“Yeah…I think I am. You might say I’m…cured. What I didn’t realize until just this moment was that I had the power over it all this time. I brought my own walls down. Yeah, I didn’t know I could do that.”
“Okay, well, let’s talk about your car…”
The scene broke and Michael and Lynn were walking through what Michael called his Pimp Garage. Craig was there, along with some others from the team. Then Charles Blakely came into the shot and they both began to talk about their partnership and what it meant.
Madeleine stared at the screen, not really seeing or hearing what was happening. Her head was filled with his words. Her heart was filled with his message to her.
Meet the past head-on. But he was so much stronger than she was.
The scene changed again, and it was once more Lynn and Michael sitting in his home.
“Let’s talk about your love life.”
Madeleine gasped at the question. The picture wouldn’t have been out when they’d filmed this. Lynn couldn’t know about them as a couple. Which meant it was a run-of-the-mill question. Asking a handsome, successful, well-known playboy if he was finally ready to settle down. What interviewer wouldn’t go there?
“Is there anyone special in your life right now?”
Madeleine waited as Michael paused, wondering what he had been thinking.
“Right now? No.”
The answer was tight and harsh sounding and it broke her heart all over again. This was either filmed the day she left him or maybe the day after. At the most she had only been gone for three days.
He’d obviously believed her when she’d told him it was over.
“Do you want there to be? A particular someone.”
“Desperately.”
“And what are you looking for in a woman?”
“What turns me on, you mean?”
“Yes, I suppose. What is your number one must-have?”
It was supposed to be a light moment. A bit of flirting between Lynn and Michael to draw the audience in further. Madeleine waited for his answer like he was about to provide the location of the Holy Grail.
“I really dig…courage in a woman. Might sound crazy, but courage is a hell of a thing.”
“Interesting. And finally, tell us what’s next for you.”
“Congress. Charles and I and some other representatives from the auto industry have been called to speak before a committee about the potential of our car. Together we can look for some new ways to encourage the American people to go green and help the environment….”
Madeleine turned the television off.
Distantly, she considered how well he’d done. He’d been heartbreakingly honest about his past. Nearly boyish with enthusiasm when talking about his car. So much so that it probably removed from people’s minds the horror of what prison had been for him, because they could see with their own eyes how he had overcome everything. The man he’d become was simply amazing. And to tie everything up with his message for a better environment? He couldn’t have been more impressive.
Hell, if he were ever interested she might have a chance of getting him elected president.
Because that’s what she used to do. She used to make presidents.
Looking around her empty house, she thought back to that person. She remembered Pre-Scandal Madeleine very clearly. She was brilliant and ambitious. She took chances no one thought of and saw things no one could. She was aggressive. Some might have said arrogant, but she would have countered those accusations with her own labels: confident and determined.
Yes, PSM was a beast on wheels. A kingmaker.
She was fearless.
Now she was gone, trapped behind protective walls of her own making. Everything outside those walls had been taken from her, all her dreams and plans gone before she had been twenty-eight years old.
Courage was something someone needed in a fight. But for Madeleine there could be no battle. No war she could wage against what had happened to her because it had been all her fault. Was she supposed to rail at the horrible names she was being called? Was she supposed to fight back against the paparazzi who stalked her for money, when she knew it was her own actions that had caused them to go after her?
It was seven years ago…. How long do I have to pay?
Seven years ago, yes. But she was still worthy of a seedy picture on the cover of a rag magazine.
Because of Michael. The picture was there because of him…not you.
Her own thoughts were betraying her. Because deep down, she knew what she wanted.
She wanted Michael back. She wanted to be the woman who deserved him. She wanted to be courageous.
“And when you let something like that control you, it builds these walls between you and everyone around you.”
He’d said those words to the camera and the world thought he’d been talking about himself.
Madeleine knew otherwise.
* * *
“ARE YOU ready?”
Blakely came up behind Michael and slapped him on the back. They were standing in a hallway outside of the congressional meeting hall waiting as the people gathered for the hearing. The halls were abuzz with people, all of whom seemed in a hurry to be somewhere else.
Then Michael spotted some men bringing television cameras and other equipment into the room where they were meeting.
“I thought we were doing this privately.”
“Too many people want to see this so we’re opening it up and letting some news crews in. Which is good for us. The more publicity, the better. Hell, we’re already taking orders for your car and we haven’t even rolled the first one off the production line.”
Michael’s interview had worked like a charm. People got to see the car, and not only that, they were also able to associate it with the American Dream story behind it. Poor kid grows up, suffers horrible attack in prison, but overcomes everything and makes it big in America. People wanted to drive his car for that reason alone. Blakely seemed about to rub his hands together with glee. Michael knew he was thinking about all the money he was going to make. The other executives were kicking themselves for not acting sooner and partnering up with Michael when they’d had the chance.
