No White Knight

by Angel Payne

  A few seconds later, his wife emerged from the bathroom and they smooched so hard I wondered where the sap spigot was hidden. I didn’t spend a lot of time on the guessing, since I was more preoccupied with waiting on Taylor’s reentry—but after a few minutes of nothing, I headed to the bar instead.

  While nursing the beer, I realized why I still hung out, waiting for her like some fucking puppy. I wanted a chance to apologize. Maybe I’d been a little…forward. The archaic expression sounded better than “pushy asshole,” so I went with it. But went where? After a while, it was clear I’d have a better chance of going home alone and watching a rerun of Keeping Up with the Kardashians than getting face-to-face with Taylor Mathews again.

  It was time to regroup.

  Because, damn it, I refused to accept this as the end.

  Chapter Two

  Taylor

  “Tay. Come on. Just stop lying to yourself—and us, while you’re at it.”

  “Truth.”

  “Honey, what’s the big deal? Maclain Stone is smokin’ hot—and the heat between you two could strip wallpaper.”

  “Truth. Again.”

  I didn’t hold back on the bewilderment of my stare, which I swung between the two girlfriends refusing to leave me alone in the lounge. The confusion wasn’t because they were still here but because words that belonged to the other were coming out of their mouths. Talia, our posse’s usual nodder and conservative one-worder, was now the naughty talker hitching up her wedding dress and plopping down on the sofa beside me. Margaux, usual queen of every raunchy word in the dictionary, was damn near playing Madonna and child in the chair opposite us, rocking her beautiful baby, who gazed up at her with intense eyes that matched her daddy’s.

  I huffed and folded my arms. “We’re not going there, girlfriends. Just let me chill and regroup, okay?”

  “But why?” Talia smoothed a hand down the ethereal white layers of her skirt, though the daring neckline of her couture dress was more inspiration for words right now. “You know catching the bouquet doesn’t really mean you have to get married next.”

  “Yes, sweetie.” I patted her hand. “I’m very aware of that. Nice connection on the pass, though.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  “Watch it,” Margaux admonished. “She is good at that.”

  “Shut up,” I mumbled at her.

  “You shut up,” she volleyed and then winked.

  Talia huffed and prompted, “The subject? Mac Stone? Remember?”

  I fell into silence. Talia wasn’t wide-eyed and naïve anymore, but that didn’t mean I could share everything with her, notably the reasons I couldn’t—wouldn’t—touch Dr. Maclain Stone with a ten-foot pole. That man smelled more and more like danger every time I got near him.

  And, fuck me sideways, did danger smell good.

  Yes, but so did food poisoning before it came back up the wrong way—and that man was the last thing I could even think about getting involved with.

  Because too much of me would get involved.

  To the tune of ending up just like Janet, my mother.

  Wasn’t going to happen. Not now. Not ever.

  I’d learned the most important lessons early. Probably earlier than most—I think I was around seven—but I could look back and be grateful for that now. From that first moment of understanding, recognizing why Janet was sobbing in her room after another Daddy candidate had dumped her clingy ass, I swore I’d never be so damn desperate for the “love” of a man.

  From that point on, every time my mom fell hard for Mr. Right, I saw the bastard for who he really was—Mr. Right Now. But Mama would persist, crooning to me about how different he was and how he’d take care of us for all time. Our lives were about to be transformed, she’d say. Things were going to be good this time, she’d also say.

  But all that had ever changed was my respect for her.

  How it had diminished, each and every time.

  By the time I was eleven, I couldn’t stand looking at the only parent I ever knew.

  Once I’d hit my teens, she’d turned to alcohol. I got my driver’s license just as hers was suspended because of her third DUI. The laws, especially in the South, were different then. Mama liked a lot of other lenient things about where we lived too. One of my nightly chores became dropping her off and picking her up at the Watering Hole. Or the Wet Spot. Or O’Hooligan’s. The name of the place never mattered, and neither did her dutiful efforts at snagging us a new man who’d “change everything.”

