Regrets Only (32 page)

Some
of Dylan’s friends provided soft bluegrass music, and after the ceremony, Dylan
made a touching toast that led into Pat Green serenading a surprised, delighted,
and very pink Kate. He then graciously sang the couple through their first
dance, which kept the crowd mesmerized until the bluegrass band took over
again. They served barbecue provided by a favorite local restaurant and buckets
of beer at every turn.

It
was Suzanne’s favorite kind of party, one that focused on the delight and
comfort of the guests rather than a show of opulence. The guests were
impressed, too, as was William, who had arrived early this morning to help out as
promised. Kate looked radiant, of course, and she and Jeff seemed pleased. And
married, which was the most important thing. Contrary to Jeff’s fears, there
was no family drama resulting from their announcement the night before, and in
fact elation seemed to be the overriding emotion, even for his parents. When
they left for their honeymoon (as a final wedding gift Dylan had arranged for
Jeff to have the first week of the summer tour off), ducking under an arch of
sparklers toward a waiting town car, their smiles were genuine and carefree.

With
the happy couple gone, the older guests began to filter out as well, along with
Dylan’s parents and their friends, who had reserved a block of rooms at one of
the nicer hotels in town. As the reception morphed into a party, Suzanne had
very little to do except be available to answer stray questions from the caterers
and to direct some of the cleaning staff. She found a spot on the edge of the
party, in view of the kitchen, where she and William could sit in folding
chairs and observe. She took her shoes off and rubbed her feet. After a couple
of months without work, she had grown unaccustomed to marathon evenings in
heels.

Dylan,
who had not returned to the house until half an hour before the wedding, and
had barely said two words to her since, was holding a bottle of Jack Daniels,
dancing with some of Amber and Sherrie’s friends. Suzanne noted, bemused, that
some of these friends had not been invited to the wedding itself, but appeared
after the bride and groom left, as though they’d emerged from the surrounding
forest, drawn by the scent of an open bar. “You okay?” William asked, following
her gaze and rubbing her shoulders a little too hard. He had always done that,
she remembered.

“I’m
fine,” she said firmly, and added, “I was just thinking I need to make sure the
bartender has enough Jack. It could be that someone besides Dylan Burke will
want some.”

“It’s
still crazy that you know this guy,” William said. “Oh, I promised Scott at the
office I’d get an autograph for his girlfriend.”

Suzanne
sighed audibly. The
very
last thing she wanted was to ask Dylan for a
favor, especially a stupid autograph. William added swiftly, “I mean, if it’s
convenient. If not, I’ll just tell him I forgot. You know what, let’s just say
I forgot. What were we talking about?”

She
smiled gratefully and patted his arm. “Thanks for all your help today.”

“No
problem,” said William. “I guess now that we’re back together I’ll get lots of
practice stringing lights and hanging ribbons.”

Back
together. Shit.

Suzanne
quelled the familiar sense of panic. She remembered the words of her therapist,
who she’d been seeing twice a week since the attack. “It’s all about looking at
your old patterns and deciding whether they are still working for you.” Running
away from nice guys and potentially stable relationships was what she’d done
her whole life. Had it worked for her? Hell, no. She leaned over and gave
William an appreciative peck on the lips.

When
she turned her attention to the dancers out on the deck, she saw that Dylan was
looking at her. He gave her a grimace that was supposed to be a smile, took a
swig from the bottle, and threw his arm around a petite redhead dancing next to
him.
Now on-deck for the visitors…

A
little while later, the party began its inevitable descent into debauchery, and
Suzanne got up and paid the bartenders so they could pack and go. They left
what little booze remained in a box in the kitchen, where Suzanne knew it would
not survive the night. She and William helped the cleaning staff break things
down, starting at the edges of the party and working inward, pushing the stragglers
inside. The poker table was set up in the great room, where they ran into Dylan
on their way downstairs for the night.

