Madness

by J. L. Vallance

  “To be fair, you were driving like a granny.”

  “I was not!” I scoffed.

  “It can be fixed,” he smiled. His teeth were perfect and bright, just like his smile. He was annoyingly handsome in a blue collar way. His light brown hair was trimmed short around his face, spiked messily at the top of his head. His face was covered in a five o’clock shadow that looked good on him. And despite my irritation, my stomach flipped when his eyes raked over me and his smile widened.

  “First of all, this is a classic; this paint job—custom. Second, how about you take a moment to focus on the fact that you are going to get someone killed driving like that.”

  “Listen, Bubbles, I can take care of the repairs,” he soothed, his condescension suffocating. “Next, I can handle myself just fine behind the wheel.”

  “Apparently, you can’t because you dick-nosed your car into the back of my truck!” I shouted as the rain continued to fall around us, my umbrella failing miserable at keeping my dress dry. I was fairly confident that my hair and makeup were safe. Elise’s meltdown would only be quasi-nuclear.

  The reckless stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, and then began patting his pockets, his eyes returning to mine.

  “Do you have a pen?”

  I made a show of patting the sides of my dress before throwing my free hand into the air.

  “Nope, fresh out it seems.”

  “I think I have one in the car,” he answered, climbing into his car. I watched as he rifled around in the glove compartment, pulling out a pen, holding it up for me to see, flashing a smile, and giving a sly wink to which I gave him a thumbs up. It was a much more friendly gesture than the one I was giving him in my head. He scribbled something onto the paper before climbing out and walking over to me, holding the paper out. “Give me a call, Bubbles. I’ll take care of the truck.”

  “Don’t call me Bubbles,” I replied, looking down at the paper, reading a name and phone number.

  “Then don’t dress like one,” he smiled, and I sighed. He was full of charm and charisma that surely got him into plenty of panties.

  “How do I know this is your real name and phone number, Mr. O'Neill?”

  “Would you prefer a copy of my driver’s license?” he asked with a raised brow.

  “Maybe.”

  He reached into his back pocket, removed his wallet, and pulled out his license. He held it between his index and middle finger as he handed it over to me. I looked down at it, my nose turned up as if he were attempting to hand me a used tissue. This had been, by far, the most absurd fender-bender I’d ever been in.

  “Take it,” he encouraged, pushing it toward me. “I’ll get it back when I settle this. But right now, I really have some place I need to be.”

  I did too. And I could only imagine the colorful words that were coming from Elise’s mouth as she wondered where in the hell I was. Besides, my feet were soaking wet and freezing. I grabbed the ID from his fingers, studying it briefly before slipping it into my jacket pocket.

  “What’s the J stand for, Mr. O’Neill?” I inquired, curiosity winning moments before snarkiness did. “Jackass?”

  “Now, now, there’s no need for name calling,” he grinned, running a thumb over his bottom lip. A lip that looked completely kissable. . . and bitable. “It’s James.”

  “I do find my suggestion more fitting,” I answered, taking one step back.

  “Right. . .”

  “In the future, maybe you should pay attention to the road, drive a little more cautiously, and then you won’t be drawn off course when in a time crunch,” I advised.

  “Give me a call when you’re ready for me to settle up, Bubbles,” he replied, ignoring my driving tips. “Maybe we could go for dinner too.”

  I rolled my eyes so hard, they were likely to be stuck. Of course he would be the type to think that it’s the time to pick up a date. . . after he’s wrecked into someone’s car. Douchebag. I turned, jogging back to the truck, waving a hand in response, jumping inside, and slamming the door behind me.

  A horn beeped as Mr. O’Neill pulled his car, with a headlight hanging, bouncing freely, around my parked truck and through the intersection. I shook my head, finally getting into gear and heading toward the church.

  Blasting the heat and music, I took my time getting to the church, finding difficulty in keeping the truck on the road. Fifteen minutes later, I finally pulled in, grabbed my duffle from the floor as well as my umbrella, and ran into the church. I needed some chamomile and a fucking Valium. My mother paced at the door, looking relieved when I walked in.

