Bad for Her
Page 27
“Done.”
Rafe appreciated that it was that simple. A nod of the head, no questions, and they were good. “And I’d like to bounce an idea off of you. As a friend. As someone who knows the town better than I do. An idea that’s been circling in my head ever since I helped out a pretty girl on the side of the road.”
“You want to ask Mollie to move in with you?”
“Mollie’s not talking to me right now.”
“You screwed up.”
Rafe laughed. He laughed so hard that he couldn’t catch his breath. First, he bent in half, hands braced on his thighs. When that didn’t help—or slow the fucking guffaws coming out of his mouth—he bent his knees and just fell to the sand. “So, so much.”
“Fix it.”
“I’ve got a plan to do just that. I promise.” If it all came together. There were a lot of moving pieces outside of his control. Least of which was putting his faith and trust in the U.S. government. Again.
“How’s your track record with that sort of thing?”
“I’ve never come up against a problem I couldn’t fix. It’s what I’m best at . . . or was, anyway. There’s something else I want to be good at from now on. I need your take on it.”
“What’s that?”
If it worked? He’d be planted here for good. It was too fricking big a step to take until after he testified at McGinty’s trial. But that’s what made Rafe want to do it so much. One last adrenaline rush of living on the edge.
“I want to expand the garage. Add on a business that restores classic cars.”
“Do you know how to do that?”
“Some. Enough to start. It’d need to start slow, anyway.” Rafe was already busy enough. But Jesse helped some, and he hoped once Frieda’s husband recovered from his heart attack he could put in a little time restoring cars, as well. It might be just what Mr. Wick needed without overdoing it. “As it grows? It’ll bring in people who come for the car but stick around for a long weekend to enjoy the beach. Classic car rallies get big crowds. This expansion would be good for Frieda. Good for the town.”
“Good for you?”
“I think so.”
“I like that you put the town first.” Mick clapped him on the back. “It’s a smart idea. I know it’s a load off Frieda’s mind since you started. She likes your work. What you’re doing for Mollie’s cousin. I’ll bet she green lights it.”
“Thanks, Mick. I needed to hear all of that.” Needed to know that someone who wasn’t related to him had his back. Someone he, yes, trusted.
“What are friends for?”
Chapter 22
The door to Mollie’s bedroom cracked opened just enough to let the brightness from the hallway assault her corneas. She didn’t want light, or company. She basically wanted to wallow in her own misery. So Mollie squeezed her eyes shut. “What is it, Gran?”
Bracelets jingled with every step the older woman took toward the bed. “I brought you some medicinal tea.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Really?” A cheek brushed against her forehead. It was the technique Norah had developed to test for a fever once she lost her hand. “Your alarm went off fifteen minutes ago. You’re still in bed. That’s not like you.”
“I’m having a slow start.” Mollie pulled an arm out from under the covers to take the steaming mug, and then froze, midreach. “Define ‘medicinal’ as it pertains to this tea. Would someone else define it as perhaps illegal in thirty-nine states and definitely something that should not be ingested before I go start my shift at the hospital?”
“You’re so suspicious. And judgmental.”
“I prefer the term law-abiding. Can’t practice medicine after taking drugs, Gran. The AMA frowns on it.”
Huffy, Norah shoved the mug at her. “The tea is lemon-ginger. I thought you were sick, remember?”
“Thanks.” Still cautious, Mollie took a small sip. It tasted . . . fine. Nothing like the coffee she craved and desperately needed, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“What’s wrong?”
“Rafe and I had a fight.”
Sort of.
Not entirely.
Not specifically. Rafe opened up and shared the biggest secret of his life with her. Then she yelled at him. Which nobody would counsel as the proper way to reward such naked honesty.
But most people didn’t have to strip down so far to get to the honesty. Most people weren’t living a complete lie.
That she knew of.
