The Secret (Magnolia Grove #4)

by J. B. McGee

  “My daughter dying was the punishment for all the shitty stuff I’ve done. I’m determined hell won’t be as horrible as being on this earth.”

  Tears sting the backs of my eyes. Dammit. I’m not going to cry. Officer Tesi taps my shoulder, and I whip my head around, ready to punch someone, anyone, but the large SWAT on his chest reminds me he’s not the person I want to engage in that battle with. Too bad I’ve already smashed Violet’s car. Maybe I’ll do Dad’s next. Officer Tesi arches a brow and puts his finger over his lips, but uses the other hand to point to the door. I shake my head. Hell no.

  “I had a daughter,” the negotiator says.

  “Had?” my father asks.

  “Yeah, she died when she was six. Cancer. Losing a child is a pain no one can fathom until they’ve experienced it.”

  “That’s what took Vi too.” My father’s voice is shaky, and as horrible as the things he’s done are, I know he loved her. Everyone loved her.

  The negotiator glances over at me and shrugs. “I also have a son.”

  “Me too. Holden’s his name.”

  My brows furrow as my heart freezes in time.

  “He is really taking this hard.”

  Silence again. I fucking hate silence.

  “What grade is he in?”

  “Tenth.”

  “I know how this must be so painful for you.

  “Yeah.”

  Silence except for sniffs. They’re not his. I recognize them. They’re my mother’s.

  “Eddie? Are you still with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know you didn’t want to hurt Georgette. And I know you love your son.”

  “That’s right.”

  “If you could do one thing for Holden, what would that be?” he asks, looking over at me. My insides are completely twisted.

  “What happens if I let Georgette go?”

  “We’d be thankful she’s safe. It’s the first step at peacefully resolving this. Eddie, I know this scenario wasn’t your intention.”

  “Tell Holden I love him, and I’m doing this for him.”

  The negotiator signals to several people and quiet, organized chaos starts to occur. The door to the command center opens, and several people exit.

  “Eddie, are you still here?”

  “Yeah. She’s walking out now.”

  And at this point, I can’t contain the water collecting in my eyes. A tear slips down my cheek as I watch on one of the monitors the front of my house, my mother walking out with her hands up, and then collapsing into Officer Tesi’s arms.

  I rush out of the command center, not even caring if I screw up the negotiations for my father. I don’t want him to die, but the things he said he did, they’re unforgiveable. He should rot in prison for the rest of his life for what he’s done to Heather, for what he’s now done to terrorize Mom and inevitably me. He says he loves me, but this isn’t love. He may not have taken his life—yet—but I’ve already lost my father. He’s dead to me.

  Finding Mom, I run into her arms. “Mom! Mom.”

  She wraps me in her arms. “Thank God you’re okay, Holden. I had no idea where you were, if he’d done something to you.”

  Tears stream steady down her cheeks.

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “I love you, Son. I love you so much.”

  And I don’t think I’ve ever needed to hear that so much, to believe that so much in all my life. I let my body heave in her arms like that time when I was a toddler, got lost in the children’s museum, and thought I was never going to see her again. “I love you.”

  Sitting on the hood of my car at the lookout over the hot springs, I gaze at the tree I’ve come to call mine. It’s a coconut tree. Out of fifteen hundred species of palm trees, it’s the only one that produces coconut.

  The fruit doesn’t sink, but rather has the ability to float across an entire ocean. The tree’s life expectancy is about eighty years, and during that time it will produce anywhere between two and six thousand coconuts. And from those fruits come over three hundred uses from food to hydration to herbal and medicinal properties. Science is my favorite subject, but I didn’t learn these facts in school. I’ve been researching different trees, trying to figure out the one I want to be for Cammie. And watching the large leaves gracefully sway in the breeze confirms it. This is the one.

  Right after everything went down with my father, I came back here because I couldn’t wrap my head around what had just happened and how I could go from thinking I was a volcano to a tree and back to a volcano all in the span of mere hours.

