Summer Stock Read online

  “No problem. I don’t date people in the business.”

  “As long as we’re clear on that.”

  “Crystal.”

  Trey sat in the tiny waiting room, staring at the Bible verse on the wall, with the smell of lavender heavy in his nostrils. He didn’t find Bible verses or lavender comforting, but Dr. Wharton’s new-age music wasn’t so bad. It suited the soothing blue walls and the seashell paintings. Across the room, a sullen teenager glared at him and shoved earbuds into her ears.

  He looked down at his knee, which was bouncing with the nervous energy he couldn’t quite hold back whenever he sat here.

  The door in the corner opened, its familiar creak drawing Trey’s gaze. The doctor smiled at him, all big hair and kind eyes. “Come on, Trey.” She turned to the teenager. “Ava?” The girl tugged one of her earbuds out and glanced up. “Katelyn’s going to do your med check today, okay?” The girl nodded, shoved the earbud back into place, and returned her attention to her phone.

  Trey followed Dr. Wharton down the hall to her office, where she gestured at the chair and sat behind her desk. He perched on the edge of the seat, not ready to sink into it and let go of the gnawing irritation of pride.

  “How was your week? How’s Ferdinand?”

  She was fighting dirty today. He straightened his spine and studied his fingernails. “He’s fine. The lump was a benign cyst.”

  “Good. I know that was weighing heavily on you last week. How is work?”

  He glanced up at her then, and she smiled, dimples carving grooves into her tanned cheeks. Slumping back in the chair, he sighed. “It’s fine. The actors are coming in for the read through on Monday morning, then my crew is going to start the sets for Julius Caesar.”

  “So, Ferdy’s fine. Work’s fine. And how are you, Trey? Are you fine too?”

  Resentment pushed at him, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. “I hooked up with someone a couple nights ago. A tourist, I guess. I met him at that tacky place on the beach with the jalapeño margaritas.”

  “That tacky place that your sister owns?” The laughter in her voice tugged his lips up in answer.

  “Yeah, that one.” He loved his sister, loved that she and her husband had opened one of their restaurants here on Banker’s Shoals so they could be close to him—but the reason why rankled.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  Jesus, what part of hookup didn’t she understand? “No. I didn’t even get his number. It was a hookup,” he repeated, as if that explained the sudden flare of anger that had him tightening his grip on the chair’s arm.

  “What drew you to him?”

  His laugh. His face. He stared at my lips like he was hungry. Being wanted is such a turn-on. Trey shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “So, why did you bring him up?”

  He glared at her. “You’re my shrink, you tell me.”

  She folded her hands on her desk in the way that meant she wasn’t falling for his shit, the way that meant he was going to fucking cry, again.

  “He was laughing. You know, like—” Trey threw his head back and laughed in a gruesome imitation of Ryan’s carefree cackle. “Like he didn’t care what he looked like or who was watching. Like he was having the time of his life. It was fun.”

  “Well, good. I’m glad you had fun. How’s your sister?”

  “Overworked. Bossy. Pregnant.” He smiled, relieved at the change of subject, because Kim’s pregnancy announcement was the best news he’d had all year. He’d been high-spirited, giddy even, for the first time in months. It was no wonder Ryan’s laugh had drawn him in that night—a good mood, shared, seemed to multiply.

  Her eyebrow shot up. “Congratulations. That’s exciting.”

  “Yeah. I’m gonna be an uncle for the sixth time.”

  “And you feel good about that?”

  “Of course. I love kids. Ferdy loves kids too, so.” He relaxed back into the chair a little more. “I’m really happy for Kim and Danny.”

  “Please give them my congratulations.”

  He nodded.

  “So, have you made any progress on the garage?”

  He’d known the question was coming, had felt it hovering over him like the blade of a guillotine, but hearing the words out loud in the office still tightened his chest until he couldn’t—

  “Breathe,” she reminded him.

  He choked in a gasp, then exhaled it as he shook his head. “I can’t. I started clearing off his toolbox, and I got all panicky. I took a Xanax, and I started to feel better, but then I got sleepy. I can’t do it if I’m not awake for it, and I can’t do it without the Xanax. It’s too much.”

