Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

“It's not mine—yet.” Starr jumped off and leaned against the car. “Declan bought it for Phee, who, of course, refused it. She'd rather drive around in her old VW relic. It’s a little cliché but …” She shrugged one shoulder.

  And just like that his mind catapulted to Shakedown, the scent of oranges and furniture polish, the clang of beading on costumes, and horns blaring in the music.

  Her hair danced in the wind. “Thought you'd walk away without me, didn't you? Good luck with that.”

  His heartbeat stirred and then built to a furious rhythm. His body took over, thank God, because his mind was useless. The distance between them was gone, and his arms were full of Starr with her cinnamon scent and soft flesh. She’d said she was coming in their last phone call, but he hadn’t let himself believe it until now.

  “Hey.” She grasped both sides of his face. “Guess you missed me?” Her lips came up to his, and for long minutes his world was full of nothing but the moist heat of her mouth.

  When they broke their kiss, she pushed him backward. “Declan made me promise.” She pulled out a cell phone from the back of her jeans and hit a number.

  “I’ve got him.” Her gaze never left his. “Okay ... here.” She handed him the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Now? “Hey.” He scrubbed his chin.

  “Nathan. Welcome home. Look, I know you and Starr have some catching up to do …”

  Understatement of the century. He turned away from Starr and stared back toward the prison where he'd been held for the last ninety, untenable, days. He swung his gaze back to Starr. Much better view. “S'okay. What's up?”

  Starr grasped his free hand with both of hers as if he might run. No fucking way. He knew Declan was saying something, but he couldn’t stop staring at Starr. “Uh, say that again.”

  “Ruark MacKenna. The guy's not getting out of prison for a while. Just got word this morning that his probation hearing was a bust. Wanted you to hear it first.”

  “How did you hear?” He’d spent considerable time mulling over the fact Carragh had called Declan “cousin.”

  “He'll be gone for at least another few months. Now tell me you're coming back to work.”

  So Declan wasn't going to answer his question. There was time, he supposed. Starr was pulling him around to the side of the car.

  “What's he saying?” Starr drew so close to the phone Declan had to hear her breathing.

  He lifted his chin at her but kept the phone to his ear. “Yeah, I'm coming back, Declan. Thanks.” He looked at his smiling angel. She had to be an angel given she'd waited three months for him. “Yeah. Listen, about when we'll be back—”

  “Whenever you need to be.”

  “Thanks. And ... yeah, just thanks.” He needed to say more to the man who had basically given him his life back, repeatedly. First a job, then for sticking it out with him when he could have tossed him out on the street. Truth was, he didn’t have the words ... not enough words.

  “Thank your parole officer. She really went to bat for you. Only three months back inside?”

  Yeah, he’d been damned fortunate. “It was worth it, though.” He’d have done three more years to save Starr. At least Ruark couldn’t get out of his crimes. First time offender status and the best attorneys money could buy didn’t counter the roll-over his two hired guys did to them. Ruark would do some serious time—or at least be on the inside until his family could grease enough palms to shorten his sentence.

  “I understand.” Declan killed the call.

  Nathan let himself get lost for a few minutes in Starr's expectant face.

  “Well?” Her leg jogged in impatience and broke his trance.

  “Ruark will be inside for at least a few more months. Maybe more than a few if he's not a good boy.” Or the payouts weren’t large enough.

  “Something tells me it's going to be more then.” Unrestrained glee filled her voice. “Come on. I'll drive.”

  “Where to?” He slipped into the passenger side.

  She'd slammed the door and jogged to the other side. As soon as she settled herself in the driver's side, she inserted the key into the ignition and turned to him. “We are going to Florida.”

  “Why?”

  “To see your daughter.”

  Jesus. He swallowed thickly.

  She shifted to face him. “Then, when you ask me to marry you, I can say yes with zero reservations. I’ll only have children with a man who would never abandon a child.”

  His heartbeat clattered under his ribs—and, for once, it felt damned good. Marriage. Children. A future. “So this is what we have to do? Right now?”