He
lifted his drink in salute to her—he’d re-civilized himself with a glass, she
noted—and shook William’s hand as Suzanne introduced them. “Nice to meet you,
Willie,” he said, ignoring Suzanne’s glare. “You know, Scarlett, this is a
great party. Think you should consider planning weddings for a living.”

“I
believe we all know by now I’m not a wedding kind of girl,” she said without
thinking, and William blanched.
Oh, God.
She fished desperately for
something to say to redeem herself, with Dylan wearing an almost malicious
smirk, amused by her discomfort. “I mean, it’s really the bride and groom who
make a wedding wonderful, not the event planner. Kate looked lovely, don’t you
think?”

She
turned to William, pleading a silent apology for being so thoughtless, but he
seemed to have recovered his normal color. He rubbed her back, gently this
time, and said, “Well, I think you can do whatever you want and do it well,
weddings or anything else.”

“Well
put, William,” Dylan said, lifting his glass again. “Your man here is right,
Scarlett, you really can do
whatever
you want.”

Suzanne
bit back the caustic retort brewing in her mouth and forced a genteel smile.
William smiled for real, not catching the covert meaning of the conversation at
all. Just then the petite redhead emerged from Dylan’s bedroom, and began
pulling on his arm, whining. “Dylaaan…”

“Déjà
vu,” Suzanne said quietly. Though he didn’t respond, she felt sure Dylan heard
her.

“Well,
I hate to be an ungracious host,” he said expansively, “but duty calls. Will,
it was a pleasure meeting you. Hope you’ve enjoyed my little cabin in the
backwoods. Scarlett, you take care of yourself. Nice work. Goodnight.”

He
allowed himself to be led into his bedroom and the door swung shut just a
little harder than necessary. Next to her, Guillermo, Spencer, and a couple of
other guys were setting up for poker. “I thought Dylan was playing, too?” she
heard Guillermo ask.

“Oh,
he’ll be out in a few minutes,” said one of the guys she didn’t know.
“Gretchen’s not exactly big on foreplay, if you know what I mean.”

Guillermo
knew what he meant. Suzanne knew what he meant. Half of Tennessee knew exactly
what he meant. She took William’s hand and practically dragged him down the
stairs and outside to the cabin.

 “He
seems like a good guy,” William said, a little winded, trying to keep up with
Suzanne on the path to the little cottage.
Servants’ quarters is more like
it
, she thought bitterly.

“He’s
a fucking saint,” she muttered.

“What?
Honey, slow down. There are rocks and roots and stuff out here.”

Suzanne
flipped on the light, glad that Yvette had a family obligation this weekend and
was therefore not in her usual room in the guesthouse. The little bedroom
across the cottage from Suzanne’s was piled high with tour preparation
materials, though, which she supposed was why no one else was in there either.
Yvette would be in late the next afternoon, along with the rest of the band and
crew who weren’t here already. The summer tour started mid-week, and from there
they’d be gone for three and a half months.

She
pushed William down on the couch as soon as they got in the door, straddling
his lap and kissing him forcefully. “Wow,” he said, coming up for air. “Not
that I’m complaining, but where did this come from?”

“I
don’t know,” Suzanne said, stripping out of her shirt and loosening his tie. “I
just really want you tonight.”

“Okay,”
he said, helping her with the tie and his shirt. “It’s been a few years, but I seem
to remember that arguing with you is useless.”

She
didn’t want him to talk anymore. She kissed him violently and bit his lip,
hoping to work him into a frenzy that would leave words, and everything else,
behind. “Ow,” he said softly. “Easy.” But it was working. She could feel him
responding to her, getting hard beneath his pressed khaki dress pants, which
was, in itself gratifying. Maybe not everything about her was broken beyond
repair.

Just
her heart.

The
words came as William was shifting himself on top of her on the couch, fumbling
with the zipper on the side of her skirt. She forced herself to focus on the
moon, reflected from the window behind her off a mirror near the door, while he
worked at the obstinate zipper. But it wouldn’t budge, and he grinned shyly up
at her for help. She tried, too, and it wouldn’t move. Suzanne let out an
exasperated groan.

