Beautiful Sacrifice (Maddox Brothers #3)

by Jamie McGuire

  Dalton, Zeke, and Taylor all traded looks.

  Then Taylor addressed me, “Trex isn’t on our crew. We met him at our hotel.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Are you ready to order? Or do you need more time?”

  Zeke squinted at the menu. “You serve breakfast all day?”

  “All day.”

  “What is a crepe?” Zeke asked.

  “It’s a very thin pancake. Phaedra serves hers filled with a soft hazelnut chocolate. Then she folds it, dusts it with powdered sugar, and then drizzles it with chocolate.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have that,” Zeke said.

  “Chicken wrap,” Dalton said. He handed me his menu, reminding Zeke to hand over his.

  After some hesitation, I asked Taylor, “And for you?”

  He lowered his menu and looked straight into my eyes. “I want to hang out again.”

  “Pardon?” For a moment I mused that a second chance might be on the menu.

  Taylor sat back and sighed. “I know what I said, but that was when I thought you were just playing hard to get. I didn’t actually know you were impossible.”

  “I’m not … impossible. I’m a local. And you’re … not.”

  Zeke smiled. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  Dalton backhanded Taylor’s arm, and Taylor shot him a death glare.

  Taylor let his menu fall to the table. “I didn’t mean it when I swore that I’d never ask you out again.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t mean to promise me something?”

  He thought about that for a moment. “Right. I take it back.”

  I made a face. “You can’t take back a promise. You think I’m going to agree to a second date with a vagrant who takes back promises?”

  “You just said we went on a date,” Taylor said, a Cheshire Cat grin spreading across his face. His teeth seemed even whiter against the dirt on his face.

  “The café is really busy today,” I said.

  “I know,” Taylor said. “Just think about it.”

  I looked up at the ceiling and then back at him, pointing at him with my pen. “No. Do you want the wrap, too?”

  His grin vanished, and he crossed his arms, deflated. “Surprise me.”

  “You got it.” I swiped Taylor’s menu and took the order back to Chuck.

  “Did he ask you out again?” he asked.

  “Yep. I said no.”

  “Brutal,” he said, shaking his head at me.

  “He just wants to hang out,” I said. “He’s not heartbroken or anything.”

  “If you don’t like him, why do you look like you’re dying to giggle like a schoolgirl?” Chuck wiped his sweaty brow with his forearm.

  “He’s from Eakins,” I said simply.

  “Eakins? Like Eakins, Illinois, Eakins?”

  “Yes.” I bit my lip.

  “Does he know?”

  “No, he doesn’t know. Phaedra asked the same thing. Why would I suddenly start telling everyone?”

  Chuck shrugged. “Just asking. You know, Falyn … I’ve offered before—”

  “No, Chuck. You’re not paying my way to Eakins. You already do too much.”

  “How much money do you need? Can’t be much more now?”

  “Nope. I’m almost there. Every time I’ve gotten close, something’s come up.”

  “Like when you helped Pete buy tires?”

  “Yep.”

  “And when you paid that ticket for Kirby?”

  “Yep.”

  “And when you got sick a couple of years ago?”

  “That, too.”

  “Are you still paying on that hospital bill?”

  “No, I paid it off a few months ago. Thank you.”

  “You should let us help, Falyn. You’ve helped people, and this is important.”

  “Yes, it is. That’s why I have to do it on my own.”

  I looked at table three. Taylor glanced over at me, and we locked eyes for a moment.

  “Or at least, mostly on my own.”

  Chuck busied himself again with the soup. “That is going to be one pissed off young man when he figures out what you’re doing.”

  My chest sank in. “I already feel bad enough.”

  “Good. At least you still have a conscience.”

  I looked down at my feet, feeling worse by the second. The high I’d felt moments before was completely replaced with guilt. “Did Phaedra go to the back?” I asked.

  He nodded. “She’s making cheesecakes.”

  “Oh,” I said, knowing it would be a while before I saw her.

  The Delaneys waved to Kirby as they gathered their children to leave. Marie carried the twins’ carriers, so John could handle their toddler. The girl was being carried over John’s shoulder, her little feet kicking wildly as she screamed.

  “Whew,” Hannah said. “I’m adopting a ten-year-old.”

  I watched as the Delaneys walked out to their car, parked in one of the angled spaces in front of the Bucksaw. The father fought to get his daughter into her car seat, alternately pleading with her and then scolding her.

  “Yeah,” I said, distracted.

  John secured the girl and then patted his own jeans, saying something to his wife before returning to the bar.

  He stopped just in front of me, leaning in. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “She asked why we never come in here anymore. I’ll try not to come back.”

  I shook my head. “It’s fine. I understand.”

  “I’m truly sorry, Falyn. For everything,” he said again, pulling his wallet from his pocket before jogging outside.

  All the air felt like it had left the room with John, and I stood there, unable to move or breathe.

  Kirby wandered behind the bar, saying hello to the regulars before leaning over the counter on her elbows. “I didn’t think that rush would ever let up.” She picked at the corner of a menu and then sighed. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Are you going to tell me what you haven’t told me?”

  “Not today,” I said, snapping back to the present.

