I gingerly sit on the mattress and recline back, careful to keep my head turned to the side so I’m not lying on my lump. “There’s some ice in the freezer and some sandwich bags on top of the fridge. Mind making a couple of ice packs?”
Her face is blanched of color and she’s trembling all over. I can only imagine what it must’ve looked like when Rick nailed me and I went flying.
“Never mind the ice packs. Come here.” I pat the edge of the mattress.
“But—”
“Come here, Maggie.”
When she sits, I hesitate for a second, but then I make myself take her hand in mine—touching her is always equal parts pleasure and pain. Pressing the back of her hand against my chest, I see the symbol tattooed on the inside of her wrist.
Ten years ago, I promised to love her to infinity and back again. I wasn’t lying. I loved her then. I love her now. I’ll love her until the day I die. And if there’s an afterlife, I’ll love her there too.
“It’s okay, Maggie,” I assure her, chafing her arm as if it’s chills making her shiver instead of shock. “I’m okay. I promise.”
Her lower lip quivers ever so slightly. She sucks it between her teeth, blinking quickly. And then, when she can’t hold it in a moment longer, she bursts into tears.
Her reaction is so… Maggie that I find myself chuckling. She’s tough as nails one minute, standing up to Rick like a virago, and then soft as silk the next.
“And now the dam’s busted.” I pull her beside me, pillowing her head on my chest. I breathe the smell of her shampoo into my lungs to make her a part of me if only for a while.
“I’m s-sorry,” she sniffles. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I didn’t get hit by my father. You did. And it was awful. How could he do that? How could he hurt his own flesh and blood? How could he—”
She stiffens against me before bolting upright. Her cheeks are shiny with tears, her eyes wide. “That wasn’t the first time, was it?”
I close my eyes, not wanting to see the instant all the puzzle pieces snap into place. Of course, there’s no way to avoid her words short of shoving my fingers in my ears and singing la-la-la like a petulant child in the throes of a tantrum.
“All those times you showed up with a new bruise or a bloody nose or…” I blink open my eyes when she smoothes a finger over the scar cutting through my eyebrow. “I thought it was you being you and getting into another scrape, but he did this to you, didn’t he?”
“I did get into a lot of fights,” I say through gritted teeth.
“To cover up what was happening at home?”
For a long time, I don’t move. Don’t speak. Pressure builds in my chest and behind my eyes.
She doesn’t need me to say the words. She can see the truth in my face, and fresh tears spill over her bottom lids. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? I could have helped you. I could have—”
“Didn’t want you to look at me then like you’re looking at me now.”
She shakes her head helplessly. “How am I looking at you?”
“With pity.”
Her face crumples, and her arms go around my neck. Being held by Maggie is to know what it is to be truly held. She commits. Her whole body clings and comforts. I can feel her heartbeat. My own matches its rhythm.
“It’s not pity,” she whispers. “It’s me finally seeing past all the bull crap to the real you. The good and the bad. The pretty parts and the ugly parts you’ve tried to hide from the world.”
Her words have the pressure in my chest and behind my eyes erupting like a volcano. A hard sob shakes me. It shakes us both.
She holds me tighter. Squeezes herself against me as if she wants to press her strength into me. She might be a little thing with a big, squishy heart, but in all the ways that count she’s the strongest person I know.
Don’t know how long we stay this way. My tears dropping into her hair. Her arms hugging my neck. But eventually, I become all too aware of her soft breaths puffing against my cheek and her warm curves so tantalizing close to my fingertips.
“He really was the reason you left, wasn’t he?” Her voice is hoarse. “I thought it must’ve had something to do with me. But you told me the truth right from the beginning, didn’t you? You saw your chance to get away from him and you took it.”
I release a shuddering sigh. That damned fateful day… Funny how life can hinge on a moment.
I can’t bear to see her face when I give her the truth of what happened, of what I almost did. So I close my eyes again. The problem is, with my eyes shut, I can see the old scene playing out perfectly.
“He beat the living shit out of me that afternoon,” I say slowly, the words pulled from me one at a time, as if they’re attached to me by tendons and ligaments and viscera. “The argument started out simple enough. They always did. I wanted to extend my curfew by an hour since it was prom, and Rick said I couldn’t. He told me I had to be home a full two hours earlier than usual. ‘Don’t want you having time to knock up that little Carter girl.’ Although he didn’t use the word girl. He used something much more disgusting.”
“Oh, Cash.” Again, her finger brushes over the scar slicing through my eyebrow. When she does that, my head doesn’t hurt so much.
“I got in his face and told him not to call you names. ‘Oh yeah? What’re you going to do about it?’ he said. And I hit him, Maggie. It was the only time I ever threw the first punch.”
The memory of his face, of that big vein pulsing in his forehead, still has the power to make bile gather at the back of my throat.
“I’ve never seen him so angry,” I admit. “He beat me until I was bloody. Beat me until I passed out. When I came to, there was only one thought in my head. Kill him. Kill the bastard.”
“Sweet Lord have mercy,” she breathes.
