Violet knew exactly, precisely, the moment he was talking about.

She’d been with Shep by then, standing beside him as he talked with some of his frat brothers. Only Violet had noticed Zach decisively approaching from a distance. Her heart wrenched with agony, and her lungs leaked air until they were as weak and empty as a popped balloon. Shep was oblivious to the hitch in her personal space-time continuum, but his strong arm over her shoulders was the only thing that kept her standing upright. As Zach got closer, his eyes had narrowed to furious slits, glancing at Shep, then watching her from where he stopped a few feet away. He looked down at the ground before meeting her eyes again for a split second. She was sure he was going to say something, and her legs were ready to sprint to him and launch herself back into his arms. But he didn’t say anything. He turned on his heel and stalked away, pulling up the collar of his jacket and disappearing into a nearby building. She didn’t see him again after that, and it was rumored that he’d transferred to Juilliard when he didn’t return to Yale in January.

She looked at him in the firelight, at the pain etched on his face as he talked about a moment in time so many years ago. The rawness in his voice startled her. Finally she recognized the deep pain he’d suffered, separately but equally, when they lost each other, and she felt the last barriers to trusting him slip away. He had loved her. He had run away. But he had wanted her back again.

She leaned forward, touching the blanket on top of his leg, but he shifted, moving his leg away as if her touch hurt.

“Zach,” she said softly. “I remember that day. I wanted so badly to run to you, but I knew I’d just be humiliating myself chasing after a guy who didn’t want me.”

“No,” he snarled. “Don’t lie to me, Violet! I saw your face!”

“My legs were buckling every step closer you came. I leaned into Shep so I wouldn’t fall. And I stared at you, and you stared at me, and I waited for you to say something, to grab me, to do anything that would just let me know—”

“No! That’s not what I fucking saw, Violet! I was there. I was the one standing alone. I remember!”

“You . . . my face . . . I mean, yes, I was going to faint or vomit, you’re right. Because I was standing with the wrong guy, and the right guy was standing in front of me. All you needed to do was put out your hand out to me. Say my name. Anything, Zach. Any sign that you wanted me and I would have run to you.”

His eyes closed slowly, and he clenched his jaw. His fingers twisted the hem of the blanket. When he opened his eyes again, they looked glassy, devastated, and defeated. His voice was soft and flat, thready with emotion.

“You were with him. I couldn’t compete with that, Vile. I was some poor, scrawny kid from Upstate New York on scholarship. Awkward. And intense. I’d broken your heart and walked away from you, and he’d scooped you up. A rich jock frat boy from Greenwich. I had nothing to offer you. I—”

“Nothing?” She gasped as though he’d slapped her. “You think I ever cared about money? About Shep’s money? I never cared about shit like that. Never!”

“You said you loved me!” he exploded, pointing his finger at her. “You said that! You said, ‘I love you whether you love me back or not. And I’ll go on loving you until I don’t anymore.’ What’d that last for? A couple of weeks? Before you were playing tonsil hockey with Shep fucking Smalley?”

“I did!”

“You did what?” he spat out.

“I did go on loving you!”
“Until you didn’t anymore!” He crossed his arms over his muscled chest, which heaved up and down with emotion, his face tangled and pinched. “You chose him. You were with him. You didn’t fucking love me anymore—I could see it on your face.”

“Fuck you, Zach!” she half screamed and half sobbed, remembering the debilitating pain of his rejection as fresh as it had happened yesterday. “You don’t know anything! I did! I did love you, you unbelievable asshole! I was trying to get over you, but it didn’t work. Poetry didn’t work. Shep didn’t work. Greenwich didn’t work. Writing a book about it didn’t work. Shep dying didn’t work. Nothing worked. I did go on loving you. I never stopped!”

As she realized what she’d said, she gasped, and tears flooded her eyes. She bowed her head, covering her face with trembling hands, appalled by what she’d just revealed and the way it had come tumbling out. She exhaled in a labored rush of regret as she clenched her eyes shut, trying to catch her breath.

“No no no no no no,” he whispered in disbelief, the blanket falling from his waist as he lurched forward to kneel directly in front of her, his breath brushing her forehead as he exhaled raggedly. “What did you say?”

She heard the bewilderment in his voice as his hands reached up to cover hers, threading his fingers through hers so that the pads of his fingertips touched the hot, flushed skin of her face.

“What did you say, Vile?”

He tilted her head up to face him, and when she opened her eyes, his were glistening and his face contorted in pain and hope and a thousand other conflicting, clamoring emotions. His chest swelled like he was holding his breath and his voice was the gentlest, most brokenhearted, hopeful whisper she’d ever heard in her entire life when he asked, “What did you just fucking say to me?”

