She knew all about that, how she could never escape her mother’s shadow, how she would forever be deemed unworthy. “I’m sorry,” she said, though the words were inadequate.
Their gazes met and held, a conduit for silent messages. His: My path was set a long time ago. And hers: Mine too.
He looked past her to the window, which was still closed. “Don’t look now, but we might be ten thousand feet off the ground.”
“What?” She slid the covering up, and sure enough, they had somehow lifted off without her even noticing. Her brain had ignored everything but his words, that voice of his like a furnace, melting everything in its sphere.
She touched her finger to the glass, surprised to find it cool. Outside, the orange glow had mellowed into something gold and glowing. The clouds formed a puffy blanket beneath them.
“My God,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful. Majestic. Do you see it?”
He had a strange expression on his face, watching her.
She blushed, embarrassed. “But you’ve seen this so many times. It’s probably boring.”
When he spoke, his voice sounded different. Almost strangled. His hand tightened on hers. “No. Not boring at all.”
* * *
Lock drew Hailey’s hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Alone in the cabin with her, watching the sunset and holding hands. It was like they’d taken a rocket to the moon instead of a hop from Midway to McCarran.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just held hands with a woman. Maybe he never had. The kind of life he led wasn’t conducive to shared quiet moments. Alone or in a crowd, no middle ground. It’s probably why he’d brought Krist in, to battle back the overwhelming quiet building between him and Hailey. Only it hadn’t worked. It bound them together more tightly, let her in deeper and pushed Krist further away.
The tightness in his chest had nothing to do with the changing cabin pressure. One day. They had one day left together, and then his life would return to normal. What would she go back to? A troubled sister. A job she loved. Some guy from around the corner who’d spring for movies on Friday nights, fuck her gently, and take her for granted.
That last part burned the most. He tapped the Call button on the console above their heads.
The flight attendant appeared seconds later. Brisk and efficient with his starched uniform shirt stretched across narrow shoulders, he held his hands behind his back. “Yes, sir.”
“Bring a bottle of sparkling cider and strawberries if we have them.” He remembered the bliss on Hailey’s face that first morning when he’d fed her pancakes and berries while she sat naked beside him. Simple pleasures. He could give her—give himself—more of those.
“Right away, sir.”
Hailey squeezed his hand. “Are you celebrating something?”
He was. Every moment they had left. He’d celebrate them until she couldn’t stand to leave. “You.”
“No champagne?” Her brow knit with confusion, and was that hurt? Oh God, she still didn’t understand. He wasn’t asking for fucking cider because he didn’t think she was worth champagne.
“Hailey, I’ve been sober for a little over a year. The go to detox after you’ve basically ruined your life and the lives of everyone around you kind of sober. We’re not having champagne because there isn’t an ounce of booze on this plane. I’m not having champagne because…” The word’s caught in his throat, but he had to say them. She needed to know. “I’m a recovering alcoholic.”
She paused. “That’s… That’s wonderful.”
“It’s what?” Instead of recoiling from his weakness, her face broke into a smile that rivaled the sunset out the window. She leaned across the armrest and planted the softest kiss on his lips. A sweet balm to the raw exposure aching under his skin.
“Really. I’m so proud of you. A year is fantastic. We’ll celebrate that too.”
He shouldn’t have expected anything less from Hailey, from his girl. His girl. She wouldn’t turn her head and gawk at him like he was an accident on the side of the road. No, she’d just beam at him like he’d done something amazing.
Because he had. His sobriety was a fucking miracle.
The attendant parked a cart beside their seats, uncorked the bottle with a pop, and filled two glasses. Lock half expected him to click his heels. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
He released Hailey’s hand so he could take the useless glasses. He wanted to drink from the hollows of her collar bones, sip from the tips of her breasts, lap from the folds of her sex. “No, and unless we’re crashing, you stay in the back. Got it?”
