Chapter Seventeen
Margo
“Your apartment is nice,” I said to him as I stared out at Portland.
Raindrops hit his floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft pelts filling the strange silence that seemed to have taken over from the moment he opened the door.
He was behind me, in the kitchen, typing on his laptop as he muttered a “thank you.” Then I heard him move down the hall, into his bedroom.
His apartment was nice. One of the nicest ones I’d ever stepped into.
It was a stark reminder of how different he and I were, how the worlds we came from had shaped us in different ways.
With my arms wrapped around myself, I snuck a peek over my shoulder, taking in his white marbled kitchen, stainless steel appliances, and barstools.
There was no color in this space. Everything was cold, hard, and unwelcoming.
Hell, even his couch looked like stone. A shiver trickled down my spine as I wondered what he must’ve come from to live in such a cold place.
Moving my gaze back to the window, I came to one conclusion: this apartment wasn’t Hayes’ home.
It was a place for rest and sleep, nothing more.
A wave of sadness hit me then, knowing how beautiful his life could be with warmth and color.
My mind drifted back to the colors splashed all over my apartment, the warm and welcoming organized chaos of it all. I came from pain, but what kind of pain did he come from not wanting any warmth in his life?
“Margo?”
I blinked, shaking my head as I snapped out of it.
“Yeah?” I called back, turning around. He was standing at the mouth of the hall, a large black duffel back over his shoulder, laptop tucked by the opposite thigh.
He’d changed into a fresh pair of jet-black tactical cargo pants and a gray thermal.
My eyes dropped to the gun on his hip, a lump forming in my throat as fear coiled around my neck.
“You ready to go?” he asked when I lifted my eyes to his face.
Slowly, I nodded. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes.”
“Just one bag?” I inquired.
“Don’t need much, Temper. Come on. We need to get on the road before the second wave of storms hit.”
Twenty minutes later, he swung his Jeep into the front parking space of a little Italian restaurant, the rain coming down harder now.
I looked into the building, noting the red and white checkered tablecloths and bright, smiling customers, their coats draped over the backs of their chairs, steaming plates of food in front of them.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, looking at his profile.
He was on his phone, thumbs moving over the screen. “Picking up lunch,” he answered, popping open his door, leaving his phone on the dash. “Sit tight for a second, baby.”
The butterflies in my stomach swarmed in a heated frenzy as I watched him go inside. “He has to stop calling me that before I fall in love with him,” I grumbled to myself, watching him smile at the older gentleman standing at the host stand. “Damn him for being so perfect.”
My brows furrowed as the words I’d just said hit me, along with the blaring truth behind them.
Before I fall in love with him?
I swallowed, twisting my fingers together in my lap, the rain hitting the roof of the Jeep in rapid succession.
Hard, cold drops of the harsh reality trying to get to me, to soak me, isolate me.
Yet I was covered by him. He surrounded me, protecting parts of me I didn’t have the strength to.
My eyes stayed on him, my nails digging into my skin as he took the bag of food from a server, nodding in thanks as he flashed them another dazzling smile.
This wasn’t me before the fall.
I was already falling.
In fact, I’d been falling since the moment he kissed me after my shift, his hands cupping my face, my back against the Buoy, the taste of rum on his tongue…
“Dammit, Margo,” I muttered with a sigh, too tired to be angry about it. There was no stopping love, and I knew better than to fight this. However, neither of us was in the right place to discuss it. Not with my ex stealing my money.
His phone vibrated three times on the dash, the force of it making it fall into his seat. His screen lit up with a picture of a younger version of him and a woman who had his eyes.
Dela Calling.
Just then, my cell phone blared, the annoying dinging of an unknown caller filling the cab.
“Fuck, shit, shit.” I scrambled to find it.
All my contacts had assigned ring tones, and this ring tone was meant for strangers.
I’d received multiple calls from Cardinal and Sarah and just a couple from Rossy.
There were countless texts I had yet to open because I wasn’t ready to face them.
I dug at the bottom of my bag, fishing for the device. When I finally yanked it out and put it to my ear, Hayes was still inside, the old man talking his ear off. A small laugh left me, knowing Hayes was trying not to be rude as I answered, “Hello?”
