Chapter Eighteen #2
“Mr. Davenport.” A distinguished man wearing a tux and black-framed glasses approaches our group, oblivious to the tension, and shakes Gage’s hand. “Kyle Hall, Editor-in-Chief. We’re about ready to start. Let me extend my gratitude on behalf of the Chronicle you were willing to accept Max’s award. Had he been able to finish it, the partial exposé he sent me right before his death would have made him a world-renowned journalist. I’m sorry he’s not here to reap the rewards.”
“We all are.”
Senator Cook touches my shoulder, and I quake in my heels. “Miss Maddox, let me say, you look very beautiful tonight. I’m sure all the men here would love to...have you.”
“That’s enough, Cook, or I’ll bust your teeth out myself,” Linc says, pulling me away. “Delilah, muzzle your husband. The self-righteous asshole.”
“I have no idea what’s going on. Rourke, tell me what’s happening.” Gage’s mother sounds truly baffled, but it does little to improve the situation.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble to Gage as Linc pulls out my chair at a table in the front of the room. I look wildly around for Stella and Zane, but I don’t see them in the crowd. “I’m sorry. This is my fault and I should go—”
Gage captures my face between his hands and forces me to look into his eyes. “You’re not leaving, and nothing is your fault. Breathe, Zarah. I love you, and I’m never going to stop. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t know him. I’ve never met him and he hates me, and I’m sorry—” I end on a whimper.
Panic bubbles up my throat, and I try to push it back but I can’t. Senator Cook knows what Ash made me do, and it scares me because I can see it on his face. He wants the chance to do the same thing.
He wants to hurt me.
Punish me.
Gage rests his forehead against mine. “Breathe. Breathe. Focus on where you are. He can’t hurt you. I’m here, and so is Pop. Zane and Stella. I love you. God, Zarah, I love you so much.”
His words center me, and I rest my hands on the tops of his, letting his strength hold me up. I concentrate on his cologne, the woodsy, earthy scent that reminds me of the forest near our house. I detect a little bit of dog on him, too, and I smile, thinking about Baby. “Okay. But why, tell me why he hates me.”
Everyone is rushing around, trying to find their seats, and the editor of the Chronicle is hovering, wanting a last minute word with Gage before he takes the stage. Ignoring all of it, he whispers, “He wanted Max to be with someone else. Max told him he was in love with you and Rourke didn’t like it. It has nothing to do with you. He had plans for Max that Max didn’t want to follow. That’s all. I promise.”
Slowly, my erratic heartbeat returns to normal and the sweat cools on my skin. Senator Cook didn’t want Max to be with me. I could let that hurt, but I actually understand. When Zane released me from Quiet Meadows, I was mixed up, mentally and emotionally wounded, and scared. There was no way Max and I could have had a healthy relationship, not then, and Max’s dad knew that. “He blames me for Max’s death.”
“I don’t know, Zarah. I really don’t. If he knew Max at all, he would have known Max was stubborn, and once an idea got into his head, a rock to turn over, a lead to chase down, an article to write, nothing stopped him. I’m sorry, I need to go up there.” He kisses my forehead and reluctantly, I let him go.
“Are you going to be all right?” Linc asks, pushing my glass of Perrier to me. The ice melted, but I sip, the water soothing the blaze in my throat.
“Yes. Thank you. I don’t want to cause trouble.”
“I don’t mean any disrespect, darlin’, but sometimes a little trouble can be a good thing, and Gage is an expert.” His eyes twinkle with amusement.
I open my mouth to reply, but Zane and Stella sit at the table, holding hands and chatting. They’re having a good time and missed what happened. I’m glad. Zane looks at me, and I force myself to smile. I hope it’s convincing. All this has been so hard on him and I don’t want to give him something else to worry about.
The ballroom quiets as people settle into their seats. Someone stops the slideshow and brightens the lights.
I’ve lost sight of Senator Cook and his wife, but they’re probably close by. I wonder why Max’s father isn’t accepting the award on his son’s behalf, or even his mother. Maybe this was part of Max’s wishes, like asking Gage to watch over me.
