Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty)

by Lakes, Krista

She kicked her legs to force her body the rest of the way around. The metal had pinched in enough that when she made it full circle, her lower back grazed the platform. She clutched the bent rail, feet dangling, trying to figure out how to wiggle her way backward and up to safety.

  Her shoulders screamed with the effort of hanging on. Stella looked down, imagining her body smashing onto the roof of the shed below. Good God, what had she been thinking? She swung her legs from side to side, zinging anew with fear as the metal bar scrunched again, until finally she caught the lip of the platform with her heel.

  The flimsy plastic of her pink jelly snapped, and the shoe flipped upward, balanced on the edge of the platform, then fell below. Stella watched its descent as it banged against a leg of the tower and tumbled end over end until it landed in a tree beside the shed.

  She grunted and brought her other foot up onto the platform. She ducked beneath the bar and rolled toward the tower, not stopping until she lay against the wall. Her breathing came in great huffs, her lungs sucking in air until she choked.

  Stella curled against the metal, feeling each rivet and seam. Death had moved in close, and she’d cheated it. Yet, she still had to get down. She turned her head slightly, but even the glimpse of trees and rooftops set her to shivering.

  The drainage mesh in the center of the platform bit into her bare legs and foot. Down below, drum taps and tweets of a flute and whomps of a tuba filtered upward, happy and light. The marching band must have left the school, probably heading toward the practice field just beneath the tower.

  A cymbal crashed, startling her. She inched her way to the edge so she could see, forcing herself to accept the height again. The kids were lined up below, the percussion only a few yards from the chain-link fence that cordoned off the base of the tower. She hadn’t factored in their arrival, even though she knew they practiced right after lunch. Now she was good and stuck with no way to call her boss and explain why she was so late. Losing her job, now that would be a crappy addition to her day.

  One of the kids climbed a rickety stepladder and shouted at the others. They stood still, poised and perfect, expectant. When the kid clapped and lifted his arms, they raised their instruments in unison. After a four-count, the band bellowed the first bars of a marching song.

  Stella laid her cheek against the metal and closed her eyes. Just forget everything. Listen to the music, blow off the job. Something would come along. Life would move forward, one way or another.

  *

  She awoke to a sprinkle on her cheek. The band was gone, and her watch read 2:00. The sky had gone gray, and the first light raindrops were spilling across the face of the tower. God, she was late. She peered over the edge of the platform, her stomach rumbling. The pink shoe still hung in the tree. A maintenance man squatted by the wheel of a bus. One hour until classes let out. She had to get down before then.

  She crawled back to the opening that led to the ladder. Maybe if she didn’t stand up at all, just slid right through to the rungs, she’d be fine. Don’t look down, don’t think about where you are. She’d done this so many times. Maybe dark was better. You couldn’t see where you’d land.

  A voice, thin and tinny, came from below. “Stella?”

  She couldn’t see who it was from the hole. Stella drew a deep breath and moved nearer the edge, grasping not the thin rail, but one of the supporting legs.

  Beatrice, her boss. Good Lord.

  “You okay, Stell?” She looked up at her, blond hair tuffed just so, shoulder pads so wide she looked like a linebacker. The black and white checks on her jacket were big enough to be a chessboard even from this height. Stella could almost catch the waft of Chanel No. 19, but probably that was just memory. Beatrice would get wrecked in the rain. Her coiffure didn’t hold up well to the elements.

  “I’m fine. Sort of,” she called. At least she wasn’t fired, it seemed.

  “Janine stopped by on her break, saw you weren’t there. You need me to call the fire department?”

  God. “No! I’m coming!” Stella forced herself to slide back to the hole and stick her legs through. Her bare foot caught the rung, so she eased down to stand on the ladder.

  Her pink jelly immediately slipped, and she gripped the platform so hard her bracelet snapped against the metal.

  “Careful, honey!”

  Stella huffed a few stabilizing breaths, then scraped her heel against the rung, knocking off the shoe. She was better off without it. It thudded below, probably landing on the shed.

