The Things We Knew (6 page)

Nick held up a hand. “Do you know how much work that would take? What that would cost?” He downed the rest of his
soda and crunched ice. “And how would you convince the others to get on board with a plan like that? I mean, people are doing it, I'm not saying it's a terrible idea, but I'm not sure your brothers and Liz would agree.”

“See, that's just it.” Lynette clapped her hands together, a bubble of hope rising. “Once we're all back together, I could convince them. Make them see . . . remember all the good times.”

There were good times. In spite of everything, they
had
all been happy.

“I think they might have different memories.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” She clenched her fingers around a paper napkin and twisted.

His brow creased and he tried out a smile that didn't go anywhere. “Nothing. Just that, well, they haven't been around.” Nick pushed his chair back a bit and looked like he was fighting a bad case of heartburn.

“That's not what you meant.”

Raucous laughter floated over from the group at a large table across the room.

As much as she tried to remember what had happened the year her life catapulted into unimaginable tragedy, she couldn't. At twelve, she'd lived in a whirl of swimming, tennis, beach parties, and sailing regattas. And then one day her mother was dead, and Lynette's secure world became a scary place.

She pushed away the taunting thoughts.

Nick put a hand on her arm. “I'm sorry. I know how hard this is. I just don't want to see you get disappointed.”

Lynette shrugged and met his eyes. “It's okay.” She glanced at her watch. “I should get back to work. How much do I owe you?”

Nick shook his head. “Don't be silly. I asked you, remember?” A lock of hair hid one eye from view, his dimples deepening with his smile. If Chris Hemsworth had shown up, she would have passed him over.

Lynette's cheeks grew warm. “Thanks, Nick. It was great.”

“Maybe we could have dinner next time? Give us more time to talk?” He sat back, totally at ease with the suggestion.

Years ago she would have agreed without a second thought. But now . . . spending time with Nick Cooper was not a great idea. Because she'd enjoy it too much, and, if she was honest, she wasn't altogether sure she'd gotten over the childhood crush she'd carried for longer than she cared to admit. She couldn't afford that kind of distraction. “No, really, I . . .” Lynette floundered for a quick refusal but her brain wouldn't work with her tongue.

“Well, if you'd rather we send smoke signals the next time we're out on our second-floor patios, I could do that.”

If it was possible to die from utter embarrassment, she was about to find out. She pushed her chair back and got to her feet. Her legs threatened mutiny, and she took a moment to make sure she could stand. “I wasn't spying on you, if that's what you think.”

“I never thought that.” Nick paid the bill and stood up, his laughter rising above the noise in the restaurant.

He insisted on walking her to her car. “Thanks again for lunch, Nick,” she mumbled, hurrying to find her keys before he brought it up again.

He leaned against the side of her old Toyota, his sparkling eyes matching the color of his blue shirt. “Next time you're outside alone, give me a shout. Sometimes company is nice. Don't you think?”

Lynette hoped her face wasn't as red as it felt. “Maybe. Bye, Nick.” She opened her door and he moved off the vehicle. Once she'd pulled onto the street and he was out of sight, she gave a sigh of frustration.

Nick Cooper's company was more than nice. But she had enough to worry about.

She wasn't about to fall in love with the boy next door.

Not again.

G
ray Carlisle stretched out on the wooden bench in the park and watched the children on the swings. A guy with a hot dog cart sporting Montreal Canadien pennants pushed past him, the aroma a reminder of childhood, almost tempting enough to make him get one. Not that he'd be able to keep it down. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and shivered in the wind. If this was a Canadian spring, he definitely didn't want to be here in winter.

Happy shouts and childish squeals distracted him from the cold.

Sitting here was self-inflicted punishment.

His eyes followed the little girl in the pink boots, with blond curls and a big smile. Last night's rain left its mark, and she was making a great show of jumping from puddle to puddle across the playground. He figured she was about three, maybe four.

“Daddy, watch! Watch me jump!”

Gray squeezed his eyes tight.

Laughter floated around him and he looked in time to see a burly man swing her around, high up in the air and down again.

Gray lit a cigarette and kicked a pebble across the grass, scaring a few pigeons.

“There you are.” Marshall Gerome strode toward him with a grim glare that could have crumbled Mont Tremblant. Victoria followed close behind, carrying a cardboard cup tray from Starbucks. Gray was glad to see one of them.

“Here I am.” He coughed, tried to get a handle on the wheeze that followed. “Hope one of those is for me.” He smiled at Tori's scowl. Victoria Montgomery had been his manager since his career began. She knew practically everything about him, including how he liked his java.

“You're lucky I'm still talking to you,” she said.

Gray remembered why Marshall was here and shot his lawyer a sidelong glance. “All sorted out?”

“We wrote them a check,” Marshall told him. “You don't have much left in your account. But I guess you know that.” The tall man's caramel cheeks got a shade darker. He sank onto the bench and took the coffee Victoria offered. He'd happened to be on business in Quebec this week. But he wasn't happy that Victoria had called him to sort out Gray's latest infraction. Not happy at all.