  That’s when I became obsessed with this one tree, the only one in this particular area—unique, beautiful, graceful, and strong. Because if I were stranded here, with no one else to help me or protect me, me against the world, this one tree would be all I’d need.

  Pushing up from the reclining position I’ve been in, I hop off my car, open the door, and pull the bat I used to smash Violet’s car from the passenger side before walking over to my tree. As I swing, I glance up to make sure I’m not about to be hit in the head with falling balls of fruit.

  The tree’s response proves my point, though. Sturdy, it bends but quickly recovers, able to withstand nearly anything. Hurricanes, forces of nature, people. Well, except chain saw wielding or demolition people.

  Every time I hit it, it just bounces back into place, until it’s eventually still again. Swinging, I hit it harder this time. A coconut careens toward my head, and I jump back to avoid being hit.

  When I said I wanted to be Cammie’s tree a week ago, I had a hardwood in mind, something like an oak or magnolia tree. They live hundreds of years long. They provide way more shade than this palm tree. There’s no way in hell either of them would bend or move if I slammed a metal bat into the trunk.

  When I came back here after my father shot himself—as soon as my mother walked out of that house, with both of us hearing the shot ring through the neighborhood and rocking the very foundation we were standing on, knowing we’d just lost another person we loved, even if he was a disappointment—what I realized is, it’s better to bend and bounce back. What good is it to have this huge tree that only serves to provide a broad canopy, a filter of false reality, of false security? Especially because in the winter, it loses all the leaves. And you’re left with little more than a solid trunk in the shivering cold. They don’t provide anything for basic human survival other than the façade of being pretty, majestic, the wise man of the forest.

  Putting the bat under my arm, I pet the husk of the coconut in my hands and shake my head. This damn thing just fell from atop a tree onto the hard ground and didn’t bust. It’s still intact, and I bet I could beat the shit out of it with this bat before even denting it.

  One week. Seven days since my father committed suicide, since he admitted to having sex with Heather, since she and her family packed up and moved away leaving our family in the Magnolia Grove headlines every day. One week since my level of normal slipped so deep into uncharted territory, I didn’t even know how dark these depths could be.

  It’s unfathomable. It doesn’t feel real. None of this does. I keep waiting to wake up from this nightmare, for it to be that day when I was fighting Violet for her toothbrush, and she never gets sick, Cammie never gets hurt, my father isn’t this man I never knew, and I’m not stuck in this perpetual state of shock, disbelief, anger, and despair.

  Fathom.

  How do I ever fathom this?

  The negotiator that helped save my mother used that word when he was speaking to my father. I don’t even know if his story was true, or if he just used it to try to build rapport with my dad, to show empathy. He was talking about the loss of a child when he used that word, but to me it’s the loss of my sister, my father, the life I thought I had, the realization people don’t seem to be who we think they are, and the mourning of all that.

  Not even two hundred hours since the axel of my world continued to shift so dramatically it is consta
ntly jolting me.

  Forty-eight hours since I realized I’m one of those dipshits that disappoint people, specifically Cammie. That I’ve probably made her mourn the person she thought I was, how much of a letdown I must be to her.

  The day of the visitation and funeral, even though I know it sounds awful, I was actually hopeful. My lips curve up just thinking of how much I was looking forward to it. Only because I knew she’d be there.

  How could she not be?

  Despite my father sending the company he co-owned with her father, Spencer and Masters Consulting, into a public relations nightmare from the leaked information that Eddie Masters screwed anything with a vagina, client or otherwise, our mothers appear to still be best friends.

  Rich Spencer has put on a professional front, but I’ve had a glimpse of the man behind the calm and composed image he projects. And any hopes I had for redemption for him after learning about the deeds of my father were quickly shattered. He thought he was alone with my mother.

  “Georgette, I hope you know we’re so sorry for everything you’ve been through.”

  “Thanks, Rich,” my mother replied.

