Bad For Each Other

by Kate Hathaway

  Reaching for sanity, he pulled away. When her tongue followed his withdrawal, shyly touching his, he thought he would lose it.

  Somehow the inches between them had disappeared. His bracing arm was flattened against the wall and her breasts— God, he never thought of Molly with breasts—were crushed to his chest The fingers he'd tangled in her thick mane itched to cup those soft mounds, to discover if they were better protected under her shirt than they had been in the past. It was all he could do to plaster his hand against the brick and push off of her.

  Her eyes, wide and dazed, held disappointment again, but of a different sort. "Oh, Charlie," she breathed.

  He pressed his forehead to hers and nuzzled the soft tendrils near her sweaty brow. "We've gotta stop, Moll."

  "I know." She gave a shuddery sigh, one hand sliding over his shoulder to rub against his chest.

  He jerked when her fingertip found his nipple and it stiffened. That was a new one on him. He wouldn't have guessed his body would do that. She seemed to be fascinated, too, dragging her ragged nail across the little nub until he thought he would burst. If she'd drop her gaze a little bit more, she could see what else had stiffened.

  Nope. Too innocent. She brought her doe eyes back to his. He licked lips that still carried her clean taste. "How old are you, Molly?"

  Her eyes darted away and then back. "Sixteen."

  He huffed in disbelief.

  She sighed and chewed on her swollen lip. "I'm closer to sixteen than I am to fourteen," she said finally.

  Fifteen.Holy Hannah. Her daddy'd shoot him. Hell, his daddy'd shoot him. "Don't go kissing Jimmy Jordan like that."

  She gave him a dreamy-eyed smile. "I don't want to."

  That was fine with him. The idea of her playing tongue tag with someone else had all the appeal of a hair on a gumdrop. "You're too young to be kissing anybody like that Molly."

  She lifted her hand from his chest and rubbed it across the jaw he had to shave a couple times a week now. "I know." Her thumb traced his lips. "Will you wait for me, Charlie?"

  Oh my God. Did she know what she was asking? This was supposed to be his year with the ladies. They were gonna be hanging all over him. But he looked into her flushed, solemn face and he knew, however long the wait might be, he didn't want to come to her with the taste and scent of other women on him.

  The screen door creaked and they jumped apart, looking as guilty as two five-year-olds playing I'll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours behind the huckleberry bush. Charlie bent to pick up his hat and Molly grabbed the glass from the step as her mother appeared at the top of the stairs.

  "Mrs. Simon is here for your piano lesson, Margaret Mary." She fixed Charlie with a fish-eyed glare.

  He held his hat at belt level, but he didn't need its protection. The woman had a look that would shrivel stone. "Molly," he heard himself say as he watched her long legs carry her up the steps.

  She turned at the top, her hand on the screen door, to look at him.

  "I'll wait."

  And he had. Not that she'd ever believe it. But he'd come to her a damn twenty-year-old virgin, too ignorant, too eager, too raw with his need to make it good for her.

  Now it had come to this. Despite her claims, he found it hard to believe the Molly he'd known could have betrayed him this way. But he couldn't fathom why, if she'd tried to get in touch with him, she didn't just say so. Had it been her plan to keep his son from him forever? She always knew what family meant to him. Sometimes, he acknowledged, she envied the closeness. Was that part of it? Was it misplaced jealousy? Or was she protecting somebody?

  He drained his beer and stared at the empty bottle. He'd drunk more of these in the last week than he had in the previous month, and now he asked himself why. He didn't need them. And he knew how Molly felt about heavy drinking— with good reason. Was this sheer cussedness on his part? He'd have to learn to curb his cantankerous streak. Whether he loved Molly or not, he'd committed himself to a real marriage. He didn't kid himself that it would be easy. It was time he started working at it.

  With a heavy sigh he put his guitar and recorder aside. No easier in his mind, he went back to bed.

  Chapter 5

  You got a cigarette?" Charlie directed the question at his brother while he tried for the third time to stick a cuff link through the layers of fabric on the formal white shirt he wore. He muttered a curse when the little gold stud slipped from his clumsy fingers and rolled across the parquet floor to where the other man caught it under his foot.

