Can't Get Over You (Fortune's Island, Book 2) (21 page)

Zach looked at the ladder, debating. He didn’t really have a valid excuse for saying no, and his mother was right—his dad was getting older and shouldn’t be fixing the roof by himself. Though why Keith wasn’t here was a mystery. If anyone should be helping, it should be the son without a job. But Zach didn’t say any of that. He shouldered the shingles, then climbed up the ladder one handed, and dropped the shingles in a pile on top of the roof. “Need help?”

His father shrugged. “Wouldn’t turn you down if you mean it.”

“Let me just get another hammer.” Zach rooted around in the barrel of tools his father had brought up to the roof, found a second hammer, and a pile of nails. He slipped into place across from his father. “I’ll do this side, if you want to handle the other.”

His father just grunted agreement. Zach shrugged, put his head down and got to work. It was a nice day, with a slight breeze, but the sun was hot on his back and neck. They worked like that for a good twenty minutes, no sound between them except the scratch-whoosh of shingles being dragged into place, and the steady thud of nails being driven into the roof.

“Why isn’t Keith here?” Zach asked.

“He said he had someplace to be.” Carl nodded toward the pile of shingles. “Besides, it’s good for you to learn how to do something constructive. Real skills that real people pay money for people to do. A hell of a lot more money than they pay for you to sing into a microphone.”

Zach ignored the barb. To be honest, there’d been so many of those over the years, he wasn’t even fazed. “Keith had someplace to go? Someplace, as in a party to go to, or someplace as in a job interview? Did he even go to the one with Larry’s company?”

His dad raised one shoulder, let it drop. “I didn’t ask.”

Zach shook his head. “Unbelievable. Why am I even surprised?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zach stopped hammering. Maybe it was the heat or the twenty minutes of silence, or maybe Zach was just tired of letting the things he knew he should say fester, but something had switched in Zach’s mind. “It means, I’m tired of you having an obvious favorite. Keith, the son who can do no wrong. Keith, the son you never criticize. Keith, the one you praise and practically worship. Keith went to
jail,
Dad. He did terrible things and got arrested. Yet, you’re
constantly on my back about what a disappointment I am and how I’m never going to be anything.”

His father didn’t say anything. He just went on hammering, moving down the row of shingles like a dentist polishing teeth.

Zach shook his head. “Forget it. Fix your own damned roof.” He tossed his hammer into the tool bucket and headed for the ladder.

“I criticized you because you needed it more,” his father said, his back to Zach.

Zach had one foot on the ladder, one on the roof. “I needed it more? That’s bullshit, Dad.”

Carl turned and faced his son. “You needed it more because you had that big dream of becoming some big music star.”

Zach paused. “What? That makes no sense. All my life, all you’ve done is tell me that music is no way to make a living. That I need to get a real job. One that lets me support my family. Well, you did that, Dad, and I don’t see you waking up every day, happy and fulfilled.”

“I’m not. I hate my job.” He scowled. “You think I like going into an office every day and crunching numbers? I don’t. I did it because I had a family and that’s what you do to pay the bills for them.”

“Well, that family is all grown now. You could do what you want.”

“You think it’s that easy?” Carl shook his head. “Now I have retirement to worry about. Paying off the mortgage on this place. Paying off the cars. It never ends.”

“Yeah, I should…get going.” Zach moved down another rung. He had no desire to stay here and listen to his father complain.

“I criticize you more,” his father said again, his voice softer now, “because I don’t want you to turn out like me.”

Zach paused. He had never heard his father admit something like that before. Never heard his father get vulnerable or regretful. Zach climbed back onto the roof, then sat down beside his father. Carl put down his hammer, and took a seat next to Zach. “You have a good job, Dad. You bought a house, paid for everything us kids wanted. That’s not so bad.”

“Yeah, but I’m not so happy doing it.” Carl draped his arms over his knees and let out a long breath. “I didn’t want you to end up like that. You’ve got some talent, Zachary. You should keep doing your music. Just be smart about it.”