She didn’t want to tell him she loved him like this, at the end of a screaming match with both of them knee-deep in decade-old recriminations. But he was looking at her eyes, and there was no point in denying it. She took a deep, jagged breath.

“I never stopped,” she breathed, exhaling with relief and surrender.

***

“You still love me?” he asked, kneeling before her. He let go of her face, reaching down to tug away her blanket until she was as naked as he, knee to knee before him. A shiver of want trailed down his back, and he fought to control the burn behind his eyes. “Right now? Right this minute?”

“Zach, I . . .”

He didn’t let her finish. Unable to keep from touching her, he reached for her roughly, and she let herself be gathered into his arms. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, and her eyes—her beautiful brown eyes that were stricken and uncertain—were almost level with his.

“Violet, do you?”

“I . . . Please, I . . .”

“Just say it. Do you?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He’d never had an orgasm without sex, but a shudder ripped through his body at her admission, and an animal-like instinct—to own her, to belong to her—overtook him in a wild wave of requited love. His muscles flexed and released as he sat back on his heels, reaching forward to cup her ass and lift her onto his lap. His mouth crashed into hers, and she locked her ankles around his waist and her arms around his neck. He loved the way she responded to him, matching him in fierceness and intensity, holding him as tightly to her body as she could, until he couldn’t tell where his skin ended and hers began. He slanted his mouth over hers, reaching up to hold the back of her head and slow them down, because he wanted to savor this moment.

She loved him. She still loved him, and as much as he wanted to possess her, he wanted to draw out the unbelievable quality of the moment when he learned Violet Smith still loved him. After so long. After so fucking long, she belonged to him again. He swept his tongue into her mouth, prolonging the agony of wanting to impale her on his rigid sex, listening for the sound of her moan at the back of her throat and then releasing her mouth to trail his lips down her neck. She wiggled on his lap, and his lips twitched as he teased her with his self-control.

“You love me,” he whispered against the soft skin under her ear.

“Yes.”

Her fingers twined through the back of his hair, sending shivers down his spine as he reached up to cup her face.

“Thank God,” he whispered, plundering her mouth with his again.

As he kissed her, she reached down between them, running her fingertips down his chest with excruciating slowness, anticipation gathering between his hips as she finally paused in the taut V of muscle that led to his erection.

He leaned back, waiting for her to open her eyes, and when she did, she grasped his sex, holding the hot, hard flesh in her fingers.

“Yes,” she whispered again.

“Forever,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering and his breath hitching as she moved her hand on him.

“Probably,” she said, and he heard the humor in her voice as she reached for a condom from the pile on the floor by the fire with her free hand. She bit the wrapper to tear it open, and he leaned back so she could sheath him. He flinched, sensitive and ready, as she rolled the thin latex over him.

“Violet,” he gasped as she positioned herself over his tip, teasing him, using her hand to keep him steady. He panted. He wanted her to say it. “Tell me you love me.”

She didn’t. Instead, she lowered herself onto him slowly, easing down, then up a touch before easing down again, holding his eyes as she fit him into her body. When he was fully sheathed within her, she arched her body against his, his pelvis slamming upward into her, needing to possess her, to know she belonged to him in every possible way. He claimed her lips again, winding her hair around his hand until he held her head uncompromisingly to his, almost roughly, as he slammed up into her over and over and over again. She scraped her nails down his back, and he cupped her ass to push her closer, to take him still deeper. She moaned, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

Fuck, this is hot.

He groaned in pain and pleasure, rotating his hips into her, and she cried out, digging her nails into his back.

“Say it, Violet.”

She murmured, “Zach, come with me. Come with me . . .”

The pressure built within his core, tightening up, shifting up, pulsing faster and faster. She threw back her head, and he felt her muscles start to contract around him, sucking him deeper into her hot, wet center, and he reached for her face.

“Violet, look at me,” he rasped, holding still, using every bit of strength to control his imminent orgasm.

She opened her eyes, which were dilated to black, and panted against his face in light puffs. The look in her eyes almost made it impossible not to come. She was about to fall apart, and he knew it and he wanted her to, but he needed to hear her say it first.

“I love you, Violet. Forever.”

“I’m yours,” she murmured, closing her eyes. She clenched her internal muscles once, twice, then bucked in his arms, setting off a spasm inside her body that made her muscles flex and relax over and over again in tight fast ripples, vibrating against his flesh. Mind-blowing. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his mind went numb.

