Then he’d never forget their cold, angry faces. The yelling. The punch he’d taken to the jaw by none other than Gage.
But most of all, he’d never forget their disappointment—so deep it was as if they’d used a knife to cut his flesh.
They’d been on a long road to recovery since then, mending fences, Gage and Jax going to see a therapist with him, sharing their pain not just over the loss of Harper, but over the loss of him.
They’d never once faltered in their disappointment, their hurt and anger that he’d missed the last moments of Harper’s life, but they were also the kind of men who made him own it, do something about it.
And it had been hard to watch them fight to keep those emotions out of their disagreements, off their faces, but they’d done it, and somehow found a way to support his road back to recovery.
Now, looking down at Marybell, his ugly secret between them, he didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want her to tell him it was okay. He just wanted honesty. As much as he could give her, so she’d know what he’d done.
Marybell was silent for a few beats, but then she said, “I feel like you wanted to shock me.”
“Did it shock you?”
“Yes. It was the last thing I expected.”
“And how do you feel about it? No sugary coatings, please.”
Her blue, shiny lips went thin. “I want to say it was a mistake and we all make them, Tag. But that’s not how I really feel.”
“Then tell me how you really feel.”
“I feel a little angry with you. Your family is amazing. I’m bettin’ Harper was amazing, too. To not be there...”
“She sure was. They sure are.”
“To ignore that, take it for granted, it’s huge. So much bigger than I...”
“Yep. For a while, it was bigger than me. After Harper died, when I had no choice but to get sober if I was going to attend her funeral, because Jax and Gage made it clear they’d keep me out if I wasn’t, I knew I was at rock bottom.”
Her eyes had grown wide, shiny with unshed tears, and he hated it. But he had to own his failures if he wanted to live in truth. She should know what he’d done. What he was once capable of. “How do you live with it?” she finally asked.
Tag heard the rasp in her sweet voice, the ragged edge to her question, and he wondered if she hadn’t had some similar experience somewhere along the way. That whatever she couldn’t tell him right now was a lot like what he’d just told her. “I had to find a way to forgive myself. That’s a tricky word, forgiveness. I don’t know that I’ll ever totally forgive myself, but I accept that I did it. I accepted responsibility. I got sober. I went into therapy. I raged. I stumbled around for a while. I was eaten up with anger and guilt. It affected everything I did, everyone I was around. Then I learned that sometimes the only thing you can do is go on or give up. There were more things to go on for than there were reasons to give up.”
Marybell said nothing, nearly killing him, but this was his reality. It was only fair she know it. If she wanted to walk away from a man who’d done something like that, it would kill him, but he wouldn’t blame her. He was deeply flawed—that came with a price.
When she spoke, she looked him square in the eye. “I’m sorry you made such a huge mistake, Tag. I’m sorry you hurt the people you love. I’m sorry you were lost. I’m sorry if my honesty hurts your feelin’s, or if you expected me to tell you what you did was okay.”
Tag looked down at her, watched her eyes filter her thoughts before they skittered to a focal point on his chest. “I’m not. It will never be okay. But can you accept it? Accept me so flawed?”
Because he needed to know. He needed to know she understood he wasn’t in this for her to “poor baby” him or minimize what he’d done. He’d told her so the part of him that he’d held back until now was free. No surprises.
She lifted her chin, cupping his jaw, and simply said, “Yes.”
Then she smiled up at him and took his hand and led him inside her apartment.
Tag wasn’t sure if the breath he took in relief was audible, but his chest shifted, heaved hard, easing the tight tension.
* * *
Marybell pulled him all the way inside, closing the door and taking his cup of hot chocolate from him. She set it on the counter along with hers and without a word, led him down the short hallway to her bedroom.
Her heart ached for what he’d done, what Tag could never run away from, what he’d live with forever.
It was far more unbearable than anything she lived with. At first, she didn’t know how anyone could live with it. She didn’t know how to respond other than truthfully.