  “Yo, baby. Are you even listening to me?” Margaux was on her feet again, rocking her sleepy infant.

  “Frankly?” I retorted. “No, I’m not. But I might if you let me hold her.”

  “Fine. I have to pee anyway. You are not getting out of this conversation. Okay, sweet baby, go to Auntie Taylor.”

  She carefully placed the swaddled pink bundle in my outstretched arms. Instantly, I felt better. Peaceful. It was impossible to be angry when holding a newborn. I leaned down and inhaled. Baby powder and sleep. Pure bliss—especially because I’d be able to just return her in a few minutes.

  No strings. No attachments. No connections that would “change my life.”

  Not that I’d shared any of the bullshit about my mom with any of my girlfriends, nor did I ever plan to. At the moment and on the surface, that justified Margaux’s lecture, as she continued from within the stall on the other side of the bathroom.

  Margaux’s speech started back up from behind the partial door that provided privacy to the toilet. “Look, Tay. Every one of us has made the same stupid mistake you’re attempting now, so what makes you think we’re going to sit back and let you do the same thing?”

  “Truth!” Talia called out. The world order should have felt more balanced but didn’t.

  “Right?” Margaux returned. “Dear God, can’t someone please learn from our errors?”

  “You guys are crazy.” I leaned over, kissing the flawless little tip of the infant’s nose. “Isn’t that right, sweetie? Your mommy and Auntie Talia are cah-ray-zee.”

  “Pssst.” Talia leaned over, taking on a scandalized whisper. “She already knows that.” She leaned in, bussing the baby’s forehead. “What she doesn’t know is how Auntie Taylor refuses to listen to her bestest, closest friends.”

  “Oh, my God,” I muttered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Hey.” The toilet flushed. “Cut it with playing dumb with us, Taylor. It really doesn’t suit you.” Margaux barreled out of the stall, still tugging at the hem of her fierce cocktail dress. It had to be a crime to have a killer figure so soon after giving birth, but Margaux was unrepentant. “We both know you too well for that bullshit, and you know it.”

  “Language,” Talia rebuked.

  Margaux rolled her eyes at us via the mirror while washing her hands. “You getting kickbacks from Claire on the swear jar now, Mrs. Thing?”

  “Strictly my civic duty.” Talia flashed a sweet smile.

  Margaux passed up snapping at her again to eye me instead, nodding via the mirror once more. “Sweetie, just listen to me. You know we all love you, and we just want you to be happy…”

  “And here it comes,” I groaned.

  “But for that to happen, you have to stop running from the obvious. And that guy out there? He’s the big fat obvious. What harm would it be to just go out with him? Everyone needs a good fuck-buddy up the street, right?”

  “Language,” Talia rebuked again. “And an editorial correction.”

  Margaux frowned. “About what?”

  “He lives in Chicago, remember?”

  “Shit.” Margaux shook her head, tousling her long blond waves. “I didn’t.” A shrug and then a pouty pop of her crimson lips. “Okay, so all of this is now a moot point. Unless you think he’d be open for a good clear-the-cobwebs fuckfest?”

  “Language!” The new censure belonged to Claire, who entered the lounge area just as Margaux came in from
the sinks. My stunning redhead of a boss swept kisses to her niece’s silky cheeks before propping both hands on her hips and glaring at Margaux. “You said you’d try to clean it up for the girls. You’re not even trying.”

  Margaux indulged her third eye roll in just as many minutes. “Bear, take a chill. They’re, like, two fucking months old. Unless one of them is the next Mozart in the making, I think we’re good for a little bit longer.”

  “And what if one of them is?” Claire rebutted. “They’re like sponges right now.”

  “Did your ten million books say that?”

  “And if they did?” Claire topped out at around my height but could still straighten into an imposing silhouette in Mama Bear mode. “They’re seeing and hearing and absorbing absolutely everything. At this rate, Iris’s first word is going to be fuck!”