“Of course, sir. I’ll be back to collect the cart when we’re preparing to land.”
Lock didn’t want to celebrate anymore. He wanted to revel.
SEVENTEEN
The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the fellowship hall. Usually Tim would settle at a table near the back with a steaming cup and a pile of Mrs. Markum's chocolate trifle. Last month he'd done exactly that, only Chloe had sat with him, teasing him about the predictability of his potluck dessert choices.
There's got to be twenty different sweets up there, and you settle for pudding? she'd said.
It's not just pudding. Look. There's brownies, candy-bar bits, whipped cream—
Don't forget the cherry.
The way she'd said cherry was a sin. All round and full, with a cocked eyebrow and wet lips. Purposeful. He could only nod and take the bite he'd dangled on his spoon.
Tonight Chloe avoided him completely. That she'd shown up at all surprised him. At first he thought maybe she'd changed her mind about his proposal. But anytime he approached, she suddenly had very important things to do on the other side of the room.
Was it really so wrong, wanting to take care of her? He couldn't help that.
So he stood there at the end of the buffet, coffee and trifle in hand, unsure of his next move and only half aware of the murmur working its way through the crowd.
Pastor John hurried toward him, expression grim. Did he know? Tim's cup rattled in the saucer.
“We've got a situation. Some of the older kids are sharing a video, an inappropriate video—”
Relief coursed through him. It wasn't about him. That happened with the kids from time to time. He'd find them huddled in a corner, giggling, and counsel them about modesty and purity of thought. Hypocrite that he was. “I'll go.”
“No, you don't understand. Tim, it's…” He rested his hand on Tim's shoulder and lowered his voice. “It's a video of Hailey.”
It didn't make sense. How did the kids have an inappropriate video of Hailey? How did an inappropriate video of Hailey even exist? Maybe there was some other Hailey he didn't know. “Hailey Miller? Chloe's sister?”
“She's on the news. A few parents have already cornered me. They want her fired.”
“Fired? We don't even know anything yet. Are we even sure it's her?” Tim's heart raced. Chloe would be devastated. As much as she talked about wanting to take care of herself, it was Hailey who did the caretaking. What would happen to them? His gaze flicked to her. She stood by the giant punch carafe, surrounded by church ladies with apologetic looks on their faces. And smirks. They were telling her. Delighting in it. Not very Christian of them.
“I only saw part of it, but even with the censor bar— It's her and it's bad.”
He wanted to abandon Pastor John and go to Chloe, put himself between her and whatever was happening, like a human shield. So he did. He crossed the room, catching stray comments as they rose over the din. Brightly lit screens dotted the room. Ugly punctuation points in a hateful conversation.
“Well, you remember their mother.”
“Disgusting.”
“Not watching my kid.”
“We knew the sister was bad.”
Did they hear themselves?
Anger welled in his chest. Hot molasses. An alien sensation. Someone stopped him. He should know this person, but his mind was
so clouded the face didn't even register. And when this person spoke, it was like pots and pans clanging in Tim’s head. “Will you be taking over the nursery until they find a replacement?”
Taking over? Replacement? They'd tried and convicted her in minutes, and he hadn't even seen the evidence yet. Didn't need to see it. All he needed was Chloe.
“No, I will not.” His voice came out louder than he'd intended. A boom that hushed the crowd. Folding chairs scraped linoleum as people turned to see what new scandal would entertain them tonight. His stomach rolled. They'd convict him too if they knew Chloe was carrying his child. Too young. Out of wedlock. Narrow-minded… “If you fire Hailey, you can fire me too. Have you all forgotten about glass houses and stones?”
Pastor John shook his head. “Tim, this isn't the time. We'll discuss it later.”
“There is no later. Are you going to let this continue? Are you going to fire her? Abandon her?”
“She's found a new income source.” A voice from the crowd. It matched the disgusting.
Pastor John frowned. Resigned.
