Dare to Love (Maxwell #3)

by S. B. Alexander

  “Nothing is ever easy in life,” my dad had once told me.

  “Strength comes from within. You’re strong,” my mom had said. “Always fight for what is right and what is yours.”

  It was time to seek help. I went to grab my phone, and horror careened through me. My phone was in my backpack on Zach’s floor.

  11

  Kelton

  I knew the moment I grabbed onto her. I was holding Lizzie. Very few women I’ve met over the years smelled of jasmine. Plus her hesitation gave her away when I called her Lizzie. Her red wig and green contacts were a decent disguise. Yet before I gave myself a high five, I wanted to see Lizzie, not Emma. I wanted her to come clean. I would’ve chased after her, but first I had to find out what the fuck was going on between her and Zach. Friend or no friend¸ I’d beat his head into the wall if he’d so much as laid hands on her.

  I clenched my teeth as I walked into the library. Zach was just saying goodbye to someone on the phone. As soon as he hung up, I said, “What the hell, man? What did you do to the girl?” I stumbled over a backpack.

  Zach relaxed against the couch as though he’d had a rough night. He was about to have a fucking rough day if he said he and Lizzie had tumbled in the sack.

  “Hell if I know. We were talking about my loser of an old man and she lost it, choking like I said something that hit a nerve.”

  I snagged the backpack. “So you didn’t screw her?” I fisted my free hand.

  “Brew wanted me to help her since she started art class late. She’s smoking hot, but no. You know I’m not into redheads.”

  Since Zach and I had been roommates at the BU dorms and now at this place, we knew each other’s taste in women. Zach only dated blondes.

  “Is this hers?” I held up the backpack.

  “I think so.” He kicked up his feet onto the coffee table. “Where have you been for three days?”

  I set the pack at my feet then took off my suit jacket. I had an inkling Lizzie would return for it. “Family business, and I had that interview.” I wasn’t ready to tell him about Lizzie and her family and how we were connected. He had his own problems. His old man was a staunch gambler. The man frequented casinos and shady underground poker joints.

  “Shit. And?” he asked.

  “Won’t know for a couple of weeks.”

  His phone chirped. He jumped up as if he’d just been caught jerking off. “I got to take this.” He scurried out of the room.

  I eased down onto the couch, staring at the canvas bag, debating if I should sift through it. I didn’t have Lizzie’s number. So I couldn’t call her.

  A Kenney Chesney song started playing from the bag, sounding muffled. Slipping my hand inside, I pulled out… a Taser? What the hell was Lizzie doing with a Taser? I didn’t like what was unraveling. Lizzie running around Boston in a red wig carrying a Taser. The depressing song kept playing. I dipped my hand back in and found her phone. Dillon’s name lit up the screen.

  I probably shouldn’t have answered it, but I wanted to screw with him. “Hello.” With my free hand, I rummaged through the rest of the bag and found a wallet.

  “Who the fuck is this?” Dillon’s voice was full of grit. “Where’s Lizzie?”

  I didn’t need any more confirmation than that. “What’s your girl doing running around Boston in a red wig?” I opened the flap of the wallet. Staring back at me was a picture of Lizzie on her license.

  “Maxwell? Is that you? If you so much as touched her—”

  “What? Are you going to beat my head in?” I’d like to see the fucker try. I hadn’t been in a good brawl since Aaron Seever and I had gone a few rounds in high school.

  “Where is she? Is she okay?” He’d lost the attitude.

  “I don’t know. What’s she doing with a Taser? Did you give it to her?” Something smelled rotten. My gut was telling me Lizzie was in trouble, although somewhere in my subconscious I’d known that since she hadn’t wanted to show the real her, in an art class no less.

  “Are you on my phone?” Lizzie asked, annoyance dripping from her tone.

  I turned, not even having heard her walk in. “Trying to slink in unnoticed?”

  “Is that her?” Dillon’s irritated voice returned, blaring through the speaker. “Let me talk to her.”

  I hung up as he spewed swear words like a veteran sailor.