“What’s so funny, sis?” Marcus sneered.
My laughter died as the warmth from the cab was sucked out in an instant. “Why are you calling me? Was twenty-grand not enough for you?” I snapped back.
Now, it was his turn to laugh. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck you!” I returned hotly. “Don’t call me ever again.”
I hung up the phone just as Hayes came back outside. It started ringing again when he opened the door. He folded himself inside, rain soaking his shirt at his shoulders. He looked at the phone, then to me as he shut the door. “Who is that?”
“Fucking Marcus—hey!”
Hayes plopped the bag of food in my lap, the familiar smell of wedding soup overwhelming my senses as he brought the device to his ear, elbow on the window seal. “Marcus Bennett,” he greeted, voice hard.
My brother’s outburst was so loud I could hear him through the phone, demanding to know who Hayes was. “Going forward,” Hayes began, backing up the Jeep. “You are no longer allowed to contact your sister as she is filing a restraining order against you today.”
His words cut me deep, the knife in my back twisting painfully.
A restraining order was something I should’ve put against him, our father, and Gordon the second I was free of them, but I’d hesitated.
I’d held on to the hope that Marcus would come back to me, be the brother I raised and the man I wished for him to be.
Evidence of that hope was plastered underneath my cheek in dark purple and blue.
The lump in my throat dispersed into shards of glass, cutting my vocal cords.
“You contact her again, you’ll be in jail,” Hayes continued coldly, ignoring whatever shit my brother was spouting off at him.
We Bennetts liked to spout shit off at people.
It was one of the few things my bloodline was good at until me.
“Call her again and the entire Portland police force will be at your door within the hour.” Hayes hung up and handed the phone back to me, his eyes on the road.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“Is that the first time he’s called you since you went over there?” he asked, jaw tight.
I nodded at his profile before focusing on the highway.
More silence.
When we were out of Portland, I watched as he took his hand off the steering wheel to reach over and turn my heated seat on. My lips parted as he switched the heat from our faces to our feet, my legs warming. “Thank you,” I repeated thickly.
“You don’t have to thank me for protecting you,” he replied.
I ignored that, moving on. “Is Dela your sister?” His eyes cut to me, and I quickly blurted, “Your phone fell off the dash when she called earlier.”
“Yeah, she’s my sister,” he answered, inhaling a deep sigh. “She’s a pain in my damn ass most of the time.”
I smiled. “Are you two close?”
He was quiet for a moment, his lips thinning as I watched him decide whether to let me in. “We were. A long time ago. We’re trying to find our way back to that place again.”
My throat grew thick, memories of Marcus and me as kids rushing forth. “Well, I know it’s none of my business, but I hope you find your way back.”
He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, and cleared his throat. “Thanks, Margo.”
I looked back out my window and bit down on my tongue, keeping my pain to myself.
Two hours later, we pulled into the empty parking lot of the Buoy.
The sun poked out through the clouds above, making the water shine.
The seagulls squawked, hopping along the docks, looking for bait to steal.
Hayes directed the Jeep to the back of the building, parking beside my car.
Without a word, he grabbed the food from my lap, killed the engine, and got out.
He rounded the front, opened my door, and got close.
“Stay here for a second,” he commanded softly, touching my cheek. “I’m going to do a sweep.”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “Superman, it isn’t that serious.”
“When it comes to you, yes, it is,” he said before walking away, ascending the steps, food in hand.
A deep sigh left me, deflating my chest as I rested my head against the seat, closing my eyes.
Outside, I could hear the waves crashing into the pillars of the docks, the seagulls singing, the boat engines humming as the fisherman barked orders and argued with each other over games, bait, and weigh-ins.
I knew my boss was inside the bar, wiping down the counters, tables, and chairs, his broken clip board perched on top of the bar with his inventory and the pen he stole from me.
I had a shift tonight.
My eyes opened, and without a second thought, I called Rossy.
“Darling, there you are,” he breathed, relief heavy in his accent.
I smiled at my lap. “Hey, boss man.”
“The girls are frantic. I’ve managed to keep them at bay, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold them off for much longer. Sarah nearly sent Michael on a manhunt for you last night.”