Chapter Eleven
Gage
I should have let her meet me in the city. Picking her up and driving her back will cost me four hours on the road, but somehow, whether she wants it to or not, it’s going to feel like a real date and Zane is going to want to size me up before I bring his sister anywhere. He seemed friendly enough at dinner the other night, but I can’t forget who I am and I only know Zarah because of it.
There’s no way we would have bumped into each other, not like Zane and Stella might have working in the same building. Might have taken longer had Zarah not gone on a tour of their company, but their chances of meeting in the lobby were higher than me ever meeting Zarah Maddox, billionaire heiress. Not with the kind of life I live.
I’ve always been a firm believer in things happening for a reason, Max’s death one of them. I’m not selfish enough to think his death was meant to pave my way into Zarah’s life. I hope to God his murder will offer more to the people on this earth than that. But I’ve never been one to turn down an opportunity, either, and I can’t let guilt keep me from pursuing her. She’s become a constant whisper in the back of my mind, not always pleasant, a reminder that I should be doing more.
Zane called me off and I left it at that, but I’m beginning to question that decision. I still haven’t gone through all of Max’s things in his lockbox, and I haven’t had time to watch any of the CDs. I don’t know how he got his hands on them either, and if I know Max (and I don’t but that’s a different conversation), someone isn’t going to like that I have them in my possession. You might think I’m dumb for not checking them out the second I got home, but the secrets have kept for a while now. The world isn’t going to explode because I want an evening with Zarah.
Nothing will happen to her while I’m around.
I hit a bump, and a bouquet of red roses laying on the bench crinkles in the cellophane. It’s been a long time since I bought a woman flowers, and contrary to popular belief, Sierra isn’t my girlfriend. I haven’t bought her flowers. Ever.
The meagre offering seems silly now, a ten-dollar bouquet for a billion-dollar heiress. What would a rich man buy a woman like her on their first date? Jewelry? Seems a little presumptuous, if you ask me. Especially on a first date. All I know about Zarah on that front is that she doesn’t wear any. If I bought her a necklace or something, she’d put it in a drawer and forget about it. At least the flowers stand a chance of Lucille putting them in a vase. Maybe Zarah will keep them in her room and think of me when she wakes up.
Now that’s presumptuous.
The house is lit up brighter than a firecracker, a fireball in the middle of a dark field. They put up some Christmas lights, too, and a few trees in their yard shine like fairy dust. I wonder whose idea that was. Probably Stella’s. She seems like the type to enjoy that kind of thing. Zane’s too busy running his company and protecting Zarah and Stella to give a fuck about lights. Zarah’s too preoccupied wading through the muck, I bet, to care about anything like that. I can easily see Stella acting as the glue that holds that family together.
I park and kill the engine. I’ve met parents before, though not this kind. Zane will be tougher than any father, but he’s trying to right a lot of wrongs. Unfortunately, I’ll be paying for that. It’s not enough to scare me and I ring the doorbell.
Zane answers dressed in crisp jeans and a dress shirt. I guess no one really relaxes around here, but I don’t suppose he’d answer the door in his pajamas, either.
“She’s still upstairs, fussing,” he says, but at least he’s smiling when he says it. “She hasn’t had a lot of nights like this, if you know what I mean.”
We stand in the foyer, me awkwardly holding the cheap flowers, Zane looking me over like I knew he would.
“Yeah, I do,” I say.
“I mean, she dated in high school, and she and Ash messed around before we knew what kind of an asshole he was, but just a date, dinner, whatever. She’ll have a new appreciation for it.”
I don’t like pussyfooting around. I like things clear, concise, and to the point so I know what I’m dealing with. “What are you saying, Maddox?” I ask, my eyes narrowed. Like hell he’s going to warn me off Zarah again. I asked her out, and she said yes. That’s enough for me.
“I don’t want her falling in love with you,” he finally says.
“It’s not up to you.”
He’s my height, not as strong. I lift weights, he pushes paper, but he can look me straight in the eyes and he does now, his gaze not wavering. “Are you in love with her?”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing? Your job?”
“She asked me that the other night. I’m not here for Max. I’m here for myself. I like her. I like talking to her, making her laugh. For now, that’s it. It wasn’t slow, you and Stella?”
“No. I fell hard, the second I saw her. Her eyes, you know? Her smile. I was just a kid back then, grieving and fucking whatever moved. She saw through me, and it pissed me off. Made me grow up. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think about where we’d be if Ash hadn’t fucked us up.”
