TWENTY-SEVEN
“Hey, it’s me!” Isobel’s voice echoed from the kitchen.
“In here,” Violet called back. Damn, prepare for awkward. She’d hoped to stop by Chase Manor first, then Vadim’s house, where Isobel now lived, and make a quick surgical excision.
Iz walked in, arced her gaze over the strewn-about clothes and half-filled suitcase, and twitched her nose. “Going somewhere?”
“Thought I’d visit my mom in San Juan.”
“We’re only two games into the finals with a possible five to go. Don’t you want to wait until it’s over?”
It already is. Violet grabbed a bustier and stuffed it into her case. “Look, Iz, you know I said I’d stick around until you guys made the play-offs, and then I had the nanny gig, but really, you have it from here.”
Middle Child sat on the bed and picked up a cowboy boot. Dropped it. “Does this have anything to do with a blond, blue-eyed piece of work whose name rhymes with Bendra?”
“No. Okay, sort of. They have unfinished business. I don’t want to be in the way of that.” Bren might not have intended to hurt her when he said her nanny services were no longer required, but he had. Deeply. “With me in the picture, it just confuses everyone.”
“Is that what Bren said?”
“Sort of.”
“You don’t sound so sure. In fact, it sounds like the only one confused here is you, Vi. And what about us? Are you just giving up on us?”
Violet placed a hand on her hip and dialed up her best cheer. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me, Iz! I’ll be back looking for my cut as soon as the Rebels win the Cup, when my third will be worth a fortune. Better work on raising the funds to buy me out or start tapping your Russian billionaire almost-fiancé.”
Isobel didn’t smile and Violet felt like the bitch she knew she was projecting. But she’d never fit in, not really, and their connection was forced by circumstance. She hadn’t even stayed for them in the first place. She’d stayed for him. The minute she saw Bren St. James fending off those haters in the Empty Net, she’d crashed.
So what if every day since, she’d become more embedded in the fabric of this family? So what if she loved her sisters and they loved her? How could she look at them, hear a word about hockey, go to a family cookout, and not be confronted with the evidence of her loss?
She rubbed at a knot of pain pulsing beneath her breastbone.
“Well, at least I can help you pack,” Isobel muttered.
They worked side by side, though it went slowly because Isobel insisted on picking up every single piece of clothing, holding it to the mirror, and asking, “Would this look good on me?”
After a few minutes, she said in a quiet voice, “You’re not in this for the money, Violet.”
“You think I stayed to help you out? To help you fulfill the terms of the will? You’re wrong.”
“Then why?”
“It—it doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, I think it does,” the voice of a new arrival said from the entrance to the bedroom. Harper stood at the door, all five feet one and a half inches in full-on battle mode.
Violet glared at Isobel. “You called her?”
“Hell yeah, I called her. No way are you leaving without completing your exit interview with the boss.”
Oh, for fucking out loud. Harper moved closer and in such a stealthy manner that Violet didn’t even realize what was happening until the petite blonde had taken Violet’s hand and splayed it over where the new life was growing inside her.
“You’re not getting off the hook that easily. Now I know it’s too early to feel the baby kicking, but she knows you’re here. She knows you’re waiting to play Stevie Nicks tunes and teach her how to swear in Spanish and be generally inappropriate. Every girl needs a crazy aunt, and let’s face it, Isobel is far too reasonable to fit the bill.”
What was it with these women? They needed to be doused with an iced cold vat of truth water.
“Harper, I’ve been lying to you from the beginning. My mom—she planned it all along. Saw Clifford in Vegas. Targeted him. Made sure there was an empty net so that puck could go all the way.”
Her sisters stared at her, their expressions ranging from hurt to confused, and Violet’s heart shattered for the second time in twenty-four hours. She was a rotten human being and it was about time they figured it out.
Isobel broke the silence. “I’ve always suspected you’ve known more about hockey than you let on.”
“Did you not hear what I said? This has been a shakedown twenty-four years in the making!”
Harper gave her arm a condescending pat. “Listen to me, mi hermanita. So your mom saw an opportunity and sent you to collect—how is that your fault? Do you think we care that this is what brought you into our lives? Clifford owed you. We owed you. Now maybe you’ll sort things out with Bren, maybe not. But there’s no confusion about how we feel about you. It’s very likely that if we weren’t actually related and we met on the street, we probably wouldn’t have found a single thing in common. We’re all very different, but it’s to our advantage, because we each bring something unique to this family. Somehow, these past nine months we’ve given birth to something.”
