Beach Cottage Kisses (The Cottages on Ocean Breeze #2)

Chapter Seventeen

S cott didn’t know what in the hell he was doing. Why he was still sitting on his bed when he was clearly free to go.

Iris would be better off with Sage, not him.

But Sage wasn’t there. And she’d want him to step up. Because Iris was his friend, too. He didn’t need his twin in the country to know that much. He could hear her voice in his head all the way from Europe. Even with the time difference.

“I didn’t think I’d ever be in life alone.” The words brought his gaze from the doorway he’d been studying back to Iris in a flash. Head down, she was pulling at a string on the hem of her oversize T-shirt. And it hit him, like a rock on the head…she’d been in love.

Like Sage, she’d been hurt young.

The trauma she’d mentioned…a decade or so ago. It must have been more than just a normal teenage romance and breakup.

He didn’t know who the guy was, but sitting there, right then, Scott hated the guy. Wanted to give him a serious piece of his mind.

“What happened?” He was a gifted interrogator. Knew that it was easier to get to the emotional meat if he entered through the back door. What, not who.

“A car accident.”

He blinked. Frowned. Stared at the bent head just out of his reach. Felt the strongest urge to get close enough to put his fingers under that chin. Lift it. So he could see into her eyes. Maybe stroke her forehead as she’d touched his when he’d been hurting…

Had she been in the car? “Where?”

“The neighborhood where I grew up.”

She still wasn’t looking up. Had started on a second thread. Best to stay at the back door. Where Iris was concerned, it would always be best.

Yet, looking at her, he needed more. Felt raw with the not knowing.

The way she’d helped him when he was at his worst, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be content on the outside looking in again.

She’d helped him to the bathroom. Rushed him to the hospital. Had sex with him on the floor of a vacant house.

“When?” He finally got the right word out. Holding back for all he was worth.

“Almost eleven years ago. I was seventeen.”

Younger than he’d figured. With an older man?

Or a sweetheart she’d grown up with?

She’d given him a personal fact. Brought herself to the page. “Did you see it happen?” He approached the apex slowly. Told himself he was only doing what he knew to do well. Interrogate.

He’d never before had to hold his breath while awaiting a response.

A breath that seemed lodged forever in his throat when Iris looked up at him. Those green eyes, usually so cool and calm, seemed to be melting pots surrounded by a nest of flames—her messy amber hair.

He was cooking, that was for sure. His heart melting more by the second, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

And felt an almost physical blow as she held his gaze and said, “I was in the car, Scott.”

She’d survived. Clearly her love had not.

Knowing what Sage went through when Gray left all those years ago…his sister hadn’t been all that much older than Iris when it had happened…the way it had sucked the life out of her. And Gray had still been alive and well. Out of Sage’s life, but not gone forever. He’d still loved her.

And Sage had never stopped loving him. She’d adopted the child she’d always wanted to have, built the family she’d wanted, had dated a lot, but had never been in another serious relationship. Until Gray had needed her help. A more mature Gray, who’d had the courage to believe that his love would be enough…

Had Iris’s love survived? Maybe with a permanent disability? Rejected her, as Gray had rejected Iris? Was he out there?

Could there be a happy ending for her?

The jolt of jealousy the idea gave Scott was unwelcome. Beneath him.

And wholly unfair as he had no intention, ever, of being a part of any happy ending for anyone, most particularly not Iris. No way he’d risk hurting her…

She’d resumed her head-down position. Had found a third string to work.

“Did he live?” The words hurt his throat.

But got her to look at him again. The frown she was sending him made him regret the question he hadn’t wanted to ask in the first place.

“She. And no.”

She .

The look in Iris’s eyes, intent, filled with a pain he seemed to understand…

And he knew. Even while his mind told him he had no basis in the thought, that he was being ridiculous…things fell into place. The way Iris understood him and Sage—knowing that he’d known when Sage had been hurting that she’d needed to not be alone, but to be left alone—along with so many other little nuances he’d picked up on…

“What was her name?”

Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away. “Ivy.” Her lower lip trembled. She bit it. Let it go. Gave him a weak smile.

Iris and Ivy.

Twins.

Identical?

He’d been told that the bond was sometimes stronger than fraternal. “What did she look like?”

“Me.” Iris faced him straight on, crossed her legs, let go of her shirt and looked right at him. “She looked exactly like me.”

His sweet strong friend.

She blinked back tears. Her chin trembled, but she got the smile out, too.

