The Crossroads Duet

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “Okay, baby.” And he gave me everything I asked for.

  Lane

  One year later

  Steering down our long driveway, snow and gravel crunching under the large tires, I maneuvered my enormous SUV through the dark. After five days abroad, I was fucking thrilled to be home.

  As I pulled the car around the back of the house, I frowned as I took in the multitude of twinkling white lights covering the wraparound porch and knew who was inside waiting for me—all the way in quiet and quaint Ligonier.

  Shit. I couldn’t get away from that dapper little shit.

  Slamming the truck into park in front of the garages, I jumped out in a hurry. There was someone I needed to get my arms around, and it wasn’t him. Stepping into ankle-deep snow, my Prada boots sinking into the wet white slush, I made a mental note to move the garages to the top of the renovation list.

  After unlocking the front door, I stomped my feet on the throw rug just inside the foyer, opening my mouth to yell, “I’m home,” when I was greeted with a firm, “Hush!”

  Narrowing my eyes, I turned to the man behind the bossy words . . . and glared.

  But with Brooks nearly toppling over the small stack of Nikes at the door, panting and begging for me to pet him, I obeyed. I didn’t dare make a sound. Not because of the jerk who told me to be quiet, but the only reason I ever needed to shut my mouth. And I wasn’t happy about it.

  Lowering my voice to a whisper, I said, “Hello, James. I see you’ve taken over my entire house.”

  Taking in his rumpled shirt and jeans, I gathered he’d been at it a while. Moving my sights to the roaring fire, hearing the Christmas music playing softly in the background, I shrugged my coat off and tossed it over the banister.

  James brought his hands together in a quiet clap. “I know, aren’t the lights outside fabulous? And the way they bounce off the snow? They’re real beauts!” he said in an excited whisper.

  A very quiet, “Yes. Fabulous,” came out of my mouth as I feigned excitement. If I didn’t compliment the man, I might never be able to move on to the real “beaut” of the house.

  “Where’s my girl?” I asked in a low voice.

  “Which one?” he asked, softly chuckling.

  “James,” I hissed in a warning tone, losing my patience.

  “Okay, okay. Bess is taking a bath, relaxing. I insisted she take some time for herself as soon as Madison went to sleep.”

  “Damn,” I whispered, my suspicions confirmed. I wanted to hold my baby for just one minute when I got home.

  James threw his arm around me. “Think of it this way—you get your wife all to yourself. Seriously, Bess tried to keep Mad awake as long as she could, but the little princess needed her beauty sleep.” He winked and added, “You think those birth control pills are gonna work this time?”

  “Enough,” I growled, heading straight to the stairs.

  “What? I was there, her only friend, working side-by-side with her. Who else was she going to call from the bathroom floor while she waited to drop the bomb on you?” he said, pretending to be coy.

  Rolling my eyes, I brushed past him, pausing a moment to point at the dog and tell him to stay on the first floor. But the memory of that day was still burned in my mind.

  “Bess?” I’d called as I came in from the garage, greeted only by the air-conditioning slapping me in the face. I’d called her name again as I headed down the hallway and up the stairs.

  When I searched the upstairs, becoming more frantic the longer I searched, I breathed out a sigh of relief when I finally found her sitting on our bathroom floor.

  “Hey, babe,” I said, entering with caution. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her hair was a holy mess. Wearing only a tank top and boy shorts, with her sad tattoo on display, she was the picture of dejection.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes huge as she gazed up at me.

  “For what?” Taking in the scene, it was pretty obvious, but who knew what was going through Bess’s head.

  “I’m p-pregnant,” she stammered. “It’s yours.”

  “Well, I should hope so.” I sat down on the floor with her, settling right next to her as my suit pants wrinkled, but I didn’t care.

  “You’re not upset?” she asked, flinging one of the sticks she’d peed on toward the wastebasket, but missing it.

  “Whoa, why would you think that?”