  She pulled her hand back to grasp the top of the ladder, grimacing at the wet, and inched down another two rungs. The bracelet pulled loose—too loose—and slipped down her arm. No!

  The amethyst beads glittered as they moved into the crook of her elbow. The birthstones! Grandma Angie had given Stella the bracelet last May. Stella couldn’t bear to lose it.

  The wind bit into the tears at the corners of her eyes as she tightened her arm, trying to keep the bracelet from falling. She let go with her left hand, hoping to catch the beads, barely daring to breathe. The rain came in earnest now, and she wondered what Beatrice was doing below.

  Her fingers clutched what bits of the bracelet were still trapped against her body. Others rolled off, hitting the roof like hail.

  Her skirt didn’t have any pockets, so she stuck the beads and bits of metal in her mouth. Down, down, down, she knew she had to hurry now. The ladder would get increasingly wet and treacherous. She descended the first tier, trying not to breathe too hard, or she might swallow the beads.

  Her foot reached tentatively for the second ladder, a short gap that felt like a mile. Her foot slipped again on the wet bar, and she gripped hard with her toes. She chanced a look down. Beatrice was obscured beneath a Vogue magazine opened over her head.

  Stella transferred her weight to the other ladder, feeling her foot slip again. Her tall bangs hung in her eyes now, dripping down her face. If she got down, she swore she’d leave this godforsaken town tomorrow. And grow up. Time to do that.

  The storm responded with a flash of lightning. Beatrice screeched down below, and Stella moved quickly now, sure-footed as she descended the second tier. Just one to go.

  The last jog was a bigger stretch, but the towering elm tree that held her shoe had protected the metal from the worst of the rain. The beads rolled against Stella’s tongue, and she had to let saliva dribble out the corners of her mouth to keep from swallowing. What a sight she had to be. She could taste hair spray. The blue eye shadow and violet mascara no doubt lent her a freakish appearance.

  She reached out with her foot again, transferring to the last ladder.

  “You almost got it, hon!” Beatrice called, her voice muffled by the drum of rain on the metal shed roof.

  A bead tried to make it down her throat, and she almost gagged. But she tilted her head forward to slide the bits toward her lips, where she could hold them tight.

  No distractions. Her feet moved swiftly down, down, down, her hands grasping the rungs with fierce intensity. The last few feet required a jump, but she was barefoot. She looked below at the gravel and weeds, slick with rain.

  Beatrice rushed forward, holding out her arms. “I got you, sugar doll. You can let go.”

  Stella worried the jolt would cause her to swallow the beads, so she spit them into one hand while hanging by the other, then released the rung. She fell on top of Beatrice, and they tumbled together onto the wet stones. Stella saw a sparkle by her elbow. Another bead! She snatched it up, scrambling along the ground to spot any more.

  Beatrice stood with a grunt. “What got into you, girl?”

  “I’ve climbed it a hundred times.” Another jewel. Stella snatched it up.

  “In the rain?”

  “It wasn’t raining when I went up.”

  Beatrice brushed gravel from her knees. “I guess we both have to clean up before going back to work.” She grimaced at the caked mud. “Maybe we’ll just close up for the day.”

  Stella snatch
ed her purse from where she’d hidden it behind a rock, dropping the beads inside. The loss of the bracelet hit her hard now, her nose running madly. “I have to get on the shed.”

  She set the purse down again and stumbled across the gravel, looking for a way up. The water came down in sheets.

  Beatrice grasped her arm. “What is with you? You nearly died at least twice up there.”

  She’d cheated death again. There would be payback, she knew. “My grandmother’s bracelet. It shattered.” She held up her empty arm, scratched and bleeding.

  Beatrice squeezed her shoulder. “I know how much it means to you. Maybe we can find the beads tomorrow, when it’s not wet. The rain will wash them off the roof.”

  Stella collapsed against the wall of the shed. “I hate this town.”

  Beatrice rolled up the soggy Vogue and shoved it in her oversized bag. “Stella, this town’s got nothing to do with you nearly falling off a tower.”