He growled, unable to hold back anymore, thrusting one last time to explode inside her. His muscles convulsed, taut then undone. Waves of pleasure made his glistening skin hot and cold as he surrendered to the exquisite pleasure of being intimately coupled with the woman he loved.

She collapsed against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he felt the shuddering tremors that made her tremble in his arms, even as her body draped loose and languorous against his. He gently maneuvered them down onto the floor, pulling the blankets up and over them as she snuggled into his chest. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she, and within moments her breathing was even and deep.

Zach watched her sleep by firelight, brushing her hair off her forehead.

She’d said “I’m yours,” but not “I love you.”

He pulled her as close as he could, resting his chin on the top of her head, and closed his eyes, wishing his heart didn’t feel so heavy, wishing that she hadn’t held back, wishing that hearing she belonged to him was enough.

***

Violet jumped a foot when her cell phone rang the next morning. The power had been back on for several hours, which meant the refrigerator was working and Zach had gone into town for some groceries. He told her he was making his specialty tonight, whatever that meant. One thing about college was that she’d never cooked for him and he’d never cooked for her, so she had no idea what to expect. The only thing she knew for sure was that he was dessert, so frankly dinner was just about irrelevant.

She flipped over the phone to check the caller ID. Sophie.

“Soph!”

“Oh my God, Vi! You’re okay!”

“Have you been trying to get me?” Violet’s phone had run out of juice sometime over the weekend, and she’d forgotten to recharge it after calling her mother to assure her that she was okay.

“Uh, you had a little storm up there. It was all over the news! Of course I was worried!”

“Oh, Soph. I’m sorry. My phone was . . . Well, I didn’t charge it up, so . . .”

“You lost power?”

“For a few days, yeah. And a couple of trees and a pair of shutters. Otherwise we lucked out. The power just came back on today.”

“Geez! That’s a haul. I’m surprised you stayed. Or am I? How’s it going with the jerk?”

“He’s not a—Jesus, Sophie. That’s not appropriate. You’ve never met him, and he’s changed a lot. He’s not—”

“Oh. My. God. You slept with him!”

“What?”

“Violet Smith! Did you sleep with Nash?”

“Zach.”

“Whatever. You did the deed, didn’t you? You’re all defensive and emotional about him, so you definitely slept with him. I bet you got trapped with the storm, and he probably made a fire and ripped your clothes off, ravaging you while the storm raged outside.”

Violet rolled her eyes. Sophie tended to apply her worldview to real-life situations that didn’t call for extra drama. Then again, ripped-off clothes, ravaging, storm raging: she wasn’t too far off either.

“Just tell me one thing—was it good?”

Violet grinned. Good? “No.”

“Oh.” Sophie’s voice was low with a murmur of disappointment. “Sorry, Vi.”

“Good doesn’t scratch the surface. He blew my mind.”

“I hope you returned the favor by blowing his—”

“SOPHIE!”

“VIOLET! You’re the slut, not me!”

“Shut up.” She giggled, remembering the maxim from all the teen movies she watched in high school. She recited, “It’s not slutty if you love the boy.”

“Love? Wait, Vi . . . You do? You’re sure?”

“It’s like you said, I had lots of unfinished business. Unfinished because I never stopped loving him. I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember knowing him. And being with him again?” She took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in her throat. “We want to give things a chance between us. See if we can make it work.”

“Wow, hon’.” Sophie paused. “Wow, I just . . . I’m happy for you. Things are moving fast, huh?”

“I guess. If you consider ‘fast’ falling in love with someone in college and getting together with him nine years later.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“How else?”

“You haven’t actually been around him in years. You sure you know him?”

“Yeah. I mean, some things about him are different. He has an obscene number of tattoos. And piercings. And shaggy brown hair. I hate some of the music he loves. But he has the same heart, the same soul. He still writes music that makes my toes curl, and the way he touches me . . . He’s changed, but he’s also stayed the same.” She thought about what he said about growing up for her. “I think we can make room for each other in our lives.”

“And he loves you.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“But what about Shep? All those years you spent with him? What was that? Was that love?”

Violet’s heart dipped when she heard Shep’s name, guilt making the lump in her throat double. And suddenly she wondered if she hadn’t told Zach that she loved him because she hadn’t totally let go of Shep yet. Not that she still loved Shep, or ever really had. She’d wasted Shep’s best years still deeply in love with Zach. But she owed Shep something for his goodness and loyalty to her, and until she paid that debt, maybe she couldn’t belong to someone else.