“You think I have talent? I don’t think you’ve ever heard me perform, Dad.” His mother had. Every mainland show The Outsiders did, his mother was there to see them. His father had never attended a single one, as far as Zach knew.

“Your mom would videotape your shows and bring them home to me to watch. One time, I sat in the back of the room. When you used to play that bar, down on Main Street? I went and sat in the back. You never saw me.”

“But why? Why wouldn’t you come or tell me you were coming?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me there.”

This was where the years of contention got them. Sitting on a roof in the sun, piles of built-up bitterness between them. Took all of that to finally get a little honesty flowing. To know that his father had gone to his show, watched him perform, made Zach’s throat burn. “Of course I wanted you there, Dad. You were my inspiration.”

Carl turned to his son. “I was? Why?”

“Do you remember teaching me to play the guitar when I was little? There was one summer when…” When his father had been happy. When his father had been home at night and in a good mood. When his father had gotten his guitar out and sat in the chair on the back deck, teaching his youngest son how to play a few chords. Then the summer ended, his father got busy at work, and they never had a moment like that again. “When you were there.”

“The summer before I took that new job.” His father nodded and let out a long breath. “That was a good summer.”

“It was.” Not every moment with his father had been bad, Zach realized. There were plenty of good memories. Maybe if he focused on those, things between them would improve, at least by a few degrees.

His father propped his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. “I guess I let the new job get to me too much. All those hours I worked in the beginning…I was just never home. And by the time I could finally poke my head up and spend some time with the family, you and your brother were grown and doing your own things.”

Had his father been jealous of his sons, having their own lives? Had he felt left out? Unwanted?

“Anyway, I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you.” Then his father raised his head and looked over at Zach. “Actually, I’m not sorry. You needed that. To keep you from going off track.”

Zach bristled. That was his father—turning the conversation back in a direction that told Zach what he was doing wrong, or how he could “improve.” Just when he thought he saw a bridge between them, his father broke it down again. “You just told me I should keep going with my music. That you supported me. And now you’re saying you don’t want me to get off track?”
Zach shook his head. “I don’t need your advice, Dad. I need a father who doesn’t criticize every other thing I do. And who doesn’t play favorites.”

His father sighed. “I know it doesn’t make sense. And maybe, in some ways, it doesn’t. Keith is…Keith is the one who’s going to go through life, trying to get by on his smile. He’s a good kid, don’t get me wrong, but he’s never had the drive you have. And trying to get Keith to do the right thing, the sensible thing, has always been like trying to herd cats across a river.”

Zach nodded. His brother was the one who lived life by the seat of his pants. Who never much liked rules at school, at part-time jobs, at home. But he had a way of charming his way out of trouble—or had, until the trouble got too big to be forgotten with a simple smile. “That’s true.”

“So I focused on you. You were the one who had talent, which is great, but there was no guarantee that you’d make a living, Hell, I met dozens of guys who were better than Elvis and Mick Jagger put together, who never got out of the town where I grew up. I wanted you to make sure you had a backup plan, so that if you married Jillian—or anyone else—you’d be able to provide, but still have your music. Unlike me.”

Zach could hear the regret in his father’s voice. Heck, he’d seen it a hundred times in the dusty guitar in the corner of the study. Maybe all his father’s criticism had been a backwards way of trying to help his youngest son And maybe admitting that out loud was the first step in them having a relationship that wasn’t like a boxing match.

“You can still play now, Dad,” Zach said.

Carl scoffed. “I doubt I even remember how.”

“I bet you remember more than you think.” Zach shrugged. “Maybe we could play together sometime.”

Carl’s gaze met his son’s and his lip trembled. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Zach leaned back on the roof and turned his face to the sun. It was a warm day, a bright day, and being on the roof seemed almost like being in the clouds.

“I should have paid more attention to Keith,” Carl said after a while, regret heavy in his voice. “I thought he’d be fine. But then he ended up in jail and…” He sighed. “I wish I knew when he’d started to go off track. Maybe I could have done something. Stopped him somehow.”