  I was hiding out behind a wall. They were in the very kitchen where my father took his life a few days prior.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Stock is plummeting.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Is all she replies.

  “We need a new investor.”

  “Get to the point, Rich.”

  There was a brief pause. “He created the mess. Don’t you think his estate should be the one to bail it out?”

  Three fucking days after Mom lost the love of her life, the father of her children—even if he was an asshole to her—Rich Spencer was asking her to save his sinking ship.

  But hearing him meant Cammie was probably around, and I couldn’t wait to hug her. I didn’t care about his threats anymore. I just wanted to explain why I’d said and done what I had, yearned to be in her arms because surely she’d offer me her embrace as a measure of comfort at my loss. But instead, if I walked into a room, she left. It was like she pretended I didn’t exist. The same way I’d been treating her. She never came through the receiving line. She didn’t say she was sorry. She didn’t say any fucking thing. Not one damn word.

  Dropping the bat, I toss the coconut up and then catch it. Repeating the gesture, the next time I send it higher in the air. I know what I have to do. I need to talk to her. Over the last couple of days, I’ve realized something so important—what the coconut has taught me.

  I get that she’s created an exocarp and mesocarp, this hard husk, to protect all the goodness that’s on the inside of her, her endocarp—her heart. Sometimes, it takes being isolated on a deserted island to realize how invaluable the coconut is, to regret taking it for granted for so long.

  More than anything, what I need to tell her is that I’m not her tree.

  She’s mine.

  Rolling over, I pull Cammie’s warm body against mine and inhale the faint strawberry scent from the lip gloss she’s always worn. I must have done a shitty job last night kissing her for there to be any trace of that remaining. I’ll make sure to do better this morning. Ever so softly, I move her chestnut strands to the side and plant my lips on her neck. “Rise and shine, tigress.”

  It’s been a week since we moved her to the guesthouse. It’s also been a week since I slept at my place. Even though we haven’t had sex, the mere thought of leaving her, of not sleeping with her, frightens me in a way I’m not sure how to describe. I think it’s because in our past, too often we were separated and something bad happened. Or maybe it’s that I’ve been away from her for basically nine years, and I’m hell-bent on making up for lost time.

  “Cam?” I ask.

  “Hmm.”

  “Wake up. I wanna ask you something.”

  She rolls over, pressing her front against me and my rock hard erection before wrapping her arms around my neck. “Answers in exchange for kisses.”

  I smirk. “If that’s the Sunday special, then I hope you’re ready because I’m going to assault you with questions…and kisses.”

  “I like the way you think.” She laughs. “Ask, er, kiss away.”

  Planting my lips on hers, I let my tongue lightly caress her lips before pulling back. It’d be so easy to get lost in her right now. “I thought we could start making some traditions.”

  “That’s not a question, Masters. You’re starting to let me down here. Do I need to remind you of how Webster defines question?”

  I chuckle. “No, smartass.”

  Her eyes widen. “It’s way too soon for this, but considering for a period of time I pretended to be Mrs. Holden Masters, if we ever get married, I can’t think of a better name to assume than Mrs. Smartass.”

  I stare at her in utter amazement. There’s no one I’d rather share that name with than her. Giving her ass a spank, I tsk. “I was thinking we could go to Rind ‘N Grind this morning for breakfast.”

  She shakes her head, mischief written all over her face. “Still not a question.”

  She’s right. Even though laser tag was my ridiculously flawed attempt at asking her out on a date, it was so horrible she didn’t even know it. And a week ago when I won her auction, she didn’t even get a say. And we all know if she’d been able to turn me down, she would have. She tried. Damn, am I glad that didn’t work. But this is my chance to finally ask her out the way she deserves. Although, we’re totally doing shit all kinds of backward. “Cam,” I say, kissing her nose. “Will.” I kiss her cheek. Who cares about backward? This is way better than any way I could have asked her before. Goosebumps erupt on her skin and she closes her eyes for a second before flashing them open, like she wants to see and hear what’s happening. “You.”