  “Yes. I cleared it with Erin. I like her.”

  Shit. He did have a lot to catch up on. Starr’s letters didn’t mention any of this. An ambush, perhaps? After what he’d faced in the last few years, however, how hard could this be—seeing Dawn again and his daughter for the first time. How about harder than facing the entire MacKenna clan?

  He drew the seatbelt across his chest. “Let’s just hope my ex doesn’t shoot me on sight.”

  48

  This was a dream. Either that or he had “road head” from traveling one thousand ninety-five miles from Lorton, Maryland to Coral Gables, Florida. He leaned forward to unstick his back from the hot vinyl of the car seat. He couldn’t make himself step out of the car onto the parking lot of the older housing complex.

  The first day they’d made their way south on 81 through Virginia and then North Carolina, and he’d rather enjoyed Starr’s chatter mixing with the wind from the convertible top being down. He was going to have a sunburn from hell, but it was worth it to watch all her red hair lift and wave at him.

  He'd had a lot to catch up on. She’d written to him every few days when he was away he’d learned, though he wasn’t sure where all the letters had gone. To thoroughly catch him up, she’d recounted everything.

  In Virginia, he’d learned their father recovered from his coma and was back in rehab—again. They didn’t see or talk to him but got updates, which was as much as the three of them were willing to do. Declan was helping with bills, which made Phee mad, but the man refused to back down from supporting them.

  “She secretly loves it,” Starr laughed. “She’ll cave one day. Oh, and she’s adopted Moonlight. The two of them are like best friends.”

  Perfect. Because he had enough to contend with just relearning how to be on the outside.

  Once they crossed the North Carolina line, she’d grown lighter, happier, regaling him with tales of Shakedown. Max was dating a girl who looked as formidable as he did. “Her biceps are as large as my thighs, I swear,” she’d laughed. Rachel and Trick were married with a baby on the way. He hadn’t remembered she was such a chatterbox, but he’d listen to her forever if it meant he could be this close to her.

  It was when they crossed into South Carolina, she grew serious again, making him stop and leave a message for a Dawn Mancuso. Nosy Declan, Max, and the O’Malley sisters had pulled out all the stops to find her, and her phone number, while he was imprisoned.

  He was glad she’d dropped his last name—for her sake. Perhaps she’d remarried, though if she had, he might open the door to one angry husband. He’d like to avoid being punched. Somehow, he’d avoided any violence during the last three months in prison. Curious that.

  His message had been comprised of some stilted words, but thank God there hadn’t been anyone to hang up on him. He couldn't even recall what he'd said. Starr, who listened to his ramblings, reported he did “just fine.” He'd dropped words like “it's been a while” and “sorry to call out of the blue” and “I'd like to see my daughter.” Starr had told him he'd said those things, anyway.

  Halfway through South Carolina, they’d stopped at a cheap motel where his nerves didn’t have a chance to take hold because she stripped nude and made him do the same the second they were inside the doorway. Thank God for his greedy, eager girl. She’d pushed him back on the bed, and it wasn’t long be
fore he had each of her legs hooked in the crook of his elbows and entered her with a satisfying glide. That earned him one of those throaty moans of hers for which he’d pined for three months. Nerves stood no chance against his love, lust, or respect for this woman.

  Now, however, they threatened a rebirth.

  He stared through the windshield at the front door of the townhouse where Dawn Mancuso and Madeline Baldwin lived. “I don't know. The MacKennas...”

  His words abruptly stopped. Starr had climbed on to his lap.

  “You going to make me do this again?” Her freckles stretched a little as her cheeks lifted in a devilish smile. “If I'd known this would be the result, I might have to keep talking.”

  “How about we skip the talking?”

  She planted a kiss on him that made his cock take notice.

  She pulled back. “Ready?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Let's go.”

  “Wait.” He stopped her from opening the car door. “Give me a sec.”

  “Just breathe, Nathan. It's going to be okay.”