What else did Max leave behind?
Kyle Hall takes his place behind the podium and the murmuring stops. I don’t see Gage. He must be waiting behind the one of the curtains that flank the dais. People sip on their drinks and rearrange their cutlery, and Mr. Hall organizes his notes and waits for everyone to give him their attention. He reminds me of Max. Confident, but scholarly, intelligent. I don’t mean that Gage isn’t smart, but he exudes control in a different way. More blatant, maybe. Rougher. Not any more masculine than Kyle Hall because the editor-in-chief of the King’s Crossing Chronicle is handsome. One woman behind me agrees. He begins to speak and she sighs.
“Thank you for coming out tonight to honor one of the kindest, most compassionate reporters I have ever worked with. Maxwell Cook started at the Chronicle around the same time I accepted the promotion to editor-in-chief. I pegged him as a cub reporter, a bloodhound puppy sniffing out a trail, poking his nose into everyone’s business hoping to stumble upon a juicy story. I feared one day the police would find him in the gutter riddled with bullet holes or wearing concrete shoes at the bottom of the Renegade. That’s not me being glib, that was a real concern, and I spoke to him often, trying to guide him onto the right road. He accused me of taking the path of least resistance, of taking the easy way out. He had an idealistic view of how things could be, hoping he could make this world a better place. He did, but in the end, it would cost him his life. I didn’t know he’d started investigating the deaths of Lark and Kagan Maddox. I had no idea, and if I had? Knowing what I know now? I would have tried to convince him to leave it alone. And he would have told me to go to hell.”
The audience laughs.
“Max did more than put the Blacks behind bars. He tore down King’s Crossing, and over a year later, the residents of this city are still trying to build it back up. The Blacks’ reach ran deeply underground, like a tree’s roots, and another shovel of dirt exposes more of their hold on the people of this city. Looking into this audience, I wonder, who here worked with the Blacks? Who benefited from doing business with them? Who fought against them? And lost? In this city, crime happens every day, and how much of that can be linked to Clayton and Ashton Black, maybe we’ll never know. If Max were here with us today, he’d see to it we did. That’s why tonight I’d like to present Maxwell Cook with the Chronicle ’s most prestigious award. The Caledonian is named after the New Caledonian Crow, a member of the corvidae family. The Caledonian is an intelligent bird that uses tools to forage for food, much like an investigative journalist digs for clues. In the rest of my lifetime, I may never meet another journalist more deserving of this award. I’ve asked his brother, Gage Davenport, to accept this award on Max’s behalf, and he generously agreed. Mr. Gage Davenport.”
Gage strides across the stage.
From the inside of the podium, Kyle Hall pulls out a gold statue in the shape of a crow perched on a tree branch. It’s very pretty, and shaking Mr. Hall’s hand, Gage reaches for it.
Camera flashes go off.
There’s a light smattering of applause as Gage stands behind the podium and Mr. Hall retreats to the side of the dais.
Gage looks self-assured standing on the platform, as if he speaks to a crowd every day. Public speaking has always been difficult for me, even before Ash sold me. My mother used to tsk , telling me I needed to learn to use my power and place in society. I always said I could, just for one person at a time. Maybe I’ve always been afraid of scrutiny, though I didn’t realize it then.
“Thank you.”
Gage starts his speech, and it jerks me back to the present.
“When I was asked to do this, my first reaction was to say no. How many people want to admit they weren’t close to a family member, especially after they’ve passed away? I wasn’t close to Max, and while only a handful of years separates us, we’ve always gone our own way. I never felt like we had anything in common, never felt like we had anything to share, but those ideas were of my own making. I never wanted to admit he was better than I was. He was a better son, a better brother. A better student, and he’s done more with his professional life in the short time he was on this earth than I have, or will do, for the rest of mine. I can’t think where he’d be when it comes to his personal life, if he’d be married, maybe a baby on the way.”