  Lizzie ran over and started gathering her things. “Stay out of my personal stuff.” She tried to get her voice deep and scary. All that came out was a high-pitched squeal. One that I used to pull out of her by taking Harry, my pet lizard, out of his aquarium whenever she was in my room.

  Her hand reached for the Taser. I got it before she did. “Not so fast, Lizzie.” I emphasized her name.

  Her perfectly smooth skin pinched around her fake green eyes. “You think you’re smart because you figured out who I am?”

  “Baby doll, I am smart. I have a high IQ.” I smirked.

  She hiked the backpack onto her shoulder. “You’re still a douche. Age hasn’t changed you one bit.”

  Fuck, I hope not. “Why would I change? What you see is what you get. Unlike you. Who are you hiding from?”

  She stuck out her hand, her hip, and her bottom lip. “Give me my Taser.”

  My gaze roamed over her slow and steady. High cheekbones, toned thighs that filled out her black jeans, ample breasts beneath a tight red sweater, and lips I salivated to bite, taste, and tease until she lost the attitude.

  I pushed to my feet, tucking the Taser into the waist of my pants at my back. “You have to come and get it.”

  She rolled her eyes as she lost her pouty look. “Still playing games like you were six years old.”

  “Still pouting like a little girl who lost her Barbie doll.” Please pout some more. I loved it when she stuck out her lips.

  She growled instead. The woman actually growled, low, deep, and ball-squeezing as all get out. My dick twitched. Do it again. Or maybe not—I was a second away from being as hard as the marble fireplace.

  “Seriously, if you don’t give me back my property, I’ll have to kick your tight ass.”

  I gave a half smirk, inching toward her. “You think my ass is tight? Have you been checking me out?”

  “I don’t waste my time on obnoxious guys, and you have one too many flaws.” She held out her palm, shuffling backward. “Now hand me my Taser, and I’ll be out of your life.”

  I pressed forward. I couldn’t let her leave if she was in trouble. Yet the more she kept pushing me away, the more determined I was to understand why. I hadn’t seen her in seven years. So I couldn’t imagine what I’d ever done to make her hate me. I’d also promised my old man that I’d talk to Lizzie about Mom seeing Gracie.

  She gave a quick glance over her shoulder, moving slowly around the couch.

  “Flaws? There’s not a flaw on my body. You should know that since you saw me with only a cowboy hat on in Brew’s class.”

  She growled again.

  Fuck me. I had a ton of control over my dick, but if she continued to growl, I was about to jack off without my hand.

  “Conceited much?”

  “Just pointing out a fact,” I returned as we tangoed around the couch. “Let’s make a deal.” Let me kiss you. Nah, I couldn’t. Not until she took off that wig and her contacts. I had to see the real her, feel her soft, dark hair flow through my fingers, and look into her blue-gray eyes.

  She snarled. “I don’t deal with the devil.”

  “Baby, I do. Tell me who you’re hiding from, and I’ll give you back the Taser.”

  Bumping into the table behind the couch, she stopped, seemingly thinking about my offer.

  I settled in front of her, and we stared at each other. I thought back to Dillon’s porch and how close I’d been to kissing her. I had a feeling if I even attempted to press my lips to hers, she’d haul off and punch me. She’d done that the first time I’d kissed her on the cheek in the seventh grade. That feistiness was one of the
traits I loved about Lizzie. But we weren’t in grade school anymore. My body hummed with the need to kiss her. My mind, on the other hand, was telling me to back off. One kiss, and I wouldn’t stop. I’d be ruined. If she rejected me, I wouldn’t be the same. My brothers were right. I’d be fucked up again. Apart from that, I couldn’t kiss a woman who didn’t want me to, and not one who had a boyfriend.

  Her gaze roamed over my face, slow and sure.

  I reached out and gently touched her fake hair. “You’re prettier without this wig.” My voice was hoarse.

  The barrier between us dissolved as she exhaled. Then she lifted up on her toes, planted her hands on my chest, and brought her lips close to mine.

