She surveyed the pebbles with envy, hard and lifeless, unable to feel the torments of life.

  She walked off the private beach, crossed the rolling meadows of the Montgomery compound to the tucked away cottage sitting distance away from the main house. From the large farmer’s porch, she peered across the nearly fifty-acres where she grew up. Visions of Jason and his parents playing croquet came to her. Charles would always wave at her and insist she joined them. Her heart squeezed over the memories.

  Home.

  She was homesick for a place which may no longer exist, or able to return to. A place where her heart was full and her soul was understood. Once upon a time the island had been her sanctuary, her home sweet home. Until that night. Shoving the bitter memories to the back of her mind, she pushed the cottage door open. A smile crept in as soon as Claire stepped inside the open design two-bedroom house. Like any other day, she was greeted by her mother’s morning coffee. Claire inhaled the strong, smooth aromatic scent.

  “How was your walk?” her mother asked.

  “Good.” She removed her hat and tossed it on the sofa.

  “Two weeks went by so fast.”

  She couldn’t agree more. “I guess it’s true what they said. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

  Her mother looked her over and for a moment Claire thought she saw pity in her eyes.

  “Are you having fun, honey?”

  Yeah, definitely pity in those deep brown eyes. Claire’s throat tightened. Her heart was tight too. “I have to go finish packing.”

  “Sure, love. I’ll bring up coffee.”

  Claire made her way to the open staircase leading to the second floor, down the hall to her bedroom. The black leather overnight bag, firm and upright on the bed, hailed at her.

  Go back to L.A., Claire, that’s your home. Forrest’s harsh words replayed like an echo. She snatched her favorite cable knit pullover from the wicker chair and jammed it into the bag. The tote fought the pressure and spit out the intrusion. Why was it always easier to pack when going somewhere and never on the return trip? Hands knotted into fists, she pressed the sweater into the little space left.

  “So you’re really leaving,” her mother said at the door.

  “Of course, Mom. I have a life back in L.A.” She examined the pile of clothes on the bed, skirts, sweaters, pants, jackets. One day she’d learned to pack light. “I’ll be back in the spring or something.”

  Stepping further into the room, her mother handed Claire the coffee “You’re running.” She picked up a sweater from the pile on and started folding. “When will you stop running, darling?”

  “I have a song to write.”

  “How’s that going? Did you make any progress?”

  Well, the last few days, she’d written Tattooed Hearts at least twenty times a day. The title was important. One word at a time, she’d written two. That was an accomplishment. Eventually, Forrest would stop taking every space in her brain and let her creativity flow. “I’ve made great progress.”

  “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

  Claire took a sip of the coffee. “It sucks that you know me so well.”

  Her mother folded the sweater and looked at the overnight bag. “Did you just throw things in there?”

  As a matter of fact, last night after returning from the potluck, she had done just that. Claire swatted at the air. Her mother chuckled and pulled the stuffed clothes out of the bag.

  “You’re so emotionally stunted, darling.” Her mother’s voice was low and without daggers. “I can’t believe I raised you to be a coward.”

  As calmly as the words were spoken, they still cut Claire and numbed her circulation. “I’m not a coward.” Or sub-par. Or a little fish in the sea. All she had to do was look at her bank account, her investments, the charities she supported, all the chart-topping hits she’d written, co-produced and sang. The shiny awards on the mantel in Los Angeles were proof of her accomplishments. Cowards didn’t leave all they’d ever known to pursue a dream.

  Her mother glanced at her. “You’re in love with Forrest. Have been forever, but you’re blinded by the fact that I manage this place.” Her mother folded another sweater. “And because of that you’ve convinced yourself you’re not good enough for him.”

  “I didn’t convince myself of that. It was pointed out to me, remember?” The day after she left the island, Claire had called and revealed to her mother she’d overheard her conversation with Victoria.

  “So you let the words of a sick woman dictate who you are.” She picked up a camisole and folded the delicate fabric. “You think Forrest will abandon you like your father did to me.”

  Silence filled the room. Claire scratched the inside of her wrist where colorful corded bracelets strategically covered the tattoo. She’d been the one to leave. Not Forrest.

  Her mother picked up another sweater and held it before her. “I like this one.”

  “Then it’s yours, or I can buy you one.”