He looks at me, and I swallow. Does he think about Max and me and if we would have moved forward? Under the table, I push a hand to my belly. What would have happened if I could have let Max love me? If Gage and I stay together, what kind of family can I give him? Does he want children? I’m not ready for that, but maybe he is. He’s older than Max, and Max was older than me. I never considered what it would mean to be in a relationship with someone almost ten years older. He’s in a place in his life where I am not.
The reasons why Jerricka wanted me to date other people are even more apparent now. A better fit, a better match, more aligned to where we both are. If I met someone my own age, we would have time to get to know each other before thinking about babies. We would have time to live. Travel. But I can’t picture myself with anyone but Gage.
I stare at the floral pattern on the china plate in front of me, tears welling in my eyes.
The rest of Gage’s speech is a mumble of words I don’t hear, and it’s not until Linc stands in ovation that I realize he’s done. Shakily, I rise to my feet, too, and clap, though I don’t agree with what he said.
Stella and Linc start a conversation, and a woman sitting on Zane’s right asks him a question. I’m alone until Gage sits down, setting the award in front of his plate. “I have no idea what I’m going to do with that,” he says, shaking out his cloth napkin and draping it over his thigh to prepare for our meal.
“You’ll put it in your apartment,” I say, doing the same with my napkin. I can’t show him I’m upset. This evening isn’t about me. “Max wanted you to have it.”
“I don’t know why. Are you okay? Is Rourke leaving you alone?”
I forgot all about Senator Cook while Kyle Hall and Gage spoke. What Gage thinks of me will always be more important than anyone else. “I haven’t seen him.”
Gage is trying to meet my eyes, but I can’t. I can’t look at him and know I’m not enough.
“Zarah.”
A server places a salad in front of me, and I choose a fork. “Yeah?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I look away and nibble at a crouton.
Gage sighs and leaves me alone. We eat in silence, though a few people stop by our table to thank him for his speech or to tell him how touching it was. He’s gracious, but I can tell my silence worries him. I don’t want to ruin his evening, and I feel worse. Servers clear our dinner plates, and I excuse myself to go to the ladies’ room. Linc, Zane, and Gage stand at the same time I do, and snagging my purse hanging off the back of my chair, I scurry out of the ballroom, my head low. I don’t want anyone to talk to me, and I don’t need Senator Cook cornering me.
I linger longer than I need to, but when I step out, I’m alone. I half expected Gage to be waiting to talk to me, and I’m equally disappointed and relieved. I don’t want to explain why his speech made me sad. It’s going to come up anyway, but I’ll hold it off for as long as I can.
Outside the ballroom, a large portrait of Max sits on a gold easel. It must have been a photo taken for the paper as he’s wearing a full suit instead of the dress shirt and vest he favored. His hair is cropped shorter than I remember him wearing it, light brown curls cut close to his head. He looks happy, laughing at something maybe the photographer said, and I trace the line of his lips.
“You miss him, don’t you?” Gage asks, stepping next to me.
I shrug.
He sighs. “Tell me what I did.”
“Nothing.”
“Then what is it? You prefer the type of man Max was after all? This dinner reminds you of everything I’m not? I guess that was bound to happen sometime. You know, maybe Zane was right. Maybe you do need to date other people. Figure out what you want, because I can only be who I am, Zarah. I can’t change.”
“That’s the problem! We are who we are.”
He grabs my arm and leads me down an empty hallway. Generic paintings and huge mirrors decorate the cream walls. I catch my reflection in one, white as bone except for hints of my pink lipstick I ate off poking at my dinner.
“Why is that a problem? I love who you are.” He sits on a taupe leather bench near a table full of little snowman figurines.
I step between his legs, and he bunches the skirt of my dress in his fists. “Do you, though? Do you know who I am? I’m ten years younger than you, we’re in different places in our lives. I don’t know how a computer works, and I can’t be left alone. I don’t want babies yet, can’t have them anyway. I can’t make them because I can’t have sex. Max’s dad knew all that. He knows I’m no good.”