  How could it be? They were showing up at a woman’s door who’d divorced him and whom he hadn’t seen in ten years. He raked his fingers through his hair as if a delay tactic would put an end to Starr's incessant desire to deal with the past.

  She crossed her arms and gave him that look. “You’re being a pussy,” it said.

  He placed his hand on the door handle. “You don't have to go in with me.”

  “I want to. I mean, if you want me to.”

  “Why?' He turned in his seat. “I mean—”

  “Because I love you. That's what people do. They don't leave when things get hard.”

  He fingered his phone, the picture of him and Starr staring up at him from an overlook they’d stopped at in North Carolina. “I should have been the one to tell you about Dawn and Madeline.”

  “You're not the only one with secrets, Nathan. Everyone has them. Like me and school. How I paid off my own father. Like ... my real name is Catarina.” Her words nearly ran together as if she had to just get them out. “My mom had some Russian fantasy, apparently. We go by our stage names because we wanted to start fresh. We all did.”

  “Luna? Phoenix?”

  “Can't tell you. It’s part of our deal.”

  He’d need a spreadsheet to keep track of those sisters and their deals.

  The front door of the home, pale yellow, trimmed in white, stared back at him. Shit, man, just get it over with. He cracked open the door and unfolded his cramped legs. He paused for a second, taking in the small bungalows lined up in one long, neat row, like yellow, turquoise, and shrimp-pink candy boxes with jalousie windows, opened to let in the tropical breezes. The whole neighborhood looked like it belonged in a 1950’s movie when things were picture-perfect.

  Starr stood at the sidewalk leading up to their front door.

  He joined her. “I don't belong here.” He really, really didn't.

  “You're just nervous.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Nathan, let me spell it out for you. My father wasted so much time, and part of it was my fault. I've also been thinking. I know why Dad did what he did, why he left us.”

  He stilled. Even he knew this was going to be important.

  “It was to save us from him. He was ... angry and, well, you know what? I told Phee and Luna what I did when I was seventeen. They forgave me. So, today, it’s time you ask for the same. And, here's the final thing.” She squared herself to him. “Don't be my father.”

  It was that exact moment, on the word “father” that the front door opened. A gangly young girl stepped out, a cell phone to her ear. For a long minute, he just stared and watched her smile and talk in that way young girls do—their whole face helping to form words, their arms and hands gesturing as if signing all the enthusiasm they had for the world.

  “That's her, isn't it?” Starr smiled at him.

  Was it? “I don't know.” He held the small picture, crinkled and cracked. Madeline had been a year and a half in that picture—the one and only one Dawn had sent before she stopped writing to him at all and served divorce papers instead.

  The girl peered at them. Cocked her head. Suspicion crossed her face, and she frowned. The cell phone lowered in her hand, but she didn't show signs of running back into the house.

  “Oh, that's her all right.” Starr hooked her arm in his, lowered her voice to a whisper. “Look at those eyes. Same warm brown.”

  “Well, whoever she is, she doesn't trust us.” Good girl. Don't talk to strangers. “This isn't a good idea. Let's wait until I can talk to Dawn.”

  “Half the battle is stepping out on to the stage. Once the lights hit and the music starts, you've got no other choice than to move. Let's move.” She stepped forward, and he had no choice but to follow.

  This was going to go down one of two ways. He’d be ordered off the premises, or he’d finally get to meet his daughter. The girl fingered her phone but still didn't turn away as they grew closer. When he was four feet away from the girl, he stopped. No need to scare her. “Uh, hi, you don't know me, but—”

  “You're my father, aren't you?”

  Whoa. “Yes. How did you know?”

  “I have a picture of you. From Grandma.”

  Grandma? His mother? Fuck, his eyes pricked. That was another person he hadn’t talked to much over the years.

  “Mom said you were coming today.” She stepped closer. “You don't look like a hardened criminal.”

  He swiped under his nose. “Oh, yeah?”

  “No.” She inclined her head toward Starr who stood back by the curb. “And, you’re pretty.” She looked back at him. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “She is.”

