Jaded Page 2

Heat rushed through him, until he felt swollen with shame. “That? I just thought it’d be fun to look at the stars. Dad bought it for me years ago.”

  She leaned over to look through the lens. “I don’t see any stars, just houses.”

  “Must have slid down a bit,” he said.

  “Or you have it pointed right at Honor’s house.”

  He rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Maybe.”

  “It’s sad, you know that?” Sophie asked.

  “I know. I do know,” he said.

  “She was only there tonight to see you. Only pride’s keeping her from just asking you out.”

  “No way.” That wasn’t true. All the Dogs, other than Brody, were there, along with Kara and Maggie. The whole gang, basically. Just a regular Friday night.

  “All I know is that the minute you left, so did she.” Sophie stepped away from the window. “I know it’s hard to put yourself out there, but she’s into you. It’s so obvious you guys are in love.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’ve got to seize the day.” So much like Maggie. It was becoming more obvious by the day how similar the two sisters’ personalities were. She looked like Zane and his dad, but she had the same nurturing, fun spirit as her sister.

  “You’re magic, you know that?” he asked.

  “You’re magic.”

  “Go to bed. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh my gosh, you’re so funny. Now, you go to bed too. You need your beauty sleep if you’re going to ask Honor out tomorrow.”

  “I’m doing it. You’ll see.”

  She disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom.

  He followed his own orders and headed to his room. In the master bathroom, he took inventory of his appearance as he brushed his teeth. Hair bleached to the color of straw. Tanned skin with unusual blue-green eyes. Straight teeth, thanks to his dad’s sacrifices to pay for braces. Surfing kept him in shape. He was okay looking. If only he had money to go with it.

  What was Honor doing right now? Getting into bed? Soft pajamas or a nightgown? Did she brush her hair before she slipped under the covers?

  He spit his mouth full of toothpaste suds into the sink. Being this possessive and jealous was not cool. He hadn’t been like this with his fiancée, Natalie. Then again, she called off the wedding and ran off with her bridesmaid’s husband, so what did he know? Nothing. That’s what. Not one single thing about women.

  The main problem was that Honor was too good for him. Whip smart and sophisticated, she looked like she stepped out of a Vogue magazine. She hung out with jet-setters she met working for his best friend Brody, who happened to be the most famous football player in the country. Every damn week she met actors, Hollywood executives, guys who invented apps for phones and crap like that. Not a bar owner in a small town.

  Could he keep a woman like Honor satisfied? She might give her body to him temporarily, but what about her heart? This was exactly what got him into trouble. Too much thinking. Tomorrow he would ask her out. End of story.

  He tossed the tube of toothpaste across the bathroom. The white paste spattered all over the glass door of his shower. He didn’t bother to clean it up. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

  Fog hovered over the beach as the sun rose above the eastern hills. Zane dropped his surfboard into the trunk of his new SUV. His old truck had finally given out and he’d been forced to join the modern age of keyless cars and leather seats. Other than the payments, he hated to admit how much he loved his new shiny car. The surf had been good that morning, even though he’d slept until ten. Usually the best waves were in the early mornings, but he’d vowed to Jackson and Maggie to take better care of himself, which meant getting more sleep. Now that Sophie was helping to run The Oar, he could do that, as well as take a few weekends off like a normal person.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a good thing. Before Sophie, he was too busy working to ever think about what Honor was doing. No, not entirely true. She did cross his mind once or twice—okay, maybe four dozen times a night. What was she doing, who was she with? Now that his sister was taking some of the night shifts at the bar, he was home in the evenings with too much time on his hands.

  And a telescope.

  He wriggled out of his wet suit and donned a sweatshirt, then laid a towel on the seat of his car. No reason to damage the leather with his wet shorts. His dad had taught him to keep his cars neat. Have pride in your possessions, son. You’ll never regret taking care of your things.

  A car pulled up beside him. Chris Hollingsworth nodded at him from the driver’s seat. Back in the day, Mr. Hollingsworth owned the feed store. Now in his eighties, he still owned the land but had closed the store at least ten years ago. There was no need for a feed store when most of the farms had been absorbed by towns.

  Mr. Hollingworth got out of his car and hobbled over to him. “Zane, good to see you.” He held out a bony hand and they shook. “Sophie said you were down here this morning.”

  “What’s up?”

  The old man looked out to the ocean and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. They hung loose, like his skin. “The missus and I are moving into one of those old folks’ homes. She broke her hip last month and our daughters are having fits—want us to be sensible and all. I’ve been against it, but Rachel’s convinced me it’s time. I hate to leave my home, you know.”

  “I do.”

  “But I remembered how you said you’d be interested in the property should I ever decide to sell.” Mr. Hollingsworth’s voice trembled. Was it from old age or emotion? “I guess I’m ready.”

  Zane leaned against his car and crossed his arms over his chest. It was a coveted piece of land, just outside of the main part of town. “I’m still interested, but I don’t know if I could get the money together. My dad’s memory care facility eats up most of my profits.” Back to where they started—broke bar owners.

