Chapter Eighteen
Zarah
Zane pushes my door farther open and peers into my room. “Can I come in?”
I’m finishing getting ready for bed, and nervously, I say, “Yeah.”
Whenever Zane wants to talk to me, I always think he has something bad to say. That’s not true—most of the time—but my heart leaps into my throat and I can’t stop it.
He’s still wearing dress pants, a dress shirt, and a matching tie, and he flops onto my bed looking like a model in an ad for a five-star hotel. He grabs one of my stuffed animals and starts throwing it toward the ceiling, then catching it. Throw, catch. The beans in the bear’s butt rattle as he snags it out of the air.
I sit on the bed and rest my chin on his bent knee. It’s almost like old times when he would hang out with me after our parents were killed so I wouldn’t be alone.
He stops throwing the poor bear and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. His hand lingers, his fingertips tracing the line of my jaw. “I’m sorry about my reaction to Willow. I shouldn’t have flipped out like that. That’s going to be a knee-jerk reaction to anything that has to do with the Blacks. I’ll be better.”
“Gage doesn’t want me to see her, either,” I admit, hating the two most important men in my life don’t agree with what I want.
“But that’s not going to stop you from visiting her.”
“Probably not. Like you said, her conversations are monitored. What can she do to me?”
Scowling, he says, “At this point, anything is possible, and don’t forget that. If you feel uncomfortable, get out of there. I don’t like it, but I can’t stop you, Z. You’re not a little girl and I’m not going to tell you what to do. I understand that in the process of finding yourself again, you’re going to make mistakes. I just hope visiting Willow won’t be one.”
“Thanks. I like her. I always have. Maybe we can bring each other some peace.”
His frown doesn’t soften. “Her peace isn’t any of my concern. Your safety is. Bring Ingrid with you next time. You’ve been pulling away from her, and I understand if you don’t need her anymore.”
His observation brings me up short. I guess I haven’t been spending as much time with her as I used to, only because I’ve been working on my recovery on my own and gaining more and more independence in the process. “Can I think about it? She’s been my nurse for a long time.”
“You don’t have to decide right away, but if you don’t need her, you should free her up to move on to another job. You can find friends, real friends, who you don’t have to pay. Like at Max’s award dinner. Will you be okay? It’s been years since you’ve done this kind of thing.”
I’m nervous, attending an event where people will know who I am, my sordid history, and why I’m there, but everyone is going and I want to go too. I’m tired of missing out on things. “Gage will be there and he won’t let anything happen.”
“He’s a solid guy. Worries about you, and that earns big points with me. You really like him, huh?”
I try to put into words how I feel around Gage. “If I don’t feel like talking, we don’t. When I want to...explore... him, he lets me.” I blush, but Zane only listens. “I’ll push at him and he’ll push back, but not in a mean way. Like when I ran away to his apartment and asked if I could live there. He said no, simple as that. He doesn’t always let me have my way. It’s hard to explain. If I mess up, it’s okay, but he’s going to make me learn from it.”
“He gives you room to be yourself. That’s good. I’m glad. We all need someone to accept us exactly how we are, and I need to take more cues from him. I love you, and I’m sorry I’m not handling things well. It hurts you, and I’ll do better. Gage and I talked before dinner and he said your life is small. I didn’t understand until he explained why you want to visit Willow. Let’s work on expanding our circle. Find some new people to talk to. Nice people. There has to be some.” He laughs. “Stella can help. She’s a good judge of character. She pegged Ash quick enough.”
Everyone knows what Ash did to me and the thought of opening myself up and trying to make friends is terrifying, but meeting women my age to go shopping with, to eat lunch with, it sounds thrilling, too. “Okay. I can do that. We should meet people who aren’t rich. Regular people. Normal people.”
“ That is the best thing I’ve heard all week.” He pauses and throws my bear into the air. He catches it and says, “Hey, do you like Jerricka? After the new year, do you want to take a break? Longer than the holidays, I mean.”
I can’t wrap my mind around what he’s asking. “A break? You mean not see her anymore?”
“You’ve put in a lot of hard work in the past year. If you need a break, if you need to stop and rest, we can do that.”
“I’m not sure. I thought I’d have to see her forever.”