Tim was resigned too. Literally. “I quit.”
The collective gasp sucked all the air out of the room. Let them suffocate on their righteous indignation.
* * *
Chloe stared at Tim from across the sea of parishioners. He stared right back.
Protests sprang up—first one, then another. Bursts of color in a harsh wasteland. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We don’t want you to leave.”
They were talking to Tim, of course. Tim, who had graduated with honors with a masters of divinity. Tim, who welcomed every lock-in, potluck and choir practice. Tim, who had gotten sucked into the Miller sisters’ vortex. It wasn’t his fault. No one would blame him.
First Chloe had seduced him. She couldn’t even pretend it had been otherwise. She was everything they would accuse her of, when her tummy grew large and obvious.
And now Hailey…what had Hailey done? Chloe didn’t even know. Mrs. Wilson had said something about a video. About a musician? It was hard to tell, but it was bad. Even Pastor John looked grave, and he had always been welcoming to them, even knowing who their mother had been.
Her stomach lurched, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh God. Oh no. Not here.
But then Tim was at her side, his arms around her, guiding her. The crowd parted for him—of course it did—and she closed her eyes against the faces. Macabre expressions of horror and prurient interest. She felt the weight of that scarlet letter suddenly stitched onto her T-shirt, except instead of A for adulterer, it would be S for seductress or J for Jezebel. She was a full alphabet of condemnation, and she wasn’t even sorry.
None of these people had ever cared about Chloe—or even Hailey, who had been so nice to everyone, always. Who had taken the best care of their kids. Let them rot in hell for all she cared.
All except Tim. He loved this place. And now he was going to lose his job.
“Where are you taking me?” Her fingers muffled her words.
“Bathroom,” he murmured. Tim pushed them into the main hallway. They weren’t alone, though. She could feel the eyes on her, laserbeam judgment, cutting her open.
“No. Outside.” She needed to get out of here. She needed to breathe again.
They made it into the courtyard near the back, adjacent to the playground, and at least here it was empty. Pine needles formed a crunchy carpet on the loose cobblestone. She broke away from Tim’s hold and leaned against a thick tree, panting.
“Are you going to…?” His voice was cautious.
She laughed roughly. “Throw up on the statue of Mary? Don’t worry. I get crazy nauseous, but nothing ever comes out.”
“Let me help you,” he said in a low tone that tugged at her. Earnest, that was him. Earnest enough to give up his career—his community—to stand up for her. Or her sister.
She pulled out her phone and googled the name of the band. First three hits were YouTube videos. And there was Hailey. A very naked Hailey on her knees. Oh Jesus. Had Hailey seen this? It might not be her. Please let it not be her. But if it wasn’t, it was a damn good look-alike.
And Hailey had been MIA over the past forty-eight hours.
More than enough time to sneak backstage and end up banging the guitarist. Chloe should know. She’d worked that gig—well, she’d worked the merch counter. But she’d also flirted with musicians and roadies and everyone else who wasn’t Tim.
“Fuck.” The word bounced around the empty courtyard. At least the video didn’t seem to have sound attached. Not that it mattered much.
Tim touched two fingers to her arm, and she looked at him. His expression was sad—so sad. Had she done that? Was all his grief now for Hailey and none for the marriage they wouldn’t have?
“I’m sorry,” he said, and it hurt that he meant it.
“Hailey will land on her feet,” she said, not quite believing it. The old Hailey, she could handle anything. This new Hailey, who went on weekend benders to bang rock stars? Chloe wasn’t sure she even knew her.
But she wanted to.
“You don’t have to quit your job for her,” she said. “It probably won’t even change their minds. We’ll find something else.”
His eyes darkened. “You think I did that for her?”
Her stomach flipped again, threatening revolt. She pressed a hand to her stomach—still flat. How long until it grew? How long until that flip turned into the kick of a little foot?
“Who did you do it for?” she whispered.
The baby, she thought he’d say.