“And I’m a PI, a dropout cop. I live in a shitty apartment in the industrial park, have a dog for a roommate and a few grand in the bank. I fucked up my relationship with my dead brother, and my stepfather’s a prick. Lady, I’m not much of a prize, either.”
He didn’t shave, and a short beard covers his chin and jaw. I run my fingertips over it, the rasp of his whiskers sending shivers over my skin. “Why does this have to be so complicated?”
“It’s not. If you’re not ready to do this, then we stop, not a big deal. Fuck, I’m not stupid. I know there are no guarantees, but I never want you to make a decision because you think I don’t love you.”
“What about babies?”
“Zarah, no one said anything about babies. You aren’t ready to start a family. Do you think you would have been any more ready if Max were alive? I doubt it. You wouldn’t have been able to give him anything you can’t give me.”
I sigh. If Max were alive, right now, no, I wouldn’t be pregnant, wouldn’t be married or even engaged. My recovery wouldn’t have been any faster. For better or worse, I’d be in the same place, only I wouldn’t have Gage. Had Max lived, more than likely I might never have met him.
“But your speech—”
“My speech was full of regret. Regret how I treated Max, regret he’ll never have anything I’ll enjoy. A successful career, relationships, and yes, a family. When you’re ready, and not a minute sooner, I would like for you to carry my children.” He presses a kiss to my belly. “But not now. We just met. I’m not ready for little rugrats. We have time, Zarah. All the time in the world.”
His words spark something inside me. Happiness. Joy. Possibilities. “Can we do something fun tomorrow? Can we spend the day together? I haven’t done any Christmas shopping. Can we? And have lunch? I’ll meet you somewhere in the city.”
“Let’s not meet. Spend the night. I want to fall asleep holding you, wake up and kiss a smile on your face. I’ll cook you breakfast.”
I push my fingers into his hair and kiss him, his lips soft and yielding under mine. I trust him. I trust him to keep his promises, to lie beside me and cuddle and fall asleep without pressuring me to do something I’m not ready to do. “Yes. That sounds perfect. I packed a bag hoping you would ask. Can we play a little? In bed?”
“My little minx,” he says, laughing, and he nudges me into his lap, trailing kisses all over my face and neck. “I’ll give you whatever you need.”
Hoping no one is watching, I twist toward the entrance of the hallway to check, but Senator Cook is there, a look of pure hate coloring his expression. I turn to tell Gage, but I glance back and he’s gone.
The pit of dread he planted in my stomach stays with me all night.
We walk to the table, Gage holding my hand, and we sit and eat the crème br?lée that was served in our absence. Zane shoots me a puzzled look, but I smile and wrinkle my nose. I wish he wouldn’t worry about me so much, and I hope he doesn’t argue when it’s time to leave.
In her usual fashion, Stella smooths things over. “Sleepover?”
We slip our coats on in the lobby and several people stop Gage to pay their respects. Linc looks giddy at the prospect of going home.
Zane glares. “I don’t think—”
“Yes, actually,” I say, fastening the buttons of my jacket. “I have a bag in the car.”
“But—” Zane sputters.
“That’s great,” Stella says, shooting him a warning look. “Do you have your medication?”
“Yes. Ingrid helped me pack.”
“Good. I’ll tell her she has the day free tomorrow. She was saying she’d like to visit her family soon. Have fun.”
“Thanks.” I smile at the doorman who opens the glass door for us.
“Be good to my sister, Davenport,” Zane says as we step outside and into the cold night’s air.
Gage passes his truck’s ticket to the valet. “You know I will, or you wouldn’t let me take her home. Thanks for coming.” He holds out his hand, and my brother grasps it. “Max would have appreciated it.”
“He was a good friend. I’ll never forget what he did for my family.”
Zane kisses my cheek, and once he and Stella are settled in the limo, Douglas retrieves my overnight bag from the trunk and sets it onto the snow-covered sidewalk. Their taillights fade into the dark.