Because heck, if the U.S. Marshals brought the Maguire brothers here, maybe they thought of Bandon as a safe haven. Maybe the rest of Mollie’s neighbors were in witness protection, too. Maybe she was the only one living as herself.
These were the thoughts that kept her tossing and turning for the past two nights. Imagining Frieda Wick as a globe-trotting drug mule who’d had a crisis of conscience and given up the dangerous life when she fell in love. Or that Floyd was really the witness to a triple homicide by a cadre of Colombian diplomats.
At least those ridiculous imaginings gave Mollie a reprieve from thinking about Rafe. About what he’d done. She didn’t know the details, and truly believed it wasn’t his fault for getting sucked in as a child, but it wasn’t a big leap to assume he’d done some bad things and broken a bunch of laws.
Or thinking about who he was. How much of the man he’d revealed to her, the man she’d fallen for, was even real? How much was a carefully crafted persona? A costume? She thought/hoped/assumed that at least the majority of their interactions were real. That only his name had changed, and he still truly liked fast cars and fettuccine Alfredo and knew all the words to all of the Rolling Stones songs. But Mollie didn’t know for sure.
Just like she didn’t know if she could ever trust her own judgment again. If she could ever trust him again.
If he even stuck around. Because what if he left? Left Bandon? Left her?
So yes, Mollie had hit the snooze button. Twice. She’d earned it.
Opening the drapes on the other window with a dragging clank that woke Mollie the rest of the way up, Norah said, “I’ll bring home some garlic bread from the bakery at lunch. And a half-dozen of their lemon cupcakes.”
Following her Gran’s logic was hard enough normally. Doing it pre-caffeine wasn’t even worth trying. “Why?”
“I assume you’re inviting the girls—and Lucien, of course—over for dinner. To call Rafe all sorts of names and then figure out exactly which sexy outfit of Elena’s you’ll borrow to drive him crazy until he apologizes.”
“Aw, Gran. You’re the best. But nobody’s coming over tonight.”
She cranked open the louvered windows. Sounding more than a little peeved, Norah said, “You’re making conversation very difficult this morning.”
“I can’t talk with the girls about my fight. Or with Lucien.” Not with anybody. Technically. Because Mollie stuck by her word. She wouldn’t risk Rafe’s life, or those of his brothers, by sharing what she’d learned.
On the other hand . . . Gran had seen a lot in her time in the Navy. Met lots of different people with different backgrounds. From all over the world. If anyone could give Mollie the answer to the central question buzzing through her brain, it just might be Gran.
“I’ll bring home some wine if that’ll cheer you up.” After a firm pat of the quilt covering Mollie’s feet, she turned for the door.
“I’d be a fool to say no.” Mollie set the tea on the nightstand, then wriggled to a seated position. “But, can you sit and talk with me for a minute?”
“Of course.” Instead of sitting on the edge, Gran came around to join her. Back against the whitewashed headboard, and her uncovered stump resting on Mollie’s hip like they had years ago.
The details of Rafe’s ripped-straight-from-the-movies life weren’t what bothered Mollie the most. They did bother her in principle. Wondering about them would circle in her head for a good long while. But given his reasons for staying in the mob after what
was basically a childhood conscription, they weren’t break-up worthy. Everyone had a story. Good, bad, wild. It was how you chose to shape your life after the excitement subsided that fleshed you out as a person.
What would his choice end up being?
Had he made it already? Had she fallen in love with the finished version of the new man Rafe was trying to be? Because the man she knew now was good. Mollie didn’t doubt that for a second. But would he slide back into his old self? Or was he the same at his core and it was just his circumstances—and name—that were different? Doing bad things didn’t necessarily make you a bad person. It might be semantics, but she believed they weren’t the same thing. Mollie needed reassurance that was true before she moved on to her bigger fear about what could happen next between them.
“Do you think . . . have you ever seen . . . do you believe people can change?”
“Yes.” Gran held up her hand and waggled it back and forth. “And no. It depends.”
