I see his shock when I tell him about Daryl and Carl, his jaw dropping and his eyes shooting wide-open in horror. But his face hardens as I rant.
“So no, I don’t have time to fix your control-freak narcissistic tendencies, Scott. I’m going to take care of my family, the ones who take care of me. The difference is that they help me stand on my own.”
I can’t do this. I can’t be here. Not a moment longer. I turn, heading toward the door, and then bend down to slip my shoes on. My necklace, Scott’s necklace, swings forward as I bend over. It’s a cold reminder of our differences, the ones I thought we could reconcile. The rich and the poor, the lost boy and the damaged butterfly, the cocky bastard and the sassy sweetheart.
With shaking fingers, I undo the clasp. It takes a steadying breath, but I set the jewelry on the table before looking at Scott.
“Madison, no. Please. We can figure this out. Let me take you to Stella’s and . . .” He’s right behind me, begging me to let this go. But it’s one occurrence in a repetitive loop with him.
I shake my head, knowing if I speak, I’ll break. I can feel the tears burning in my eyes already.
“Madison, I love you.”
I open the door, but before I can walk out, Scott reaches out, grabbing my arm. I look down, overwhelmed with the sense of déjà vu . . . his hand, tan and large, wrapped around my pale, thin arm, just above my wrist. I flinch unintentionally, not able to stop the roll of my stomach. He must see my reaction because he lets go instantly, a look of horror on his face. “Fuck, Madison. I’m not him. It’s not like that. We’re not like that.”
I look up, sadness pouring off me. “I know, Scott. You’re nothing like Rich. I loved you.”
Free of his grasp, I run out the door, banging down the steps even as I hear Scott yelling for my name from behind.
Let me go. Don’t chase me, Scott. Please. Don’t.
He doesn’t.
As I hit the street below, the tears fall freely. All we shared, all I thought we were going to share . . . is over.
Chapter 26
Madison
Stella’s feels different when I come in, mostly because there are two new girls behind the bar. Behind my bar. Well, maybe it’s not my bar anymore, I guess. I don’t know, considering what Scott did.
One of them looks more or less lost, but the other might know what the hell she’s doing. She’s at least checking the recipe book when I walk in.
Ignoring them, I make my way to the back, heading straight to Stella’s office. She’s staring at her computer blankly, obviously not seeing what’s in front of her and lost in her own mind. “Stella?”
She turns her head, but her eyes are dead, and she looks twenty years older than she was last week. “Maddie!” she exclaims, but her voice is weak, hoarse. Like she’s been crying for days. Days that I haven’t been here for her.
“Stella.” My voice cracks, the tears coming hot and fast to wash down my face unrestrained.
Stella opens her arms, and I rush into them, dropping to the floor beside her chair as we hug each other tight. I can feel her shaking sobs echoing mine as we dissolve into messy, snotty, ugly grief at everything lost. My disappointment, my pain at Scott’s betrayal shrivels under the weight of Stella’s pain. She has an aura of real loss . . . of her children, adults, but her babies nonetheless.
“Oh, my God, he’s gone. I can’t believe he’s gone,” she wails.
I’m not sure if she’s talking about Daryl or Carl, or both of them, but it doesn’t matter. The pain is palpable either way and my heart breaks for her. “I know, Stella. I’m so sorry.”
Her voice catches and hitches as she fills me in. “He was north of town, you know where the state highway and the Interstate merge?” she says, and I nod. It’s a badly designed onramp, and every couple of weeks, the news has another accident at Hangman’s Curve. “It was the other guy’s fault, the State Patrol says. He hit the front end of Daryl’s truck as Daryl was coming in.”
“I’m sorry, Stella. I know Daryl was a good driver and a good son.”