  “Francesca, where on Earth have you been?” she scolded, her eyes widening as she took in my water logged gown, her hand going to her lips to shield me from her audible gasp. “Your gown!”

  “I know, Mother!” I replied, grabbing her arm, pulling her toward the restrooms. “Do you have any idea what I have had to do today? Without any assistance, I might add. And then, some goddamn douchebag rear-ends me on my way here, and it’s—”

  “Francesca! Don’t speak like that in a church!” she scolded, and I rolled my eyes as I bent down to my duffle, pulling out the hairdryer that I had the bright idea to bring.

  “Did you even hear me say that I was in an accident?”

  “You’re obviously just fine,” she replied, placing her hands on her hips. “You are here, in one piece, cursing in a church.”

  “Jesus Christ, Mom. Is that all you’ve got right now?”

  She grabbed onto my cheeks, her eyes narrowing on mine. My mother was a fiery woman; I took after her in so many ways. She gave me shit every day, busted my balls every chance she could—to make me a better person. I loved her so much for that. She and my dad were the only reason I’d been able to keep my shit together.

  “If you don’t watch your mouth in the Lord’s house, Francesca Jean, I will smack your lips. I don’t care if you are a grown woman or taller than me,” she warned in a smooth and even tone. It was her most frightening crazy calm voice. “We’ll discuss the accident later. I’m glad you are here, in one piece and safe. Let’s focus on getting that gown dry and please, for all of our sakes, tell me you brought heels.”

  Once she released my face, I bent low, kissing her cheek, appreciating her snapping me out of my mini-mania.

  “Black ones, with a beautiful pink bow on the back,” I answered, matching her smile. “Please help me dry this hideous dress before Elise murders me.”

  “Of course, love,” she replied, taking the dryer from my hands. I removed my jacket, stuffing it into the duffle, along with my soaked shoes. “You look beautiful.”

  “So do you, Mom.” She really did. Her brown hair, accented with a few grey streaks was curled neatly around her face, resting atop her shoulders. I may have inherited height from my father, but I got a slender frame from my mother. Her short, slender body was sheathed in a lace, ivory gown that fell just below her knees.

  I stood, looking in the mirror as she dried the bottom of the knee-length dress the best she could. The strapless, corset-type bodice gown wouldn’t have been half-bad had it been in any other color. But the pink was horrendous and washed me out. I was stunned when Elise asked me to be a part of the wedding. I loved Elise, she was my sister, but she was all about looks and perfection. I went against the mold that she desired. My body art did not fit her tapestry. Not only did I have the colorful, full sleeve down my right arm and cuff on my left wrist, I had tattoos down my legs as well as ones gracing the tops of my feet. This included my favorite—crossed wrenches on my foot, my dad’s name scrawled within the metal of one wrench. My ink had become a way for me to express myself when I had been lost. It soothed me.

  “Are you nervous?” Mom asked, continuing to dry the gown. She knew me so well. I was a big ball of nerves.

  “A little,” I replied. “I’ll be okay though. I have Dad with me.” I touched my chest, my hand resting over my heart. The dryer switched off as my mother looke
d at me in the mirror, smiling.

  “He’s here, with all of us, Frankie,” she whispered. “And I think this dress is ready.”

  I slipped into my heels, fixed my curls, and Mom carried my duffle to the bridal room. Elise stood in front of a floor-length mirror, her white gown fluffed around her. The bodice hugged her curves tightly, fanning out at her hips as it carried a cascade of ivory flowers, accented with jewels, down to the floor. She turned, looking at me over her shoulder, smiling wide. She was stunning.

  “I am so happy to see you, I can’t even yell at you for being so late.”

  “You better not yell at me after all the work I did for the upcoming reception,” I replied, crossing the room to envelope her in a tight embrace. “You look beautiful.”

  Elise and I looked similar in the face, our hair the same shade of warm chestnut. Where my eyes were a light shade of amber, hers were a deep chocolate, the same as the rest of our siblings. Her hair, which normally rested at her shoulders, was up in a graceful French twist beneath her veil. She looked elegant and classy, like Grace Kelly stepping off the silver screen.