“Here.” Victoria nudged Gray. “Move over.” She sat beside him, handed him his coffee, and pointed at his cigarette. “One would think now would be an opportune time to quit, given the cause of the trouble you're in.”

“One would think.” Gray took a last drag, dropped his smoke to the ground, and stomped on it. “I didn't do it on purpose.”

Marshall grunted, tapping the tops of his black leather shoes together. “Of course you didn't. Nothing is ever your fault, is it? Thankfully, they decided not to sue. What were you doing out in that barn in the middle of the night anyway, Gray? Singing to the cows?”

A chuckle snuck out of him. It wasn't funny. Not really. But how many places he'd stayed in had barns on their property? Hotel, guesthouse, B&B, or whatever they called it, it intrigued him. He'd just taken a night stroll, sat down for a smoke. He hadn't meant to send the barn up in flames.

Victoria aimed the pointy toe of her red boot at his ankle and fired.

“Ow. Physical violence is not necessary.” Gray bent over and rubbed the sore spot. “Nobody got hurt. I thought I stubbed it out, okay?”

“We hear you.” Victoria pulled on a pair of sunglasses and shuddered. “Wow, it's cold here. Good thing we're going home tomorrow.”

Gray twisted to face her. “We're what?”

Marshall sighed. His hard stare made Gray squirm like a toddler put in time-out. “I talked to Neil this morning. You can't tell me you didn't see this coming. Two DUIs last summer, drunk and disorderly on New Year's. Where was that again?” He shook his head, disgusted. “Doesn't matter. And now you burn down a barn.”

“Don't forget the past couple shows where you almost fell off the stage.” Victoria wouldn't look at him.

She stared straight ahead.

Seeing the same things he saw.

Seeing their past. Their mistakes.

No. His mistakes.

Gray scratched his head and tried to ignore the ache in his chest. His agent wouldn't drop him. Unless Neil was finally so sick of all his crap. And could he blame him?

Gray stayed silent awhile, then forced out the questions. “Neil won't drop me, right? What about the new album? What about the gigs in Europe all summer?” His first record with Sony released last year and they said he had a chance. Said he could actually make it in this business.

He'd almost begun to believe it.

“No gigs.” Marshall pulled on a pair of gloves and donned his shades. Gray half wondered if the dude had a double life working for the Feds. “They'll find someone else. The new album is on hold for now. Neil wants you to take some time off. He'll call you later. Get your head together. Get some rest and get yourself off whatever it is you're taking, Carlisle.” Marshall stood, pitched his cup into a nearby garbage can, and nudged his dark glasses downward.
Looked at Gray through eyes that were a smidge softer. “You only get one go-round in this life. Make it count.”

“Yeah.” Gray cracked his knuckles and rubbed his hands to warm them. He took the hand Marshall extended and shook it. “Thanks for coming, man.”

“Take care of yourself, Gray. You'll be in my prayers.”

Figures. Of all the lawyers in New York City, he had to land a religious one.

He'd started out so well. He was young, but he had the drive and determination. And he'd been clean and sober. Playing gigs because they were fun, the fans were cool, and he loved hearing his stuff on the radio. Living the dream he'd had since high school.

He'd always hated the confines of the classroom. Always wanted to be someplace else. While his siblings studied, took courses for extra credit, and placed overly high expectations on themselves, all Gray ever wanted to do was sing.

And then he got scared.

Gray watched the tall man stride away, expelled a long breath, and bent over, head in his hands.

Victoria rubbed his back. “It's not the end of the world.” The tremor in her voice told him it probably was.

“It's the end of my world.” He didn't have to spell it out for her. She'd been working for him long enough to know how bad he wanted this. How hard he'd worked.

And how badly he'd screwed up.

“Is this it? It's all over, just like that?” He sat up, glad her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.

“For now.” She nodded, pushed her dark hair behind her ears, her mouth pinched. “Neil isn't dropping you. He just wants to be sure you really want this. But if you do, Gray, you need to make some major changes. It's fine playing in smoky bars and small stages, but if you want more than that, you're going to have to prove it.”

“I know. I will.” But he didn't have a clue how.

A huge Canadian flag flapped in the wind atop a building hidden by tall pines. Gray studied the overly large red maple leaf. Maybe he could just move here and start over. It might actually be worth considering if the country wasn't so cold. He put his cup down and pushed his trembling hands under his legs.

“Your sister called earlier. I told her you'd call her back.”

Gray ground out a curse and scuffed his boots on the grass. “I don't want to talk to Liz.” Their last conversation had escalated into a shouting match, after she'd suggested rehab . . . again. Like Liz's life was so perfect, living with that creepo boyfriend of hers. Gray suspected the guy was abusive. Couldn't prove it, and of course Liz would never confide in him. Or anyone.

“Not Liz. It was Lynette.” Victoria stood and fished his cell out of her coat pocket. He was always leaving it somewhere. “I'm going inside. We're almost packed. But I guess now you need to let me know where we're going.”

Gray nodded and took the phone. “Thanks.” Another harsh cough overtook him, and he watched concern mar her expression.