“We have?”
Isobel stepped in and slipped an arm around Violet’s waist. “A holy trinity of such power and awesomeness that nothing—not the press, NHL brass, fanboy haters, crappy exes, bad memories, and awkward sister bonding nights—can break it.”
“Damn straight,” Harper said approvingly. “We’ll let you go and visit your mom because we recognize that you need to get away from everything hockey. We’ll fill in the huge, yawning void you’ll leave for the moment, but I refuse to accept that this is something more permanent. Your niece needs you. Your sisters need you. And the Rebels need you.”
“Could you be any more of a manipulative bitch, Harper?”
“I haven’t even started.” Her big sister grinned through tears and gathered her into a hug. All this strength in such a tiny package. How her father had underestimated her. How he had underestimated them all.
Violet pulled back, swiping at her eyes. “You keep calling the peanut ‘she’ as if you’re so sure.”
Harper laughed. “Remy has four sisters, I have two, and we need a new generation to take over the team. Only a girl could do it, don’t you think?”
She wasn’t wrong. Besides, if Harper Chase decreed it, who would dare to mess with her plans?
The house felt hollow. Stuffed with furniture and books and slugs, but it was missing something—a piece of Bren’s soul. His insides felt jagged, like he was going through detox and his heart was screaming at him to feed it what it craved.
A shot of Violet.
“Dad!”
He faced Cat, realizing that she’d been trying to get his attention from the other side of the kitchen counter.
“What, sprite?”
“Do you think I’ll be able to play Remy’s guitar at Harper’s house?”
“Sure, assuming he’s left it there.”
She stuffed a notebook into her backpack. “I’m writing a song and I think it would be easier if I could play along.”
He tried to focus on parenting. His job. What he was made for. “We can go shopping for a guitar tomorrow, if you like. Maybe Remy can help, because he knows all about them.”
“That’d be awesome.”
He eyed his youngest daughter, who had just come in from the garden. “No slugs over at Harper’s, Franky. We need to be respectful of our host.”
“I’m going to free them all.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. It’s getting kind of crowded in Slugville.”
She didn’t elaborate—very unlike Franky. Then she leaned on the counter like she wanted to tell him a secret. “Dad, did Violet leave because of us?” He knew when Caitriona didn’t say the question was dumb that it was weighing on her mind as well.
“Nope. She just missed her mom and wanted to go visit her.” He hadn’t told them that Violet wouldn’t be their nanny again. They’d had enough upheaval, and once the finals were done, he’d be available for them full-time.
“And will Mom be coming to live with us again?”
Not on your life. “No, love. We’re both happier apart, but we’ll be sorting it all out very soon.”
“So Violet just needed a break from us,” Franky continued. “Like you when you went away. And Mom.”
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Franky was peering at him with those wide, wise saucers.
“Gimme a hug, sprite.”
She threw her thin little arms around his neck. “I never needed a break from you, baby girl. I needed a break from myself.”
Cat watched them closely, her mouth set in a grim line. Finally, she asked, “Are you going to get scary again now that Violet’s gone?”
He inhaled sharply, the pain of what he’d put his girls through redoubling with the fast beat of Franky’s little heart.
“No more scary Dad. And I’m going to work things out so you see both me and Mom. If that’s what you want.”
Franky drew back and shared a glance with Cat. “We’ve discussed it and . . . we’d like to stay with you most of the time. And Gretzky.”
Gretzky barked at the sound of his name, while Bren’s heart expanded so much his chest hurt. For a year, he’d been cultivating new habits. The habit of self-respect, of fatherhood, of teamwork, of pride. Even if the Cup eluded him, he’d still had his most successful season to date—not because of hockey, but because his daughters had forgiven him.
Damn, but he missed Violet.
He missed the life she’d sparked in him, the man who was a better person for knowing her. He swiped away a tear, not sure if it was for what he’d won or what he’d lost.
“Dad, don’t cry,” Franky said, gazing on him with her usual scientific curiosity.
“Just something in my eye, love.” He cupped their beautiful faces. “Now, go take his lordship out for a potty break before we head over to Harper’s.”
His gorgeous family trooped out, leaving him to finish an important task. He opened the cupboard above the sink and pulled out the bottle of Johnnie Walker. It had given him false courage and nothing but trouble. It had unearthed his ugliness and brought his demons out to play.
He would always want it, but he sure as hell didn’t need it.
He unscrewed the cap and watched as the amber liquid spilled its deceptive promises down the drain. If Violet had been here, he suspected she would’ve been proud.