  “Oh.” I brightened. “You’ve finally decided on a name?” Though they could have been talking shower mildew removal and I would’ve run with it. As long as the subject wasn’t me anymore…

  “Yep.” Margaux beamed. “Iris Diana Pearson.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “It satisfies my need for unique, though Michael’s happy too because his mom will be honored.”

  “Took you long enough,” Talia inserted.

  “Greatness can’t be rushed, but the timing is a good thing too.” Margaux looked my way. “The christening is only two weeks away. You’re still on board for godmother, right?”

  “Fuck, yeah, I am.”

  “Language!”

  As Talia took care of the castigation and Claire rushed forward to cup Iris’s ears, Margaux pushed out a weary sigh. “You need a sedative, sister. As usual.” Sensing her mama near, little Iris started fussing. Margaux carefully took her from my arms while still addressing Claire. “So what’s the scoop from Kil about Dr. Feelgood?”

  “Ohhhhh noooo.” I dropped my head into my now empty hands.

  “You’re right,” Margaux muttered. “That was bad. So we’ll come up with a better one, since he might be sticking around for a while.”

  “No.” I snapped my head back up. “He is not.”

  “Just warm up to it, sweetie.” She reached to pat my arm, enjoying every second of the not-so-subtle taunt. “It’s going to happen. I just know these kinds of things.”

  Claire took a seat, nodding sagely. “Sorry, Tay, but she really does.”

  “Just give in and accept it now,” Talia piped in next. “It’ll be easier.”

  “Like you two did?” I cocked my head, pinging a disbelieving glance between them.

  “Well, it was different for me,” Claire explained, motioning at Margaux. “We were in a very different place when Killian and I first fell in love.”

  “Understatement of the century,” Margaux agreed in a terse mutter.

  “And things were different for me too,” Talia offered. “Two guys, one girl, orthodox family, multiple cities…”

  “Only a few complications.” Margaux chuckled.

  “But in the end, you were still right,” Talia replied.

  “That she was,” Claire concurred.

  “That I was.” Margaux preened.

  “Riiiiiggggghhhhht.” I scuffed at the tile floor with my pointed silver shoe. “Damn it. You all suck. Bunch of traitors.” But looking at my foot reminded me of how Mac’s fingers felt around it. And the heat he spiraled through my body. And the blood he sent straight to my pussy. And the way he made me flush, exactly as I did again now…

  “But you’re thinking about him again—as we speak.” Margaux spoke with soft, steady certainty. “Aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You totally are,” Talia chimed in. “Look at your face! You’re remembering how he touched you out there.”

  “Mmmm ’kay, that was hot.” Claire fanned herself.

  “Stop!” My voice, cranked by the red alert on my senses, erupted much louder than I intended, startling poor Iris. “Shit. I mean, damn. So sorry I scared her. I’m just so upside down about this, and you bullies aren’t helping.”

  Margaux accepted my apologetic grimace with a wry smile, which widened as the other two giggled. I tried to join in, but my rioting nerves made the feat impossible. I knew the three of them meant well, but I couldn’t take any more of their “good intentions.”

  I started for the door. None of them tried to stop me. But just as I was about to yank it open and go, Claire cleared her throat and announced, “So…I asked Killian a bit more about Mac.”

  Wench.

  I diverted my path, just a little, to “check my makeup” in the vanity mirror near the door. In the reflection, I had a good view of the whole lounge area, including the knowing tug of Claire’s teeth on her bottom lip. She saw right through my stall tactic but was kind enough not to call me on it, instead going on as if Margaux and Talia were just as puzzled as me about the mysterious but obvious feud between Mac and Killian. Come to think of it, maybe they were. Margaux was Killian’s sister, and Talia had just married Fletcher, a former patient of Mac’s. A tangled web, and none of us were quite certain how it was all woven yet.

  “What did he say?” Margaux helped Iris latch on for a nighttime snack. After everything was settled, she covered the baby’s head for some privacy, likely hoping the infant would also drift off to sleep.