Perhaps Liz had a point. Maybe it was time to give up the game he'd been playing the last few years, trying to convince them all that he was fine. That he wasn't falling apart.

He didn't even buy his own lies anymore.

His throat closed, his chest tight again. Gray couldn't remember when he'd last fallen asleep on his own. When he'd slept through the night without having to rush to the bathroom or remedy the urgent craving that robbed him of slumber and sent him back to the dark places he was desperate to avoid.

But maybe, just maybe, it was possible to start again.

He rubbed his nose and managed to look at Victoria. “A rehab center might be a good first stop?”

Tori took off her shades and wiped her eyes, reached for his hand, and held it a minute. Then she nodded and hid her eyes again. “Don't stay out here too long. It's ridiculously cold.”

He waited until she was well out of sight before giving in to the wave of emotion that crested, crashed through him, and took his breath away. It wasn't like he tried to screw up. He was just really, really good at it.

Gray focused on the screen of his phone and dialed the familiar number. Didn't bother to check his watch, couldn't remember if there was a time difference anyway. The corners of his mouth lifted when he heard his baby sister's voice.

“Hey, Shortstop.” He heard the dogs barking in the background, and Lynette shushed them. If he tried real hard, he could probably hear the ocean.

“Gray!” She pretty much screamed his name and he grinned.

“Yeah, it's me. Going deaf here, sweetheart.”

“I've been trying to reach you for weeks.” And clearly not thrilled that she hadn't been able to.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I've been a little . . .” Strung out. “Busy.”

“Well, never mind. It's so good to hear your voice. How are you? How is everything? Everyone keeps asking when you're coming out with a new album. Where are you now?”

Gray smiled. Sweet Lynnie. Always so quick to forgive and forget. Would she forgive him his sins this time, if she knew them?

“Montreal. Things are good. Just wrapping up here.” He watched a flock of geese fly toward the city. “So, what's up with you? Everything okay at home?” He winced as she launched into a fast-paced, blow-by-blow account of everything he'd missed the past few months.

He inhaled, listened, and tried to make sense of it all. “Wait, what? Who said anything about selling the house?”

“We may not have a choice. Liz is all for it. And I think David will side with her. Maybe Ryan, I don't know. But, Gray, you remember all the good times, how much the place meant to Mom? You can stop this from happening. Can't you?”

Could he? His first thought was yes. Of course he could.

There was just that little matter of reality.

“Man, Lynnie.” How could he tell his sister how badly he wanted to help her, and why he couldn't? Gray didn't have the words. Or the guts. “Maybe selling is best.”

“Gray.”

Traitor.

She didn't have to say it. He felt it right through to his bones, like the damp sea air that seeped through the floorboards of Wyldewood in winter.

“I'm sorry.” More than she would ever know. “I . . . um . . . have to go away for a while. I'll be gone a few weeks. But when I get out . . . get back . . . what if I come home, huh? We can talk in person. Figure something out.” That stupid cough overtook him again and gave an excuse for the moisture in his eyes.

“Gray. What's going on? You sound sick.” Lynnie was a year and a bit younger, but she'd always felt older to him. Always the one he talked to first, before Liz or his brothers. The one who knew his secrets.

But now he had secrets he never wanted her to know.

“I'm fine.” Or he would be.

“If you say so.” She sighed. “Well, if the others want to sell, they're going to have to come home. Mom's will, remember? Nick says we might be able to—”

“Nick?” Gray curled his fingers around the bottom of the bench and felt his spine stiffen. “Nick Cooper? Why are you talking to him?”

“Because he's here, Gray.”

When did his little sister get so feisty? “Cooper's a jerk, Lynnie. Stay away from him.” He could hardly believe he'd just said that.

“Are you serious? Get over yourself, Gray. Look, Nick's working at the bank. I went to him for advice. It doesn't matter. The point is, I'm on my own out here, and I don't know what to do.”

“All right, all right.” He could hear the tears and desperation in
her voice and he hated it. Hated that he was so far away, so messed up, and so not ready to go home. Even when he knew how much she needed him.

“Can you come home, Gray? Now?”

The truth sat at his heels like a stray pup. All he had to do was acknowledge it.

Tell his sister what a loser he had become.

“No, I can't come home. Not yet.” He swore under his breath. “But I'll try and get there soon, okay?”

“Soon, then.” She sounded satisfied with that. “You'll let me know?”

“Will do.” Gray nodded. “See you, Shortstop.” Gray pocketed his phone.

Home to Nantucket.

To the memories and the demons that lurked within them.

To Pops.

To the past.

It wouldn't be easy. Who was he kidding? None of this would be easy. The road he was about to traverse scared him even more than not quitting. But he had to. Knew it when he'd caught sight of that cute little girl with the big grin. Knew if there was ever a reason to start over . . .

Gray coughed again and concentrated on his breathing. He hadn't taken anything today. He wasn't dead, and despite the headache he already had—the nausea and the chills he knew would hit in an hour or so—the world hadn't stopped turning.

Perhaps, with some luck and a lot of prayer from the people in his life who had better connections with the big dude upstairs than he did, he could beat this thing.