Over his shoulder, movement catches my eye, and Zarah and Stella walk down the stairs. I think about Max’s journal entry, Zarah’s dark to Stella’s light. Can Zane see it? I wonder if it was a conscious choice of Ash’s to claim both of them, or if he only took Stella because he wanted what Zane had. I know he took her to hide what their foundation was doing—kidnapping babies. She was a pesky piece of evidence he kept locked away. But with all the lives he’d ruined without remorse, he could have just as easily killed her and he never did.
It makes me wonder.
Zarah meets my eyes and her steps falter, her grip tight on the handrail. Her gaze lights on the flowers. Her face clears, and she smiles.
“Hi,” she says, trotting down the last couple of steps. “They’re pretty.”
Not as pretty as you , I want to say, but the words are too cliché and Zane’s stare is burning into me.
“I hope Zane hasn’t been giving you trouble.” She sticks her tongue out at him.
It loosens my muscles a little, that she’s in a playful and good mood. We’d go anyway, but I don’t know her well enough to know what she’s like on a day she’s had therapy. The sessions can’t be a walk in the park, but maybe she’s seen her therapist long enough there are no more surprises.
“I’ll put these in water for Zarah,” Stella says, holding out her hands. I pass the roses to her and she clutches them to her chest, the petals grazing her chin. “Have fun.”
I get a sense she’s trying to hurry us out the door. Stella’s a sweet girl, and I know she’s doing it more for my benefit. It’s nice she’s on my side, but I don’t need anyone fighting my battles for me.
Zarah tugs her coat off a hanger in a large closet, and I hold it as she slides her arms through the sleeves.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Ready?”
“Yes. Bye,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Be careful,” Zane says, and Zarah shuts the door in his face.
“That was awkward,” she says, laughing. “Sorry.”
“I felt like I was meeting your mom and dad,” I joke, opening the truck’s door. I boost her into the high seat, and we’re eye level. “I wouldn’t need to pick you up to kiss you now.” I cup her cheek in my palm.
She leans in for a minute, touching her finger to my lips, barely brushing my skin. “My dad wasn’t very intimidating, and the boys he met were trained early on to be polite, at least in the presence of adults.”
Wincing, I say, “Sorry. That was thoughtless.” I shut her door, round the truck’s hood, and climb behind the wheel.
She’s already latched her seatbelt and twists in her seat. “Don’t worry about it. It did feel that way, but you would have liked my dad and I know he would have liked you. He didn’t take any bullshit, like you.”
“Thanks. That actually means a lot to me.”
It does. Kagan Maddox was a good man and he made enemies being kind, honest, and doing the right thing. It’s a huge compliment that I remind Zarah of him.
I buckle my seatbelt and turn the engine over. It doesn’t need to warm up—I wasn’t in the house that long. “You look nice. I didn’t tell you before.”
“Thanks.”
The twinkle lights hanging in the trees catch her blush.
On the way into the city, we fall into a comfortable silence. I’m beginning to learn that about her. That she values not only silence, but an easy one. Two people comfortable enough with each other they don’t have to speak. Some couples need a long time to get there, but Zarah and I sat this way in the café and it didn’t feel unpleasant.
I set the cruise control, shake out my shoulders, and settle into the drive. I’m early enough there are plenty of cars leaving the city—commuters going home after work.
“Can I hold your hand?” I ask.
“I’d like that.”
Her skin is soft and warm. Though we don’t speak, the ride isn’t boring, and it’s no time at all before I’m parking downtown near the Sweet Apple pub. People are grabbing an early evening drink, and the place is packed.
The hostess she sees Zarah and shrieks. “I’m so happy to see you!” she says, flinging her arms around my date, and Zarah disappears in a cloud of arms and bosom.
“Hey, Monique. You’re still here, huh?”
“No place else I’d rather be,” Monique says, picking up two laminated menus off a wooden hostess podium. “Besides, I’m waiting for that hunk of a man to ask me out. No such luck, yet.” She winks.
The man in question is a burly Black bartender, who, at the moment, is shaking a martini mixer, the silver capsule tiny in his beefy hands.
“He’ll do it if he knows what’s good for him.” Zarah waves, and the bartender grins and juts out his chin in hello. “Do you have room for us?”
“Sure do, darlin’. Stella called ahead.”
Zarah’s eyes widen. “Oh. I never thought to.”
“It’s okay. We got you covered.”
I watch the exchange and Zarah’s reaction to the reservation, and my heart plummets. She didn’t think to call ahead for herself. Well, neither did I. I smooth her hair, and she looks over her shoulder at me and sighs.