  Curious, I reached over to pick up the little pee stick and noted the pink plus. When I saw it, my heart swelled to what felt like twice its normal size. An intense sense of completion swept over me, a feeling of rightness that I never thought I’d experience. And it was all because of her.

  She let out a little whimper. “Because you went from playboy to playing house with me, and now this—”

  “Bess, stop.”

  With a practiced move, I reached out and took her hand, then guided it to my pocket. She knew the drill already and reached her hand inside when I said, “Take it out.” When she slid her hand out, holding the ring, I took it from her and moved to one knee.

  “Bess, will you marry me?”

  That day was nearly a year ago. When I opened the door to our French country master bath tonight, floral-scented steam swirling around the large room, I was whisked back to the present—where my gorgeous wife lay naked in the tub in front of me. Her dark eyelashes fanned out over her cheeks as her head laid back against a small spa pillow—compliments of the WildFlower—and her arm was draped over the side of the tub.

  On her hand was the ring I’d given her that day. The four-carat yellow diamond set in platinum was out of place in the middle of the wilderness where we currently lived, but Bess didn’t care.

  “I never want to forget this day,” she’d told me that night after she got up off the bathroom floor. We’d had Chinese takeout outside by the pool, my hand resting on her still-flat belly. Looking at her hand, she’d said softly, “It’s too much, but so, so, so pretty. Every time I look down, I’m going to think of kissing you for the first time . . . I don’t know why, I just am. Maybe because that’s when I gave you my heart.”

  As for hearts, Bess had owned mine since the day she seated me for breakfast and I realized she was still alive. Maybe even since she stank like holy hell and collapsed on me in yoga. I might have found redemption with Bess, but I also found life. Amazing how two people, both stuck in despair, could come together and emerge stronger from the darkest of times. But we did.

  Thank fucking God I’d picked that exact day to propose marriage, otherwise Bess would have never gone for it. She would have been completely convinced I’d asked her to marry me because of the baby, and would have driven me fucking crazy with arguments and questions.

  Since there were as many wedding planners as muscle heads in South Beach, we tied the knot that week; there was no reason to wait. We said “I do” on the tiny patio of the Dylan with our hammock swinging in the background and Bess’s hair blowing in the ocean breeze. James was our only witness.

  Seeing her currently naked, wet, and luscious in front of me, did I feel shortchanged in my time alone with Bess?

  Of course.

  Did I love anyone more than my daughter, Madison Jake Wrigley?

  Absolutely not.

  We named our daughter for Bess’s former supervisor, Maddie, who had helped bring us together by insisting she meet me for dinner. And of course for my brother, who had forced us to reconnect when I’d given up, whether I liked it or not.

  With a full head of soft, curly brown hair, perfect little hands, and blue eyes just like Jake and me, Madison stole my breath—and my heart—from the moment I first saw her image on the 3-D ultrasound.

  “Hey, babe,” Bess called to me, turning her head to the side and taking in my presence. Her voice was throaty and sultry.

  Magnificent.

  I sat on the edge of the tub in my suit, unbuttoning my shirt and pulling it off before I dipped my hands in the warm water and touched my wife.

>   “Hey.” Thoroughly engrossed, I scooped up some bubbles, then slid them along her arm, over her side cleavage, and around her taut nipple.

  “How was the trip?” she asked, leaning her head back, her eyes closing as I circled her nipple again.

  “Good, closed the deal. So, James?”

  She opened one eye. “Yeah, he didn’t have anywhere to go for the holidays, so I invited him. And then the snow was coming, so he caught an earlier flight. He was just so excited . . . you know James.”

  I just nodded with a smirk. The guy had been torturing me for over a year, why should he stop now? What he wasn’t going to do was stop me from making love to my wife.

  Little prick—let him continue to decorate my house.

  “Plus, he misses us,” she added. “And he hasn’t seen the house since we moved in and the kitchen was finished.”

  “I know,” I grumbled, then leaned in and kissed her, the water sloshing on my pants.