“Should
we just…leave it on?” he suggested. She wanted to say
yes, that would be
such a turn-on. Let’s make love with my skirt on like we’re in an elevator
stuck between floors or I’m your secretary or something hot like that
. But
her face contorted with pain and to her absolute frustration, tears dripped
down her cheeks.

“Fuck!”
she said. She couldn’t get away from it. Her heart was broken. Whether Dylan
had broken it, or Penny and Gunnar, or whether she’d done it herself, it almost
didn’t matter. This was the feeling she’d been hiding from her entire adult
life, the thing she’d done everything possible to avoid. And now she was in the
middle of it with nowhere left to run.

“Oh,
God,” William said. “Did I do something wrong?”

She
shook her head. “No, I did. William, I’m so sorry. For
everything
.”

His
face softened. Suzanne was relieved to see that he didn’t seem to need an
explanation, because she didn’t know whether she had the energy to give one.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, putting his arms around her and stroking her hair.
“I kind of had the feeling that wasn’t about me.”

She
sobbed freely now, while William held her. Minutes or hours passed—she wasn’t
sure—lost in a nameless, shapeless grief for which there was no solution. After
a long time, he released her and gently handed her the shirt she’d tossed on
the floor, and then pulled on his undershirt and sat next to her again. “It’s
Dylan, right?”

She
nodded. “Partly.”

“You’re
in love with him?”

“I
think so,” she said. “But it’s more than that. It’s me. My whole…life.”

 William
put his hand on hers. “Do you think it’s possible that you may be being a little
bit hard on yourself?”

She
laughed. He was probably right. She’d never known any other way to be: hard on
herself, hard on everyone else.

“Come
on,” he said. “You need some sleep. It’s been a long day, a long few months,
and you’re exhausted.”

He
led her to the bedroom where she changed into her pajamas and crawled under the
covers. She wanted him to stay, so she wouldn’t be alone, but she didn’t want
to be touched. William seemed to get this without having to be told. “I’m going
to sleep with all those papers in the other room,” he said lightly. “Maybe if I
have trouble sleeping I’ll read some contracts or something.”

She
smiled. He turned to go. “William?”

“Yeah?”

“All
those years ago, when you proposed and I…”

“Yes?”

“Did
I break your heart?”

He
laughed sourly. “It was pretty bad, yeah.”

“I’m
so sorry,” she said.

“Hey,
no…That was a long time ago,” he said. “We’re not there anymore. Plus, several
other girls have broken my heart since then, so you don’t get to be quite so
special anymore.”

“Oh,”
she said. They hadn’t talked much about the years between their original
romance and the present day, except in vague terms. She realized that she’d
been arrogantly assuming his life had been ruined because of her.

“I’ll
say this, Suzanne. It gets easier.”

“It
does?”

“Sure.
What’s life without a little heartbreak? You know what they say…”

She
waited for the platitudes. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. You can’t
make an omelet without breaking eggs. Rain and rainbows…

“Well,
they say a lot of shit,” he said, a rare curse word coming from clean-cut
William, “and in my experience none of it makes you feel one damn bit better.”

She
laughed. “Thank you, William.”

“Goodnight,
Suzanne.”

She
woke at dawn to the sound of a zipping suitcase in the next room. Suzanne had
expected William to be gone early, and decided it was better to stay put, and
let him leave on his own terms. She could ask no more of him than what he’d
already done for her. He deserved not to face her today if that was what he
wanted.

When
she heard the door pulled softly closed, she got out of bed to get herself
ready for the same hasty exit. The note on the counter read: “Better if I go.
Call anytime you need a friend.—WMF.” She packed quickly, showered without
washing her hair, and slipped out of the cottage before seven a.m., leaving the
key under the mat. The house was asleep in its usual post-party chaos, so she
sneaked into the kitchen to grab a slice of cake for the road. The coffeepot
was cold—obviously Dylan had not risen early to make it today—so she decided to
skip the cake, too, and just stop at a gas station on her way home.