Stella half laughs, half sobs. “That he was. With a sense of humor that would have gotten his ass fired from anything other than being a trucker. That was my boy. So . . . sounds like you had another bad experience that night too. I don’t know what to say, but I’m right sorry about that. I got the call about Daryl in the middle of the night shortly after Scott called. I tried to call you but . . . well, you know.” She shrugs, as if any of this is easily explainable. “What are you doing here? Scott said—”
I put my head down in shame. “It doesn’t matter what he said. I never quit, I never left, was just unreachable for the weekend. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you, Stella. It’s tearing me apart. After that shit with Carl, the thought of forgetting about work for a little while sounded like an amazing idea. Have you heard from Carl at all?”
She shakes her head. “No, my best guess is he’s off on a bender. Selfish drunken fool. What he did to you, and then he’s gone when I need him.”
“Oh, Stella. I’m so sorry.” I keep saying it over and over again, but I can’t find any other words to express what I’m feeling to her. Deciding maybe it’s not words I need, I hug her, and she squeezes me so tightly that I almost feel like I can’t breathe, then she pulls back. “What was I thinking? I knew a man like that would come with a steep price. Even got a damn warning from beyond, but I ignored it, hoping like a fool for something to finally work out in my life.”
Stella holds my chin gently. “You listen to me, child. Your life ain’t that bad, and you’ve never thought it was. I get that you’re having a pity party right now. Me too, and Lord knows, it’s warranted with the shit storming down on us. But you know what we’re gonna do?”
I look at her, the question in my eyes. She’s a pillar of strength even as her world collapses, and I take power from her. If she can still be standing tall and proud, I can too. I wipe the trail of tears staining my cheeks, already feeling my resolve solidifying as she answers her own question. “We’re gonna pull up our big girl panties and do the stuff that needs to be done. Together, as family. Because that’s what we are, my precious girl.”
Family. So much to that simple word. “Hey, I’m sorry about Carl too. I don’t know where he went, but he was okay when we left.”
Stella sighs and turns to look out the tiny window in her office. “I don’t know either. I can’t believe what he did to you. I have to think he was just wildly drunk, not that I’m excusing him in the least. But I can’t focus on what he’s doing or where he’s at. I need to keep things running here and bury Daryl.”
At her words, I can see the tears overtake her again. “What do you need me to do?”
Stella gestures vaguely out to the bar floor. “Help the new girls? Just keep it running for me, Maddie. Please help me keep it going. I’m gonna need this place to keep going.”
I nod, knowing that I’ll do anything for Stella, whatever she needs to ease the ache in her heart. Running the bar is definitely a weight I can take off her load. I grab a T-shirt off the shelf in the corner, the crisp new cotton feeling like a fresh start. I’m down, broken, and my heart’s bleeding in tatters, but I’ve pulled myself up once before and I can do it again. This time is worse, so much worse, but I’m a survivor. Always have been and always will be.
I walk by the kitchen door, and when Devin gives me a sullen glare, I approach warily. “I’m so sorry, Dev.” That’s all he needs before he gathers me to him in a big hug, the smell of frying butter and spices filling me with comfort.
“Girl, we’re okay. If you’re back, you’re gonna have some fancy footwork to do with that bestie bitch of yours. She’s been going batshit crazy that you weren’t responding to her. And she’s been working doubles all weekend, so she’s not only cranky and scared, but she’s exhausted.” I nod, thankful for the warning.
As I step out on the floor, I see Tiff across the room. Our eyes meet, and I can see her huffed sigh, but she
comes over, so that’s got to be a good sign.
She looks me up and down. “You don’t look like you spent the past few days with the rich boy.”
“I . . . I broke up with him when I found out what he did,” I say quietly, looking down. “Tiff, I feel so terrible.”
Tiffany takes a deep breath, then points to the break room. I follow her in even though we both know we can’t afford to take a break right now.
It comes out in one long rush, with me barely pausing to take breaths. Tiffany’s face slowly softens so that by the end of my long, rambling explanation, she’s scowling again, but it looks different. “You never turned your phone on once?”
“Thursday night was rough. It was supposed to be a weekend of relaxing and forgetting work,” I complain, fidgeting from side to side. “I even . . . God, this is embarrassing. I even told him I loved him!”
“Oh, honey . . . that fucking asshole,” Tiffany says, her scowl deepening.