  "Hell no, Kick." Cleeve bent to pick up the errant cuff link, strode over to where Charlie stood with arm outstretched, and fastened it to the shirtsleeve. "Patsy's been on my case ever since you set us all such a sterling example." He took the second cuff link from Charlie's hand and fastened the other sleeve. "In the interest of conjugal harmony, I gave up the filthy weed."

  Charlie let out an impatient breath and straightened the tie he'd needed help knotting.

  "You're not nervous, are you?" Cleeve asked.

  "No." Charlie's reply was curt. He shrugged into his suit jacket and stretched his arms until his cuffs poked through the sleeves. "What time is it?"

  Cleeve checked his watch. ' 'About three minutes later than the last time you asked." He gave a low chuckle. "You've still got time to back out."

  Charlie shot his brother what he hoped would be a silencing look. Born at opposite ends of the same year, they'd been taken for twins more than once and were as close as two people could be. Charlie tolerated abuse from this man that would earn anybody else a split lip. But there were times, like now, when Cleeve pushed his luck. "I'm not backing out."

  The other man shrugged. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

  So did Charlie. Pushing aside the heavy drapes on the single, wide window in the hotel room, he looked out on the day. It had started raining the night before, shortly after Cleeve had come in from Wheeling, and it hadn't let up since. The chill, gray weather suited his mood.

  Due to Tobie's precarious health, and Molly's lack of any family whatsoever, Charlie had decided to sharply limit the number of his guests at the wedding. Only Cleeve would be there.

  After his brother had driven in and given Molly a cool greeting, Charlie had taken him to the hospital to meet his nephew. Then Charlie had spent the night at the hotel with him, to give Molly some privacy for her wedding preparations. At least there would be that traditional start to this untraditional union.

  Cleeve had used the time to try to undermine Charlie's resolve. He lit into him with every rational argument why this marriage was both unnecessary and unwise. Charlie's counterarguments had sounded increasingly lame even to his own ears. At last he was forced to admit, to himself at least, that he was marrying Molly for only one reason. He wanted to. All thoughts of control, of punishment, of getting even aside, he wanted Molly for his own.

  It was a bitter admission, this acknowledgment of the hold she still had on him. It did nothing to improve his disposition. He turned from the window to face his brother again. "You got the ring?"

  "I got the ring." Cleeve patted one pocket. "I got the license." He patted another. "You sure about this?"

  "Yeah, I'm sure."

  "What reason did she give you...for not letting you know?"

  Charlie's laugh was humorless. "Stiff-necked pride."

  "Well, she's her mother's daughter."

  "I guess," Charlie answered with a heavy sigh. "I never saw much of a resemblance before." He plowed a hand through his hair. "You never heard about Tobie, did you, Cleeve? She never came to you?''

  Cleeve's gaze faltered. Some moments passed before he answered. "A few years ago...when her momma kicked?"

  Charlie nodded, his black eyes riveted to Cleeve's.

  "She came back for the funeral. Word got around that she had a kid. I might even have heard it was a boy." He ran a finger over his upper lip. "I didn't know his age. I never laid eyes on him, Kick. It was a long time after you two split."<
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  Charlie sagged back against the window, curving his hands over the edge of the sill. "You never mentioned anything," he said, staring at his boots.

  "Aw, hell. We all knew better than to bring her up."

  Charlie fixed him with his steady gaze. "I got over her a long time ago."

  "Oh, yeah. I can tell."

  "You about done being, a smart-ass?" Charlie countered, pushing away from the window. He reached for his hat and started for the door. "We've got a wedding to get to."

  They were early. Charlie knew they would be, had half intended to be. It gave him a chance to scout things out, make sure they weren't walking into a media ambush. To be fair, the fanzines had been real good about the situation. After the news conference he'd arranged for them through the hospital public relations department, they'd left him alone to deal with the crisis in his life. Of course he hadn't said anything at the time about a marriage. Apparently that hadn't leaked.