  “Want to come in? Mad is fast asleep after a big day of James and snow . . . and oatmeal cereal.”

  When she reached out and beckoned me, my gaze fell to her tattoo. It now had an added teardrop, and our initials in script inside each droplet. She said the eye was now “crying tears of happiness.”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” I said while whipping off my pants and tossing them on the floor. The heated floor.

  I might have bought a big old farmhouse, but I wasn’t moving my family in until it had been updated. Bess liked living in Florida okay and all. But between the baby on the way and the party scene, it wasn’t the best place for her.

  For the first few months, she worked with James, fed her growing belly, and I continued to work with my therapist. Eventually I came to the decision to take Bess back north. She had a few friends up there and loved the quiet comfort of the woods. I was making peace with my past and thought it might be a good idea to be close to Jake, who was working hard at getting his shit together.

  Once I was naked I slid in behind my wife, stretching my legs around her small frame, and she lay back against my chest and sighed.

  “Ah, amazing.” I relaxed and inhaled, breathing in my life. I felt like gasping for more and taking huge gulps; it would never be enough. Seeing Bess as a mom, watching her take pride in her new purpose—raising our daughter—made my heart beat and skip at the same time.

  “The best,” Bess said in a breathy voice.

  I looked around at the high ceiling and the large frosted glass windows they put in during the remodel. The place was growing on me. The house didn’t have the sleek modern comfort of Florida, but it had history, and its warmth seeped through your bones like hot chocolate on a cold day. I’d bought it back in early May, when Bess was getting close. She didn’t know, but AJ’s foreman, Jax, had put me in touch with a contractor who was able to rush the renovation for us, making it possible for us to move in right after the baby was born in July.

  Watching a newborn Madison sleep on her momma’s chest inside the cabin, I knew I’d made the better choice. Both my girls deserved peace and quiet to live. And the little country town was benefitting too with Bess as a regular speaker at the same rehab place she’d gone to.

  She was so strong, the stronger of the two of us, and I wanted our daughter to have all of that strength in its fullness. Not clouded by the bright lights and plastic smiles of the beach.

  Like the rumpled piles of shoes by the door and the goofy dog with a big wagging tail, this place was a crazy, wild home. It wasn’t completely controlled and sterile, but I liked it more and more. My dad would have loved it here.

  As my hair fell toward my face, reminding me of him, I smiled inside.

  As for AJ, that fucker was still messed up and confused, but who the hell wasn’t? Anyway, I was fine with him as long as he kept his distance. He’d called me after getting down to North Carolina to apologize.

  I’d answered the phone with a hurried hello, and he’d said, “I know you know the program by now, so I gotta ask you for your forgiveness. Sorry, my man.”

  I didn’t want to give it to him, but I knew Bess would be upset if I didn’t. AJ deserved to stay clean and sober just like anyone else.

  “Yeah, I got you,” I said reluctantly. “Just do what you need to do.”

  “I loved her, man. I’m getting over it, but I want to know she’s happy.”

  At this, I blew out a loud breath. “She’s happy, having my baby.”

  “Shit . . .” he breathed out. And then he hung up.

  “I missed you, Lane,” Bess said, drawing me way out of my ill-timed and worthless thoughts of AJ.

  Leaning in, I kissed her neck. “I know. I missed you and Mad. I have to go to California after the New Year, maybe you two will come?” I slid my hand down her side, under the water, and right to her center. She squirmed as I teased her, tickling her inner thigh, trying to get my hand where she wanted it.

  “I like the beard, glad to see it’s back,” she said. I’d started to grow it before I left, but it had filled out while I was gone.

  “I know you do. Want to feel it between your legs, babe?”

  “Yes,” she said as she jolted from my touch landing right on her clit. “Can we get out?”

  “Why?” I taunted her.

  “You know why. I want that.”

  “What?”

  “Your beard in between my thighs, Lane,” she barely rasped out, hoisting herself up and throwing her leg over the side of the tub, not bothering to wrap herself in a robe.