  “Can you believe I am getting married today?” she asked, a tear spilling from her eye. I reached up, wiping it away.

  “Yes and no,” I replied. “It doesn’t seem possible for time to have gone so fast. I remember playing Barbies and Chutes and Ladders. It seems like it was just last week. But Elise, you deserve this happiness.”

  “Thank you for still being here, Frankie. I love you so much,” she replied, touching my cheek softly. In rare moments, my family would touch on my low moment in life. I knew it was hard for them, facing the prospect of losing me. I carried unending guilt for what I made them face during those few weeks. I sniffled and moved out of her reach.

  “This is a happy day, no more of this mushy stuff,” I declared. “Is Colin’s best man actually going to show up?”

  “Yeah, I heard he is here. He beat you,” she replied with a chuckle.

  From what I’d heard, the guy was a real tool bag. I had to walk down the aisle with him, but had yet to meet him. He had missed the rehearsal as well as the dinner. Supposedly, he was out of town on an “important business trip.” I hadn’t even learned the dude’s name yet, and he already held little stock in my book. There was a light knock on the door, my mother poking her head in.

  “It’s time,” she called.

  “Hey, what’s the best man’s name?” I called to Elise, walking toward the door.

  “Rory O’Neill,” Elise replied, following. “He’s been friends with Colin since they were boys.”

  I gulped, tuning Elise out as she continued. Rory O’Neill, NASCAR wannabe that rammed into the back of my truck. I guess we have met.

  This should be interesting.

  Chapter 4

  “Bubbles,” Rory whispered as he came to stand next me, waiting for our cue to walk down the aisle. He smiled a cocky and suave smile. It made me want to vomit. “What a coincidence.”

  “If you call me Bubbles one more time, I will shank you.”

  He laughed in response. It was a deep, husky sound that gave me goose bumps. Not to mention his appearance. He looked even better than he had on the side of the road, drenched in rain. A tux did wonders for a man, especially one that probably looked damn near a million bucks covered in a can of motor oil, or two. Rory O’Neill was handsome in a simple way, not the fresh from a photo shoot way. He was real—real irritating.

  “You are not a very personable woman.”

  I had no response as a young man motioned for us to begin walking down the aisle. Rory inched closer, looping his arm with mine, leading me slowly down the aisle. He towered over me, which wasn’t an easy feat given my giantesque 5’10’’ stature, which was only exaggerated by my three-inch heels. I smiled a big fat fake smile as the cameras flashed, only noticing a few shocked and oddly disappointed expressions. My appearance had that effect on people.

  “Nice ink, Bubbles. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting all that beneath the denim. It suits you.”

  I kept my eyes forward, meeting Colin’s gaze at the end of the aisle. He looked nervous as he stood all alone, waiting for his bride. My mind wandered, playing through all of the lines that were going through his head, right in that moment. Will I go bald? Will she get fat? Will our children look like her weird uncle? I snickered to myself. His palms, feet, and balls were probably sweaty and swampy. . . like the bayou.

  “I’d love to know what’s hidden beneath the dress.”

  “I’d love for you to shut it,” I grumbled.

  “I bet you’re a real wild ride; a little rough around the edges with a silky and warm interior.” Rory’s voice was like liquid sex as he made crude innuendoes in the middle of a church, in the midst of my sister’s wedding no less.

  I reached up coyly, my fingers finding the sensitive skin near his armpit, and pinched as hard as I could, all while maintaining my smile. The guests, the groom, and the sweet reverend were none the wiser.

  “Ouch!” he seethed. “What was that for?”

  We reached the end of the aisle and I turned to him and nodded my head, letting go of his arm, enjoying the confused and irritated look marring his smooth features. I gave him no words, finding them unnecessary. I stood at the end of the aisle way, waiting for the rest of the bridal party to enter, feeling his eyes burning into my flesh from across the way. I stared forward, refusing to meet his glare. He could have ray guns implanted in those corneas. . . I still wasn’t going to look.