“What kind of questions are we expecting?”
“Questions that will make the men and women on the committee look good on camera. Remember who we’re dealing with here. The only thing most politicians really care about is getting reelected. Besides, you survived Lynn Connelly, how hard could it be to answer their questions?” Blakely gave him another slap on the back. “I’m going inside to get settled. You’ll sit on my right when you’re ready.”
“Yeah, yeah…just give me a minute.”
Blakely nodded and opened the twelve-foot-high door into the room. Michael could hear bustling inside from all the people gathering and felt his stomach turn a little. He told himself it wasn’t the stupidest thing to be slightly nervous about a congressional hearing. Besides, he was here for a positive reason. It’s not like they were going to grill him on steroids or weapon smuggling or something serious like that.
He took a deep breath. This was about his car. That’s it. Still, for the hundredth time, he wished he could have at least called Madeleine. She would have told him what to expect. She would have prepared him by describing the political leanings of everyone in the room. She would have told him who cared more about job creation and who cared more about saving the earth.
She would have told him how to focus his answers and say the things the person asking the question most wanted to hear.
But she wasn’t here. Hell, just asking her to come had been enough to send her running.
For the hundredth time, he wondered if she had even watched his interview. There had been a brief hope that after she saw it, she might come back. He clung to the memory that, standing at the foot of his stairs, she hadn’t been able to tell him that she didn’t love him. Which meant that if she did, and if she saw what he did for her, then ma
ybe she could take the next step.
His big gesture.
He thought by confessing everything on television he’d offered her a road map on how to overcome her fears. He’d wanted to show her that holding on to the past was a dead end. The only way to be free of it was to truly meet her past head-on.
But she hadn’t come.
Then there was no hope for it. He was left with only two choices. Forget about her and move on with his life or go get her. The answer was simple.
He was going to have to go to her.
Because there was no way he was living without her. This broken-heart stuff was horseshit, in his opinion. He couldn’t figure out why country singers reveled in it so much, because he was done with it.
He knew what it was like to live with her, he knew he loved her and damn it, he was pretty sure she loved him, too. If she was too scared to come to him, then fine. He would go to her and he would stay locked in her house with her until she felt safe enough to step outside again.
They would start over and take it slower. Dr. Sheffield had been right about that. He should have gone much slower until Madeleine felt safe. Instead he’d pushed too hard, he’d wanted too much too fast, but now he knew he needed to be more careful with her.
Slow wasn’t exactly his favorite speed, but for her he would make it work. He would make anything work.
Having made the decision, he felt good. It was like the dark cloud that had been circling overhead had finally drifted away. As soon as the hearing was over he would take the train to Philadelphia, and if he had to bust down her front door with a sledgehammer to get her to let him in, then he would do it.
He turned to open the door when the sound of heels clicking on marble caught his attention.
Click, click, click.
Slow, even, measured steps. This person wasn’t rushing or scurrying anywhere. This person was simply walking with a purpose and with power.
Michael turned his head toward the sound with the faint idea that he might actually be seeing the president himself. But the sound of the click was delicate and Michael figured it was unlikely the current male president would be walking around the halls of Congress in high heels.
He saw her and his heart stopped and his head rang. Exactly like the first time he saw her when he’d felt as if he’d been hit on the head with a bat. Everything other than Madeleine suddenly became fuzzy, and a buzzing noise sounded in his ear.
Her hair was pinned into a tight bun, her chin was still a little too pointy—which made her even more beautiful to him. As she walked, her gray suit hugged her curves: the skirt grazed her knees and her blazer was buttoned up like a woman ready to do battle. His very own warrior in high heels. Who was about to change his life forever.
She saw him and stopped. He could see the concern in her face. Like maybe she’d come too late. She didn’t know that it could never be too late. Not for him. Not ever.
Then she lifted her chin a little higher and walked toward him. He considered how brave she was and yes, that really was a turn-on.
“You came,” he whispered, having a hard time speaking over the lump in his throat. He’d never felt this way before. Never knew it was conceivable to feel this way. This was happiness. The real thing.
She raised a single eyebrow and he wanted to throw her down on the marble floor and have his way with her.
“You didn’t think I would let you go in there without backup. This is my turf and it’s a nasty one. You need to know the players, you need to know the agenda. You will want to make sure you are answering the right person in the right way.”
“You came,” he said again.
She ducked her head then, but he used a finger to lift her face to his because he wanted to see her eyes and know that everything she was about to say was the truth.
“I shouldn’t have left. I’m sorry I did. Sorry I ran.”
“I forgive you. Now say it.”
She swallowed a few times.