  I let go of her hair as my heart flipped like an out-of-control gymnast doing back handsprings. Then she snaked her hands underneath my shirt to my back. The lust coursing through me receded when her hands crept lower to the Taser.

  I sprang backward. “Nice move. I see you’re still as cunning as ever.”

  She pursed her lips. “And I see you’re not falling for my charm like you used to. Doesn’t matter. I’ll send Dillon over for his Taser. I’m out of here.” Disappointment colored her tone as she marched out with her head held high.

  I’d chased her like I had when we were kids, and she was mad at me. A warm feeling spread through my chest at the notion some things between us hadn’t changed. Only now she was even more beautiful when she didn’t get her way. “Lizzie?”

  She stopped feet from the front door, not bothering to turn around.

  “I really would like to help you. I know your boyfriend can, but I know important people in this city.” I could ask Chloe’s dad to help. He’d been instrumental in helping Lacey and her father when Lacey had been kidnapped, and he had connections within the BPD.

  “I’m good.” Her voice wavered.

  All of a sudden, I felt like a schmuck. Okay, I was. I wasn’t good at handling women who cried. I wasn’t like Kade. He always had the right words to say or knew the right thing to do when Lacey cried or she was having one of her PTSD blackouts. I’d experienced her having one of them in high school when her house had been broken into. It had gutted me.

  “You can have the Taser back.” I removed it from my pants.

  “I don’t need it now. But thank you,” she said sweetly, making her way to the door.

  “Lizzie.”

  She spun around, a tear cascading down her cheek.

  Daggers stabbed at my heart. When we were kids, I had beaten any boy who’d made her cry. “My mom would like to see Gracie.”

  Another tear trickled down. Then she ran out the door.

  A slow burn of anger and frustration steamrollered through me as I ran after her. I was fuming at myself for being a dickwad, but I was also irritated that she hadn’t answered me and angry she was always running away from me.

  “Lizzie,” I shouted as my feet hit the brick sidewalk. “I do want to help.”

  I stopped as she sprinted away. Well, if she didn’t want my help, then maybe Dillon could shed some light on what the fuck was going on in Lizzie’s life.

  12

  Lizzie

  In the half-bath at Dillon’s, I shoved my wig and contacts into my backpack then glanced in the mirror. Either the room was too small or I was developing a nasty case of claustrophobia as I tried to catch my breath. Mascara smudged the underside of my eyes. My nose could pass for Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, and the whites around my blue-gray eyes were redder than a tomato. I was one hot mess. I’d been crying since Dillon had picked me up over an hour before. As soon as I’d gotten in the car he’d asked, “Did anyone physically hurt you?” When I’d said no he hadn’t pried any further.

  My mind skipped from one thing to the next and back, repeating like a broken record. My money was probably gone, Kelton’s mom wanted to see Gracie, and I wanted Kelton to wrap his arms around me and tell me everything would be okay like he did when we were kids.

  Anger, fear, sadness, despair, and pity all yanked at my heart, jabbed at my stomach, and caused my hands to tremble. “What are you afraid of?” I whispered into the mirror.

  Everything. Life. Being alone. Love. Kelton. His family. Before I’d arrived in Boston my only fear had been not getting my money back. Now the list was growing at a rapid rate.

  “Fear is good,” my dad had said. “It gets the blood pumping. Rising above your deepest fears makes you a better person.”

  I wasn’t so sure. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, clear the blinders, go out and fight for what’s yours.” I laughed at my own words as a tear trickled down my cheek.

  A knock sounded. “Lizzie, are you okay?” Dillon asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll be right out.” I let the faucet run a second before I splashed cold water on my face. I ripped off two squares of toilet paper then cleared the black around my eyes. After I’d cleaned up, I fluffed my hair, pinched my cheeks for color, and met Dillon in the kitchen.

  “Cool?” He poured tea into a mug that had Best Friend inscribed on the side.

  I folded myself onto the bench with my back to the window. I didn’t care to look out into the dreary day. He set the mug down along with a sugar bowl, his brown eyes assessing me. Then he sat opposite me, a few strands of his hair toppling forward.