  “It’s time for me to go.” Stella pushed away from the shed and grabbed her purse. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  “Stella, no. Don’t.” Beatrice followed her, keeping up easily as Stella picked her way across the gravel with tender feet. She grabbed Stella’s arm. “I have to tell you something.”

  Stella jerked around. “What now?”

  Beatrice pressed her lips together. The rain had totally deflated her bottle-blond hair, now a sticky helmet plastered against her scalp. Stella knew she looked just as bad.

  “It’s your grandmother.”

  Stella stepped back, wincing on a sharp rock. “What is it?”

  “Your mom called. I didn’t let on you weren’t there. I figured you’d show, right up till Janine came in. They’ve moved your grandmother out of the nursing home. She’s back home.”

  “But that’s great. She’s doing better, then?”

  Beatrice’s face crumpled, her own mascara streaming from her lashes. “Not exactly, honey.”

  Stella whirled around. When her feet hit pavement, she broke into a run. She’d known there would be a reckoning, just not that it would come so fast.

  2

  Visiting Grandma

  ––––––––

  “STOP. Stop right there.”

  Stella halted in the doorway to Grandma Angie’s house, footsore, wet, and hurting in forty-seven places. “What?”

  Vivian, Stella’s mother, blocked the foyer. “You look like a whore on a bender. What were you thinking, walking in, makeup down your face, soaking wet—and where are your shoes?”

  Stella tried to push past, but Vivian stood firm. “I’m serious, Stella. You are not going to upset your grandmother with your appearance. Surely you weren’t at work this way.”

  “I got caught in the rain coming here.”

  Vivian sighed. “Go home and fix yourself up. Grandmother doesn’t need to see you like this.”

  “What’s going on? Why is she home?”

  Vivian grasped Stella’s arm and led her to the kitchen. She snatched a paper towel and wet it at the sink. “It’s home hospice.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Vivian held Stella’s chin and began wiping her face like she was three years old. “So much mascara. Good God, child.”

  “What is home hospice?” Stella tried to pull away, but her mother persisted, rubbing the rough cloth under her eyes and down her cheeks.

  Vivian set the paper towel on the counter. “It means she’s come home to die.”

  Stella turned to the kitchen table and sat on one of the straight-backed chairs that had been there since before she was born. She ran her fingers along several teeth marks in the wooden seat, left by her sister. “No one told me she was dying.”

  “You knew she had cancer.”

  “She seemed fine on the phone.”

  “She didn’t want you to know.”

  Grandma hadn’t told her. Stella hadn’t seen her for a couple of months, but still, she’d seemed mostly the same, well, maybe a little thinner. “Why isn’t she fighting it? Why aren’t they doing anything?”

  “She’s been fighting. She lost.”

  “Before she went to the home?” Her head buzzed. She’d been utterly betrayed. The home was supposed to be temporary, for her to do rehab and get strong again.

  “No, she kept the chemo going. She was too weak to get around.”

  “I would have taken care of her.”

  “She knew that. She wanted you to live your life.”

  Stella gripped the table, angry at herself. She should have taken Grandma’s car keys and driven there, talked to the doctors herself. She had been so stupid. She should have gone. “How long does she have?”

  “A week, probably. That’s what the nurse said when they arrived.” Her mother wiped the counter absently. Dust coated everything. Not that it was clean before. Grandma felt people were more important than a spotless house. Stella was firmly in her camp on that.

  “Where is she?”

  “In the living room. The nurse is arranging her bed and an oxygen tank.”

  Stella stood up, but Vivian stopped her again. “Your hair,” she said, trying to arrange the sticky strands around Stella’s face.

  Stella pulled away. “She isn’t going to care.”

  Vivian turned back to the counter. “She was always soft where you were concerned.”

  Unlike Vivian. This was the longest conversation they’d had in a year, and that’s the way Stella liked it. She padded out of the kitchen and into the darkened living room. She couldn’t see anything for a moment, but the changes hit her anyway. The ever-present aroma of Grandma’s baking, lemon and vanilla and browning pie crust, had been replaced by something medicinal, antiseptic.