“Come on,” he urged. “It isn’t going to be any harder than walking through the front door of this building.”
“Yes, it is. It’s much harder, because you mean a hell of a lot more to me than anything I could feel being back here. That’s how I knew you were right. That I can face the past because all my shame and guilt and embarrassment…it’s nothing when you hold it up to love.”
He smiled. “You’re right. It isn’t. So say it.”
“I love you.”
He nodded and the strength of those words filled him like nothing had ever done before. “Don’t ever run from me again. Please.”
“I won’t,” she said as she moved closer. “Turns out I had courage all along. I just forgot where I put it.”
He took a step toward her and wrapped his arm around her back, bringing her closer to his body so they were nearly touching. Tilting his head, he whispered into her ear, “You know, I have this thing for courage. It sort of turns me on.”
“I heard. But we have some other pressing matters to attend to first.”
“I’d rather do you instead.”
She laughed and it warmed his heart.
“I’m sure you would,” she said, taking a little nip of his ear. “Word in this town has it I’m a pretty good time, if you know what I mean.”
“We’ll have to see about that,” he said, taking her hand. He reached for the door. “You know there are going to be cameras.”
“Yep.”
“You know there are going to be gasps when people realize it’s you.”
“Yep.”
“You’re shaking,” he said, feeling her hands tremble in his.
“I am, but I’m not sure if that’s from fear or happiness. Let’s go with happiness.”
“One last time, are you ready for this?” Michael asked.
“With you beside me…I’m ready for anything.”
He smiled as he opened the door and they walked through the throng of cameras together.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Road to Bayou Bridge by Liz Talley!
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CHAPTER ONE
August 2012
Naval Station, Rota, Spain
THE PAPER ACTUALLY SHOOK in Darby Dufrene’s hand—that’s how shocked he was by the document he’d discovered in a box of old papers. He’d been looking for the grief book he’d made as a small child and instead had found something that made his gut lurch against his ribs.
“Dude, come on. The driver needs to go.” Hal Severson’s voice echoed in the half-full moving truck parked below the flat Darby had shared with the rotund navy chaplain for the past several years. His roommate had waited semi-good-naturedly while Darby climbed inside to grab the book before it was shipped to Seattle, but good humor had limits.
“Just a sec,” Darby called, his eyes refusing to leave the elaborate font of the certificate he’d pulled from a clasped envelope trapped in the back of his Bayou Bridge Reveille yearbook. How in the hell had this escaped his attention? Albeit it had been buried in with some old school papers he’d tossed aside over ten years ago and vowed never to look at again, surely the state of Louisiana seal would have permeated his brain and screamed, Open me!
Yet, back then he’d been in a funk—a childish, rebellious huff of craptastic proportions. He probably hadn’t thought about much el
se except the pity party he’d been throwing himself.
The moving truck’s engine fired and a loud roar rumbled through the trailer, vibrating the wood floor. The driver was eager to pick up the rest of his load, presumably a navy family heading back to the States, and his patience with Darby climbing up and digging through boxes already packed was also at an end. Darby slid the certificate back into its manila envelope, tucked it into his jacket and emerged from the back end of the truck.
Hal’s red hair glinted in the sunlight spilling over the tiled roof, and his expression had evoled to exasperation. The man was hungry. Had been hungry for hours while the movers slowly packed up Darby’s personal effects and scant pieces of furniture, and no one stood between Hal and his last chance to dine in El Puerto de Santa Maria, the city near the Rota Naval Base, with his best comrade. “Let’s go already. Saucy Terese and her crustacean friends await us.”
“Not Il Caffe di Roma, Hal. I don’t want to look into that woman’s eyes and wonder if she might greet me with a filet knife.”
“You ain’t that good, brother,” Hal said in a slow Oklahoma drawl. “She’ll find someone else on which to ply her wiles when the new guy arrives.”
“You mean the new guy whose name is Angela Dillard?”
“The new JAG officer’s a girl?”
Darby smiled. “Actually she’s a woman.”
Hal jingled his keys. “Entendido.”
“Your Spanish sucks.”
“Whatever. Now get your butt in gear. There are some crabs and sherry with my name on them.”
Darby tried to ignore the heat of the document pressing against his chest. Of course, it wasn’t actually hot. Just burning a hole in his stomach with horrible dread. He was an attorney and the document he carried wasn’t a prank, but he couldn’t figure out how the license had been filed. His father had virtually screamed the implausibility at him nearly eleven years ago—the day he’d shipped Darby off to Virginia—so this didn’t make sense. “Fine, but if Terese comes toward me with a blade, you must sacrifice yourself. If not, Picou will ply the sacrificial purifications of the Chickamauga on you. She’s been waiting for five years to get me back home to Beau Soleil.”
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