“I went into his room and took out the Glock he kept in his bedside table. And then I headed downstairs to end him. I was going to drill him between the eyes and watch his brain explode out the back of his skull. I craved his death, Maggie. Craved it like I’ve never craved anything before or since.”
I take a slow, measured breath. Even now, I can taste the want on my tongue, the desire to see him lifeless and bloody. Now that I’m going, the words come easier.
“I got to the landing before I stopped myself. I can still remember the rage. Still remember the way my hands shook. It took everything I had to drop the gun and walk out that front door. I knew if I ever went back inside, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from finishing what I started. So I jogged to the closest army recruiter’s office and signed up.”
“And they took you then and there?” Her tone is incredulous. “Couldn’t they see you’d been beaten?”
“Oh, the recruiter saw. He made me tell him what’d happened before he let me sign on the dotted line. After I explained, he swore he’d help me press charges that would stick despite my father’s bosom-buddy status with the superintendent of the police force. But I needed out. Right then. Right at that moment. I told him he’d better put me in the army on the double, because I felt like I needed to kill someone, and I figured that someone might as well be an enemy of our nation. He gave me time to write you that letter. Then he drove me over to Luc’s place so I could deliver it and make Luc promise to take you to prom. After that, he carted me all the way to Fort Polk, found a room for me, and said I could stay there until Basic started.”
“Oh, Cash,” she whispers, and I open my eyes to see her shaking her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. But I swear I thought I was doing what was right. I was an awful, feral thing by that point. I was scared of myself. Worse, I didn’t trust myself, and I was convinced you were better off without me. Better off not knowing what I’d become.”
“Shhh.” She covers my mouth with her hand. “Don’t say another word. It’s done. It’s over.”
I shake my head, marveling at her ability to forgive ten years of silence, ten years
of hurt. The pillowcase scrapes across the knot on the back of my head, making me hiss.
She winces in sympathy before hastily wiping away her tears. “Let me go get those ice packs.”
When she stands, I instantly miss her weight on the mattress. She’s almost out the door before I call her name.
“Yeah?” She turns back.
“Mind hitting the switch? The light is killing me.”
A worried frown plays with her lips, but she does as I ask.
Darkness. Blessed darkness. I reach for my flask and remember she left it on the floor in the living room.
Damn.
I spend a few minutes debating whether or not I have the strength to get up and go in search of it. And just when I decide to give it a try, she reappears in the doorway.
I can tell by the way she walks across the room, carefully feeling for each step, that her eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness.
“I’m right here, Maggie.” I let my voice be a target she can aim for.
She nudges the side of the mattress with her toe and gingerly sits down on the edge. “Here.” She hands me the first bag of ice. I put it between my head and the pillow, gritting my teeth against the slicing cold. “Where do you want the other one? Your knuckles or your jaw?”
She’s a darker shadow amongst the shadows. The second bag of ice is nothing but a lumpy square silhouette held aloft in her hand.
“My jaw’s not so bad.” I take the bag and press it against my aching knuckles. Probably wasn’t smart to lay into the wall. Now I’ll have to spend an afternoon repairing it, and that’s time I don’t have to waste.
“Cash?” Her voice is soft in the blackness.
“Yeah?”
“I still love you, you know. I never stopped.”
Everything inside me comes to a screeching halt. I open my mouth, but no words come out.
She mistakes my silence for an invitation and cradles my face between her soft, cool palms. Before I can stop her, she leans down and kisses me.
I close my eyes and gasp at the contact. Her lips are so sweet and tender. They’re the moment and a memory all rolled into one, and when her tongue pushes past my teeth, I try with all my might to heed the warnings of the better angels of my nature. But it’s the lesser angels who win in the end.
This isn’t part of The Plan, but I kiss her back with all the pain and sorrow, all the guilt and love inside me.
To be continued…
~ turn the page for a sneak peek of In Moonlight and Memories: Volume 2 following the Acknowledgments ~
Acknowledgments
Huge thanks to my clever, funny, ever-supportive gal-pal, Amanda Carlson. I couldn’t have done any of this without your reassurance, your wisdom, and your patient guidance. You’ve been there for me during the hardest moments of my life. Put simply, you’re the best.
Thanks to Joyce Lamb for taking the lumps of coal that were the first drafts of these books and helping me turn them into things that (hopefully) now sparkle like diamonds. Your nit-picky editorial eye and your refusal to blow smoke up my ass makes for a dynamic duo. Here’s hoping we write many more books together.
Wider thanks to all the folks who do the hard work of getting a book into readers’ hands, Marlene Engel, proofer extraordinaire, Amy Atwell, formatter for the stars, and Sofie Hartley at Hart and Bailey Design Co. for the beautiful covers.
And last, but certainly not least, to my amazing family who never fails to support and encourage me. You’re a wild and crazy bunch, but I wouldn’t have you any other way.
The story continues in this sneak peek of
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” ~ Søren Kierkegaard
Chapter Thirty-one
______________________________________
Cash
Dear Cash,
I went to Audubon Park today and sat on the bench beneath our weeping willow. The katydids have hatched. They’re looking for mates, and for some reason their clicking and clacking reminded me of the time last summer when you and Luc cleaned out Old Man Murphy’s shed for $100. Y’all came back covered in chiggers and spent the next week looking like walking advertisements for calamine lotion, pink head to toe.