“One day, you’ll be free of those drugs, and one day you’ll be able to confront what Black did to you without anyone’s help. I realize that might not be today, or tomorrow, or next month, but if you don’t like Jerricka or you decide you’ve outgrown her, tell me. Don’t hide things because you think I’ll get mad. I know I’ve been hard to live with, and that’s guilt. When I look at you, I see what you lost because of me, and it eats away at me like cancer. But when I feel like that, I make your recovery about me and it’s not about me. It’s about you getting your life back. After Christmas you have another appointment with Dr. Reagan and hopefully we can decrease your meds again.”
I lie next to him and snuggle into his chest. I should ask why he okayed Jerricka prescribing another medication if he’s trying to wean me off the others so quickly, but fatigue muddles my brain. He’s thrown a lot of information at me—Gage, Willow, Ingrid, Jerricka—and I need time to pick through it all, test my emotions. There are times when I feel like I’m trying to run underwater and I can’t make any progress. Then there are nights like this when life is moving faster than I’d like.
“I love you, but you’re not the woman I want to sleep with.” Zane kisses my cheek and rolls off my bed. “At the award dinner, let’s remind King’s Crossing who the Maddoxes are.”
I burrow into my comforter. In the safety of my room, confronting a ballroom full of people doesn’t sound as daunting as I know it will be. “Yes. Let’s.”
Zane closes the door, and I grin into my pillow. My brother knows he’s been a jerk and promised to do better. I have permission to see Willow. Gage loves me and gives me room to learn who I am. Alone and with him. I’ll always have Stella because she came for me. For the first time since Zane brought me home, the future doesn’t seem so scary.
We’ll show this city what we’re made of.
Ash might have knocked me down a few times, but I’ll prove to everyone he didn’t break me.
I scramble off the bed and run to the closet. If a woman’s looking for revenge, the first thing she needs is a weapon, and as Mom used to say, that’s a drop-dead gorgeous dress.
In the two weeks leading up to Max’s award dinner, I do my best to mentally prepare, reminding myself of the many relaxation techniques Jerricka taught me in our sessions. I wish she wouldn’t have closed her office for the month of December. I could have used her help talking through my fear, but I’ve been seeing her long enough to know what she would say. Use this opportunity to step out of my comfort zone. After the holiday break, I want to be able to tell her I held my own. I want her to see I’m making progress and that our sessions this past year haven’t been wasted. It’s important I act as natural and as confident as I used to be before Ash sold me. I don’t want to break down like I did at the photography showing and embarrass Gage.
He helps. We don’t talk about the dinner and he doesn’t turn the evening into a big deal. In fact, I think he’d prefer not to go. Stella, also, would rather stay home and play cards with Lucille and Douglas.
But this dinner is for Max, and we’ll all be there.
That night, in the limo on the way into the city, Zane mentions the venue isn’t one of ours, and I would have felt calmer if it were. If I knew the layout, if I knew the staff, even if their names and faces would have been hazy in my mind. That’s just another thing I’ll have to get used to all over again. I used to enjoy exploring, but now the unknown scares me, and that includes a simple building I’ve never stepped foot into before.
Thankfully, it’s a smaller hotel. It’s still sophisticated, and the building sits on the Renegade, Christmas decorations understated and elegant. My heartbeat slows as the limo coasts to a stop and Douglas opens the door for us. It doesn’t resemble the Lyndhurst, and I relax. Like Temptations, I may never go into that hotel again.
The Crowne looms bright in the distance, and a lot of cloudy memories about Max drift around in my heart. I don’t like to think of where we’d be as a couple if a stray bullet from Ash’s gun hadn’t ended his life. Gage said Max wanted to marry me, and I’ve avoided letting that simmer mostly because I know I wouldn’t have said yes.
I admired Max, loved his strength and kindness, his excitement and passion in wanting revenge to pay Ash back for what he’d done to me, but when he looked at me, I didn’t shiver, didn’t have the squishy feeling I now recognize as love. His kisses didn’t make me wet. They made me feel safe, and relationships like the one he wanted with me can’t survive on only that.
For as much as Max cared about me, as Zane weaned me off Ash’s poison, our relationship would have dissolved into friendship and nothing more.
I sigh.
“You good?” Zane asks, catching the breathy exhale as it floats out of my mouth.
