TWENTY-FIVE
Violet grabbed her overnight bag and started packing for her stay at Bren’s. The team was flying out this afternoon for the first two games in Boston and she was back to the role she’d been hired for: nanny to his girls.
As for the role she’d been unconsciously aspiring to? Liar, nothing unconscious about it. The role of Bren’s woman was currently open again, it seemed.
Her surly Scot had decided to check out.
After Kendra’s appearance at the barbecue, he’d reverted to early Bren—the guy who was unable to communicate, who lived so deep in his head that nothing could find voice. He had to have known his ex would make an appearance sometime, so Violet was at a loss to explain why her showing up now should have thrown him so much.
The only conclusion she could draw was that they had unfinished business.
They might no longer be married, but it already felt like Violet was the third wheel. The other woman. Her own mother, for God’s sake! And invariably, the fate of the other woman was bye-bye, watch to be sure that booty doesn’t get hit by the door on the way out.
This is why she didn’t want to get involved. And now, that idiot Scotsman had made her fall in love with him then shut down at the first sign of trouble. She was trying not to travel this road riddled with doubts, but if Bren refused to talk to her about it, what was she supposed to think?
She checked her phone. Already late.
On opening the door to the cottage, she got the surprise of her life: Kendra in the California girl flesh.
“Got a minute?” Kendra asked.
“Not really. I’m running late.”
“This won’t take long.” Without waiting for an invitation, she passed by Violet and dumped her oversized purse on the kitchen table. She looked around, then did the most annoying thing ever: ran a finger over the back of a chair as if checking for dust before taking a seat.
Sighing, Violet placed her own bag down and closed the door behind her.
“How can I help?”
“Can we talk, woman to woman?”
“Sure.”
Kendra looked like she was choosing her words carefully, when really she had to have her speech prepared. “Your being here confuses my girls. They like you and that makes it difficult for them. They think they’re being disloyal if they’re nice to you around me.”
“It doesn’t have to be one or the other. They know the difference. You’re their mother.”
Kendra cocked her head. “I’m not sure Bren does, though. He’s pretty infatuated with you. Of course, he used to look at me like that.”
Violet examined her nails, the ones she was digging into her palm to stop herself from shaking. “What do you want, Kendra?”
“Bren’s lawyer got in touch with mine to tell me he’s shooting for sole custody.” She stood and walked to the sink. Her fingers gripped the edge. “I—I don’t know what he’s told you about me. Probably painted me as a heartless witch, right?”
“He hasn’t spoken much about you at all. He’s too respectful to badmouth you.” She’d heard everything about Kendra from other sources. Would it have killed the man to bitch about her even a little? But then it was another reason why she was crazy about him. He was decent to the core and respectful of his daughters’ mother.
“That sounds like Bren. It’s why I fell in love with him in the first place—he’s such a good guy, you know.” She wiped an invisible tear from her eye and turned back to Violet. “I see that goodness in my girls. They’re the best of both of us and we owe it to them to give our marriage another shot.”
“So why aren’t you telling him this?” Could it be he can’t stand the sight of you?
“He’s angry with me now, but he’ll come around. He knows how badly he screwed up during our marriage and he wants to make amends. That’s what they call it in AA, isn’t it? He needs to apologize for what he did, and once that happens, we can rebuild.”
Violet had had enough. “Like I said, this is between you and Bren. Now I really need to go.”
“Yes, you do. Out of Bren’s life so we can figure out the next steps without any noise.”
The odds were good that Kendra would happily tolerate the noise of an arena cheering for the Rebels as Stanley Cup champions.
“Good luck with that,” Violet said cheerfully.
The woman still refused to move. All this protesting!
“Let me give you some advice,” Kendra said, a hard glitter in her eyes. “You won’t be enough for him. Underneath that stalwart exterior is a man who needs constant validation. That’s why he married me, so he could tell the world he’d arrived. He’d made it out of his scratchy beginnings, not because he could use a stick on ice, but because a goddess looked on him with favor. It’s why he bought that house. It’s why he cried when Caitriona was born. I made his life complete. I gave it meaning. And when I took that away he was a wreck. He’s hanging on by a thread and I can snip it at any moment or double knot it to give him hope. You won’t be enough for him because there are a million girls like you. There’s only one me.”
“Well, I won’t dispute your last point, Kendra. I’ve never met a woman like you, so congratulations, you’re a real winner there.”
Kendra’s smile was the fakest thing Violet had ever seen.
“I know all about you. How Clifford Chase didn’t want you, how he only included you in the will to screw with Harper. I understand why homing in on a ready-made family is so appealing when your own is so lacking. You remember what it was like growing up in a one-parent household. Would you wish that on anyone? Would you wish it on my girls?”
“There are lots of different ways to make a family. No one says it has to be perfect.” Look what she had with her sisters. Perfect it was not, but it was real.
“You’re right. Perfection is impossible. But that’s just it: we’re an imperfect family. We have problems, but there’s nothing we can’t overcome with therapy and a boatload of apologies for Bren’s behavior.”
Okay, she’d bite. “What happened? Did he leave the toilet seat up?”
“He didn’t tell you?” There was a malevolent glee to her tone that put Violet on edge.
“He’s pulled so many stunts, it’s hard to say which one you’re getting at.”
“How about the one where he drove his daughters while he was drunk?”
Dios mío. Not what she’d expected at all, but was it really so surprising? Bren wore his guilt like a shroud. It would only be over something of this magnitude.
“Yep, he could have killed them. That’s what sent him into rehab in the end. Not the threat of losing his contract, but what he could have done to his girls. He’s always adored them more than anything.”
She sounded jealous of her own flesh and blood. What a shrew.
So it wasn’t the most savory information, but Violet knew Bren was a good guy. He’d fucked up but he’d turned it around.
“I could have told the lawyer,” Kendra went on. “Used it to deny him any access whatsoever, but I’m not heartless.”
Oh yeah, this woman was all heart. But laced in her tone was a threat: she could have used it. She’d happily do so to get her way.
“He’s moved on.” He’d told Violet he’d wait for her, for the one person who made him and his girls whole again. She’d felt his heart beat more wildly as he promised them a future. So he was acting like he’d forgotten how to string two words together, but that would change. Violet could get through to him.
“Yes, he might think that. Now. But we’ll always be tied together by the girls. There’s no denying this magic we created together, these two beautiful little humans.” She almost sounded . . . poetic.
So what? Violet had never been a fan of poetry.
Facts were what mattered. Bren’s hands on Vi’s ass, his mouth on her breasts, his breath against her lips. That moment when he slipped inside her body and his expression registered surprise at how good she felt. Every time.
And then there were her dumb jokes. His heartfelt promises. The place she’d carved with him, his family, and her sisters. These were tangibles she could sink into.
Bren belonged to her, and Violet refused to go down. “I’m going to fight you for him.”
It was out of her mouth so fast and with such passion that Violet shocked even herself. Kendra’s eyes flew wide on hearing it.
“You have no idea what you’re getting into, chica,” Kendra said.
Chica? Oh, this piece of work was messing with the wrong Boricua.
“Bring it, girl.”