The memory made me smile.
I think it’s the first time I’ve smiled since you left. And honestly? It felt weird on my face. Like it had no business being there. Like I shouldn’t have the right to smile. Not after…everything.
But I can’t think of that. If I think of it, I might scream.
Oh, Cash. WHY did you go? WHY won’t you answer any of my emails? And WHY did you change your phone number?
I’ve called you every day, hoping to hear your voice, CRAVING the sound of your voice. But all I get is the recording telling me your number is no longer in service.
I don’t understand.
Please, help me understand. Send me an email, a letter, a note in skywriting. I don’t care. Just…please.
Love, Maggie
Sometimes you don’t know what you need until someone gives it to you.
Didn’t know I needed Maggie’s letters until I read some of them this morning. After last night, I was waffling on…well, just about everything. Now I have my head on straight. Back to working The Plan.
Only problem?
That kiss. That deep, wet, wonderful kiss.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!” Luc bursts through the front door, bringing the crispness of the November air and the rich smell of freshly brewed coffee with him.
“You pick up that Irish brogue from watching too many Jamie Dornan interviews?” I don’t bother getting up from the folding chair parked in the middle of the room. “I know how much you loved those Fifty Shades movies.”
“Come on now.” He sends me a pitying look over his shoulder as he shrugs out of his leather jacket and hangs it on a hook by the front door. “More like the Lucky Charms commercials during Saturday morning cartoons.”
He walks over and hands me a paper cup of steaming coffee. Flopping into the vacant chair, he stretches out his legs. Then he pops the top off his own coffee and blows across the surface to cool the liquid.
Spying the blue three-ring binder sitting on the milk crate between us, he says, “Your letters from Maggie?”
I frown. “She told you about them?”
“Got a set of my own.”
Numbness. A time-honored self-defense mechanism when someone or something scratches at my feelings.
Maggie didn’t mention she’d spent a year writing to Luc too. Although, I guess I should’ve known. And I guess I should be happy.
“You read any of them?” I ask.
He nods. “The first six.”
“That’s an odd number.”
“Actually, it’s an even one.” He mimes a three-beat drum solo with his coffee still in hand.
I roll my eyes. “I mean it’s oddly precise.”
He shrugs. “Reckon I’ll read six a day for the next coupla months. It’ll gimme something to look forward to in the evenings.”
“Getting lonely out there in that swamp house?” I ask. It’s never occurred to me he might feel isolated in the bayou. He’s always seemed so at home there. Plus, if ever there was a man comfortable in his own skin and happy with his own company, it’s Luc.
I envy him that.
My skin has always felt too tight, as if I’m stuffed inside a body suit that has shrunk in the wash. And left to my own devices, I get restless. Time alone allows a person to think.
Thinking can be tricky since it inevitably opens the door to old hurts and regrets and…self-reflection—perish the thought.
“Not really,” he says. Then he seems to reconsider. “Sometimes, I guess. But it’s more like I wanna savor her letters, you know? They sound like her, all thoughtful and vulnerable and a bit heartbreaking. Or at least they sound like she did back then.”
“She hasn’t changed much,” I say. She’s still thoughtful and vulnerable. Sh
e for damn sure still breaks my heart. And last night proved she still smells the same, still feels the same, still…kisses the same.
Maggie has a way of using her mouth so deeply and thoroughly I feel like I’m falling. One touch of her tongue, one taste of her sweet breath, and I’m Alice chasing the White Rabbit through the hole in the ground and plunging into a new world. Colors are brighter. Smells are sweeter. Everything is so much more.
Wasn’t until this morning—and a quick read of those first few letters—that reality came crashing down again. Although, maybe it wasn’t the letters so much as the relentless pounding of my head that brought me back from Wonderland.
“So.” Luc sets his coffee on the milk crate and turns to me. “You wanna start tackling the cornices in the front bedroom? I reckon we should—” He stops midsentence, narrowing his eyes at my jawline. “What the hell happened to your face?”
I test the bruise with my fingers. It’s painful. But not nearly as painful as the bump on the back of my head. That thing throbs like a second heartbeat.
“Had a visit from Rick last night.” Saying the bastard’s name makes the whiskey in my back pocket send up a siren’s call. Taking out my flask, I add a drop of Gentleman Jack to my coffee.
Luc sits forward, his eyes drilling me. “What did he want?”
“To warn me.”
“About what?”
“About steering clear of you and Maggie. He says Sullivan is coming for you both, and he doesn’t want me getting involved and dragging our good family name through the mud.”
Luc snorts. “Like his shady-ass business deals haven’t done that already?”
I spread my hands. “That was pretty much the point I made.”
“And that made him sock you?”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “He socked me because he’s a sadistic sonofabitch who’s always enjoyed ending conversations with his fists.”
Volume One: In Moonlight and Memories, #1 Page 26