Page 102 of The Havenport Collection

Prologue

Callum

O f all the patches of grass on all the lawns in Havenport, I had to vomit on hers.

My life was shitty enough without coming face to face with the girl whose heart I broke in high school. The girl who was so kind, so generous, so full of life, that I fucked it all up.

I was moving along at a good clip, close to six-minute miles, when the bottle of whiskey I consumed last night instead of dinner began to catch up with me.

As I crested the hill toward the orchards, I began to feel my stomach churning.

I slowed down a bit and gave myself a pep talk.

I wasn’t going to stop until I finished ten miles.

If I collapsed on my couch later that was fine.

But I wasn’t stopping until I achieved my goal.

Because what was I if I wasn’t that guy?

That guy who always achieves his goals? The ambitious guy?

That was me. I couldn’t afford to be anyone else today.

Things got blurrier. I focused on the road, putting one foot in front of the other.

Soon my entire body got cold, and I began to shiver.

Next thing I knew, I felt vomit rising in my throat.

I veered off into the grass and fell to the ground, retching onto the grass.

Convulsion after convulsion, my self-loathing spilled out of me, the stench serving to make me even sicker.

My mind was foggy, and my limbs were shaking.

I wanted nothing more than to be home in my shower, washing all this bullshit off me.

But instead I was here. In a fucking field, wearing my own vomit.

My mind was clouded with bad decisions and self-loathing as I continued to retch in the thick green grass.

Turns out, rock bottom was even shittier than I thought.

“Mom. Mom, come over here,” someone yelled.

From my vantage point on the ground I saw some small feet approach. I looked up to see two boys staring at me.

“Are you okay?” the one with the glasses asked.

“He looks pretty sick,” the one with the floppy hair said.

“Let’s get Mom.” They nodded at each other.

“Mom,” Glasses screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Do you want some water?” Floppy asked me.

I nodded, afraid to open my mouth and further traumatize these children. They looked young. Like five or six. These poor kids did not need to see me in this state.

They scampered off, leaving me to my shame.

As I regained my breath and some semblance of my consciousness, I saw a woman approach.

The first thing I noticed was that she was wearing flip-flops, and every toenail was painted a different color.

I followed the shapely legs up to a flowy dress and then long, wavy red hair. FUCK. This cannot be happening.

I had spent the better part of a year avoiding this moment—avoiding this interaction—and now I was a literal fucking mess and staring up at the one that got away.

The last twenty years have been good to her.

She looked like an older version of her high school self.

A magical fairy sprite in woman form. Wild hair, lots of jewelry, and a tiny nose ring.

I looked into those wide brown eyes, rimmed with thick black lashes, and felt like I was going to hurl again.

She was still beautiful, still magnetic, and still way out of my league.

“Callum Quinn?” Her face fell as she got closer. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call 911?” she asked, concerned.

One of the kids came back with a bottle of water which she opened and handed to me. She patted the kid on the head, and only then did I see the resemblance.

“Thank you,” I squeaked out and sipped slowly.

She turned back toward the kids, crouching down. “Sam, can you go get me some towels from the hall closet? And Henry, can you get my phone off the kitchen table?”

The children dispatched, she stared at me.

“It’s great to see you, Violet,” I croaked, trying to save face a bit.

She put her hands on her hips. “What happened? Are you sick? Did you get hit by a car or something? I’m going to call the cops.”

“Don’t,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “I was just out for a run.”

“Did you get the flu and decide to go for a jog anyway?”

I looked away. “Not exactly.”

She put her hands on her hips, clearly not buying my bullshit.

“I am a bit hungover. That’s all. Just need to hydrate.

” Fuck, I hated this. I hated not being in control of this interaction.

I knew I would see her eventually, but I wanted it to be on my terms. When I was wearing one of my best suits and had my hair freshly cut.

I didn’t want to be a wounded animal dying on her property.

She shook her head. “Callum Quinn.”

The boys returned shortly thereafter, distracting her from my pathetic mess. “Okay, boys. Thank you. Can you grab your backpacks and jump in the car? I’ll drop you off at camp.”

“And you,” she said, looking down at me, “I’ll take you to urgent care on the way.”

“No need, I’m fine."

“You are not fine. Your skin is gray, and you look like you could collapse at any minute. Here.” She held out a hand to help me up.

Violet was maybe five feet two, and I was absolutely humiliated to have to lean on her while walking to the driveway. But this was my life now . I am such a disappointment. I can’t even go for a run without messing things up. I deserve to die alone.

“I’m so sorry,” I grunted while we walked to her car.

“Save it,” she said, pinning me with a mom glare.

I buckled myself into her Volvo with the two boys in the back chattering excitedly.

“Mr. Quinn is sick, guys, so I’m going to take him to the doctor after I drop you off at camp, okay?”

“Mom, you said we shouldn’t go anywhere with strangers.”

“I know, sweetie. And you are right. But Mr. Quinn isn’t a stranger.

I’ve known him for a long time.” I can’t recall the first time I actually met Violet.

She was just always around. We went to the same elementary school, and our parents knew each other, but we were never friends.

I played sports and she didn’t. My family lived in town near the harbor, and she lived out here on the farm.

So our paths didn’t cross until high school.

That is when I really met her and immediately fell for her.

“Okay, Mom. It’s important to always be safe.” Glasses was cute but a bit smug.

“I know, Henry.”

“Can you open the windows, Mom? Mr. Quinn smells bad,” Floppy hair whined.

“Okay, Sam. I will.”

I thought I hit rock bottom lying in a pool of my own vomit on the grass. Turns out, cruising through town in my ex-girlfriend’s Volvo while her small children discussed how badly I smelled was even worse.