What he’d allowed his life to become, so steeped in alcohol, was taking for granted some of the most precious gifts life can give you. He’d done wrong. So wrong.
And then she saw his eyes, eyes waiting to see if she’d reject him, call him all the names he’d likely already called himself, and she couldn’t do it.
Wouldn’t do it.
He’d shown her his soul, in all its weaknesses. He’d shown her there was more to Tag than just a quip. He’d shown her his pain.
She’d felt his pain.
Now she wanted to ease it, soothe him the way he soothed her.
Her hands went to his jacket, tugging it off his shoulders and setting it on the edge of the bed. She untucked his shirt and popped the buttons on it, pulled his belt and jeans off. Pushed him to the edge of the bed and removed his work boots and socks.
Tag went willingly, his limbs pliable, his beautiful face devoid of the amused expression he always wore, as though his confession, maybe even the worry she’d reject him, had exhausted him.
Marybell swept the pillows away and lifted his feet, putting her hand flat on his chest to push him onto the bed. She dragged the covers up over him, not even sparing the usual moment or two to admire his gorgeous body before pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Pulling off her own shoes and clothes, she put her nightgown on and climbed in beside him, tucking herself next to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders so her head lay on his chest.
And then she closed her eyes, stroking his hair, loving the feel of his strong body curved into hers. Loving his willingness to relax into her, take a deep breath and close his eyes.
Tonight, she let the pressure of her fears, her secrets, wash away.
Tomorrow she’d think about hiring a private investigator and reclaiming her life.
Tonight she wanted to lie with Tag and fall deeper in love.
* * *
The sunlight hit her face, tearing her from the comfort of Tag’s embrace. Her eyes flew open to find her alarm clock.
Ten a.m. No, no, no. Tag had spent the night. How was she ever going to get him out of here before Blanche caught sight of him?
“We’ve done it now,” Tag teased from his place at her chest, nipping at her flesh.
“Blanche is gonna have a chicken,” she moaned.
Tag nibbled the flesh along her collarbone, sweeping his tongue across her skin. “Never you worry your pretty little head. I know a back way out of here even Blanche doesn’t know about. Caine told me all about it.”
She pretended to be affronted while she leaned into his attentions and sighed. “Have you been discussin’ our activities with Caine?”
He chuckled, rich and deep, cupping her breast, using his index finger to circle her nipple. “I just made mention we engage in late-night visits because of your shift and Blanche might object to my calling on you. He suggested alternative routes out of here.”
“Do they involve tramplin’ on Blanche’s roses? Because that’s cause for eviction,” she whispered on a gasp as he licked at her nipple.
“No trampling. Now, are you going to be quiet and let me have my way with you, or do I have more convincing to do?”
She shivered against him when he slid his fingers inside her panties and spread her flesh, arching into his hand, loving his rough fingertips inside her. “W
e have to make it quick. Really quick. I have a bake sale to attend at the VFW Hall to raise money for the bowling league’s trip.”
Tag grabbed her hand and dragged it over his erection, moaning when her fingernails scraped it lightly through the fabric of his underwear. “Does this feel like it should be treated quickly, Lyman?”
Marybell pulled his boxer-briefs from his hips and enveloped his cock in her grip with a smile. “This is Dixie we’re talkin’ about. If I’m late for the bake sale, your insatiable needs will be the least of my worries. Besides, what big strapping man turns down a quickie? Now hurry it up, Hawthorne,” she demanded on a laugh, rolling to her back and pulling him over her.
Tag positioned himself between her legs, slipping inside her with a slow thrust.
Her whimper was low, coming from way down in her chest. The intense satisfaction she drew from him so deep within her always touched her at her core, left her breathless and needy. Each time they made love, it solidified that feeling.
Tag’s muscles flexed as he settled into her. The now-familiar ripple of his muscles against her flesh set her on fire.
She responded by wrapping her legs around his waist, sliding under him and lifting her hips, cradling him close until her nose was buried in his neck and they became one entity.
