8. Maggie
8
Maggie
H eavy footfalls sound on the stairs, effectively pulling me from a dreamless sleep. I hear a door click shut down the hall to what I can only assume must be Archer’s room.
Brilliant sunlight peeks through the curtains alerting me to the fact that it is now morning. Is he just now going to bed?
Last night, after Archer showed me to what I assume is the guest room, I barricaded myself in, blocking the door with a heavy wood dresser. The events from earlier finally caught up to me fully and left me feeling wrung out and physically and emotionally drained. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I crashed hard.
Grabbing my phone off the bedside table, I see that it is already half past ten. I’m shocked I was actually able to sleep this late, my internal alarm usually forcing me up with the sun.
Getting out of bed, I freshen up in the adjoining bathroom before pulling on a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a tank top, throwing on my old favorite sweatshirt over top.
Pressing my ear against the door, I listen to make sure I don’t hear anyone moving around in the house, grateful when I’m greeted with nothing but silence.
Carefully, I slide the dresser back into its original place, wincing when it makes a loud screeching noise as it drags across the floor.
Poking my head out into the hallway, I look left and right, making sure the coast is clear before I tiptoe down to the living room. I pause when I get halfway down the stairs, mouth gaping in awe at the view before me
The walls are a light cream, and the décor is done in beautiful grays and deep, moody blues giving it a dark coastal feel. High ceilings with exposed, natural wood beams and matching wood floors open to a large chef's kitchen, equipped with stainless steel appliances. But none of that is what has left me speechless.
Floor to ceiling windows span the entire back wall, offering the most breathtaking view of the small backyard and the walkway that leads straight out to the beach.
I continue down the stairs, padding barefoot straight to the sliding doors that open out onto a low wood deck. Expecting them to be locked, I am surprised when the doors open easily.
Hand poised on the handle, I look behind me, as if expecting someone to jump out and drag me back to my room.
Archer told me I wasn’t a prisoner here and for me to make myself at home, but that eerie statement he made in the car still lingers in the back of my mind.
What exactly did he mean? And why did the thought of being chased by Archer… turn me on? No, definitely not. That was probably just the adrenaline wearing off.
When nothing happens and no one comes to stop me, I take a deep breath and step outside, inhaling the fresh salty air, my nose wrinkling when I catch the underlying hint of sulfur from the nearby marsh.
Off to the left, there is a large oak, branches laden with Spanish moss that drapes so low, it almost reaches the ground. I can’t help but think how it would be the perfect shade tree to sit under and read.
I stroll across the dew-covered grass, over the wooden boardwalk, until I finally sink my toes into the sun-warmed sand. Gentle waves crash against the shore as the ocean stretches as far as the eye can see.
The beach is deserted, and I remember him saying something about this land being secluded. A short walk confirms there are no other people or houses close by, the only signs of life are the gulls that bob on top of the water.
I plop my butt down in the sand, suddenly hit with a pang in my chest at the memory from the one and only time Jane ever took me to the beach.
It was right before her diagnosis. I must have been around seven or eight. She woke me up early one morning, and we drove out to the coast to watch the sunrise. It was still relatively dark out when we arrived, and we watched as the sky changed from deep denim blue and violet to bright pink and sun kissed orange. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.
Those few quiet moments we shared by the ocean, just us two, is one of my most cherished memories. Never in my short life, had I felt such happiness before.
Today, however, as I sit alone on the shoreline, staring out into the large expanse of murky water, I feel small and lonely.
A cold breeze blows in off the water and I wrap my arms around myself to block out the chill as the sun disappears behind a cloud.
I don’t know how long I continue to sit there on the beach before I feel his presence. Looking over my shoulder, I see Archer walking towards me, and the air catches in my lungs. If I thought he looked good last night in that black suit, it was nothing compared to seeing him now in a pair of gray sweatpants and a fitted white t-shirt that clings to his muscular arms and chest.
Through the thin cotton, I can see the faintest hints of black ink that appear to cover his entire upper body, extending down both of his arms. I’ve never been a huge fan of tattoos, but on Archer, it works. He could definitely give one of my book boyfriends a run for their money.
He treks across the sand on his bare feet, and there is something about seeing a man with no shoes that feels wildly intimate. I imagine it’s how those men in my regency novels felt when the heroine bared her ankles for the first time. So scandalous.