“That’s exactly what he is. Fuck him. I should’ve known.”
Tiffany gets up and gives me a silent hug. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “The timing of this was just so awful. I’m sorry, Maddie.”
“I just feel like an arrow has pierced my heart, and I’m keeping it from shattering to bits with sheer willpower,” I admit.
“Not an arrow . . . a sting,” Tiffany says with wide eyes. “Oh, shit, Maddie. The palm reader said you’d meet a scorpion, and he’d own your heart and then sting you. It’s coming true. Fuck.” Her voice ends with a breathy sound.
“And now I guess is the part where I suffer?” I say, remembering the rest of the prediction. The realization floats in the air between us.
Tiff recovers first, physically shaking off the hold the dire words hold over us. “Nope, not doing this right now. Right now, we are gonna get out there, work our asses off, and keep Stella’s afloat while simultaneously preventing Stella herself from falling apart. She’s gonna have to take a loan against the bar to pay for Daryl’s funeral—did she tell you that?”
I bite my lip. I hate that she has to do that. I would’ve thought she’d be doing better financially with how things look in the bar.
We hit the floor, and I approach the bar, slipping behind it like I have a million times before. The place is a fucking madhouse, with a line of frustrated customers standing around the bar and the two new girls looking like deer in headlights.
“Come on, it’s just a fucking whiskey sour!” someone yells, making one of the new girls wince. “It’s not that fucking hard!”
“I’m just—” the girl says before starting to break down.
“Give it to me,” I demand, pointing at her apron.
“What are you doing?” she asks but reaches for her apron strings. “You . . . you don’t work here.”
“I do now,” I declare.
Fifteen seconds later, I’ve got my confiscated apron on, and I face the two girls, who are already looking at me like I’m in charge. I realize that . . .I am. “Okay, you.” I point at the girl who’d been using the recipe book. “You’re with me. All beer pulls are yours.” She nods and scurries off to do as I bid. I turn to the other girl. “You . . . go help Tiffany. Whatever she needs, tables bussed, food delivered, drinks refilled.”
She whispers, “Thank God.” as she rushes off too. Okay, I can do this.
I turn to the bar, letting out an ear-splitting whistle. Patrons instantly look my way, most with hope for their much-needed drinks. “Okay, folks! Let’s get these drinks a’flowing!”
There’s a general cheer, even a few yells of “Maddie! Glad you’re back!” It feels good, like I’m home. But there’s a void in my heart, an empty spot where I thought my future lay . . . home with Scott. Not his actual house, although that too, but more that I thought he would be my home.
Luckily, the distraction of work and keeping busy serves me well, and I spend the next half hour catching up. Just as the bar starts to clear and normalcy returns, I glance over at Stella, who’s finally made an appearance and is sitting quietly at the end of the bar in Carl’s usual spot. She holds my gaze. We don’t say anything, but I give her a small nod and she returns it.
Grief, loss, and pain swirl around us both like cloaks, and we burrow into it, not wanting the light even as we fight to stay close to its warmth.
Chapter 27
Scott
Daily Horoscope, November 3rd
Scorpio - Big changes and big decisions await you. Choices made today will affect you for the rest of your life.
Mondays. The day of the week where everyone else is dragging ass, thinking about what they left behind at home and talking about what they did over the weekend.
Me? I saw Mondays as a chance to get ahead. I knew that if I hit the gas hard first thing Monday morning, I’d be four hours ahead of everyone else by the time they got done debating about whether the Patriots dynasty is over.
Now, though . . . now, I’m sitting at my desk halfway through the afternoon and not giving a solitary shit about work. All I can think about is Madison. It hasn’t been twenty-four hours since she stormed out of my place, but I feel the loss acutely. I’ve tried to call and text her, but she hasn’t responded.