The remorse sounded genuine, like something that had eaten at Carl for years. Zach picked up an errant nail on the roof and fiddled with it. He’d come clean to Jillian. It was time his parents knew the truth, too.

“I think it was that summer he turned twenty,” Zach said. “He started hanging out with that group of kids who were always having those bonfires over on Fortune’s Island. He was on the island more than he was here. And that was the summer he…”

Damn. This was harder than he expected. His parents had always seen the best in Keith. Even after he went to prison, neither of their parents wanted to talk badly about him. They referred to his time in jail as a “bad decision,” as if it wasn’t any big deal. Maybe they hadn’t wanted to face the truth about Keith any more than Zach.

“He what?” his father prompted.

“He robbed Jillian.” The words hung there, in the sunny, bright, fresh air, like a stain on the wall.

Carl stared at Zach for a long time, then the pieces began fitting into place. “That was Keith?”

Zach nodded. “I never said anything because…”

“Because you didn’t want to get your brother in trouble.” Carl nodded, as if it all made sense now. “I understand that. You idolized Keith.”

They all had. Even the kids in school had. Keith, with his smile and his jokes, the kid who could talk a teacher out of a bad grade, or convince the principal that his tardiness was totally excusable. He’d charmed everyone, because he was, despite his faults, a likeable, friendly, nice guy who could make the darkest pessimist laugh.

“Does Jillian know?”

Zach nodded. “I told her the other day. She was angry that I kept it from her all these years.”

His father let out a breath. “I guess the men in our family aren’t so great at saying things at the time they need to be said.”

“Now that, Dad, is something we can agree on.”

Carl looked over at Zach. His face softened, and he reached out a tentative arm, and settled it loosely on Zach’s shoulders. Zach couldn’t remember the last time his father had embraced him, and though it felt foreign, it also felt…good. Like maybe that bridge he’d been seeking for so long was finally being cemented in place. “It’s a start,” Carl said.

Zach leaned against his father’s shoulder. Somewhere in the neighborhood came the sound of children laughing, a dog barking, a lawnmower starting. Normal life, with normal families, trying to do the best they could. Maybe that was all they needed to do. “Yeah, Dad, it is.”

NINETEEN

Jillian tried to ignore Zach’s text messages. And his voicemails. But every time she picked up her phone, she ended up scrolling through the texts and reading them again. From the simple,
hope you are doing okay
, to the more heartfelt ones that said,
I’ve been thinking about you all day
, they each stayed in her mind, and made her smile. Then hurt again, then smile. God, the man was turning her into a schizophrenic.

She went to school, went to work, and tried to buckle down and concentrate. But her mind kept straying to Zach. To that amazing night they’d had together and back to the fact that he had lied to her for all those years.

What if it had been Carter?

Her mother’s question rang in Jillian’s head over and over. She knew Grace was right—that if the roles had been reversed, Jillian would have done exactly the same thing. Yet the anger lingered. Maybe as a self-protection thing. Something to hold onto so that she didn’t let that one amazing night in bed sweep her back up into thinking she still had feelings for Zach.

Because she didn’t.

At all.

Okay, maybe a little.

Maybe…a lot.

But getting involved with him again would be akin to hitting her thumb with a hammer. She knew the outcome. Knew the problems. Knew that she would end up in the same place as before.

Except…

She had seen a change in Zach these last couple of weeks. He’d been more open, more honest, more of a listener. But would those changes stick? Or would he go back to the way he had been as soon as they got back together?

After all, he still had that impractical car, a bank account as dry as the Sahara, and no plans for how to make a living if the band never took off. That was the reality—and there was no sense in imagining something different.

She took the ferry back from school, and still felt this cloud hanging over her. Maybe it was doing all those last-minute wedding plans with Darcy, and the shopping trip yesterday to find a maid of honor dress and pick out the last of the flowers. Jillian couldn’t help but think about how this could have been her wedding—

If only.

She had two hours until she had to be at work, so she threw her stuff in her car, then drove to the rocky side of the beach. Zach texted her twice,
saying hello
, and Ethan texted once to see what she was doing tonight.