“Gee, thanks. Are you sure you haven’t been hitting the medicinal tea already?”
“Yes. People can change. Drastically. Do a complete personality flip. Or ideology. Or something else. I’ve seen others who’ve tried to change, over and over and over again, and just can’t do it. Not even for something small.”
Mollie picked at a loose green thread along the border of a quilt square. She could keep tugging at it until the square came off. Then she could sew it onto a quilt and make a different pattern out of it. But when she looked at it, would she still only see the original shape? After having stared at it one way for so many years? Did Rafe want to be good now?
“What’s the trick?” she asked in a low voice.
“It depends on their motivation. It’s the same as beating an addiction. You can’t change for someone else. You have to do it for yourself, first and foremost. That’s the only way it’ll stick.”
Aaaand there went a direct hit to a much older burning question. One that also kept Mollie awake at nights. When she bothered to admit it. “You think that’s why Mom never came back?”
Gran’s neck audibly snapped, she twisted her head so fast. “Where’s this coming from?”
“Mom left me to go find herself. I hear, that for normal mothers, doing things for the sake of their children is a fairly strong motivation. But in Mom’s case, she changed—for herself—and that was it. She still didn’t come back for me.”
“Mollie Catherine, any fault, any blame, any lack falls entirely on your mother’s shoulders.” Norah’s voice held a sharp, scolding edge to it. “I’ve told you that before, and I’ll repeat it until my dying day.”
“She left me. It seems obvious that there’s something missing. That I can’t expect anyone else to stick around.”
“You’re not listening. Your mother didn’t choose to leave you. It was just a side effect of her own selfishness. She made the choice to move toward something else, not to leave you behind.”
Mollie seriously doubted her gran had ever put it in quite those terms before. It was like a key turning in a lock, opening the door and letting her stupid, ridiculous paranoia drift out into the wind.
It truly wasn’t her fault. Wasn’t anything lacking in her.
Which explained why she had more friends than she could count at every hospital where she’d worked. Friends from college. An entire town of people here who loved her. Who’d turned their lives upside down to help her and continued to love her.
There wasn’t anything wrong with her. Nothing lacking. There wasn’t any reason to assume that Rafe would leave her.
Unless he was forced to . . .
Norah smoothed the hair out of Mollie’s face. “I thought you said you were required to talk to a psychiatrist as part of your training? And that he helped clear all those old doubts of yours away.”
Whoops. “I did say that. I thought it would make you feel better.”
“You thought it would make me stop pestering you to talk to someone.”
“That, too.”
“You and Rafe had one fight and it brought all this back up? You think he’s turning tail and walking out on such a beautiful, smart, sweet woman?”
“The thing is, for the first time ever, I didn’t believe that. I had hope that we had a chance at something special. Now I’m just confused.”
“Any reason why you have to figure that out right this second?”
Mollie barely stopped laughter from exploding out of her. “Yes. I’m quite certain there’s a time limit on my pouting and navel gazing when it comes to Rafe.”
Time was about to run out. Would Rafe and his brothers have to leave now that she knew their secret? Would he feel compelled to confess to his handler that someone else knew about them? Did that mean they’d automatically be relocated?
And when were they supposed to go back to Chicago and testify? Because that would undoubtedly be a dangerous trip, with no guarantee that he’d return. No matter what happened, it was sure to come to a head sooner rather than later. Mollie was shocked he’d left her alone for two days already.
Her bedroom door opened even farther and Jesse leaned in, both hands on the doorjamb. “I made waffles.”
Mollie looked at the clock. Her heart sank. “It’s Tuesday and you’re still here? Are you cutting school?”
“No.” He pulled his hood up over his head and scowled. “And your lack of faith in me is duly noted, by the way. I’ve got that dentist appointment this morning, remember? I thought I’d do something nice and make everyone breakfast.”
Whoops. Mollie scrubbed her hands over her face. “That was nice. Thank you. I’m sorry that I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I’m having a bad week.”