“Yes. Thanks. I’m a little melancholy, thinking about Max.”
Zane kisses the top of my head. “Me too, kiddo.”
He helps me slide my jacket down my arms and passes my coat to the attendant. I wish Gage was already here, but he and his dad are driving to the hotel after they finish working on a case and might be a little late. I’m nervous to meet him, Gage and Max’s mom, and Max’s dad.
Stella links our arms, and Zane follows us into the tiny, but opulent, ballroom. The lights are dim to allow a slideshow to play against a giant white screen hanging from the ceiling. Flashes of Max with coworkers or the people he interviewed for his articles flow together in an unhurried, silent collage.
I turn away. It hurts to look at him.
People start to whisper, but a malicious undertone is missing and my muscles loosen. I’ve always shouldered the blame for Max’s death, and I know Zane has, too. Sometimes we both forget that Max was investigating on his own, that he approached Stella and Richard Denton without an assignment. He wanted to help, as much for putting the Blacks behind bars as for boosting his own career, and he died a hero to Ash’s villainy.
We lose Zane to a group of business associates, and he flashes us an apologetic smile as he’s sucked into conversation, one of his friends pushing a glass of something into his hand. These kinds of events are for networking as well as entertainment, maybe more so, and I wave him off. In my old life, Mom would have used an event like this to solicit funds for her charity causes, dragging me from group to group teaching me the delicate art of kissing ass. This isn’t anything new, except I don’t recognize a lot of the faces here. I’ve been hiding for too long to keep up with local gossip and a new list of Who’s Who as the old list is torn to shreds.
Stella and I casually walk to the bar. Even if I can’t drink, holding a glass will give my hands something to do, and a lime slice will chase away the bland taste that has invaded my mouth. I can’t say it’s fear, but I won’t lie—Jerricka would never let me and Gage would see right through me anyway—I’d feel better at home or at Gage’s apartment watching a movie and eating pizza, sneaking Baby the crusts.
But I can’t expand my world if I hide, and I desperately want to be the confident young woman I used to be. When people would hand me anything I wanted just by flicking my fingers.
Experimenting, I beam at the bartender who pours Perrier over ice and adds my lime slice. His Adam’s apple bobs as he tries to say something.
“He’s working. That’s not fair.”
“Gage!” Ignoring the drink and the bartender, I throw myself into his arms. My heels give me a bit of height and he doesn’t have to bend so far to brush a kiss over my mouth.
“You’re gorgeous, Zarah. Truly. I’m like that poor son of a bitch. I can’t breathe.”
Stella and I stood in my closet for hours trying on dresses, and I finally decided on a plain black dress that hangs off my shoulders by delicate spaghetti straps. The neckline dips, revealing the lace of my hot pink bra. I pinned my hair up exposing my neck, and I kept my makeup minimal. Only mascara and a bright slash of hot pink lipstick.
“Thanks. You look good too.” Wearing jeans and a t-shirt, Gage smolders, the bad boy look oozing sensuality and sex appeal. In a tux, he’s lethal, and several women standing around us check him out.
An older gentleman tugging at his bow tie stands next to Gage, and I hold out my trembling hand. “I’m Zarah Maddox, and this is my soon-to-be sister-in-law, Stella Mayfair.” I dredge the gumption to introduce myself to Gage’s dad out of nowhere, but I’m pleased I sound confident even if I’m shaking inside. I need him to like me. If he doesn’t, it could affect Gage’s and my relationship. He won’t date someone his dad doesn’t like.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, darlin’. Gage has told me a lot about you.” He shakes my hand, his grip dry and firm. “The name’s Linc, no ‘Mr. Davenport’ business,” he says, winking at Stella. She smiles.
I try to read his face, looking for a squint of aversion or a curl of his lip betraying his disgust, but the only vibe he gives off is discomfort.
“You’re not used to attending events like this,” I say.
“Not one bit.”
“A drink will smooth things over,” Stella says, tilting her head toward the bar. “We opened a tab. Please, let us host. In Max’s memory.”
Gratefully, I squeeze her arm. I wanted us to pay for their drinks, but I didn’t know how to say it. Trust Stella to know what to do.
“Thank you. That’s kind, and we gladly accept. I don’t suppose the paper could afford an open bar. People need a lot of alcohol to get through a night like this.”