  “Okay. That’s okay. What did you do after you took the Xanax and got sleepy?”

  “I locked the door and watched TV with Ferdy.”

  “Good. Are you going to try again this week?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head, panic and shame tangling in his gut. “I don’t want to.”

  “I know you don’t want to. But think how good it will feel to reclaim that space for yourself. He’s not coming back, and it’s okay to use that space.”

  “I know. I’m just . . . I see his things. I see them, and it’s so awful, Doc. I don’t know how to do it.”

  “One step at a time. Three months ago you couldn’t open the door. You’re doing fine. Maybe next time, try taking Ferdinand with you. See if his presence helps you feel safe, okay?”

  “Yeah.” That was a good idea. He could try that. Ferdy was almost as good as Xanax.

  “Trey.”

  He looked up at her again. “Yeah?”

  “You’re doing fine. You know that, right? You’re doing fine.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t feel fine. He felt like a mess. A mess who couldn’t even walk into his own garage without having a panic attack.

  “Recovering from your physical injuries was easy compared to the work you’re doing now. You’re a strong man, Trey. You’ve accomplished a lot. But it’s hard work.”

  “I know.” He did. Therapy left him wrung out and exhausted and most weeks he left with his eyes swollen from all the tears he couldn’t seem to stop. Angry tears, ashamed tears. He could feel them now, pricking at his eyes and stinging his nose.

  “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. Vincent is the only one to blame.”

  The name hit him like a punch to the face.

  “He—” No matter how hard he swallowed, he couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat.

  “He’s not coming back, Trey. He’s in jail, and he’s never going to hurt you again.”

  “I brought tequil— Wow.” Caro took two steps into the house and froze, jaw hanging open. “This is the nicest rental house I’ve ever seen. Holy shit, how much are you paying for this place?”

  Ryan flinched. “Um, it’s not a rental.”

  “You bought it? You bought a house? Are you fucking kidding me? You told me you would never move back to the island. You told me—”

  “I didn’t buy it; it’s West Brady’s place.”

  She closed the door behind her and spun in a circle, clearly taking in the magazine-ready decor. “Has anyone ever told him his name is backward?”

  A swell of affection rose in Ryan’s chest. Of course Caro would go there—irreverent, unfazeable Caro. As much a part of Banker’s Shoals as the sand and the salt and the sea air. Caro had no fucks for West Hollywood or West Brady. If he weren’t her cousin, would she have any fucks to give for Bryan Hart?

  “I honestly don’t think anyone would dare.”

  “How do you know West Brady? Doesn’t he direct all those teenage romantic comedies? The next John Hughes or something like that?”

  “Yeah. We met at a party a few years ago; we’re friends-ish.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Caro crossed her arms over her chest. “Ish?”

  “He dated Ali for a few years—she introduced us.” It was still weird for Ryan to think of West and Ali’s relations
hip in the past tense—their recent breakup had stunned him. “He practically lived in our house when he wasn’t on location.”

  “West Brady dated your girlfriend. And he owns a house on Banker’s Shoals by coincidence?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend; she’s my roommate. And no, he owns a house on Banker’s Shoals because I talked about it so much he vacationed here last year and decided to buy a place. Look, he’s a good guy. He let me borrow his house for the summer.” And if I get my shit together, he might have a role for me when I go back to LA.

  “Okay. I’m sorry. One of these days you’ll have to explain the whole Ali thing, but I’m not going to grill you about it tonight. Margaritas?” She held up the bottle of tequila, and Ryan flinched, remembering jalapeños and a hangover.

  “Why don’t I open a bottle of wine instead?”

  “Ryan Hertzog drinking wine? What is the world coming to? Do you even know the difference between a Chardonnay and a Chablis?”

  “I learned from Bryan Hart.” Ryan took the bottle of tequila from Caro’s hands. “Get comfy and pick a movie. Prosecco okay?”

  “Sounds fab.” She kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the couch with a contented sigh, reaching for the remote.