“It’s only Tuesday,” he said dryly.
Mollie pushed out a long, slow exhale. “Tell me about it.”
“Did you and Rafe have a fight?”
“Sort of.”
He came forward to awkwardly pat her foot. “You should make up with him. He’s a good guy. He’s patient with me. Doesn’t yell at me for screwing up, only when I don’t try. He gave me a second chance, remember?”
“He did, indeed. All his idea.”
“I think you should give him flowers. That fixes everything.” Then he left them alone.
Jesse was one smart kid. Rafe was a good guy. The things he’d lied about didn’t change his heart. He was patient. He was loyal. He was funny. None of that was an act.
“He made us waffles. That’s a big step.” Norah patted Mollie’s thigh. “I know you’re staying here for Jesse’s sake, but you should start looking for your own place. Jesse’s proving he can be trusted, more and more every day. The two of us will be just fine without you. I’ll miss your smiling face, but we’ll be fine.”
Mollie needed reassurance on one more point. That she wasn’t being a naïve, gullible fool. “Gran, do you believe in second chances?”
“And third and fourth and however many it takes. We all get them. Why shouldn’t we be just as generous in giving them to someone else?”
That was exactly how Mollie had always approached it. She didn’t know if Rafe was the one who needed the second chance, or if it was herself. Could she truly believe him? Give him a shot at a normal, new life here? How could she get him to trust her? Rafe had a big, secret stash of money to lure him away. How on earth could she compete with that? How could she be enough for him?
“Here’s your blood money, Mateo.” Delaney thumped a cardboard coffee tray down on the sheriff’s desk. “Four triple shot, dark roast large coffees, as requested. I can’t believe I have to bribe you to let me use your office.”
“I can’t believe you want to keep using my office when you’ve got a perfectly good one up the road. Any chance you want to tell me what this is about?”
Rafe knew that the cover story she’d given the sheriff would hold. But he still wondered, for a split second, what she’d say next. Because yeah, he still had a hard time trusting people. That wouldn’t go away overnight.
“Be happy to.” She winked at Mateo. “As soon as you’re sworn in as a United States Marshal. Until then, my lips are sealed. What do you need four coffees from Eugene for, anyway?”
Mateo popped a lid and slurped in three long gulps. “The shop in Eugene is the closest one with Ugandan beans. And I need four because I’m down a deputy. Pulling extra shifts around the clock makes it hard to prop my peepers open.”
“Don’t you usually get a heads-up before someone transfers?”
“Not this time. Tricia got put on bed rest for her whole pregnancy. Didn’t even know she was pregnant. Add in the maternity leave after that, and I’ll be in serious trouble if I don’t get staffed up before the Cranberry Festival.”
Another thing Rafe was getting used to about small-town life was the slow easing into conversations. It actually tickled him now, most of the time.
Not today.
Not when he was itching to get back and make things right with Mollie. It had been two whole days since she’d left him in the woods. Two days of waiting to hear back from the marshal. Because he wouldn’t go any further with Mollie until he knew there wasn’t any danger—to her or to the rest of Bandon.
“At this rate, the festival will be here before you get down to business, Marshal.” Flynn opened the door to the conference room and motioned her in. Nice that he’d played the bad guy. Kellan, as usual, was too busy ogling Delaney to probably even notice the long-winded conversation about the sheriff’s staffing problems.
“There are days, Flynn Maguire, when I’m tempted to ask just how uncomfortable it is with that cactus stuck up your ass.” But Delaney did lead them all inside. The moment the door shut, Rafe started throwing out questions.
“What’s the story? Did you check your jailhouse snitches? Anyone connected with McGinty mentioning us all of a sudden?” Delaney usually kept them in the dark. Rafe jumped at every chance to pigeonhole her on what the Chicago crew might be up to. Find out if the old man was all recovered and still promising to rain down vengeance on them.