  Starr stepped up to them and held out her hand. “Hi, I'm Catarina. I go by Starr, professionally.”

  “Are you in the movies?” Madeline's interest in them kicked up a hundred notches.

  Starr laughed lightly. “Not yet. Dancer.”

  “Where do you dance?” Madeline only had eyes for Starr. Instantly, he was the interloper in this odd conversation.

  “In a club. More cabaret than ballet. Think Chicago, you know, the musical?”

  “Uh, yeah. Of course.” This girl sounded more like twenty than ten.

  “You have a good turn-out.” She glanced down at the girl's legs.

  “Thanks. I'm going to go on pointe soon. Or so, Madame Tremont tells me.”

  “Good for you for waiting. You don't want to ruin your feet by starting too early.”

  He stood stunned by the casual way Starr and Madeline had dropped into a conversation.

  Madeline looked up at him and scrunched her eyes. “Do you dance?”

  He burst out laughing. “I'm afraid I've got two left feet, Madeline.”

  Her face dropped. What did he say? He scrubbed his hair, words dying in his throat.

  “I'd always wondered what it would sound like to hear you say my name.” Her voice was so small—fragile.

  It was impossible for him to talk because his throat clamped shut like a vault.

  Starr sidled closer to him and took his hand, looking towards Madeline. “Is your mom home?”

  “She's inside. Come on. She knew you were coming.” She cocked her head and trudged up the steps.

  He was shocked that Dawn hadn't barreled out the door holding a frying pan, or a Glock, given the times, to beat him backward.

  “Oh.” Madeline stopped at the doorway. “Don't worry about her. Mom's nice. She basically said you and she were handed a fistful of tough luck.”

  His limbs froze for a second in shock. The ability to be forgiving wasn't something he remembered about Dawn. But then he could barely remember anything about their time together. They hadn't had the best marriage, a quick ceremony in the heat of some romantic notion due to her sudden pregnancy. After he'd gone to prison, well, he supposed it was a good thing for them, for him to be permanently out of their way.
<
br />   This strange, self-possessed young girl, ushering him inside, reminded him he also didn't know shit.

  Starr hadn't let go of his hand. She didn't let go when he stepped over the threshold straight into an entryway that led to a small living room. God bless her, she still didn't let go when he stood before Dawn for the first time in ten years. She looked a little older, with more lines on her face, but she was still the round-faced girl he remembered. She didn't smile, but she didn't frown, either. She stared at him as if she couldn't quite recall who he was.

  A gentle tug on his hand by Starr urged him to step deeper into the small living room.

  He swallowed hard. “Dawn.”

  “Nathan. You've met Madeline.” She circled her arm around her daughter's shoulder.

  “Mom, Starr's a dancer.” His daughter smiled at Starr in a slightly reverential way. He understood that look. He was sure he looked like that often in Starr's presence.

  That’s when it hit him. Madeline did have his eyes.

  “Uh, this is Starr, my girlfriend.”

  Starr dropped his hand and held it out to shake Dawn's. “Hi. It's nice to meet you. Thank you for seeing us so out of the blue.”

  Dawn merely nodded.

  Madeline slipped out of her mother's hold and jogged to the fireplace mantle. She grasped a photograph and brought it to him. “Grandma sent this a long time ago.”

  “Your mother.” Dawn let out an amused puff of air. “She thought it was a good idea for Madeline to have some sense of her father. I got used to it sitting there.”

  He cleared his throat as he stared down at the picture. It was of him and Dawn with woods in the background. A barbeque, perhaps? Who knew? He had his arm around her shoulder, a red cup dangling from his fingers. Dawn was looking up at him, smiling, happy. He looked directly into the camera, a lazy smile playing on his lips. His forehead held no lines. His eyes held no fear. Of course they didn't.

  “Have you seen her? Your mother?”

  “Not yet,” Starr filled in.

  Not yet? So his girl had more reunion ideas in her head.

  “We can go together.” Madeline's energy practically poured into the room. “She has a pool.”