Raised her eyebrows at him.

Nodded.

And Scott knew his life had just been forever changed.

* * *

He’d been right. Iris had thought even hearing the words aloud would be so gut-wrenching, that having her previous life known in her current one would ruin everything. But as she sat there in Scott’s bedroom, seeing the unspoken understanding in his gaze, she felt…better. More complete.

Known.

Honest. Real.

His lack of words were a gift. He wasn’t trying to fix her. To make her better. She wasn’t broken. Not anymore. Not for years.

Nor did he attempt to ease her pain. That miracle had not yet been invented or discovered.

With nothing more to say, she sat there, waiting for him to quietly go. When he was ready. Or thought she was.

He’d said himself, he’d sat with Sage, with nothing to say.

She got that.

Was still very glad he was there.

That they were friends.

Needing each other in very different ways.

And both being able to walk away, too.

“What was she like?”

His question disarmed her. In the first second, she rejected it. Until an answer sprang to her lips. Along with a smile. “Fun. Artistic. A bleeding heart, sometimes. But as strong as they come. She always said that I had the knowledge, and she had the knowing.” Her smile grew. “She didn’t think I was as great at discerning as she was.”

“Did you agree with her?”

The question engaged her. Thinking back, she said, “I don’t think so. But she was definitely the more artistic of the two of us. Although I was a better cook. Probably because I was more into nutrition…”

She stopped as the words took her places she hadn’t been in a long, long time. “Our mother was sick.” She couldn’t believe she’d said the words. Hearing them aloud startled her. But didn’t stop her. “She’d been diagnosed when we were thirteen, but for a few years, we all thought she’d beat it. But either way, she had us prepared. Telling us that mothers weren’t meant to be in their children’s lives forever. But that we were luckier than most because we were one of the few with a special bond given only to chosen, special people. As twins, we’d always be close, no matter how far apart our lives might take us on the planet. That we’d always feel each other. Telling us that neither of us would ever be alone.”

She paused as a surge hit. Darkness. But looked at Scott, took a breath, and said, “I know now that she was preparing us for her death. I will revere her forever. Because while we both grieved when she died, and missed her hugely, we were all right, too. We had each other…”

Until they hadn’t. The room darkened. Or her mind did.

Fear slid down through her.

And then a hand touched hers. Physically. Warm fingers, wrapping around her palm.

Iris looked up. Saw the look in Scott’s eyes. Knowing he understood.

And she smiled again. A smile loaded with sadness. With grief.

But with gladness, too.

* * *

As the night slowly moved on, Scott and Iris ended up on opposite sides of his big king-size bed, sitting with pillows at their backs against the headboard, his leg propped up with more fluff. The light from the hallway, and moon through the window, encapsulating them in a soft glow.

The girls were both in the room with them. Lying together on the floor sharing a pillow Iris had given them.

He’d had questions. She’d seemed to want to answer them. She’d apparently seen signs of his discomfort on his face and had insisted that they get him in a better position.

He’d heard about her parents’ divorce due to her father’s drinking. A defense attorney, Calvin Shiprock had been fine at work, but after hours, out with other attorneys, he’d succumbed to an addiction that eventually followed him home. He’d sobered after losing his family. Eventually marrying his sobriety sponsor. But after Iris’s mother died, and he and his wife moved into the family home so the girls’ lives didn’t have to be further disrupted, he’d started drinking again. His wife, who stood by him in spite of the relapse, also stepped up for Ivy and Iris, helping them in their quest to emancipate so that they didn’t have to live with the man who’d never been around much for them anyway.

He’d died of liver disease shortly before Iris moved to San Diego.

“My father was always around,” Scott said. “I’m not sure that was such a great thing, either.” And wanted to immediately take back the words. Regretting the thought as much as having expressed it.

“Sage said he was pretty strict on you.”

For his own good. Scott had misled her. Had to correct the image of the man who’d made him the success he was. And who’d always loved him. “He had high standards but lived by example.”

Iris nodded, glanced toward her toes as she said, “And failure wasn’t an option.”

Had he told her that? Had Sage?

“The man was a self-made millionaire. Started investing small amounts while he was still in high school. He had a gift. Just knew what would work and what wouldn’t. Growing up, I witnessed these powerful people coming into our home to ask him for advice. He could have made millions at consulting, but he did it for free. For people who he knew would use his help to better the world. That’s what it was all about for him. Using the life you’d been given to make the world a better place, not to litter it. So, yeah, failure wasn’t an option. Except as a lesson to do better. Be better.”