  Claire seemed grateful for the pause, her expression giving away a search through mental notes. “Well, it all seems ridiculous,” she finally began again. “But most family feuds do, right?”

  “Unless your last name is Perizkova,” Talia mumbled loud enough to be heard.

  Claire spread an indulgent smile, rubbing Talia’s back as she continued talking. “Best as I can gather from Kil, the real problem seems to be Mac’s mother.”

  “Oh, great.” Margaux grunted. “A mama’s boy? I knew that shit was too good to be real.”

  “That’s not it,” Claire returned. “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?” Talia echoed the question in my own head. “Not exactly?”

  “Apparently, Constance Stone is a real piece of work. Like all batshit crazies, she’s got a laundry list of issues but has always been convinced everyone else is the problem.”

  “Mommy Dearest, is that you?”

  Everyone, including me, laughed at Margaux’s joke, despite the chilling seriousness behind it. Andrea Asher, Margaux’s adoptive mother, was still a criminal at large and would likely plead insanity when the Feds caught up with her.

  “So how does she affect the relationship between Killian and Mac?” So much for remaining uninterested in the conversation, though I was thankful once more when Claire scooted over and patted the space next to her on the love seat, as if we were settling in for a PassionFlix binge instead of dredging Stone family baggage. It certainly was never a dull day when the Stones were in town.

  “Constance and Willa, the woman Killian’s called mother most of his life, are sisters.”

  “But Willa Stone isn’t the woman who gave birth to him, right?” I asked, just to make sure I remembered the story, which had become the stuff of a major business world scandal a couple of years ago.

  “Right,” Claire concurred. “And that’s where most of the bad blood comes from.”

  Talia nodded, seeming to be connecting the dots. “Constance has been sitting in the same camp as Trey Stone—”

  “May he rot in hell,” Margaux inserted with saccharine in her smile and murder in her deep-green eyes.

  “Where he’ll still be bitterly jealous about Killian being given the opportunities due to Josiah Stone’s blood relatives.”

  Claire sighed deeply. “Never mind the fact that Kil has run Stone Global better than anyone in the family, Josiah included, and that Mac’s talents were clearly destined for the operating room, not the boardroom.”

  I released a thoughtful frown. “So deep underneath all this, the beef isn’t really Mac’s? It’s his mother’s?”

 
Claire shrugged. “It certainly sounds that way, from what Killian told me. But you know how it goes. Years of programming by a parent, especially if it’s pounded in during childhood, and the child becomes a minion of the parent’s point of view. I’m not sure what Mac would really say or do if given the chance to act on his own accord, but he’s a loyal son. And right now, she still resents Killian, so he resents Killian.”

  “Logical.” Talia shook her head. “More than a little codependent and messy as hell but also really, sickeningly, logical.”

  “Can we vow, here and now, to not be fucked-up parents?” Margaux stroked her daughter’s fuzzy head while looking up at Claire.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” her friend responded. “The world is a pretty tough place all on its own. Why add so many more problems?” They locked pinkies to seal the deal—so much better than a handshake and twice as binding. Their maternal moment gave me a few seconds to ponder everything that had been said—and then finally voice the curiosity that resulted from it.

  “I’m still thinking back to the way they treated each other in the hospital in Chicago. And it seems like there must be more to it.” I finished in a mumble, “Or maybe it’s just me.”

  Or maybe it was how Dr. Maclain Stone affected me.

  No doubt about it…the man did crazy things to my circuit boards. The mental and physical ones.

  “Hmmm.” Claire shook her head, causing her copper chin-length bob to fall artfully around her face. “Killian’s pretty straight with me, especially since we’ve had Regan. After we lost the first pregnancy, something changed between us. I didn’t think we could be closer than we were, but after that…” She drifted off for a second, her expression traveling to just as misty a place. “Yeah. Something changed for us. There’s nothing between us now. Like this is him, and this is me.” She held her hands up, palm to palm, pressed together as if to send up a thankful prayer. Her lips quivered as she looked at their clasp, without a sliver of light passing between them.