  Her mother smiled and placed the sweater to the side. “I’ll use it this winter.” She examined one of Claire’s favorite pair of skinny jeans. “You’re so tiny. Do you eat in L.A.?”

  In spite of herself, Claire smiled. “I’ve always been small. It’s a curse.”

  “Forrest towers over you.” Her mother observed while folding another pair of jeans. “Honey, don't think I’m not aware of what’s in your heart. I’ve watched you run away from him. He’s loved you all of his life. Don’t you think it’s time you allow yourself to be happy? Both of you deserve to be happy.”

  Claire sat on the bed and took another sip of her coffee. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too late.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He told me to go back to L.A.”

  “So you’re leaving because Forrest said so.” Her mother arched a brow. She sat beside her daughter and pressed a hand against Claire’s. “You left him without an explanation. I don’t think you ever told him what drove you to leave. The only father he’s ever known just died. To further complicate things he now has to deal with knowing that wasn’t his real father.” Her mother exhaled. “So let’s see, he’s hurt, angry, and betrayed. And now you’re running again when he needs you the most.”

  Without another word, her mother walked out of the room, leaving Claire alone with her bag packed and ready to go. She pushed a handful of beads up her wrist and the bracelets jangled in protest. Wretched memories swirled in her head.

  ‘Go back to L.A., Claire, that’s your home.’ Forrest’s words haunted her. She peered at her bag. A string of images, emotions buried, but never truly died breathed life in her heart. Ten years fell into the distance.

  Time to fight.

  Tugging at the bracelets, she removed the layers long used to cloak the memories, shielding her heart. The only one left was a silver feather bangle bracelet because Forrest had given her that one. But it didn’t conceal the black ink, and it’d always been her favorite.

  Reaching for her phone, she found Jason’s number and texted.

  I’m staying.

  Jason’s response came quickly.

  Good. I’m proud of you.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Sometimes you have to follow your heart, no matter the consequences.”

  Minka Greene Montgomery

  Two weeks later, Claire sat at a corner table at Vapor with her eyes glued to the crisp blank page in the spiral-bound journal. Clear-polished fingers tapped the pen on the table to Jack Savoretti’s gritty soul-soaked vocals crooning Breaking the Rules. Not one freakin’word. She wasn’t dubbed the queen of heart-wrenching lyrics for nothing, although the empty spaces in her notebook dared to argue otherwise. She peeped at the silver clock on the brick wall. So what she’d been sitting here for ninety minutes? That was pocket change in songw
riting land. In some instances, it’d take her two to three hours to write a sentence. But on most days, she could write a song in a day. After one month on the island, she was still where she started two months ago. Nada. Nichts.

  She blamed her creative crisis on none other than sexy Doctor Forrest Montgomery Desvareaux or maybe he’d dropped his middle name and was now only Forrest Desvareaux.

  Whatever!

  He was the culprit. To rub salt in her already wounded heart, he’d gone and left the island. He ran all the way to New Hampshire for the last fourteen days, and no one had any clue when he’d return. Her life was a beautiful irony.

  Her phone vibrated on the table. Claire glanced at the glowing screen. James Harrison. Her manager’s name made her stomach twist with jitters. She picked up the phone and answered the call. “How is it going in Tinseltown?”

  “Tinseltown is wondering when you’re coming back.” His voice was warm on the other end, but she knew her manager well enough to know he had his business hat on.

  She had asked James for an additional two weeks. Well, two weeks had come and gone. “I need more time.”

  “It’s been a month,” he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

  She didn’t blame him. How much longer could he give Ava vague statements explaining her abrupt disappearance?

  “You have a full calendar that you keep pushing off,” James continued.

  “I know.” She stirred in her chair. “I just need...”

  “Two more weeks.” He exhaled on the other end. “He’s that important?”

  “Yes,” she answered without a beat. James discovered her in New York at a karaoke night. He’d been by her side since, not just as a business partner, but also a trusted friend. “I need to close this chapter in my life.”

  “Have you made any progress?”

  “He’s not here.”

  “So why are you still on the island?” he asked after a short silence.

  “He has to come back eventually. Martha’s Vineyard is his home.”

  “And yours,” James said gently. “Are you thinking about moving back?”