  As her eyes adjusted, she saw a woman in pink scrubs bend over the controls of a metal hospital bed. A motor whirred, shifting the angle of the mattress, and Stella made out the form of Grandma Angie, slender under a thin blanket. Stella rushed forward and grasped a frail, chilly hand. Grandma’s eyes were closed, the thin lids fluttering.

  Stella dropped to her knees and leaned into the mattress. “Hey, Grandma. You’re home.”

  Grandma opened her eyes. “Stella, my girl.” Her voice was ragged.

  “So we can go partying again, right? Now that those buzzards at the nursing home aren’t circling?”

  Grandma smiled. “Only if you brought the right tequila.”

  “You hate the cheap stuff.”

  Grandma closed her eyes again, drawing a shallow breath and letting it go with agonizing slowness.

  “She might go out on you,” the nurse said. “Just started a morphine drip.”

  “Is she in pain?” Stella clutched the fragile hand.

  “Not now.” The nurse tugged a second blanket up over Grandma Angie, tucking it under her arms.

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “All you want.” The nurse patted Stella on the shoulder and left the room.

  Stella leaned her head on the bed, her own breath coming in long shudders. “I broke your bracelet.”

  Grandma squeezed her hand. “That’s all right.”

  “I’ll find all the beads. I’ll fix it.”

  “You’ll make something even more beautiful.”

  “I’ll try.” Grandma had taught Stella everything about jewelry making. They’d started when Stella was just five years old, stringing pony beads on fishing wire.

  Vivian walked into the room and scooped up a box labeled “Angelica Sutton” filled with pictures and knickknacks that had been at the nursing home. She clomped away, her flowered dress hitching up on one side, caught by the box. “Don’t tire her out,” she warned.

  When she was gone, Stella asked, “Do I tire you out?”

  “No, child.”

  “You can’t leave me.”

  Grandma fixed her ice-blue eyes on Stella. “My girl.”

  “I’m expecting you at my wedding. So you better hang in there.”

  Grandma’s mouth opened, but no soun
d came out.

  “And there’s no one on the horizon. So it might be, like, twenty years still.”

  A small smile. Grandma squeezed her hand.

  Stella’s heart ached. She laid her forehead on the bed again. Why hadn’t she gone to Branson more often? What had been more important?

  Grandma’s hand suddenly went limp. “Grandma?” Stella asked. “Are you okay?”

  The nurse reentered the room and lifted Grandma’s free hand, fingers pressed against her wrist. “She’s asleep now. The morphine has kicked in.”

  “Why are you putting her out like this?” Stella wanted to talk to her. She had so many things to say.

  “She’s in some pain now, sweetie.” The nurse laid Grandma’s hand back on the bed and marked something in a notebook.

  “What sort of pain?”

  “The tumor is putting pressure on her lungs.”

  Stella looked down at her grandmother, who now breathed in shallow gasps. It seemed like she was dying before her eyes.

  “What will happen?”

  “Well, either her lungs will fill with fluid, and that will end things, or she’ll get too weak from not eating.”

  “She doesn’t eat?”

  “Hasn’t for a while. Eating prolongs it. It’s hard, dying.”

  Stella gripped her grandmother’s hand more firmly. “Hard on everybody.”

  3

  Good Scents Distraction

  ––––––––

  STELLA pushed through the door to Good Scents the next day, heavy and tired. She spotted bits of Beatrice through the glass shelves built into the counter that held the cash register. The boxes of high-dollar perfumes shifted around as her boss made room for new inventory. A half-dozen unopened cartons lay scattered across the store.

  “Hey, Stella doll. How is your grandmother?” Beatrice asked.

  Stella shoved aside a velvet curtain that led to the storeroom and dropped her purse on a table. “I just left there. She’s mainly sleeping.”

  “You sure you want to be here?”

  Stella pushed a box toward the display wall. “I can’t really talk to her now. They have her so drugged up.” She picked up a box cutter and slid it along the line of the sealing tape. “I need something to do.”