8. Eagle
CHAPTER 8
EAGLE
I spent the rest of the wedding glaring at the bride’s parents. Those two give entitlement a run for its money.
The mom had the audacity to make a toast to her husband and joked that she hoped the worst pain her daughter would suffer in her own marriage was the pain of accidentally splitting open her husband’s lip. I seethed and it took everything in me not to roll my eyes, but I watched with a tight jaw and even tighter fists as that blowhard piece of crap Dylan gave some speech about the sanctity of marriage and what it takes to make a life with someone.
Lying sacks of shit.
My own wife was no fucking saint. My own marriage ruined me.
What I couldn’t burn from my eyes was the look of absolute defeat on Lacey’s face. After she called the night manager, Don, he placed a call to Lacey’s assistant, and everyone agreed that for the sake of the Lantana’s reputation, the best course of action would be for Lacey to take the weekend off and let Carla run the events in her place.
Lacey’s face looked as shattered as her tablet screen as she walked slowly from the property to her car, her purse in one hand, her lavender dress clinging to her legs with every slow step.
Brute was so stunned that Lacey had been sent home that I explained the whole shitty story to him. He asked what I was going do about it, as if I had some obligation here. That was when I realized I felt like I did.
I convinced Brute to keep his shift tomorrow, and I fired off a text to Arrow to see if he’d be able to cover the day-after brunch for me. It was a big ask on short notice, but the club has done a lot for Arrow. Even though he isn’t a member, if he had two brain cells in that head of his, he’d realize the brotherhood extended him a lot of courtesy at a time when he really needed it. And while I didn’t want to say he owed me, it’d say a lot about him if he didn’t come through the first and only time I asked for a favor.
I don’t like owing people anything, and I sure didn’t like calling in a favor that he didn’t exactly owe me personally, but the club is all I have. My family, my friends, my brothers. I had to believe one of them would bail me out here, back me up. I mentally ran through the list of who else I could text on short notice just in case Arrow didn’t come through.
But Arrow didn’t disappoint.
Done , he texted. You tell me when and where I gotta be and how to dress, man. I’ll be there, no problem.
The reception went off without a hitch. A couple of broken beer bottles on the dance floor were about the most exciting things that happened. And I do think the best man may have puked in the pond, but Brute was out there when it happened, so that was his mess to deal with.
The rest of the night went off without any more scenes or slaps, puking incidents or bleeding—a hell of a lot better than the night started out.
And I’m grateful for that because my mind was working triple time the whole evening. I hardly heard the seven-piece band play a single song, I was too worried about what these fuckers had done or could still do to Lacey.
I was suddenly relieved we hadn’t fucked in the ladies’ room. I mean, it would have been great, but after seeing how these people act, I have no doubt if someone found us, it would have been even worse for her.
By the time the bride and groom left the dance floor, I had a plan in place. Grandma Warner cozied up to me just as the ballroom lights went back on.
“I know you’re working tonight, but I would have loved a dance with you.” She waggled her brows at me suggestively. “I may be slower, but I’ve still got moves.”
“I saw you out there, ma’am. I think it’s a good thing I was working. I don’t think I could have kept up with your moves.” I gave her a genuine smile and helped her into the golf cart for the final time.
I kept an eye on the bridesmaids and groomsmen, all the sloppy friends who’d had way too much to drink, knowing they had to stumble just a few hundred yards to their rooms at the resort.
Before the last of the guests even left, Dylan and Olivia Acosta left the ballroom together, arm in arm, heads held high, neither one of them even looking in my direction. That was just fine by me. I hoped I’d never have to see that smarmy asshole or his bitch wife again as long as I lived.
As the clock turns over to midnight, I let Carla know that Arrow is going to cover for me tomorrow, and I won’t be in. The poor woman is so frazzled by all the activity, she doesn’t even ask questions. She just nods and thanks me for everything I’ve done.
“Have you talked to her?” Carla asks. “Is Lacey okay?”
I shake my head. “No idea.”
I don’t say more, don’t want to give away any information that anyone might use against Lacey.
Then I look back through my contacts and use the number that Lacey contacted me from to confirm my tuxedo fitting the other day.
It’s me , I text. Eagle. You okay?
She sends back a crying face emoji, and I have to laugh. I forget how much younger than me she is. I don’t have whole conversations by emoji, but sometimes it just works.
Me: You want a shoulder to cry on?
I send the text before I can think better of it, talk myself out of what might be a really, really bad decision.
There is a long wait before I get another text from her. But then she sends it…an address.
I type it into the map app in my phone and then text her back.
Me: I’ll be in there in 20 minutes. Tom Ford and all.
I get back a cry-laughing emoji, which I think is an upgrade from just plain crying. Then I fire up my car and search for any late-night pizza joints. I’m famished, and I sure as shit could use a couple of beers after the night we had. I try not to think about the condoms that are burning a hole in my wallet. I’m not going there for that.