  My lips move to that sensitive area behind her ear. I breathe in it like I did ten years ago, the first time I started playing with the idea of risking our friendship for more. “Go.” She shivers. “Out.” I lick her lobe. “With.” It’s like we’re in high school all over again. My dick is so hard, my heart feels like it’s had electricity shocked through it, warming my blood as it courses through my veins. “Me?” My hands roam down her side before gripping her waist. “I think that should have been enough kisses to pay for a single answer.”

  She sucks in a breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She puts her hands on my cheeks and gazes into my eyes for what seems like forever. I bet this is what it feels like when guys ask a girl to marry them and they hesitate before answering. What’s taking her so damn long? It’s just breakfast. Just a date.

  She leans in and traces my lips with her tongue, but it’s like that game people used to play where they drew something with their finger on your back and you had to guess it without looking. Except, I’m not looking away. I stare down at her tongue, crossing my eyes in order to do so, as she traces the word yes against them. Fucking yes. That’s hot as hell.

  I open my mouth and she dips her tongue inside, exploring, giving and taking, saying so much more than a word ever could.

  Rolling onto my back, I pull her onto my lap. She straddles me, her nightshirt riding up to her hips and her wet panties grinding against me. Rubbing my hands up and down her sides, I watch as her lips curve into a delicious, devilish smile. “Answers in exchange for clothes?”

  “Definitions in exchange for clothes.”

  She tosses her head back, laughing. “You must not care if I keep my two pieces of clothing on because I’m going to kick your ass at this game.”

  Shaking my head, I swallow as she rocks back and forth against my restrained cock. I don’t want to rush things, but damn, she’s killing me. “Urban Dictionary Edition,” I say. It’s the only chance I have at getting her naked. I swear she has Webster memorized.

  “Challenge accepted.”

  “Because I’m a cocky bastard.” I arch a brow and push up against her so she can feel just how much that’s true. “I’ll let you go first.”<
br />
  “Hmm.” She puts her finger up to her lips before sticking it in her mouth and sucking it hard, like it’s a lollipop…or my dick. Pulling it out fast, it pops. “Chicken head.”

  “That’s the best you can do?”

  She shrugs. “You’re stalling.”

  “No, I’m trying to decide whether to play stupid so I can free my cock and get it closer to your pussy.”

  Her cheeks redden, and that answers my question. “The person on top when chicken fighting.” I know that’s wrong. But it’s her. She’s always on top. I’m always under her, being driven fucking crazy by the way her thighs squeeze around me.

  “Oh, but you’re only wearing boxer briefs, so does that mean you already lose?”

  I laugh. “If this is losing, I never wanna win.”

  “Touché. But I think you’re cheating, so I’m inclined to make you go another round. Let’s call it double elimination.”

  I nod. Fuck yeah. I’m all for that. “Give me a second to think of one. You took the one I was going to use.” I wink at her.

  “You were not going to use that one.”

  “You’ll never know, though. Just like you’ll never know if I was cheating.”

  “If you were going to use it, then you knew the answer, and you just proved you’re cheating.”

  I bite my lip. “Your evidence is all circumstantial, though.”

  “Uh huh. Hurry up with your word or you’re disqualified. I’m hungry.”

  “Karissa’s Tits.”

  Her amused expression quickly fades, and I rub my hands up and down her delicate skin, lifting her shirt, going a little higher each time while singing the Jeopardy theme song.

  “Shh. You’re distracting me.”

  “Welcome to my world, tigress.” I grin. “Welcome. To. My. World.” This last time, I get the shirt over her own tits, and I don’t let it fall back down. “Time’s almost up.”

  “Those coconut things the Hawaiian girls wear.”

  “They’re called hula dancers,” I say, removing her shirt, tossing it to the side. “And screw double elimination. We’re playing double article removal.” Flipping her over, I yank her panties down before taking one of her nipples into my mouth.