“Shep was a good man,” said Sophie gently.

Violet agreed. Shep was a good man. A good man who’d deserved far better than her, far better than a woman who was in love with someone else the whole time.

“Vi, you still there?”

“I was never in love with Shep,” she said. “And I feel terrible about it. He could have found someone who really loved him, and instead he wasted all those years with me.”

“Only he knew if it was a waste or not. He stayed with you.”

“I feel guilty all the time,” she confessed. “I never told Shep I loved him. Not in all those years. I told him I cared about him. I told him I needed him. I told him he meant the world to me. But I never told him I loved him because it would have been a lie. And now I’m here. With Zach. And it wouldn’t be a lie, but I still can’t say the words. I can’t make myself say them, and I know he wants me to, but I . . .”

“Why? Why can’t you say it? I thought you said—”

“I do. I feel that for him. And he’s told me so many times now, I’ve lost count,” said Violet, feeling confused and a little bit miserable. “I think he knows how I feel. I just haven’t said the words.”

“And you shouldn’t. Until you’re ready. Those are big words.”

“I only said them once,” Violet said. “To him, nine years ago. And it didn’t go well. It scares me. I don’t want to say them again unless I’m ready. Totally ready.”

“You want my advice, Vi?”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s been a year. Settle the stuff with Shep in your head. Say good-bye to him. Move on. It sounds like you and Zach have a shot at something. You certainly held on to one another for long enough. When you’re ready, when you can’t hold the words inside anymore, take a deep breath, look into his eyes, and let the words fall out of your mouth. You loved him then. You love him now. You just need to find the courage to say it. Your own way.”

 

Say it your own way.

(Then. Now. Still.) You were mine all along.

(Then. Now. Still.) No matter what we do.

(Then. Now. Still.) Now you before me.

(Then. Now. Still.) Then me before you.

 

The lyrics started forming in her head, and she picked up a pencil. With “Forged By Fire” finished, they still needed one more song, and she was pretty sure a good one was about to come together.

“Sophie, I have to go. Can I call you in a few days?”

“Oh, Vi. I didn’t say the wrong thing, did I?”

“No! No no no! You’re perfect. You’re exactly right. I need to find the courage to tell him my own way.”

“You back on Friday?”

“Sunday night. I’m planning to spend a couple of days with my mom next weekend.”

Although she wasn’t sure of her plans anymore. She didn’t love the idea of letting Zach out of her sight. She absolutely despised the idea of falling asleep without him for a single night.

“So call me on the drive home. And Vi?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m happy for you. You know. Finding him again. Falling in love again. No more Miss Havisham, Mrs. Suburban Sellout. Just be careful, okay?”

She barely heard the cautionary tone in her friend’s voice, distracted by the song lyrics that were writing themselves in her mind. “Yeah, uh-huh. Talk soon, Soph.”

She pressed the end button and picked up the pencil, moving the words around, the melody of the Jim Croce classic “I’ll Have to Say I Love You in a Song” circling around in her head as she wrote a love song for Zach.

***

For most of Sunday, she’d written the lyrics to “Then. Now. Still.” while Zach put the finishing touches on their first three songs, spending long hours in the basement studio, before finally finding her on Sunday afternoon, to tell her that he was finished practicing and ready for her to join him as he cut their official demo.

“Violet?”

He was watching her from the kitchen door, his shaggy hair loose around his face. But it was his eyes, dark and gray, that captivated her the most with their softness. Two or three times after her conversation with Sophie yesterday, she’d looked at him across the living room, fiddling with his guitar, marking chords on a piece of paper in front of him. She’d felt the words in her head, Hey, Zach. He’d look up at her, and she’d just say it: I love you. I loved you all along. But then a panicky feeling would rise up, making her stomach turn uncomfortably, making her swallow the words before she could say them.

She felt it now, her mind and body and heart at war with one another. Her heart insisting it loved him—desperately, completely, passionately—her body shifting toward him with need and want, but her mind unable, or unwilling, to force her voice to speak. As she worked on her song, she felt her courage growing. For nine years she hadn’t uttered the words “I love you” to anyone. But she would. She wanted to. Soon.

“Hey,” she said softly, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head. “How’s it going?”

“It’s good. I think it’s really good.” He ambled over, and she watched the way his legs moved in his beat-up jeans. She knew what was under those jeans, and it made her insides leap with anticipation. He pushed her two chairs apart a little bit, sitting in the one across from her and holding her displaced feet on his lap. He rubbed them gently with his strong musician’s fingers. “Can you take a break? Come and listen while I cut the demo?”