But I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that even if Lacey doesn’t want me that way, I’d go to her. Just to see if she’s okay, I tell myself. Just to see if she needs me to crack open the other side of Dylan Acosta’s stupid, rich mouth.
Whatever happens, I want to be there.
I pull up to a small one-story ranch-style house on a quiet street in a very modest neighborhood. I don’t see any lights on, and it occurs to me that maybe Lacey doesn’t live alone. Dogs, roommate, I don’t know. I park on the street and pull out my phone.
Me: I’m out front with pizza and beer.
Faster than I can even believe, a light goes on over a small front door. I take the walkway from the sidewalk that leads up to the cracked front steps and meet Lacey on a weather-worn covered porch. She’s locking the front door and motioning for me to follow her around to the back of the house.
“I live with my mom,” she explains, taking the beer from me. “Mom’s room is off the front, so if we go in the back, we won’t wake her up.”
I follow her quietly and wait for her while she unlocks a storm door and a heavy wooden door that leads into a nicely furnished but very small sunroom. Lacey steps aside and lets me pass, then locks the door behind her. She has a sweet setup out here. A small dining table and two chairs are up against the wall closest to the door, and a comfy-looking outdoor sectional sofa with sun-faded cushions faces a very small wall-mounted television. A ceiling fan swirls overhead, moving the cool night air through the screened-in space. It’s not huge, but it’s a big enough space for a woman and her mother to enjoy.
Lacey sets the beer on the table, and I follow suit, setting down the hot pizza box.
I turn to face her, and before I can get a word out, she launches herself at me. She wraps her arms around me and presses her face against my chest. Without the sky-high heels, she’s a lot shorter than me, and I swallow hard, letting her hold me before finally giving in and wrapping my arms around her back. I hold her tight, lowering my head to rest my chin lightly against the top of her messy blond hair.
We’re absolutely quiet, nothing but the whir of the fan that sounds as if it’s working damn hard to keep the heavy air moving. I breathe in deep, her coconut smell filling my chest. I close my eyes, and neither one of us says anything for a really long time. It should be awkward, but God, it isn’t.
When she finally steps back, I can see that she’s wearing a thin T-shirt without a bra. Her nipples are rock hard and pressing against the fabric like they are desperate for release. I can relate to that feeling. My boss’s feet are bare, and she’s wearing sleep shorts that look at least ten years old.
It’s adorable and humbling. She looks wrecked and young—nothing like the capable, confident, sexy-as-shit woman I see at work.
I loosen my tie, suddenly feeling every inch of this suit. “I feel a little overdressed,” I admit.
She laughs and wipes at tears that have gathered in the corners of her eyes. “You…” She shakes her head. “Eagle, you look gorgeous. Exactly like I imagined you would.”
My breath catches in my chest at her words. She complimented me earlier at the wedding, but I just took that as friendly, encouraging boss-employee talk. I didn’t want to wear the tux, and I thought she was being supportive about my giving in and doing it.
But there’s no mistaking the sincerity in her voice. She looks so sad, but her lips are curved into a shy smile. And she rakes her eyes over me from head to toe. I stand a little straighter under her gaze, my dick making it very hard for me to ignore how sheer her sleep shirt is.
I clear my throat and realize I have no idea why I’m here. I don’t know what I expect. Lacey and I have never hung out. Other than what I felt and tasted fucking around in the restroom last night, I have no intimate or personal knowledge of this woman. I didn’t know she lived with her mother. Although, as I scan the place, I see huge dog toys scattered around the floor and a dog bed in one corner that looks big enough for me to lie down on.
“Dog?” I ask, nodding toward the bed.
She sniffles and nods. “German shepherd. She’s a huge, lovable furball, but she’s very protective of my mom and me.”
I nod, liking the sound of that. I haven’t even met her mom, but seeing this house and this neighborhood, I find it hard not to feel protective of these women. It’s not a bad neighborhood by any means, but it’s clearly working-class, nicer than the area I grew up in, but still. Two women alone brings out the instinct in me, and I’m glad they have a dog around.
“Inside with your ma?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I boarded her with a really great day care place for the weekend. My mom works almost every weekend on the early shift. When I have a three-day event—” she lowers her eyes “—like this one, Ruby would be alone too long otherwise.”
“Ruby?” I ask, curious about the name. “Why Ruby?”
Lacey blushes and purses her lips. “It’s my favorite stone. I always thought growing up that the prettiest engagement rings were rubies. I never understood why people liked diamonds when you could have a gorgeous red ruby. So, Ruby.”
“Makes sense,” I say. It occurs to me that she really wasn’t kidding about the Lantana being her dream job. If she had strong opinions about engagement rings as a kid, she’s probably been wedding-obsessed for a long time. “Better name than my dog had,” I say.