I feel like such a fucking moron, a possessive fucker who wanted his shiny toy on his own terms. I knew it was wrong. It’d been eating at my core all weekend, but I’m decisive, a man of action. And I didn’t know how to back out of it without causing even more problems, knowing it was going to set Madison off on another frenzy of push and pull. I’m a coward, something I never realized before, and I simply didn’t want her to pull away from me. I wanted to drag her even closer, invade her the way she’s done me.
As soon as she dropped the necklace, I realized how badly I’d fucked up. All I’ve done is analyze the number of ways I was wrong. Starting, of course, with the simple fact that I had no right to ‘quit’ her job for her. I mean, that’s not the base issue . . . but what the fuck was I thinking? I deserve to lose Madison for that, if nothing else.
Because of me, she missed out on being there for Stella. Sure, she’s probably with her now, but the damage is done. “Hell, maybe she was right. I just need to stay away,” I mutter to myself as I sip at my third coffee of the day. “I might have been trying to make her life better, but all I did was make it worse.”
I scold myself as I look around my office, guilt eating me that I even considered I might know better than she did about what her life should look like to be happy. She was right. I’m a selfish narcissist, more like my father than I care to recognize, and that’s as horrifying as it is depressing. My actions may be different from his, but the foundational belief that I know best resonates off-key in my heart.
I finish my coffee and set it aside just as Robbie comes in, looking so excited he’s virtually vibrating. “Dude, you’ve got to come to the meeting room.”
“Why?” I ask, not wanting to do anything but sit behind my desk and wait for the hours to pass. Fuck it, nothing I do right now is good anyway, and the only thing saving me is my last name and the deal still being out there.
Robbie hooks a thumb urgently. “Teresa needs some numbers for upstairs. She said she needed them immediately. No one else knows them.”
“Can it wait?”
Robbie shakes his head. “No can do, Boss Man. This has to be taken care of now.”
I groan like an old man getting up from my chair, heaving myself to my feet. “This had better be good.”
“Oh,” Robbie says, giving me a little smirk as I walk by, “you’re gonna love it. You’ll see.”
My suspicions are aroused, but Robbie says nothing else as I walk down the hall to the meeting room. I become even more suspicious when he stops at the door. “Open it,” I half growl. “Or are you just being a dick?”
“Maybe. You open it,” Robbie says, half smirking.
I grab the handle and throw the door open.
“Surprise!”
The cheer hits me in the face, and
I stand there, somewhat stupefied, as the entire team starts cheering, popping champagne bottles and in general, making the entire room feel like a Super Bowl winner’s locker room. I turn to Robbie, whose shit-eating grin now threatens to dislocate his jaw. “What the fuck is this?” I growl, the revelry not touching my darkness.
Robbie laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. “The deal, man! A little birdie from upstairs called me. It isn’t official yet, but . . . we did it!”
“Wait . . . we did? Why am I the last to hear?” I ask, still stunned. I’m shocked. I thought for sure my dad would get his way. But somehow, somewhere along the way, all the hard work has paid off.
Robbie nods, pushing me into the crowded room. Everyone’s congratulating me, and my shoulders are taking a pounding from everyone clapping me. “Thanks, Scott,” Teresa says as she shakes my hand. “I won’t forget that you gave me a chance to do something meaningful.”
“You’re . . . welcome. Thanks for your hard work,” I reply, but inside, I don’t feel like celebrating. I don’t feel like eating a cupcake, even as everyone’s ‘toasting’ by smashing chocolate and red velvet cupcakes together and chasing the sweetness down with gulps from their champagne flutes.
Even the thought of going upstairs when Dad makes the announcement official just so I can see the look of shock on his smug fucking face doesn’t excite me. Who gives a fuck?
Robbie sees that something is wrong and comes over, handing me a glass of champagne. “Hey, man, you can unclench your asshole for a few hours. You did it. Nobody can take that away from you.”
I nod and plaster a fake smile on my face as I go around. I don’t even remember what I say when people come up to me, but when someone calls for a speech, I clear my throat. “I know everyone’s expecting me to say that this great Scott Danger moment was brought to you by Scott Danger and represents the greatness that is Scott Danger,” I start awkwardly, and it gets a few laughs.
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