  The hospital staff had been unobtrusive, too. Some folks had brought in CD inserts for him to sign. Probably he'd have been disappointed if they hadn't. But on the whole, they'd gone about their work in a professional manner, providing information, care and support.

  Tobie was awake, but subdued, when Charlie and Cleeve entered his room. He'd been eager to witness his parents' union and Morrissey had agreed, but warned that his doing so was not without risk. The transplant was scheduled for the next day, and Tobie's resistance was at its lowest ebb. The brief ceremony would take place at the doorway, and only Molly and Charlie would have any contact with Tobie at all.

  A commotion just outside the room signaled the arrival of the rest of the wedding party. Charlie somehow made it through the introductions and small talk, but he only had eyes for Molly.

  He had suspected she would forgo the typical white lace of a virginal bride. Well, Molly hated froufrou anyway, and she didn't look good in white. He had no quarrel with her choice. She wore a simple, elegant suit of some silky material in a pale yellow shade. The color seemed to change where the fabric clung to the curves and hollows of her body, appearing in the shadows almost like a blush on a pear. The outfit complemented her creamy skin and red hair. But nothing could disguise the purple smudges under her eyes.

  Seeing them, Charlie was struck again at the toll the past weeks and months had taken on her. She must have spent another sleepless night. He had anticipated keeping her awake a good portion of the coming one, but he recognized with a pang of regret that if she showed reluctance, he didn't have it in him to insist.

  Her smile seemed genuine, though, as she kissed Tobie, and the hands that carried a bouquet of flowers were steady. She appeared to have come to terms with what this relationship would entail.

  The social niceties out of the way, Molly, Charlie and the others arranged themselves for the ceremony. The whole ritual was more than a little familiar to Charlie. Most of his brothers had married, and he'd served as Cleeve's best man three years before. Cleeve returned the favor now, handing Charlie the gold band he had chosen with Molly earlier in the week.

  Gently he nudged the ring over Molly's knuckle, repeating the words that would bind him to her forever. He looked to the minister again, ready to continue, when Molly's single attendant, her landlady, stepped forward. Beaming, she uncurled her pudgy fingers and handed Molly the mate to the ring Charlie had placed on her finger.

  With a start Charlie realized the cash he had given Molly hadn't all gone toward her wedding attire. Wordlessly, he focused on their joined hands while she made her vows in a breathless, almost inaudible voice.

  The ring fit. How had she managed that? he wondered. Lucky guess? He looked at the matching bands gleaming on their fingers. Wide and gold. Plain and simple. Like their love had been. Once.

  Charlie heard the minister say the words that made them one. Molly tilted her face for his kiss and, touching his lips to hers, he sank his fingers into the hair she had worn loose for him. For better or worse, it was done.

  The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in a blur. Molly and Charlie had dinner with their guests while Tobie napped, and then they returned to spend the early evening with him. With a promise to stop in the next morning before Charlie was admitted for his part in the transplant, they kissed Tobie good-night and left.

  They climbed the stairs to the apartment in silence. Charlie, a few steps behind Molly, saw her smile suddenly when she reached the top. Moments later he caught sight of what amused her.

  He joined her at the door as she pulled a dripping bottle of champagne from a plastic pail serving as a makeshift ice bucket. On the floor alongside it stood two glasses, complete with white ribbons and fake lily of the valley twined around the stems.

  Charlie stooped to pick up the pail and glasses and read the card nestled in the bowl of one. "Mrs. Kowalczyk."

  Molly nodded. "My landlady believes in happy endings."

  "And what about you, Molly?" Charlie straightened and regarded her steadily. "What do you believe in?"

  Her smile faltered a little, but her chin lifted to compensate. "I believe in new beginnings, Charlie." She slid her key into the lock and led him into their home.

  Taking a deep breath, she headed for the kitchen. A few sips of Mrs. Kowalczyk's thoughtful gift sounded good to her at that moment. All the pressures and tensions of the past week slammed up against the reality of what the next few hours would bring. She felt smothered, suffocated, with nowhere to turn, no escape.