  Kirby pouted. “So, do you like him? Because … you’re being you but different. You always act weird when a guy tries to pursue you, but you’re not running this one off.”

  “Who?” I asked, my voice higher than I wanted.

  Kirby rolled her eyes. “Taylor, stupid.”

  “Yeah. Why is that?” Hannah asked. “What’s with the weirdness when it comes to guys?”

  I glowered at her. “Go check your tables.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said, turning on her heels.

  “I’m serious,” Kirby said. “I thought you were just pissed at your parents. Until recently, I didn’t realize that you also hated men, and then Taylor happened.”

  “I don’t hate men.”

  I stole a glance at Taylor. He did the same to me, so I looked away for a moment. With a small smile lingering on his face, he was talking to his crew again.

  “I like men. I just don’t have time for them.”

  “No,” she said, scratching at a speck on the counter, “it’s something else.” She grabbed a clean cloth and a spray bottle, and she headed to the main dining area to bus tables.

  “Order up!” Chuck yelled, startling me.

  I brought a round tray to the window before loading it with the hotshot crew’s entrees.

  “You okay, kiddo?” Chuck asked.

  “I got it,” I said, fitting one edge into the crook of my neck as I centered my palm beneath the tray.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Chuck said.

  “I know,” I called back as I walked away.

  The boys were chatting when I approached them, and three pairs of eyes lit up when they recognized the tray of food was theirs.

  “Wrap,” I said, placing it in front of Dalton.

  “Crepe,” I said, lowering it to the table before Zeke.

  “Denver omelet with jalapenos.”

  Taylor reached out, and I handed his plate to
him.

  “The plate is warm,” I warned.

  “Doesn’t bother me,” Taylor said with a half smile. Just as I turned, he touched my elbow. “I am capable of just hanging out as friends, you know.”

  I shot him a dubious look. “I’m a waitress in a popular tourist town. You think I haven’t heard that before? That I haven’t heard it all before? Listen, you’re nice. I like you guys. But I don’t need any more friends, especially temporary ones.”

  I could feel him watching me as I walked away, and I could guess what he was thinking. He’d already proven he enjoyed a challenge, so I was giving him one.

  Once they cleaned their plates and sat back against their chairs, I brought them the check. They wasted no time gathering their things and heading out, but Taylor made sure to wait until he could wave to me before leaving.

  Kirby bussed their table and brought me a handful of ones and fives and some change for a tip that totaled more than their meals. I shook my head and chuckled quietly. It was the best way to tell a waitress good-bye.

  The remainder of my shift was comfortably busy. Hannah and I sat together on the stools near the kitchen end of the bar, counting our tips and listening to Hector’s and Chuck’s funny stories about their mishaps and near misses throughout the day.

  With one hand on her back, Phaedra trudged up to us from the back room, covered in cream cheese, chocolate, and strawberry smears. “The goddamn pies are done.”

  Chuck hugged her. “Well done, my love. Well done.”

  He kissed her cheek, and she batted him away.

  “How was it? I meant to come out earlier. I got behind.”

  “We survived,” I said.

  Kirby smirked. “Taylor came in again today. Left her a big tip.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “What did it say?” Hannah said.

  My nose wrinkled. “Huh?”

  Hannah nodded to my stack of cash. “He wrote on one of the bills. I thought you knew.”

  Kirby rushed to stand next to me as I fanned out my money.

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  “It’s on the other side, kiddo,” Phaedra said, her eyes targeting one of the singles.

  I flipped over the stack and found the note scribbled in barely legible print.

  COMFORT SLEEP HOTEL

  ROOM 201

  Kirby laughed. “He gets points for persistence. You have to give him that.”

  I inhaled, the wheels in my head spinning a hundred miles per hour. Now that I had somewhat of a plan, it was hard to be patient. But being patient was the only way it could work.

  “It’s not cute. It’s obnoxious. But keep seating them in my section, okay?”

  “You got it,” she said, climbing onto a stool and dangling her feet like a child.

  Phaedra patted Chuck’s face. “Remember when you were obnoxious, honey?”

  “How could I forget?” he said, waggling an eyebrow.

  “Please stop,” Kirby said, looking ill.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Kirby sighed. “He’s actually on time for once.”

  When she didn’t move and didn’t say anything else, I turned to see Taylor standing in a white hat, a gray hoodie, and navy basketball shorts with flip-flops, holding a laundry basket full of clothes.

  “I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Phaedra said with her gravelly low voice.

  “Should I let him in?” Kirby asked.

  Everyone looked at me.

  “Just … nobody say a word. Let me handle it.”

  “I feel like this is a joke,” Hannah said. “Is she playing a joke on us?”

  “No, but it’s still funny,” Chuck said, trying not to laugh.

  I made my way to the front door, not at all in a hurry, stopping just shy of an arm’s length away. “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to seem exasperated.

  “Laundry day,” he said, grinning from one ear to the other.

  “Okay. You still haven’t explained why you’re here.”

  “Do you have a washer and dryer?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Do people not know how to ask to borrow things where you’re from?”

  “Illinois.”

  “I know where you’re from!” I growled.