  West Brady’s kitchen was a work of art. All gleaming metal and marble. Ryan set the tequila on the counter and made his way to the glass-fronted Sub-Zero wine fridge. He recognized the labels on many of the bottles from a trip to Napa with West and Ali. West had been madly in love with Ali, willing to do anything she wanted in bed, and when she’d said that she wanted to watch him and Ryan together, he’d laughed and gamely collected Ryan and brought him into their circle of gentle affection. They hadn’t loved him the way they loved each other, but they’d made him feel good, and he’d done his best to give back in return. The three of them had spent idyllic nights sprawled together in a giant bed and their days soaking up sunshine and wine lore.

  With a sudden pang, he missed Ali—his roommate, his confidante, and the best damned friend he had. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot her a quick text.

  I miss you, baby.

  She wouldn’t get the text right away. She wasn’t allowed to have her cell phone in rehab. He had no idea when she’d get the message, but the thought of her face, and how she’d smile when she finally saw it—and she would, she’d smile that special smile that was only for him—it made him smile too. He grabbed two glasses and a bottle of the prosecco he loved—something below Bryan Hart’s or West Brady’s pay grade, but perfect for shy Ryan Hertzog from Banker’s Shoals, North Carolina—and made his way back to the living room.

  Caro was sitting on the couch with her long legs crossed under her and her hair tumbling in wild curls around her shoulders. “Beach House is on Netflix.”

  “Oh no. No, no, no, no.” The “reality” show he’d done four years ago, the one where he and Ali had been paired as the celebrity—him—and the average Jane—ha, like there was anything average about Ali—competing against nine other pairs was an embarrassment to his career and hers. It had given him the best friend of his heart, but it wasn’t exactly a bright spot on his résumé.

  “Come on, it’ll be so much fun.”

  “It’s gross. I can’t believe it’s still available for streaming.”

  The familiar title music blared from West’s surround sound, and Ryan shook his head, resigned to the humiliation because it was Caro, and yeah, he could sit through this for some quality time with his cousin.

  “You guys were so cute.” She hugged a pillow to her chest and cackled as he poured the wine. “Look how young you were!”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He handed over her glass.

  “Thank you.” She took it from him and smiled before raising it high. “To summer stock, and having you home.”

  “To summer stock and home,” he echoed, clinking their glasses together. Joining her on the couch, he took a deep sip of the wine and let the bubbles wash over his tongue. She cuddled up to him and laid her head on his shoulder, and for the first time since his plane touched down in Raleigh, he really did feel like he was home.

  The start of summer stock season reminded Trey of the first day of school when he’d been a kid. Nervous anticipation fluttered through his body as he turned off his alarm and pulled on a pair of shorts. A 7 a.m. call meant his morning walk on the beach with Ferdy coincided with a stunning red and gold sunrise over the Atlantic. Trey kicked off his sneakers and let the cool surf wash over his feet, as he shivered with delight. The morning felt special, in no small part due to his eagerness to hear the season’s plays for the first time. He’d worked for Shakespeare by the Sea every summer for the last five years, building sets and helping Caroline Hertzog with whatever she needed. Aside from a few regulars, the cast changed year by year, but the crew? They were family.

  Nothing could dampen Trey’s mood as he strode through the doors of the playhouse, not even being handed a nondisclosure agreement for some second-rate TV actor who was padding out his résumé doing live theater. Trey scribbled his signature at the bottom of the form, handed it back to Mason’s assistant director, and went searching for Caro and Mason.

  And then he heard that laugh.

  The last time he’d heard it had been in his bedroom, sated and sleepy. How anyone could make a sound filled with that much joy was a wonder to him, and he couldn’t help a rueful smile as he rounded the corner into Mason’s office.

  “Trey! Come meet my cousin, Ryan.” Caro perched on Mason’s desk, facing the door while Mason sat behind the desk like a king in his throne room, grinning at the man opposite him. Ryan.