It’s several minutes until the valet brings Gage’s truck around, and he asks Linc to hold Max’s award and he wraps his arms around me to shield me from the wind while we wait.
Gage boosts me into the passenger seat, whispering a kiss over my lips and shutting the door.
Linc climbs into the back and lets out a huge sigh.
I know how he feels. People can be so exhausting.
“I need to drop Pop at home,” Gage says, shifting into Drive and easing away from the curb. The car waiting behind us pulls ahead and parks in front of the doors.
Sitting sideways on the bench, I address both men. “Thank you for what you did back there, Linc.” His name feels odd on my tongue. It goes against all my manners not to call him Mr. Davenport even though he asked me not to. “Gage explained what happened. I’m sorry Senator Cook feels that way. He scared me.”
“I’ll keep him away from you.” Gage stops at a red light and squeezes my hand. “There’s no reason you need to see him again.”
I want to believe that, but I know it’s not entirely true. He’s married to Gage’s mother. That alone puts him in my path, no matter how occasionally that may be.
Linc lives in a small house located on a rundown side of town, and Gage parks in the tiny driveway.
He pats my shoulder. “You’ll be okay, darlin’. Gage will make sure.”
“Thank you. It was nice meeting you.”
“You, too.” Linc opens his door, and a burst of cold air blows into the truck.
I shiver.
“I’m taking the day tomorrow,” Gage says.
“Figured you would. Be careful.”
Linc slams out of the truck, and Gage waits until he’s unlocked the door and is stepping inside before he backs onto the street.
“I like your dad. He’s nice.”
“He’s nothing like Max’s dad. My mom always wanted the money, the status. I hope she married Rourke because she loves him, but that’s something I’ll never know. We never got along, and that could be why I never wanted much to do with Max. Maybe I always thought he was like Rourke and I subconsciously stayed away.”
“Was Rourke mean to you? When you were a kid?”
Gage lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Never gave him the chance. I lived full-time with Pop, and Mom didn’t argue. I guess she thought a boy needed his father. I saw her on holidays, and Rourke was, and still is, in DC a lot. I think he flew in for tonight’s ceremony. Don’t know why the editor of the paper didn’t ask him. He would have made a more imposing figure up there.”
“I think Max wanted you to have this.” I cradle the award in my lap, the gold cool to the touch. I can understand why the editor compared Max to the crow. Max didn’t miss a thing.
“Hmmm,” he says, but nothing else.
Gage drives over the Renegade, the bridge empty, huge ice chunks floating on the inky black water. He parks at his apartment building and turns off the truck. It’s late, and the complex is dark except for a few security lights fastened to the building that flicker shadows across the snow.
I release the seatbelt and kneel on the bench. Gage sits back and regards me coolly, not knowing what I’m thinking. “I think Max wanted you to have that award, and I think he wanted you to have me, too.”
“You think Max gave you to me?”
I wobble across the seat, trying to be seductive, but I probably look like a tired drunk. It’s what I feel like. My bedtimes are consistent, and it’s way past when I take the medication Jerricka added to my list and go to bed. “Yes. He asked you to look out for me, didn’t he? What did you think when you first saw me?”
“You mean the night you and Zane came by my office to ask about Max’s funeral?”
I press my lips against his cheek. “No. On the sidewalk the day you scared the paparazzi off.”
“I had just come out of the attorney’s office, and I was angry Max asked me to look into what the Blacks did to you. I didn’t want the responsibility of carrying out his last wishes, and I almost left you there.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. You said that’s the day you fell in love with me. Do you love me out of gratitude? Because I rescued you?”
I don’t mind the question. I admitted I fell for him quickly, and because I’m on so much medication, it could seem like I can’t decide important things like that for myself. I would agree, maybe, if I had met Gage last year, but month by month, week by week, I’m getting better, and every day my mind is clearer, sharper. “Do you love me because Max asked you to?” I whisper into his ear.
“Love doesn’t work like that.” He tilts his head and gives me access to his warm skin.
“No, it doesn’t.”