I hate telling people about my childhood, but the mood is already low enough, and maybe, just maybe, the story about my dad’s dog will give her a laugh.
“You have a dog?” she asks, brightening.
I shake my head. “Nah. I live in the compound, and it’s not a pet-friendly kind of place.” Although, it could be, seeing as half the time we’ve got kids and toys where we once had pool tables, half-naked women, and full kegs.
I shrug off my jacket, and Lacey takes it and hangs it carefully over the back of one of the chairs by the table.
“So, growing up, my old man fixed cars—or at least, that’s what he called it. One morning, he found a dog hiding under the wheel of some broken-down junker.” I shake my head, thinking about it. “My old man spotted it and called out, ‘Well, ain’t you sexy.’” I chuckle a little bit at the memory. “My ma hated it. Pops brought that dog inside, and until the day it died, he called that poor fucker Sexy. Whenever my mom pissed him off, my pops would yell, ‘Come on, Sexy. Give Daddy a kiss.’” I shake my head. It was gross and ridiculous, just like my dad. “Ma especially hated when he’d fight with her, because then he’d really pour it on.”
A smile finally spreads across Lacey’s face. I smirk and tell her, “And the funniest part was the dog was a boy. Dad tortured Ma by smooching and loving on his ‘sexy boy.’” I roll my eyes. “No shade to dudes into dudes. Love is love and all that shit, but Dad just did it to fuck with her.”
Lacey looks me over, and a small giggle slips past her lips. Then she covers her mouth and starts cracking up. “I don’t know what’s funnier, hearing you say ‘dudes into dudes’ or imagining your dad asking Sexy for kisses.”
She’s laughing harder now, but it’s not like she’s finding my stories all that funny. It’s like something releases inside her, and she laughs and laughs until suddenly something shifts and she’s sobbing, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her shoulders shake, and she lowers her head, crying into her hands.
“Oh fuck. Lacey…” I go to her and hold her again, this time pressing her soft body hard against mine. I feel the shudders of her chest, the sadness that tightens her back and weakens her knees. Her weight is fully against me, and she’s clutching me like she never wants to let go.
I stroke her hair and just let her cry. I can’t say I’ve comforted a lot of women in the past. I’m more the cut-and-run type, but this is different. Lacey is different. I’ve never had to hold someone through some kind of wrong being done to them. I’m usually facing off against someone who’s done me wrong. Or who I’ve screwed over—either accidentally or on purpose.
There’s no judgment here. Nothing I did wrong here, nothing to feel bad about. Except, of course, that Lacey is hurting. But somehow her pain makes me want to come closer. I want to do what I can to ease this for her, even if all I can do is let her drench the front of my Tom fucking Ford shirt with tears.
I chuckle when I realize she’s using a dress shirt that probably costs more than a month’s mortgage payment on this place as a tissue.
She lifts her head and peers at me through wet lashes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “This is bullshit. I shouldn’t be taking all this out on you.”
“I don’t mind,” I say. “I was just wondering how many of those six Gs this shirt cost those fuckers.”
Lacey gasps and wipes her face dry with her hands. She sniffles. “Eagle, that shirt… I Googled it after the tailor left.”
I hold up a hand. “I don’t even want to know.”
She looks at me then, her face red and puffy from crying, her sleep shirt wrinkled and damp from tears. “Eagle.” She whispers my name. “Why did you come here tonight? After what I did last night…”
I shake my head. I don’t know why I came here. I don’t know what I want to admit. I may never be good enough for a woman like Lacey.
I take a step back from her. The urge to be honest, to touch her, to tell her I don’t know what I want but I’m drawn to her like a kid’s drawn to candy. I feel stupid. I don’t know what to say. I sure as fuck can’t tell her the truth.
“I can go. I just wanted to?—”
“Don’t,” she says, stepping close to me. Her nipples are hard again, and her eyes are blazing with intensity. The tears are gone, and she’s licking her lips, bare of that siren-red lipstick. She’s as raw as a person can be, and she’s looking at me with an honesty that makes me feel exposed. “I want you here. I want you to stay.”
I shove my hands into my overpriced pockets, not knowing what to say or do.
“I brought beer and pizza. I thought you might be hungry. You want some?”
“I want you,” she says. “Just you. I don’t care if it’s complicated. I don’t care about tomorrow and my job. Tonight…I just want you.”
For a second, my guts tighten into knots. She doesn’t care about tomorrow, and somehow that stings. I want her to want more from me than just one night. I want to be the kind of guy that she can picture a future with. I want to be enough for this woman, this woman who, for the last two years, I’ve watched work and dance, laugh, and kick some serious ass when it was called for. And now, she’s offering me a part of her. She’s offering me tonight.
I could hold out for more, but I’m not that guy. I know tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone, and it sure as hell isn’t promised to guys like me.
I shut down my brain and kick my heart to the goddamn curb. She’s offering me tonight, and that’s more than I even deserve.