Monique seats us at a corner booth and slides the menus onto the table in front of us. “Your server will be right with you. She’s new. Be good to her.”
“Because I’m so scary,” Zarah says, shaking her head.
She’s different here than at the coffeehouse, and I can’t put my finger on why. She seems more outgoing, confident. The staff knows her, and she shines. No wonder why she chose to eat here.
Not that I mind. I can’t lie—I was a little worried where she’d want to have our meal and how that would affect my wallet. Pop and I do okay, like I said before, but there are only so many times a month I can afford to eat at the restaurants I’m sure Zarah favors. The Sweet Apple is my style, burger baskets, chicken tender platters, and onion rings. I choose a cheeseburger and a soda, and she orders a four-cheese pasta bowl and strawberry lemonade.
We sit for a little while without talking, and I watch the bustle of the bar, a group of guys at the other end of the restaurant groaning over a football team’s loss. Monique and the bartender are flirting, and I don’t think it will be long before she wears him down. The waitresses are classier than I’ve seen working in a pub, dressed all in black and heels so high they must need to soak their feet after their shifts.
Zarah twists her straw wrapper around her finger. “We don’t have anything in common,” she says, and her feminine Adam’s apple bobs up and down. She’s trying not to cry.
Shit.
I’ve been so busy trying to help her feel comfortable that I did the complete opposite.
Covering her hand with mine, I stop her fidgeting. “That’s not true. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to push you into a conversation.”
“I don’t know what to say.” A tear hangs on to her eyelashes.
I rub my thumb over her knuckles. “Let’s share favorites.”
“Like what?”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue, right now.”
“Favorite food?”
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not sure. Probably anything Lucille cooks.”
“I can’t blame you. Dinner the other night was amazing.”
Zarah relaxes, and I blow out a silent breath of relief. I want her to like spending time with me.
Our waitress serves our food, and Zarah inhales the macaroni and cheese. I follow a little more slowly, but it’s fun watching her enjoy her meal. I have a feeling I’ll like watching whatever activity Zarah finds pleasure in.
We didn’t order dessert, but the waitress clears our plates and sets a dish of warmed up brownie and melting ice cream onto our table. There are two spoons, and I offer her one.
“Thanks. Tell me about Max,” she says, reaching for the spoon and dragging it through a dollop of fluffy whipped cream.
I taste a small bite of brownie. The chocolate melts in my mouth. “Like what?”
She shrugs. “You don’t like talking about him?”
I don’t, but I can’t tell her that. Then she’ll want to know why. “It’s not that.” It’s exactly like that. “We weren’t close, and I feel bad about that now that he’s gone.”
I try another bite of the brownie, but it doesn’t taste good anymore.
“You didn’t grow up together?”
“No. Max and I have different fathers. My mom remarried and had Max, and I chose to live with Pop.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Did Max talk about me at all?”
Zarah shakes her head, confirming my suspicions. “No. I didn’t know he had a brother until you picked up his things at the Crowne.”
That was a sad day for me. Grabbing Max’s clothes from the hotel. Because the Feds took his laptop and all his notes and Richard Denton adopted Smokey, there wasn’t much left to pack. I only did because Mike McClennan read Max’s will and told me I had no choice.
It hurts, but I’m not surprised. I’m not surprised Max didn’t ask me to help them, either, and after meeting Zarah, I’m grateful. I don’t need to have pictures in my head of them pawing at each other. My overactive imagination is enough.
“That about sums up our relationship,” I say and put my spoon down. I flag our waitress and she rushes to our table, tripping over herself to reach us. Her behavior puzzles me, but I’m with Zarah Maddox, heiress to the Maddox fortune, and I shouldn’t have expected less. I order coffee, and the waitress asks if Zarah wants some too.
“Yes, please. And cream, thanks.” She spoons up a bit of brownie and says, “Good idea. I’m sorry you weren’t close to Max. Zane and I weren’t very close either. When Mom and Dad died, he’d only been home from school for six months and he spent all his time with Dad at work.”
The waitress serves our coffee and I wait until she walks away then ask, “Is that why you didn’t tell him Ash started selling you?”
“Ash told me Zane wouldn’t believe anything I said. If Stella and I had talked to him together, maybe we could have convinced him. Maybe. But Ash said he had information that would destroy our company. I believed him and couldn’t take the chance.”
“You don’t think he would helped you? The company wasn’t more important than you.”
Zarah chooses her words carefully, opening a cream pod and stirring it into her coffee. “No, not the company, but their friendship? Zane and Ash went to Columbia together. They were like brothers, closer than brothers.” She flicks a glance at me. “Ash is manipulative, calculating. I don’t know how long he planned what he did, but he could have worked on Zane for years. Brainwashing him. With what you know, do you think he would have believed me even if I would have tried?”