He shook his head. “This is my church too. Or it was. We don’t shun our friends, our neighbors, without even talking to them.”
“And if she did do this? If this is her?” And it was. The timing was too perfect. Or imperfect.
“We don’t evict people for a single mistake.” He shut his eyes, looking pained.
She was hurting him, but she couldn’t stop. “What if it wasn’t a mistake?” she whispered. “What if she liked being with that guy? What if she’s not sorry for her sins?” They weren’t even talking about Hailey anymore. She knew it, and so did he.
His jaw clenched. “Is that what you think I want from you, Chloe? An apology?”
She stepped closer and put a hand to his chest. Like she’d done yesterday, although she wouldn’t be falling to her knees this time. Wouldn’t unbuckle him in the open courtyard. There were limits—even to her own depravity.
They were a breath apart. She could feel him waiting with each warm not-kiss against her lips.
“Prove it’s not,” she whispered, and she didn’t mean sex this time. Lust wouldn’t be enough—not for a lifetime. Not for marriage.
“What do you want me to say? I gave up my job for you. I proposed to you.”
Tears threatened, but she wouldn’t back down. Not this close. “I love you,” she whispered.
He sucked in a breath. “Chloe…”
That was more than a flip in her stomach. It was like getting punched there. “We can be friends. We don’t have to— God, you don’t have to be a fucking martyr for me.”
“No. We’re not going to be friends.” He sounded furious. “Why does it matter so much? Why do you have to hear the words?”
Because I deserve it. She didn’t say that though. Didn’t want to hear his denial—that no, she didn’t deserve a husband who loved her. That was for other girls, with other mothers, ones who weren’t the church’s pariah. She clenched her jaw and let his words wash over her.
His gaze softened, but the words still stung, like seawater—finding every raw spot in her past. “You just take and take, and there’s not going to be anything left of me. What am I going to have left?”
And then she couldn’t hold back anymore. The fear of being pregnant, the humiliation in the rec room—they rolled down her cheeks in hot tracks. “Me,” she said simply, hopelessly, already knowing it wouldn’t be enough. She was n
ever enough.
Something broke in him then. She watched it happen: the tiny fissure turning into a crack. A fissure that let her see his horror at her words, his shame. His love. Why did she have to hear the words? She didn’t—not if she could look at him deep inside, without that guarded restraint. It kept him back from more than a blowjob. It kept him back from this.
“You’re afraid,” she said finally.
“I’m not.” His voice sounded thick. Like she did before she broke down and cried—no, after. “I’m terrified. All these years, it’s just been me. Just me. No one counts on me or expects anything.”
Did he really not see? “Everyone counts on you, Tim.”
He shook his head. “It’s not the same. I can unlock the door and pour pretzels into a bowl. It doesn’t matter what time I come home.”
“I’m not going to stick a tracking device on you.”
“No, I want you to care. But the thing is, if I marry you, if I love you, I’d care too. And you’re…too much for me. You’re so full of life, and I’ve ruined it now. You should be out following the band or doing whatever you want to do. And now you can’t, all because I couldn’t keep it in my goddamn pants.”
“Tim.” She waited until he really focused on her. Damn, those deep, soulful eyes. She hadn’t stood a chance, really. Even though it was kind of insulting that he’d thought she was her mother, she couldn’t blame him. She’d thought so too. “Tim. I’m not going to leave you.”
He looked stricken. “I couldn’t take it if you did.”
She tackled him then. It felt like the right thing to do, and it felt even more right with his unsteady heart thumps by her ear and his arms around her waist, pulling her tight.
“I’m not leaving,” she said fiercely.
He pressed her close until her nose was smashed into his shirt and his fingers were cutting off the circulation in her arms—still not close enough. It would have to do. His breath huffed warm against the crown of her head. “I love you,” he murmured.
She sighed, feeling it slide home. “I know.”
BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds Page 34