His strokes became more powerful, his lips finding hers, fusing them together as she clung to his broad back and the heat he never failed to create in her began its steady climb.
White-hot pangs of need stabbed at her, rising, falling, sharply turning until she was desperate for release. “Please,” she whispered. “I need you.”
He settled deeper. The delicious friction of her clit rubbing against his pubic hair made her writhe beneath him.
Tag thrust long, slow, grinding against her until that well of heat building inside her surfaced, sparking an orgasm that clutched not just her body, but her heart, squeezing it until she stiffened and her muscles tightened to almost unbearable.
His big body shuddered above her in tune with hers until she heard his hiss of satisfaction, felt the release of his breath against her ear.
Lips nuzzled at her neck, kissing along her jaw. “I think I’m a little in like with you, MB. What do you have to say to that?”
She smiled against his neck, so incredibly warm inside. “I think a little is understating things.”
“Saucy,” he whispered, nipping the top of her ear, the only place she didn’t have earrings.
“You really like me as is? Makeup and hair and zebra-striped leggings?”
“Affirmative. I especially like the Marybell with the black shiny leggings. Makes me hard as a rock. Though I will admit, someday, I hope you’ll let me see Marybell in the shower. Naked and soapy.”
And without makeup. “Under all this goop lies a troll. Someday, when I show you that Marybell, you’d better not hit the ground runnin’.”
“I promise to leave my shoelaces untied,” he teased, lifting her chin so he could see her eyes. “You’ll show me when you’re ready. Until then, I think I’ve proven I don’t care what you look like.”
She planted her lips on his, kissing him hard. He had. In spades. He’d shown her all his cards. She’d eventually have to show him hers. “For the record, I like you, too. Now I need to get in the shower, and you need to plan your escape route.”
Running his thumb over her breast, he muttered against her lips, “Sure I can’t wash your back for you?”
She squirmed under him, wishing they could stay in bed forever—just like this. “We’ll never get to the bake sale that way. Now, out, Hawthorne, or know the wrath of Dixie.”
He lifted up and off the bed, his thick body even more amazing in the sunlight than it was in the dim light of their usual meetings. He had makeup all over his face from their lovemaking, and his hair was sticking up, and still, he was like some hard-chiseled god.
He began to pull on his clothes while she hopped off the bed and grabbed something to wear from her drawers. They worked in silence, as though they’d done this a million times before. Stepping over each other, moving around each other as if it were a familiar route they took every day.
This was what she longed for. These routine day-to-day habits she could look to for comfort.
Tag swatted her on the butt, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her tight to him. He rained kisses along the side of her neck, making her giggle. “You’d better save me a cookie, Lyman.”
She spun around, wrapping her arms around his neck. “After what just happened in that bed, I’ll save you two. Now go, before Blanche gets out the Holy Water.”
He chuckled. “See you at the VFW Hall.” Planting one last kiss on her lips, he left the bedroom in all his big-framed, tightly put together swagger.
He made her sigh, smile, feel giddy and excited.
She pondered that as she made her way to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of her face, her makeup smeared, the eye shadow on her eyes smudged almost to her hairline, the spikes in her hair crooked and stiff from all the gel and hair spray.
The real Carson Chapman aka Marybell Lyman wanted out. She wanted out so desperately it had started to hurt. She wanted Tag. She wanted to love him, and let him love her. She wanted more than this half-life she’d been living, kidding herself that she could hide behind clothes and makeup forever.
Tag’s words last night about Alison frightened her more than she’d like to admit. It was the last thing I expected. She lied.
She was going to be the last thing he expected, too. She’d been lying.
It had to end.
She wanted total freedom. And there was only one way to get that.
Grabbing her phone from the pocket of her discarded jacket, she dialed the number of the private investigator she’d bookmarked.
“Larry Roberts, private investigator, how can I help you?”
“My name is Marybell Lyman.... Um, sorry. This is Carson Chapman....”