  “Sure. I imagine it does. Such a shame about Hugh. No one I respected more in this town. Raising you like he did.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Truth is, I need the money from the land to buy a cell in this assisted living place.”

  Zane’s mind spun with ideas. For several years now, he’d dreamed of opening a brewery. He imagined it with expansive lawns for community activities and picnics—the cornerstone of the community while still making a decent profit.

  Could he come up with the money? Maybe. If he found some investors. Not Brody and Kyle. But outsiders who would remain silent partners. God knew he didn’t want a boss.

  “Don’t count me out,” Zane said. “I might be able to come up with something.”

  “Will do. Let me know in the next day or so. That Kyle Hick’s been sniffing around out there. I know he’d love to get his hands on it. I mean no harm. I know he’s a friend of yours, but he’s not one of us. But that property’s the only thing I ever had that was worth anything. I want it to be part of the community again. I want you to have it.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Communities need small businesses. Broke my heart when I had to close up shop—put fifteen people out of work. I sure like your idea of making it a community gathering place too. Young people need to play outside instead of having their heads in those phones. My grandsons never look up from those godforsaken gadgets. Fresh air. That’s what young people need.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You look at your finances, and we can talk some more,” Mr. Hollingsworth said.

  “I’ll get back to you in a few days.”

  “Will do.” The older man patted him on the arm. “You say hello to your dad for me.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  He would, but it wouldn’t matter. Hugh Shaw wouldn’t have any recollection of his old friend. Zane turned away and got into his car, so Mr. Hollingsworth wouldn’t see the tears well in his eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Honor

  * * *

  HONOR SULLI
VAN’S PHONE BUZZED at the exact moment a black crow landed on the potted orange tree just outside her kitchen patio doors. She rose from the table and pounded on the window. “Go away.” The crow stared at her with its beady black eye, unmoved. How she loathed crows! First, they had planning skills unnatural for a creature with a brain the size of a walnut. She’d seen them trick a guileless squirrel out of a nut too many times to count. Second, their prehistoric beaks and shiny black feathers reminded her of the grim reaper.

  “I’ll be back for you later.” She returned to the table and picked up her phone. After this call, she would squirt the grim reaper with the garden hose. That would teach the nasty creature to stare her down on a warm August morning with its claws in the tender branch of her orange tree.

  Who was calling this early? Probably Brody. Who else would call before eight on a Saturday morning? She’d sent him an endorsement contract last night and he probably had questions. Brody Mullen was the most successful professional quarterback in the country, but the man couldn’t read a contract to save his life.

  She glanced at the number. Her pulse quickened when she saw the area code: 615. A call from Tennessee. Someone from the past.

  Honor cursed under her breath. Don’t panic. She would not let this upset her. It was nothing. Probably a sales call that had no connection whatsoever to her youth.

  The phone continued to buzz. How long before it went to voicemail? Should she ignore it and let the caller leave a message? The crow tilted his head and stared at her through the window. His evil black feathers glistened under the August sky. It was as if his sole purpose was to taunt her with his presence. She shivered. Fine. She’d answer it.

  “Hello. This is Honor Sullivan.”

  “Hi, Honor. It’s Cloe McNeil. Do you remember me?”

  “Yes.” Cloe McNeil from the D.A.’s office. A stone of dread dropped into her stomach.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve talked.” McNeil’s Tennessee accent hadn’t lessened any since she was a young attorney.

  “I was ten, so yeah,” Honor said.

  “I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “How did you get my number?” Honor asked.

  “You don’t want to know,” McNeil said. Honor detected a sad smile even over the phone. “I called to give you an update on Stanley Gorham.”

  Honor’s stomach lurched at the sound of his name.

  “They released him last week,” McNeil said.

  Released him. How was that possible?

  “It’s nothing to worry over,” McNeil said. “I just thought you should know.” Honor recalled her intelligent, sensitive eyes. She’d given Honor a doll to play with and gently coaxed her to tell her what Doctor Gorham had done to her.

  Show me where he touched you.

  McNeil continued, her voice too casual, too sure. “He has a parole officer, obviously, and he’s not allowed out of the state of Tennessee, so you should be fine. Regardless, be extra alert.”

  “I’m always alert,” Honor said.

  “I imagine you are.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Truly, it’s nothing to worry about,” McNeil said.

  Then why did you call?

  “Call me if you need anything.” McNeil said. “This is my cell number.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  She hung up and pushed the phone away. Gorham was out. How could they let that monster out?

  The taste of metal settled in her mouth. The taste of fear. The taste of her childhood.

  No reason to panic. He wouldn’t know how to find her. Anyway, there was a parole officer keeping a close watch over him. The system had failed her many times, but not this time. She was an adult now with money and a beautiful home and friends who were like family—not a child at the mercy of the foster care system.

  Her hands shook. Dammit. Such a sign of weakness. She moved to the sink and wrapped her fingers around the white ceramic rim and closed her eyes. You’re safe in this town. This is your home. No one can enter without your permission. Remember that.

  Every choice, every labor, for one purpose—safety. I won’t ever be weak again. Money equaled safety. Everyone knew that. Unless you’re sick. Which she wasn’t. Not now. Not ever again.