  By the time I stood up, she was standing there impatiently with a towel, waiting for me to get out.

  I quickly dried off and picked my wife up, carrying her to the king-sized sleigh bed. A moment later, we heard a crash of some sort on the first floor and both said, “James!” before ignoring it and going back to what we were doing.

  And Bess got my beard in between her thighs. Tickling her in all the right places.

  Jake

  Meanwhile . . . a few days later

  The metal door clanked shut, the sound of its lock slamming into place echoed off the cold wall I currently leaned up against. As I pressed my back against the coarse cinderblock, reality hit me smack in the chest like a bullet train barreling through my heart.

  Christ. Look at where I fucking landed after a whole goddamn year of trying to get my life in order, to heal past wounds and move forward.

  Shit.

  Did they hold mass in the slammer? Not that I was religious, but I would need someone like God on my side, because there was no way in hell Lane was coming to get me. Actually, for the first time ever, I told myself I wasn’t calling him. I’d leaned on my twin brother for two decades too long. I’d only deserve whatever wrath he served up if I called him from the clink.

  Again.

  Forget it being fucking Christmas, he’d finally gotten his life together. He had a gorgeous wife, cute little baby daughter, a big house in the country, huge career, and lots of cash. He deserved to be left alone.

  Me, I deserved this. I’d get to make one phone call, and it looked like it was going to be to that little wench—the same woman who landed me behind bars.

  My frayed jeans tightened around my thick thighs as I slumped to the floor. I tilted my head back against the wall, rolling my neck. Taking a long breath, I noticed the guy opposite me—he was big, tattooed, hairy, and snarling at me.

  I could fucking take him. Let him just try to approach me. I own a gym, for Chrissake.

  “Jake Wrigley?” the guard yelled as he approached the holding cell. “Which one of you fools is Jake?” he asked as he shoved his key in the keyhole, eyeing me up and down. Nothing like a big-as-fuck black dude with his biceps bulging through his polyester uniform looking at me like he was thoroughly pissed.

  Who shit in his eggnog?

  I stood. “That’s me.” I ran my hand along my buzz cut and smoothed out my beard. “Time for my phone call?”

  “Nah, man. DA’s here to see you.”

&
nbsp; “Oh, good. Maybe he wants to go home to his family, and I’m gonna get out of here in time for the holidays,” I said, then chuckled to myself.

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath, my man,” the guard said, shoving me toward the next set of locked doors.

  “Thanks, Paul, I got it from here,” a soft feminine voice called out from behind us.

  Sweet . . . a female guard.

  “That’s okay, Ms. Road. I’ll make sure he gets to the interview room. This one here’s a live wire,” he said, keeping his hand on my arm as he escorted me forward, not allowing me to turn around.

  For Pam, not only my editor, but also my fairy godmother, true friend, and confidante.

  Thank you for all you do from lending an ear to cleaning up my messy messes. And most of all, thank you for believing in me 365 days a year, even on the days when I don’t believe in myself.

  This one—book five—is all for you.

  Blood was everywhere, all over my skin and clothes. Dark red liquid spilled onto the dirty floor as my head spun like the Tilt-A-Whirl at a carnival. My vision blurred and lightness faded in and out, but I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality.

  Was I dead? Wait . . . would I never live? Shrieks bubbled up in my throat and barreled out through my vocal cords, desperation fueling my cries.

  My eyes kept drooping from the hurt and the shock; I’d never been in so much pain. I didn’t know where I was or how the hell to get help, but I wanted it, wanted to live. I didn’t want to just survive, but I needed to breathe his air, live with him side by side.

  But like the blood seeping from my body, the chances of him finding me were slipping. Fading. Everything became darker, and then the light came again.

  “Help!” I screamed, but it came out more of a ragged whisper since my throat was now completely raw. “Help!”

  My voice bounced off the wooden walls. I squinted around me, realizing I was in what looked like an old barn. I didn’t know where, though. How would anyone find me?

  I’m going to die here.