“Failure is a part of life.” Iris’s words fell softly into the dimly lit night. “If children aren’t allowed to fail, they’re at risk for developing an inability to try. Think about learning to walk. If a toddler had to fear failure, they’d never try again after the first time or two they took a step and dropped to their butt. You have any idea how many tries it takes to learn to walk?”

He didn’t. But the passion in her words drew his gaze to her face. “For some, maybe as many as it’s taking me to master surfing?”

Her eyes widened, as though something was dawning on her. He wanted to know what. Didn’t feel free to pursue the knowledge. They were talking, sharing in ways they never had before, but there were still boundaries. To him, it seemed like very clear ones. He went where he was welcome. Stayed silent where he was not.

How he knew the difference, he couldn’t say.

Maybe because he’d spent so many years reading juries, he’d developed decent people-reading skills.

He liked the thought.

“You surf because you’d rather risk killing yourself than to accept that failure is a part of life. Fear of failure drives you.”

His shrug was easy. “I’m good with that. As long as what I’m driven to do helps make the world a better place.” He was Randolph Martin’s son. The legacy he strove to live up to was a great one.

“Right, but if you don’t learn to fail, if you can’t be okay with not succeeding at everything you do, you don’t allow yourself to try things that you think you aren’t good at.”

The words, so quietly delivered, hit him hard. He had an argument to them. He could always argue another side.

Iris kept talking before he got there. “It’s like the child learning to walk. You don’t remember being that child, but imagine him, pulling himself up to a couch, and immediately falling back down hard to his butt. He’s too young to understand failure, so he tries again. He sees something he wants and strives to take a step toward it but falls again. Maybe even so hard he hurts himself. He cries. Hard. He’s coddled. Because failure is a valid possibility. One that doesn’t define the child in any way. And when he’s ready to try again, he’s encouraged to do so. And if he falls, if he fails again, he’s loved, not berated. Not met with disappointment. He’s met with pride because he tried…”

They weren’t talking about him. The passion in Iris’s voice…

“And if it turns out he just doesn’t have that physical capability, or that particular talent, he’s not a failure, Scott. He just failed at an attempt at something. He learns from it. And, if he has the learning, he becomes a better person for it. At least he tried. And tried again.”

Exactly. His surfing was that. Trying and trying again. Not that he failed at it. He just wasn’t the best.

“But you…you have one failure and sentence yourself for life.”

What the hell…?

His face getting hot, Scott was ready to call it a night. The conversation was no longer friendly.

“All I’m saying is that failure, in and of itself, isn’t a negative thing. Sometimes it’s a stepping stone toward success. But if you’re unable to accept an initial failure, you’ll never take a second step.”

Yep. He was done. Looked toward his chair, bracing his hand on the mattress for a push off.

“It’s a lesson I learned the hard way.”

Iris’s tone hadn’t changed, in volume or timbre. But the words stopped Scott’s exit trajectory long enough for him to turn and look at her. To get out of his own space and back into the shared one where he’d sensed that Iris was speaking from experience.

“How so?” he asked.

Nodding toward her feet, she said, “I was hospitalized for six months after the car accident that killed my sister. Among other things, I had a spinal cord injury, and I was told I might never walk again…”

The child, learning to walk, hadn’t been him. Nor had it been a child.

“Seeing you with that back injury, and the leg, seeing that chair… I lived in one, Scott. Thinking I’d be in it for the rest of my life. Sometimes it’s okay not to master a skill. You tried. You’ve spent years trying. Spent money trying. You aren’t good at it. And it’s okay. You indicated that as long as you’re surfing, you haven’t failed. So the only way to prevent the failure is to just keep surfing. But quitting doesn’t make you a failure at life. Or litter in the world. It just means you aren’t meant to be a champion surfer.”

Relief flooded him. She hadn’t been referring to his failed marriage in terms of letting a fear of failure stop him from trying. As in trying to get him to try again. She, like Sage, maybe with Sage’s instigation, just wanted him to quit surfing. To be okay with failing so he’d let surfing go.

Why his mind had jumped to the other—the idea that it could be wrong to let one failure stop him from trying something, a committed relationship, a second time—he put down to the rest of the weirdness of the past couple of weeks .

To experiencing such high levels of pain that he’d had moments that lacked complete lucidity.

To sharing his home with a woman who was important to him.

Not to any desire on his part to change his life.