Seventeen
The VFW Hall was crowded to capacity, people milling from table to table, eyeing the cookies and cakes. Parents swatted at errant children’s hands, people grouped off in batches, laughing and talking, Mayor Hale blustered in and out, shaking hands and smiling.
This was what she loved about Plum Orchard. The sense of community. She often wondered, if the Mags were taken out of the equation, with their pot stirring and the gossip, what the town would be like minus their almost bullyish influence. As she looked around at so many happy people, all willing to pitch in and have a bake sale so the bowling team could go to Atlanta, she had to believe there was more good than bad.
She even wondered if the Mags didn’t instill a sense of unspoken threats in folks’ morality. Most of the time, everyone was decent to her, if they didn’t completely avoid her altogether.
But when a Mag showed up, she got noses in the air and backs to her face, leading her to believe not everyone thought they were ruining Plum Orchard one dirty call at a time, but rather, putting on a good show so the Mags wouldn’t turn their attentions on them.
Still, she loved Plum Orchard, and she wanted to clear her name so she could live in truth again. She’d set up an appointment with the private investigator for next week, giving her enough time to write a timeline of events and list everyone she’d worked with at the time.
“Well, well.” Em waved and smiled coyly as she made her way to the Call Girls table. “Look who decided to sell cupcakes and cookies today. Are you plumb tuckered from your nighttime activities?”
Marybell giggled. “I’m five minutes late, and that’s only because it took me five minutes to get across the room. Good showing today, huh?”
“You’re five minutes too late to see Gage Hawthorne turn down Annabelle Pruitt’s invitation to the Midwinter Dance, too,” LaDawn said, fluffing her platinum hair.
Marybell’s eyes went wide. “He did not.”
“He did, too,” Dixie said on a chuckle from her folding chair behind the table. “Turned her down
flat. Said he had a date with our Nella.”
“Nella?” Marybell asked. “Our Nella? Quiet-until-provoked Nella? I had no idea he was even interested.”
Em fanned herself and giggled. “I don’t know that Nella does, either, but Lawd, Gage said it clear as day. We all heard it. Annabelle’s over there in the corner mopin’ right now.” She pointed a shiny red nail to the far corner of the room.
Maizy popped out from behind Em and waved at Marybell, her fiery-red hair enhanced by the sunlight streaming in through the windows. “Hi, Miss Marybell.”
Marybell wiggled a finger at her and grinned. “Oh, my goodness, it’s Princess Maizy Hawthorne, standin’ right here before me.” She curtsied to the tune of Maizy’s infectious giggles.
“I’m not a princess, Miss Marybell. I’m just me.”
Marybell wrinkled her nose and made a silly frown. “No? I woulda sworn with all that pretty hair and those shiny shoes you have on, you were a princess. When I go home, I’m going to look in my big book of princesses to see. Bet I’ll find your name there.”
Maizy grabbed her hand and fiddled with one of her many bracelets. “Will you make paper dolls with me again soon? Maybe we can make princess dolls?”
“You bet, with crowns and everything. Why don’t we see if your uncle Tag wants to make it a date sometime? We’ll all have grilled cheese and Cheetos and make a million paper dolls. Deal?” She held out her fist to Maizy.
Maizy fist-bumped it and grinned her infamous Hawthorne grin. “Deal!” she chirped before skipping off across the room to her father, her shiny shoes tapping out a happy rhythm.
Em tapped her on the shoulder. “Dates with the family included? Well, well, Miss We’re Not in a Relationship. I’d say someone’s denyin’ a little too much,” she teased.
That got a chuckle out of her, a chuckle and one of those secret, silly smiles. She wanted Tag. She wanted to be in a full-blown relationship with him. She wanted to be a part of his life, the lives of the people he loved.
Cat came up behind her and tugged on one of her spikes, prompting Marybell to turn around and give her a hug. “How’re you feelin’? I haven’t seen you in forever.” She placed a hand over Cat’s belly and rubbed, smiling when the baby kicked back.
Talking After Midnight Page 19