  “Thank you for picking me up.” I didn’t want to go back to the hostel. The place was depressing. I thought about calling Peyton, but I wasn’t ready to involve her, and she couldn’t help, not in the way I needed. The only thing she could do was console me. I didn’t need any more pity. I’d been giving myself a good dose of it since I ran from Kelton. What would get me out of my funk was tough love, strength, and someone who had enough connections and muscle to help me. Kelton had both, but I couldn’t bring myself to open up to him. I didn’t know for sure if he was living with Zach, although him at Zach’s place was a clear indication that they were at least friends.

  “Is anyone here with you?” I scooped two sugars into my tea. I suspected the house was empty since if Allie and Bee were there they would have been bopping around, using me as a guinea pig for hair, nails, and makeup, which I didn’t mind. I rather enjoyed all the attention. And Josh and Rafe, Dillon’s sidekicks, would be lurking in the shadows.

  “Just you and me. Everyone is working.” He cracked his knuckles.

  “And you don’t work?” Maybe he made all his money selling guns.

  He brought his fingers up to his lips. “Tell me what’s going on. Is it Maxwell?”

  “Not really.” In part Kelton had something to do with why I was a walking disaster. “Are you still open to helping me?”

  “I told you I would.” He propped his elbows on the table. When he did, part of his Chinese symbol tat peeked out of from under the sleeve of his black T-shirt.

  He followed my gaze to his arm then said, “It means hope.” He lifted his sleeve, exposing the tat and the name Grace.

  “Who’s Grace?” I asked.

  He closed his eyes briefly. “My sister.” He pulled his sleeve down. “She disappeared when she was sixteen. I’ve been searching for her for the past two years.”

  “Did she run away?” I blew on the tea, a little freaked out that we both had sisters named Grace. I’d assumed the name would be of a former love interest.

  “Supposedly. At least that’s what my old man said.” He tucked his hair behind his ear, his fingers dragging down the side of his neck. “I’d been working on a merchant ship and was gone months at a time. One day, when I got back, she was gone. She packed her things and took off. I imagine she was tired of his drinking.” His jaw tightened.

  I took a sip of tea. “And your mom?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Ran off with a loser when my sister was five. Cops have Grace’s picture, but they don’t exactly put all their efforts into searching for runaways.”

  “So you sweep the streets looking for her. Is that how you found Bee and Allie?”

  “Something like that. It makes
my blood boil to see young girls homeless or prostituting themselves. If I could help all of them I would.”

  To lose someone to the streets knowing she could be alive but couldn’t be found had to be painful and frustrating. At least the chance existed that his sister was still out there. My heart hurt for him, and at the same time, I had a newfound respect for Dillon.

  I deposited my mug on the table. “My sister’s name was Grace too. Although we called her Gracie.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Hold that thought.” Dillon’s boots scuffed along the tiled floor then resonated in the hallway.

  Tick tock. Tick tock. The sound from the clock above the stove was soothing.

  Kelton’s voice drifted in, and my nerves sparked to life. I couldn’t get away from him. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Actually, I’d thought he would’ve chased me down the street when I ran from the townhome. I was relieved he hadn’t. I wanted to—no, needed to—get my thoughts together before I asked why his mom wanted to see Gracie. I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront the Maxwells. Part of me was still angry with Mr. Maxwell for not teaching Karen gun safety. Another part of me was afraid if I saw the family together I’d break down so hard I couldn’t crawl back to life. Too many memories. Ones I didn’t want to relive.

  “I don’t want any trouble. I’m here to talk to you,” Kelton said. “And to return this.”

  The door clicked shut.

  I threw my head back, holding in a frustrated groan.

  Heavy footsteps padded closer before Kelton paraded into the kitchen. Gone was the stuffy business suit. In its place was a sexier Kelton wearing a baseball hat turned backward, a BU sweatshirt that clung to his upper body, ripped jeans that hung low enough on his hips to expose yellow boxer briefs, and untied army boots. My body temperature shot up the charts.