He holds two mugs of what I pray is coffee. I desperately could use a caffeine fix right about now .
“I hoped I’d find you here,” he says, handing me one of the mugs. I take a tentative sip and am unable to hold back the little moan of pleasure as the taste of rich dark roast and caramel dance across my tongue.
I open my eyes to find Archer watching me. My ears grow hot as his dark, hooded eyes bore into mine over the rim of his own mug. I squirm under the intensity of his gaze before looking away. A bead of sweat rolls down my spine and suddenly, I wish I wasn’t wearing this thick sweatshirt anymore.
He clears his throat and takes a seat in the sand beside me.
“When I couldn’t find you in the house, I was hoping you hadn’t decided to run off and take your chances with the gators after all.”
“Oh…no.” I say, with a shake of my head. “I saw the view through the windows and thought it would be a quiet place to think.”
Honestly, I’m a little ashamed to admit that the idea of running didn’t even cross my mind. It probably should have been my first thought this morning.
I know I’m probably being stupid, but for some reason, I’m not scared of Archer. Does he unnerve me at times with his mercurial mood swings? Yes…but I’m not afraid of him.
“So, what were you thinking about?” he asks, and damn, if that isn’t a loaded question.
“Everything,” I say, unsure where to even begin. “I guess I’m trying to make sense of it all. I mean, not to make myself sound incredibly dull, but I don’t have an overly exciting life. I work at a bookstore most days and then go home alone and read or I occasionally might watch TV. That’s about it. I can’t imagine anything I could have done to warrant someone wanting to hurt me.”
“What about friends, family?” he asks, and I wrack my brain, trying to think of anything significant, but I come up empty handed.
“Friends, no. I only have a few, and I can’t see them being involved in any way. Plus, I was out with them right before I was attacked.”
“They let you leave alone?” he asks, voice low and growly.
“Um…. They didn’t let me do anything. But yeah. I had called a car, and it was only a few feet up the road.” He clenches his jaw so hard, I swear, I hear a tooth crack.
“Anyways…family—I guess I don’t really know,” I say, honestly. “I was adopted and from what I was told, my father died soon after I was born, and my birth mom, I hardly know.”
I think back to the one picture I have of a dark-haired women holding me as an infant. I’ve only met her a handful of times over the years, usually when she would show up sometime around my birthday, but she never stayed long.
She always had this sad, haunted look in her eyes and almost never smiled. I don’t know precisely what demons she battles, but from my limited interactions, it was clear she made the right decision in giving me up—not that that makes it hurt any less .
As bad as it might sound, I kind of hated when she came around. I would try to pretend I was happy to see her, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but her visits were just a reminder that I wasn’t enough for her and would leave me feeling empty and hollow.
I was glad when she finally stopped. Still, every year on my birthday, some package with a present or a card shows up, and though it’s not always signed, I know it’s from her.
“My birth mother gave me up when I was still a baby. I’ve met her a couple of times, but she never hung around long. I’m pretty sure she’s addicted to drugs,” I say quietly, picking at the skin around my nails.
At his continued silence, I chance a glance over at him, expecting to see pity in his eyes, but I exhale in relief when instead I’m met with understanding.
“Anyways…” I continue. “I suppose there could be a connection there, but I highly doubt it. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in a few years. Do you really think someone might be after me?”
He looks at me with a slight frown, worry lines etched across his forehead, and I watch as they smooth out and that cold indifferent mask he often wears returns. Even though I barely know the man, I have decided I hate that look the most.
“I don’t know, but if there is, I’ll find out. In the meantime, I will have someone look into your mom, see if there’s anything there,” he says before standing abruptly and walking back towards the house.
I jump to my feet, jogging to catch up to him .
“Wait—” I call to him, grabbing him by his forearm. His skin is warm, and my grip tightens slightly, as I feel his muscles flex under my touch. He makes an impatient noise, and my eyes snap up.
No longer does he wear that indifferent mask. Instead, I am meet with a hard, steely gaze. I snatch my hand back, horrified at the realization that I was just feeling him up. I should know better than most not to touch some without their consent.
“Oh God—I’m so sorry,” I apologize, shame coating the back of my throat. “I didn’t mean to grab you like that. I?—”
He holds up a hand, stopping me. “It’s fine,” he says.