“Don’t listen to Pop,” Gage whispers in my ear. “He’ll bitch, but he’ll have a good time. Do you mind if I grab a beer?”
“No, go ahead.”
He kisses my cheek and joins Linc to order his drink.
I wait and scan the ballroom. Zane’s still standing in a large group, and they’re laughing at the end of a story. I’m glad to see he’s laughing, too. I haven’t seen my brother happy in a long time. I mean, happy about something that doesn’t have to do with Stella, and maybe he’s leaving some of the past behind, too.
“I’m going to rescue him. He’s had enough for now, and I think he’d like to meet Linc before dinner starts. I’ll be right back.” Stella picks up the beer she ordered Zane off the bar and glides across the room, women stopping her to compliment her dress. She looks beautiful wearing a column of dark blue and silver heels. She left her hair down, the way Zane likes it, and it floats behind her as she walks.
The bartender’s busy, and Gage waits for his turn, not letting me go far, his hand warm against my bare back. He likes to touch me, and I savor it, appreciating I’m healing enough to enjoy it.
Things are good and I’m calm, idly attempting to match names to faces and catching glimpses of the slideshow. People look at me, and I try to keep my expression open and inviting. Without Gage, I’m too scared to initiate a conversation with anyone, but after meeting Linc, I know I could talk to someone if they approached me first.
A couple walks toward us from my left, an older man dressed in a tux and a slim woman wearing a cream and gold gown. A sick, greasy feeling slithers around my gut, and I stare at the man as he advances, his hand hovering near the woman’s back, like Gage’s palm grazing the skin between my shoulder blades.
A flash of something zips through my brain. Pain. Swift and sharp.
Phantom aches stab me in the belly, and a sheen of sweat covers my skin.
I’ve never met this man in my life. There’s no reason he should elicit such a response, but he smiles, baring his teeth like a shark, and I step back as he closes in.
Gage turns toward them.
“Gage! There you are,” the woman exclaims, a smile lighting her face.
I stumble backward.
He wants to hurt me.
I don’t know where the thought came from, but it’s there, neon bright, shooting off danger like a flare gun.
“Zarah, are you okay?” Gage asks. He looks between me and the man, and he shifts, angling his body slightly in front of mine. Like he’s shielding me.
My tongue won’t work.
“You don’t look well, my dear,” the man says, and Max’s voice comes out of his mouth. I flash to Max, sweet Max, in my bed at the Crowne, asking if he can touch me, show me he loves me.
“I—I’m okay,” I stutter, but I’m not. Oh, God, I’m not.
“Zarah, this is my mother, Delilah, and her husband, Max’s dad, and my stepfather, Senator Rourke Cook,” Gage says, introducing us, his hand curled around the nape of my neck.
My gaze shoots to Senator Cook’s, but I can’t see his eyes. He’s wearing glasses like Max used to, and the slideshow reflects off the lenses. He holds out his hand. I don’t want to touch him, but I can’t ignore it or I’ll look extremely rude.
He squeezes too hard, and my bones rub together.
Warning.
I start to shake.
He knows me, but I don’t know him.
“Gage. She doesn’t look well. This crowd may be too much. Perhaps you should go outside and get some air,” the senator says, his cold gaze never leaving my face.
“What I think, you son of a bitch, is that you need to stay away from her,” Gage says lowly, crowding him, pushing him backward.
“What has gotten into you?” The woman, Delilah, asks, a hand to her throat where a large diamond rests just above her cleavage. “That’s no way to speak to your fath—”
“Gage. Not here.” Linc joins our group and grips my upper arm.
Instinctively, I lean into Gage’s dad, sensing an ally. Against what, I don’t know, but I’m grateful, nonetheless.
“He’s not my father,” Gage spits at his mother and then to Senator Cook, “I know every vile—”
“Gage,” Linc says again, his voice firm.
People start to stare at us, and my worst nightmare is coming true. I’m causing trouble because I’m dirty, and Senator Cook knows it. He’s one of them. One of the men who heard the stories, maybe fantasized about doing those things to me while his friends bragged.
“I know what this is,” Senator Cook says, a grotesque smile on his face. “You’re picking up where Max left off. I see it now. Have his leftovers. He was always better than you.”
Gage sags. “Yeah. He was.”