“You’re his sister.”
“If Max would have told you something horrible about your dad, would you have believed it?”
That stops me. I want to say yes, but I can’t. Max and I grew up almost strangers, and I don’t think I would have believed one word he said if they were black marks against my father.
“People blame me, blame Stella, because we didn’t come forward. I hear the nasty things they say about her—letting Ash take her instead of exposing him. One day watch Ash’s and Clayton’s speeches at the party we threw Zane when he took over the company, and then tell me how someone would believe two young girls over two of the most powerful men in the world.” She sucks in a huge breath and rubs some color into her cheeks. “Are you ready to go?”
Her words shake me. Had Zarah really had no recourse? The Blacks had half the KCPD in their pockets, and who knows how many businessmen who made nice to Kagan’s face really hated him. Add a brother she hadn’t seen for four years, two deceased parents, and maybe Zarah really did have no one she could go to for help. It’s clear now why Max wanted me to protect her. Zane may have seen the light, but besides that, not much has changed. If Zarah needed help, who would she run to?
I grab her wrist, and startled, she tries to pull away. I’m scaring her, but I don’t let her go. “You know if you need someone, you can come to me, right? I will believe you, no matter what.”
She jerks away and scrambles out of the booth. Wedging her tiny body between me and the table, she launches herself into my lap. “Why?” she breathes into my neck.
I wrap my arms around her and rake my fingers through her soft hair. “Because I’m falling in love with you, Zarah, and I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep you safe.”
She lifts her head. “I’m not ready.”
“I know. I’ll wait.”
“For how long?” she whispers.
I stare into her eyes, her pupils dilated in fear and possibly, hope. “For as long as I need to. Let’s get out of here. Where’s our waitress?”
For the first time since we sat down, Zarah smiles. “She’s not coming back. There’s no bill. We own this place.”
I chuckle. “Why am I not surprised? Let’s go.”
There are twelve movies at the multiplex to choose from, and I read all the summaries and let her decide. She picks a romantic thriller and I hope the thriller part isn’t too much for her.
The bright red fake leather recliners delight her, and I push up the armrest between us. To my delight, she cuddles into my side. I gambled, telling her my feelings, but I want her to trust me. I want her to know that no matter how small her problems are, I will be there in any way I can be.
Halfway through the movie, she whispers who she thinks the killer is. The ending proves her correct, and I’m proud of her for figuring it out.
“How did you know?” I ask.
Though the lights have brightened, a sad song plays during the credits. It’s nice to be alone with her, the music winding around us. I don’t want the evening to end, and there’s nothing I want less than to bring her home.
And not because it’s eleven-thirty and I have two hours on the road ahead of me.
“Gut feeling,” she admits, “but there were a couple of clues. Did you like it?”
“Yeah, it was good.” I look around the empty theater. A young staff member dressed in black starts gathering the garbage people were too lazy to throw away. “I suppose, huh?”
I hold her hand as we walk out of the theater, and we feel like a normal couple. Nine-to-five jobs, a pet at home. A house. Even when I dated Viv, I never wanted a yard to mow, a driveway I have to shovel in the winter. We both lived in apartments, and the convenience suited me, nothing I wanted to change, but I think of it now, with Zarah.
Laying new tile in the kitchen, painting a bedroom that would become a nursery. It’s stupid. I’m thirty-six years old, practically middle age, and these feelings are just hitting me. Gripping her hand, opening the theater door, and stepping into the cold, I want those things. I want to be going home with her, watching her wash her face, change into pajamas that I’ll slide off in the middle of the night to make love. Getting married.
It took me long enough, but God, the woman I chose to do it with...
It could be that she’ll never be able to live a life like that. She might always need Zane and Stella and her therapist. If her life is always going to be about recovery, where will that leave me? Can Zane ever look at Stella and not feel regret? Can he ever be happy in the moment? Or is the past always going to hang a black cloud over his future? If Zarah and I have a relationship, will his life be mine?
For the past six years her life has been nothing but trauma, and there’s no guarantee that when she’s completely off the drugs she’ll be okay. I can love her through that, but that doesn’t leave me much space. Maybe I’m looking too far ahead, but I see a future with a woman who won’t let me touch her, loving a woman, who, in all reality, I can’t have.
I told her I’d wait, but for how long? Can I wait forever like I said? I’ve known her a handful of days and I already want the rest of her life.
It’s not fair.