  Taylor’s smile faded. “Can I borrow your washer and dryer?”

  “No!”

  He looked both ways, down each direction of the street, and then back at me. “Well … is there a Laundromat nearby?”

  “On Platte Avenue. Just turn left on Platte, off Tejon. It’s just before you get to Institute Street. Right across from the supply store,” Phaedra called.

  I spun around to see her pointing in the correct direction. I shot her a look, and she shrugged her shoulders.

  “You wanna come?” he asked. “Laundromats are boring as fuck.”

  I pressed my lips together and then pulled them to the side, trying not to smile. This is it. I reached over and turned the key that was already in the lock. “Come in.”

  “You sure?”

  “Oh, now, you’re worried about overstepping?”

  “Not really,” he said, walking past me. “Up the stairs, right?”

  It had to be fate. Taylor was like a stray puppy that I’d fed once, and now, he wouldn’t go away. He also happened to be from the exact town I’d been saving money to visit all this time.

  I closed the door and cranked the key before facing four identical smirks from my coworkers.

  “You coming?” Taylor asked from the bottom of the stairs, still hugging his full laundry basket.

  “Well,” I said, blowing my bangs from my eyes, “why the hell not?”

  I opened the door for Taylor, watching with a glimmer of amusement while he made a show of glancing around. His shorts sat low on his hips, and he turned his white hat backward, taking in every corner of the room. He was a man I would normally stay far away from, and there he was, beautifully sloppy, standing in my apartment.

  “Is this a satisfactory location to do your laundry?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Monumentally better than the Laundromat.” He pushed the door close. “Where’s your laundry room?”

  I gestured for him to follow and then slid open a set of doors situated in the wall between the kitchen and the bathroom. The washer and dryer, probably purchased the same year I was born, were just barely set inside the shallow rectangular closet.

  “Still better than the Laundromat?” I asked.

  “Yes, but I can go if you want me to.”

  “Just turn it to whatever setting and pull the dial to start it.”

  Taylor’s appreciative smile was actually a little—okay, a lot—cute. He followed my directions, turning the dial on the washer and pulling. The water began to pour out from the back of the drum. He bent down, grabbed several pairs of jeans, and threw them in.

  I retreated to my bedroom, organizing my tips. I added half to the previous day’s collection in my wallet and the other half to the shoebox. After stashing both, I changed into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized gray T-shirt.

  “Where are your jeans?” Taylor asked.

  I stopped in my doorway, taken off guard by his strange question. I pointed to my bedroom. “In there on the floor.”

  “There’s room in the washer,” he said, pouring in the laundry soap.

  “My jeans don’t know your jeans well enough to be washed together.”

  He chuckled and shook his head while he watched the basin fill with water and suds. “Did I do something to make you hate me? Or is this some kind of test?” He faced me. “Because I’m not trying to get into your pants, Ivy League. I’m just asking to wash them.”

  I retreated to my bedroom, picking up the wad of denim next to my nightstand. Then I crossed the hall and ducked into the bathroom just long enough to pick through the dirty laundry for the other two pairs somewhere inside the pile.

&nbs
p; “Here,” I said, handing him the jeans.

  “This is it?” he asked, throwing them into the washer.

  “Yes, so if you ruin them, I’m screwed.” I backed away from him and fell into the chair.

  “I won’t ruin them. I’ve been doing laundry for a long time.”

  “Your mom didn’t do it for you?”

  Taylor shook his head.

  “Good. Moms can really screw kids up that way. You’re lucky you never ended up crying over the washing machine because you couldn’t figure out how to turn it on.”

  “Sounds like you know from experience.”

  “The help did our laundry.” I waited for his reaction.

  He had none.

  “If your parents are so rich, why are you in this shithole?” he asked, pulling off his sweatshirt and throwing it into the washing machine, leaving him in just a thin, too-small T-shirt that read Eakins Football in faded letters.

  I stared at him for a moment, fighting the inevitable smile creeping across my face. “They made bad choices.”

  Taylor lumbered to the couch and fell onto it, bouncing a bit, and then he tested the cushions by pushing down on them with his hands. “Like what?”

  “None of your business.”

  He leaned back, crossing his arms.

  “What’s with all the tattoos?” I asked, letting my eyes glide over the mishmash of colors and shapes that covered his skin down to his wrist.

  “We all have them.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “My brothers and me. Well, most of us. Tommy doesn’t.”

  “How many brothers?”

  “Four.”

  “Dear God.”

  He nodded, staring at whatever memory was playing before his eyes. “You have no idea.”

  “Where are they? Your brothers.”

  “Here and there.”

  I liked this game, all questions and no answers, and he didn’t seem to mind. Taylor’s white T-shirt crumpled in the middle, thin enough to hint at his tan skin and nicely formed abs. Abs—all the assholes had them. Four to six muscles were like a graph chart to show just how big of a douche bag the guy was.

  “Are you the oldest?” I asked.

  “Yes and no.”

  “Any sisters?”

  Taylor made a face. “God, no.”

  Either he hated women, or he treated them badly enough not to want to think about them as people. No matter which it was, the longer he was in my apartment, the less I worried about guilt being a problem.