“I’d love to.”

“Ah, so you can say that word.”

She picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on the front her sweater. “You know how I feel about you.”

He bit his bottom lip and nodded. She heard the longing and uncertainty in his voice when he answered, “Mostly.”

“I do, Zach.” She bent her knees and leaned forward, covering his hands with hers. “But I haven’t said those words for nine years. Not to my mom. Not to Shep. Not to anyone. Just let me do things at my own pace, okay?”

“Sure,” he said, giving her a forced smile. “I guess I deserve to wait.”

“It’s not like that. I’m not trying to punish you. I just want it to happen on its own.”

His lips tightened. “And I just want to feel like the past is totally and completely in the past, Vile. I want to leave it there and move forward.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

He dropped her feet and leaned back in his chair, his eyes guarded. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess? We’re leaving here on Friday, and I’m headed into the city on Monday to be with you, to see what this looks like in real life. I hope you’re doing more than guessing.”

“I know I’m asking for a lot, but I couldn’t be more clear with you about how I feel and what I want, Violet.”

“And I’ve gone along with it, Zach. All of it. You wanted to get together? We got together. You wanted to give this a shot? We’re giving it a shot.”

“You know what’s missing in that whole statement, Vile? What you want.”

For God’s sake, they’d only reconnected a week and a half ago, and yes, it had been amazing and wonderful and she couldn’t imagine losing him again, but she needed a chance to take it all in. She wasn’t ready to commit to forever quite yet. Couldn’t he see that? When she looked up, she saw the worry and uncertainty in his eyes, and she couldn’t bear it.

“I want you,” she said quietly, reaching out to him.

He leaned forward and put his hands under her arms, lifting her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her. She lay her head on his shoulder, and he kissed her forehead and stroked her unruly hair.

“Okay.” His voice was unconvinced.

“I do,” she murmured into his neck.

“Okay, Vile,” he said, his voice tender and resigned. “Okay.”

She leaned back and looked up at him, marveling at finding herself in his arms again, hope blossoming in her heart that second chances can be the best chances.

“Want to go record a song?” she asked.

He leaned forward to kiss her. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Violet didn’t know what to expect when he told her that they were going to cut a demo of “My Spot,” “Fall(en) Days,” and “Forged in Fire,” but seeing him behind the controls of the soundboard, setting up the room for himself, and finally sitting on a stool with his guitar in front of the microphone, definitely made her see him in a new light. An additional light. Professional musician Zach, who knew his way around a recording studio like the back of his hand. And, unexpectedly, it was a total and complete turn-on. When he was at Yale, he was a fellow student with ridiculous amounts of talent. Now, as an adult? He was a master of his craft. And seeing the arc in his life, from promising music student to wickedly talented professional musician? It made her smile. It made tingles run up her arm. It made her want him.

She sat in the control room, headphones on, watching him through the glass, feeling her body grow impatient for him to finish so they could use the studio for something other than recording music. She had a sudden idea and grinned, moving her hands to the button of her jeans. She unbuttoned and unzipped, slipping them off and kicking them under the soundboard. The cool leather of the chair on her bare thighs made her shiver as her body started heating up.

He finished the second take of “Forged in Fire” and asked her, “How did that sound?”

She took off the headphones and threw her sweater over her head before touching the button to speak. “Amazing.” She wiggled a little on the seat, her half-naked body utterly turned on and so sensitive, she knew her insides would flood hot the minute he kissed her. Now come in here and have sex with me.

He wasn’t leaving the stool and seemed to be mouthing something. She put the headphones back on. “Huh?”

“You ready for one more?”

“One more?” I’m sitting here in my bra and underwear. No more songs. Sex. Sex now!

“Yeah. One I wrote. Um . . . a while ago.”

She stood up and looked at him through the window. She knew that he couldn’t see her clearly—the lights were dim in the control room. But it was almost like he could see her. His eyes were focused on the glass, his hands rested on the guitar strings lightly, waiting for her response.

“Vile?”

She pressed the button. “How long ago?”

“’Bout nine years.”

“Oh.” Her heart hammered in her chest and she sat back down on the leather chair, leaning down to pick up her sweater and drape it over her lap. “Y-yeah. I’m ready for one more.”

“Okay. This is for you, Violet.”

She bit her bottom lip, cracking her knuckles nervously, then leaned her elbows on the counter and turned up the sound a hair as Zach started a gentle, folksy guitar riff. She watched his fingers as a beautiful melody emerged, beautiful and hopeful, nine years in the making, completely and utterly inevitable.