  She set the bottle on the counter and opened the utensil drawer, rummaging through it. After a bit she felt Charlie come up behind her.

  "What are you looking for, Moll?"

  "A corkscrew."

  "Honey, this is champagne. We don't need a corkscrew."

  Her hand stilled at the endearment. It seemed to come so easily to his lips. Because it was meaningless? Not to her.

  She shoved the drawer shut with her hip, embarrassed by her witless search. "Of course," she said. "I'd forgotten. It's been a long time since I had champagne." That was true, in its way. She'd never had champagne. Never was a long time. Turning to look at him, she was immediately unsettled by his nearness.

  He'd shed his coat and tie, rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. She watched his long fingers work at the seal on the bottle, his thumbs maneuver the cork. She jumped when the stopper gave and he aimed the fizz over the sink. He regarded her quizzically from beneath an arched black brow.

  "Do you want to wait, Molly?" he asked, his voice tight, strained.

  It took several moments for her to understand what he meant She shook her head quickly, watching him fill the glasses. "No. I'm just nervous. Waiting won't help."

  She took a glass from him, needing two hands to hold it steady, feeling his watchful eyes on her.

  "I won't hurt you," he said in a husky whisper.

  "I know." How romantic. She attempted a smile as he clinked his glass with hers. What did she expect? Sweet promises of undying devotion? Not likely.

  "To new beginnings, Molly."

  At his words her smile softened. Maybe they could salvage something from this mess, make something of this marriage. If he was willing. She took a sip of her champagne and rubbed a finger over her nose where the bubbles tickled it. He was watching her still, an uncertain look in his eyes.

  "I don't think..." he began, took a quick sip, and continued. "I don't think we should take a chance on another baby at this point, do you? Not the way things stand with Tobie."

  And with us, she finished to herself. She put a hand to her cheek, sensing hot color rise. Amid all the concerns of the past week, this one had never entered her mind. "No. Of course not. I'm sorry, Charlie. I didn't...I'm not..."

  "I'll take care of it."

  "I'll get a prescription for the pill as soon as I can."

  He didn't answer right away. Molly saw him place his glass on the counter and fix his gaze on it. He inhaled deeply, his mouth tight, as if measuring his words.

  "You were on
the pill before, or so you told me."

  She felt the color leach from her face at his implication. Surely he didn't think that she'd deliberately...that she'd wanted only a baby...not him. But he did believe that. She could see it.

  "Oh, Charlie." She set her glass next to his on the counter and touched his hand resting there. His eyes slid to hers, their expression stark. "Do you remember," she whispered, "that trouble I had...with my wisdom teeth, before we broke up?"

  His gaze moved over her face, gentling as he looked at her, and his mouth quirked into the half smile that twisted her heart.

  "I remember you looking like a chipmunk."

  She smiled in return, a sad smile. "The antibiotic I took for it...interfered with the pill." She licked her lips. "I didn't know. If the dentist or the pharmacist had said something, we could have used some other protection." She shrugged. "No one did. And so there's Tobie. I didn't plan it that way."

  Under her hand she could feel the tension leave him. She saw him relax, muscle by muscle. He straightened and cupped her chin. "I'm not sorry there's Tobie."

  He searched her eyes, seeming to wait for some response from her, some explanation she wouldn't, couldn't give. Finally he released her and reached for his glass again. He twisted his ring absently with his thumb.

  "Does that fit?" she asked, indicating his hand.

  "Yeah." He glanced down and stopped his idle fidgeting. "I'm just not used to jewelry."

  She nodded. "I used your high-school ring...for sizing."

  That surprised him, she could tell. Maybe he didn't remember giving her the ring, didn't think she'd still have it. That hurt a little, because she treasured it.

  Suddenly she didn't want to draw this out any longer. Didn't want to sip champagne and make small talk. She wanted to sink into the sweet oblivion she knew his touch could bring her. To lie with him in the darkness where no words were necessary, and she couldn't read what was in his eyes. To go willingly with him simply because, although he didn't love her, he'd promised not to hurt her. And that would have to be enough.