“No, it’s…”
“Maggie, seriously. It’s fine,” he cuts me off. “Now, what did you need?”
“Okay…” I say grateful, he’s letting me off the hook. “I guess I’m confused on what you meant by having someone look into my mom. I thought you owned a bar.”
“I do.”
“So were you, like, a former police officer or something?” Come to think of it, that would explain him wearing a gun and the whole overprotective hero complex thing.
He looks away, and I notice the corner of his mouth twitch.
“Or…something.” When he doesn’t elaborate further, my mind immediately goes to the worst, coming up with every wild possibility imaginable— ex-military, secret agent, assassin, mafia …
“Please tell me you’re not in the mafia?” I blurt out, my voice coming out a touch too high, and I watch as he fights back a smile.
“No. I am not in the mafia,” he finally answers, and I sigh, relieved. Good. While that may be hot in books, I don’t think I could handle it in real life.
“I do, however, have a very good friend who owns an IT company that specializes in security software. So…let's just say if there is anything to find, he will find it.” He starts walking back to the house, and I follow at his side.
“In the meantime, you’ll stay here, where you will be safe. I’m gonna have him get someone to install a security system in your apartment, and we’ll need to find someone to fix the damages as well,” he says, making my head spin as he starts listing all these things I can’t afford to do.
First off, I don’t have that kind of money. I have a hard enough time making enough to cover my rent, which is why I basically live in a shoebox.
Second, he’s over there talking about me staying here with him. I don’t even know where here is. And what about Jane? My job? My friends? What would I tell them? How would I even begin to explain everything? He must sense my rising panic, because suddenly, he is right there, his warm hands on my cheeks.
“Hey. Breathe, sweetheart. What’s wrong? What just happened?” he says, his gray eyes frantically searching mine.
“Archer, while I appreciate everything you’re trying to do for me—I truly do—I don’t have the money for all that. And…I can’t just stay here. I have a job, friends, I ha ve to feed Mr. Darcy, and what about Jane?” I say, now starting to pace. “She has multiple sclerosis. What if she has a relapse, and I’m—I’m…wherever the hell I am and I can’t get to her?”
I come to a stop, a terrible thought just occurring to me, “If someone is after me, do you think they would go after her too? Use her as a way to get to me?” If something happens to her because of me, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
“Maggie—” he says, stopping me mid-spiral, “slow down. Let’s take it one thing at a time. Okay?
“First of all, I would never expect you to pay for a security system that I was having installed. That would be absurd. It’s something you must have if you’re planning on going back to that apartment, and I have the money, so don’t worry about it.”
I open my mouth argue, but it’s like he already knows what I’m about to say, because he keeps going. “However, if it makes you feel any better, I get a huge discount since we’re practically family, and if you insist on paying me back, we can work out arrangements later. Deal?”
All that sounds reasonable. I don’t like the idea of him paying for my security and I will be paying him back, but like he said, I definitely need it. I wouldn’t feel safe going back there if I don’t have some kind of alarm. So, I nod.
“Good. Second, If you have to work, I will gladly take you back and forth, or let you drive my car if you would feel more comfortable, but I will be coming with you. I don’t want you going anywhere alone, and I can get a security detail to keep an eye on Jane. ”
“But—” I start, but he interrupts me.
“Don’t worry—they are very discreet at what they do, and I will make sure she never knows they’re there. Okay?”
It sounds like he has thought of just about everything, and damn if that isn’t a relief. It feels good to have someone else take charge for a change. So good, in fact, that I can feel my eyes burn as I fight back tears. I am always the one having to deal with all the hard stuff. To have someone else take the control is…freeing in a way, to know I don’t have to do it all alone.
“Okay,” I breathe on a sigh.
“Good,” he says as his expression hardens. Any trace of softness now disappearing behind an angry scowl. “Now…the most important question is: who the fuck is Mr. Darcy?”
My head rears back in surprise. That’s the most important question? The harsh tone of his voice makes him sound almost jealous, but that can’t be right.
I don’t know if I am finally having that mental breakdown I’ve been on the verge of for the past few weeks, or if it’s his adorable little pout, but suddenly, I cannot hold back the insane laughter that bursts free.
Once I start, I’m unable stop, not even when my stomach aches and cramps and there are tears streaming down my cheeks.
Through it all, Archer stands there with a confused expression on his grumpy face, and that only causes me to laugh even harder.