  Trey’s breath caught in his throat when Ryan turned to greet him. He had thought maybe he’d embellished in hindsight, that his hookup couldn’t have been that handsome, but there was no denying Ryan was the most beautiful person he’d seen in his life. And the way he was looking at Trey now, with surprise and warmth and a hint of shyness—it struck Trey down to his bones. How was it possible this was the same guy who’d scurried out of his house so fast he’d forgotten his pants?

  “We’ve met, actually.” Ryan stood up and shone the full wattage of his smile on Trey, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Ryan’s hand was warm and dry, softly callused, like he worked out in a gym without gloves, but not like Trey’s own tool-roughened hands.

  “Yeah, it’s . . .” Ryan’s playful hazel gaze stopped Trey in his tracks. Who was this guy? “. . . nice.”

  “I can’t believe you know Trey Donovan, Ry!” Caro practically screeched, drawing Trey’s attention away from her cousin. “Mase, did you know about this?”

  Mason’s eyes widened slightly, then he opened his hands and shrugged. “I had no idea, Caro.” His voice seemed too pat, too unconcerned, and Trey glanced back at Ryan to see an embarrassed flush creeping up his face.

  “We met at Kim’s place,” Trey volunteered—anything to cover the awkward moment between Ryan and his cousin. “You know she’s got those new jalapeño margaritas.”

  Ryan smiled slyly. “And I had a few too many of them, so Trey made sure I didn’t try to sleep on the beach like when I was in high school. But I don’t remember you from high school. Did you go to BS High?”

  Trey shook his head. “Nah. I moved here from Savannah with my . . .” swallowing hard, he muscled through the words “. . . with my ex-husband. I’ve been working for Caro and Mason for five summers. I mean, I do other stuff the rest of the year. Donovan Remodeling.” He fished a card out of his pocket and handed it over, worried it might be covered with sweat, but who the fuck cared at this point? “Here for all your household needs.”

  “Good to know.” Ryan tucked the card into his pocket. “Well, call is in fifteen and I haven’t met the rest of the cast yet, so I’m gonna mosey out to the stage area. It really is nice to see you, Trey.”

  Trey would have been fine with that, would have considered himself dismissed, except that just as Ryan was walking out the d
oor, he paused and glanced over his shoulder, lower lip caught between his teeth.

  The movement would have seemed practiced on anyone else Trey knew, but on Ryan it appeared sweet and utterly guileless. Innocent.

  And one thing Trey knew after their explosive night together? Ryan was far from innocent.

  “I’d better go make sure he doesn’t get in any trouble.” Mason gave Caro a weak smile, then hurried out of the room after Ryan.

  Folding her arms across her chest, Caro watched him go with an expression that hovered somewhere between exasperated and bemused, then she focused on Trey, and he was struck by the family resemblance. The upturned hazel eyes that looked fey and enchanting on Ryan were more careworn and lined on Caro, but just as playful. Her brown hair was streaked by sunshine and salt air, and Ryan’s by peroxide and professionals, but the effect was the same. The genuine kindness in her smile was every bit as warm as Ryan’s, and he wondered if they learned that kindness from each other. He’d gotten the feeling before that Caro had had a rough childhood—her knowledge of navigating the justice system for victims of domestic violence had been a godsend to him eighteen months ago, but since she’d never explained how she’d come by that knowledge, he’d never wanted to pry.

  “Hey, you okay?” She prodded his knee. “I lost you for a minute there.”

  He smiled back at her. “Yeah. I was just thinking how much you resemble your cousin. I’m surprised I didn’t see it when I met him.”

  A blush spread across her freckled cheeks, and she studied her hands. “Thanks, Trey. You’re very sweet.”

  Well I’ll be damned. Trey hadn’t ever thought of Caro as the kind of woman who would be easily flattered—but he’d never imagined she’d blush at a simple observation either.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, you must know that, right?”

  She swallowed and glanced at the door. “It’s hard to believe other people think so. I’m a behind-the-scenes kind of girl. I always have been, and I always will be.”

  Rubbing her hands together, she jumped down from the desk. “Are you ready to go listen to the read through? I’d love to hear some of your set ideas for this year’s plays, and we have a new lighting designer who studied at UNC-Asheville and knows theater in the round techniques. We can all sit in the back and pass notes.”