  This was merely another Saturday. No reason to think anything of the past.

  She walked back to the kitchen table, fully intent on enjoying a lazy morning with a cup of coffee and a magazine. Another curse word exploded from her mouth. That evil crow was still there. He spotted her looking at him and stuck his long, black beak in the air. It reminded her of an arrogant man’s nose. She yanked open the double doors that led to her patio and headed for the hose. But there was no need. The foul bird took off with a caw that rang out like an accidental minor note in an otherwise pleasant melody.

  She looked around for something to throw after him to underscore her authority, but her patio was bare, other than her potted orange tree and outdoor furniture.

  Instead, she shouted, “Don’t come back.” Like it cared. The bird was a black smudge on the landscape by then.

  She leaned against the railing of her patio. Her house sat at the top of the hillside. The westward facing view faced the sea. Today her briny friend was a thin line of blue. She breathed in the scents of the sea and oranges ripening on the tree. Be here in the moment. No day would ever be wasted if she had anything to do with it.

  Surviving cancer at eighteen does that to a person.

  She moved to the other side of the patio and looked toward town. From this angle, she had a view of the other houses on the opposite hill and a glimpse of the main street of town. She could see the top portion of Zane’s building quite well. Too well. She was turning into a voyeur, always gaping at those windows. Over the past few months, she’d spent too much time staring at that stupid roof and wishing Zane would call her. Willing him with her thoughts to call her. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the magical power of thought control. Sometimes at night she watched from her upstairs bedroom. What did she expect to see? Morse code communicated by blinking lights? How many blinks meant I love you, I want you, Come to me?

  At this moment the windows sparkled in the sunlight, like they were calling to her. Zane Shaw. What in the world was she to do about Zane? She adored him, admired him, wished she could wrap her arms around him and never let him go. His essence was like the sunshine and the sea—beauty and power combined. Never in her life had she been in love, but from observing others and reading a lot of romances under the covers at the girls’ home, she felt certain she was in love with Zane Shaw.

  She left her perch and snatched an orange from her tree. With no yard to speak of other than her expansive patio, the nursery had advised her to buy a dwarf tree she could keep in a pot. Petite like her, she’d joked. For five years, she babied that tree. During the winter, she paid men to move her inside so the tree would believe it lived in the warmth of Florida, not the chilly, damp winter of Northern California. Oranges had not only appeared but ripened for the first time this summer. It had thrilled her to grow a sapling into an actual fruit-bearing tree.

  She picked two more oranges. They were tiny, no bigger than her own small fist, with skin so thin it was nearly impossible to peel. Because of this, they were perfect for juice. Inside, she rolled them on the counter to soften them. Then, she sliced them in halves and stuck them into the electric juicer. The zesty smell filled the kitchen.

  The oranges made a small glass of juice. She drank it down in three gulps, like a greedy child. She’d never tasted the likes of it before this summer. Life-giving, that’s what—so sweet and tangy—able to quench the deepest thirst and cure any ailment. Right now, she imagined how it strengthened the blood coursing through her veins. Cancer was no match for this juice. Bad cells could not possibly return if she drank the nectar of this extraordinary fruit. This was false. She knew that. But she let herself have it anyway. Once you’ve had cancer, you’re always afraid of its return, even th
ough they gave her a full hysterectomy at the time. Nothing was left of the cancerous cells, they assured her. Nothing was left to make a family either.

  No one in her life knew she’d had ovarian cancer when she was eighteen. She wouldn’t have them looking at her with those eyes, watchful like she might be contagious or like she might get it again and die on them.

  And there it was, full circle back to Zane. He didn’t know the truth of her brokenness. There would be no fat babies if he were to choose her. Would he be able to get past that? Could she ever be vulnerable enough to tell him the truth? He would have to know, if they were ever to have a real relationship.

  Fueled by her juice, she paced between the table and sink. Made for large gatherings, the farm-style table had benches instead of chairs. After the empty years with an empty stomach, she’d used the first of her money to make this house a sanctuary. Farmhouse chic, she’d told the decorator. Who knew what in her past caused her to favor this style? It wasn’t like she had any fond memories of living on the farm with foster family number three, or anywhere else for that matter. Those days on the farm were gray days filled with housework and sullen looks from her foster mother. The only spots of color were when she was at school. Intelligent, clever and hardworking, the teacher had written on her sixth-grade report card. From then on, she’d carried that around like a tattoo on the back of her hand.

  Whatever the reason for her decorating taste, she didn’t care. She did as she pleased.

  With names like egret white, passive gray, and silver strand, the paints in her rooms mimicked the Northern California seaside. White and gray furniture with splashes of sea blue calmed her as much as the beach itself. Every part of her house must be beautiful. That’s what she wanted. That’s what she’d always wanted. No one could take it from her, she told herself again, this time in a sterner voice, emphasizing each syllable. No one. Not even the memory of a monster.

  Honor turned on the water in the sink and let it run cold over her hands for a good thirty seconds. When her fingers were numb, she splashed water on her face.