I work my way down his neck, then back again. I’ve never made out in a vehicle in the dark. I’ve read books where they’re interrupted by the police, but that wouldn’t happen in front of Gage’s building. I like making out in his truck, but it’s getting cold.
He turns his head and captures my lips with his. The sweet taste of our dessert lingers on his tongue, and I fall in, crawling into his lap, the space tight between the wheel and his broad chest.
“There are better places to do this,” he says, powering the bench back.
“I know, but this is fun.”
He leans away and rubs his thumb over my lips. “You’re always going to keep me guessing, aren’t you?”
I kiss the pad of this thumb. “Is that bad?”
“Things won’t be boring. Come on, let’s go inside. Are you nervous?”
I’m already on his side, and he lifts me out and holds on to me until my heels find purchase in the snow. “A little. Tonight feels different.”
He looks down at me, his eyes soft and tender. “You know I won’t do anything to you.”
“I know.”
A light snow starts to fall and standing outside under the stars is like a romantic dream.
He brushes a snowflake off my cheek. “I don’t know how it happened. How I love you so much.”
I lean in and hug him. “I love you, too.”
“Then I’m pretty damned happy. Come on.”
He grabs my overnight bag out of the extended cab, and we walk across the lot, our fingers tangled together, the snow falling down around us. He pushes the door open and holds it for me, and I step into the stark, cold hallway. My heels clang on the metal stairs, the piercing sound pinging off the walls.
Baby’s waiting, scratching to be let out, and Gage unlocks his apartment door. I bend down to pet her.
“I need to let her out. Will you be okay?”
“Sure.” I tilt my head, and taking the hint, he kisses me. It’s so natural, but it’s not anything I’ll ever take for granted.
He and Baby go outside, and I hang up my coat and kick my heels off. I’m tired, but energy hums in my blood. Gage said he wanted us to share his bed, and I can’t wait to lie in his arms all night. He’s going to let me ease into our physical relationship, and I’m grateful. Not many men would have the patience Gage has.
The award Gage accepted on Max’s behalf sits on the floor inside the door where he left it. I pick it up, the statue of the crow heavy, the letters etched into the gold. Maxwell Cook, King’s Crossing’s Reporter of the Year. Looking around Gage’s living room, the hem of my gown dragging over the carpet, I find a place for it on his bookshelf. I admire it, and Gage slams back inside, Baby shaking off the snow.
“You look like a fairy princess who dropped into my apartment,” he says, tugging off his wet jacket.
“I bet you don’t get many of those,” I say, trying to calm my heart. Not because I’m scared. No, Gage is handsome, masculine, and any woman would be aware of him. I’ve watched him out in public. Any and every woman is aware of him, and he chose me. He looks delicious in a tux, but I won’t be seeing him in one often. He doesn’t have the tolerance for evenings like this, and I don’t much anymore, either. It’s nice to get dressed up sometimes, but all the people there were fake, preening for each other. It shames me that’s the kind of life I used to enjoy. I wonder if it was Ash who soured me to it, or if Stella’s rubbing off on me. Probably both.
“No, but then, I’ve never socialized in circles where I could have met one. I want to get out of this monkey suit. Did you bring pajamas?” he asks, picking my bag up.
Baby crawls onto the cushion under the kitchen table and falls asleep.
My voice is suddenly raspy. “Yeah. Can you undo my zipper?”
“In the bedroom.”
I follow him, my dress playing around my ankles. His bed is made, the pillows are plumped.
“Here, sit.”
I perch on the edge of his bed and he sits behind me. “Can I unpin your hair?”
“Okay.”
He pulls one pin out of my updo and it loosens. He presses the bobby pin into my palm and whispers a kiss over the nape of my neck.
Goosebumps pebble my skin.
He pulls out another and kisses the sensitive skin under my ear.
“I have a lot of pins in my hair.”
“I have a lot of kisses,” he says, wiggling out one more.
My whole body is on fire by the time he’s done, and I count twelve pins in my hand.