  The Wedding March began, the guests rising to their feet as Elise entered onto the aisle, my brother, Geno, holding onto her. She looked perfect as she walked toward her future, the brightest smile I’d ever seen gracing her lush, pink lips. Her smile widened, her mouth opening as she laughed at something Geno whispered to her. Geno smiled just as wide and looked handsome, and so much like my dad, I had to fight back the tears that had been on the brink all day.

  They reached the end, Elise’s eyes glistening with unshed tears as she mouthed, “I love you” to Colin.

  “Who gives away this woman to be married?” the reverend asked. Geno grinned, his own eyes shining with tears, looking down at Elise, then to me, and then out to Mom and Palma.

  “We do,” we all answered at once. Geno kissed her on the cheek, releasing her as he retreated to sit beside his wife, taking her hand.

  In ways, I pitied and resented them all at once. My siblings all had committed partners. They had happy and complete lives that they shared with their other halves. Even Palma had found Jade. They met, fell in love, moved to Boston, and married last year. Jade was eight weeks pregnant with their first child. Palma was a different person since Jade entered into her life; she was free. Each and every one of them—Geno, Elise, Palma—they were finally happy, content, and settled. They had each found a partner in life to share a piece of themselves with. I feared that kind of intimacy. If I gave up that much of myself to another human being, they could crush me so easily. They could take what little bit of me remained, and maybe the next time someone found me, I wouldn’t be savable. I felt things so much more deeply than others—the best of things as well as the worst—and in order to keep my promise to my father, I couldn’t put myself in risky situations.

  The ceremony went quickly, Elise beaming with more happiness than I’d seen her carry since before our dad had become ill. Every bit of the heartache she had put me through had been worth it, just for that moment, her pure bliss at being pronounced husband and wife. She and Colin exited the church, the wedding party following suit. Rory’s eyes met mine as he didn’t walk, he swaggered toward me, a cocky smile wide on his face.

  “Bubbles,” he drawled, and I sighed—heavily. “I am certain I will have a mark from those fingers. Perhaps the first of many?”

  “My advice to you, Mr. O’Neill, would be to watch your mouth when you speak to a lady,” I replied, taking the arm that he offered. I encouraged the butterflies that assaulted my stomach at con
tact to go to Hell.

  “When I encounter one, I will.”

  “You really are so—”

  “Charming? Ooh, devilishly handsome? How about undeniably desirable?” he offered.

  “Negatory,” I responded dryly. “Pompous, egotistical, crude. . .”

  “And you seem to be a pretentious and uptight bitch. We’re not always what we seem, Bubbles.”

  I chuckled in response. He had a way with words. In his own mind, he was charming and cute. And beneath the layers of pompous prick and shocking inappropriateness, I suppose he was—a little.

  “Touché.”

  “Have a drink with me?” he asked, and I shot him a sideways glance.

  “Not a chance, O’Neill.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s a laundry list of reasons.”

  “Like?”

  “You wrecked my truck,” I added, as he pulled me away from the crowd.

  “Come on, you can’t still be pissed about that, Bubbles,” he dismissed. “I told you, I’ll take care of the damages.”

  “I don’t drink,” I continued, walking away from him, listening to his footfalls struggling to keep up.

  “Ever?”

  “It’s extremely rare,” I replied. “I make very poor choices when I do.”

  “Make an exception,” he demanded. “I’ll be your conscience.”

  “Right, because that would be a wise option.”

  “It certainly couldn’t hurt,” he offered. He was tenacious.

  “Nope,” I answered, reaching the door to the bridal room. “And the most important reason of all, you’re not my type, O’Neill.”

  Rory leaned close, made me believe he was going to press his lips to mine, turning his head at the last second. His breath tickled my ear as it picked up in tempo.

  “We’ll see about that,” he whispered, hesitating for a moment before standing upright.

  His full lips curved into a wicked smile as I turned my back to him, walking into the room to gather my things. Nothing prepared me for the way my hands shook and heart raced as I leaned my back against the wall. I had the distinct feeling Rory O’Neill was a dangerous man. His voice, his words, made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time—if ever. Despite my annoyance, I was highly attracted to him. And that scared the shit out of me.