1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Fourteen

by Kristen Ashley

  “I’ll catch up,” Marcus told me, settling himself in my armchair, which was the only thing in my place I liked.

  Supple leather. Big brass buttons studded all up the front and curve of the arms.

  I bought it even though it didn’t match my inexpensive twill couch and it cost a whack when I wasn’t making a whack. I was schlepping drinks and wings at Hooters and wasn’t doing too badly because my hooters put the “Hoot” in Hooters, but it didn’t touch what I made stripping.

  And I bought it because it looked like it belonged in a castle.

  I wasn’t looking at my chair.

  I was looking at him.

  “Pardon?”

  He set his champagne on my side table.

  “I’ll catch up,” he told me.

  “What do you mean, you’ll catch up?”

  “How far into it are you?” he asked.

  “I haven’t gotten to the wedding yet.”

  His eyes twinkled.

  Lord.

  “I don’t know what that means, honey,” he said quietly.

  “It means, not far.”

  “Then I’ll catch up.”

  “You sayin’ you haven’t seen Steel Magnolias?”

  He studied me even as he replied, “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “How are you breathing on this earth, American, and haven’t seen Steel Magnolias?”

  His eyes kept twinkling.

  Lord.

  “I’m not certain how to answer that.”

  “It’s the best movie of all time,” I repeated my earlier declaration.

  “We’ll see.”

  We’ll see?

  “You don’t get me, honey bunches of oats,” I began. “It. Is. The. Best. Movieofalltime.”

  He smiled at me. It was warm. Lush. Intimate. A thing of pure beauty.

  I ignored that smile hitting my coochie.

  “Play the movie, Daisy,” he ordered.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I snapped.

  “Darling, please start the movie.”

  Crap.

  That I felt in my coochie.

  I glared at him, put down my champagne, snatched up the remote, and started the movie.

  Needless to say, the food was great.

  Also needless to say, the champagne was fabulous.

  More needless to say, it didn’t suck that Marcus not only didn’t make me get up to get my bombolonis, he also didn’t make me get up to fill my champagne flute.

  And lastly, needless to say, when M’Lynn lost her nut by Shelby’s casket and I lost my nut right along with her on my couch in my apartment no matter that I’d seen that scene one hundred and fifty times, I lost it again, a different way that time, when Marcus got up, nabbed my remote, and hit pause.

  “What are you doing?” I screeched.

  “We should not be watching this film.”

  Uh-oh.

  I looked at his face.

  He was looking at the tears on mine and he was not a happy man.

  “Do you have a comedy?” he asked.

  “This is a comedy,” I informed him.

  “You’re crying.”

  “That’s Southern for comedy,” I educated.

  “We just watched a young woman with a young child die, her mother standing there watching as she passed after her daughter was taken off life support. That is not a comedy, honey.”

  At that, for some stupid reason, I let loose.

  “She got married to the man she loved. She gave him a baby. She had a momma who loved her. A daddy who adored her. Brothers who annoyed her but also adored her. Friends who thought the world of her. Her hubby was a lawyer who gave her a big house where she could make spaghetti in a big kitchen, even if she did pass out and slip into a diabetic coma in that kitchen. She had it all. She didn’t have it for long but she at least had it. And she appreciated having it. She knew what it meant. And she knew how precious it was. And she left this world with that preciousness held deep in her heart. So she’s good to wait with God until their time comes to join her because she entered those pearly gates knowin’ she left the world having everything she needed.”

  Marcus stood by me sitting on the couch, staring down at me, and I felt his look like he wasn’t standing removed and staring at me, but like he was close, holding me in his arms like he loved me, only me, had forever, and would forever and always.

  “That might not say comedy,” I pushed out in a whisper, trying to get past his look. “But Ouiser and Clairee are about to rip the lid off, sugar. You just haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

  “Do you have a momma who loves you?” he asked abruptly.

  I pressed my lips together.

  He watched.

  Then he bit out, “Right.” His gaze went from my lips to my eyes. “A daddy?”

  “Marcus—”

  Just at me saying his name, he got me.

  That’s why he interrupted me and went on.

  “Brothers?”

  I shook my head.

  “Sisters?”

  I bit my lip.

  “Right,” he repeated softly.

  “Can we watch the movie?” I whispered.

  In response, immediately, he sat next to me. He also stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles, and put his arm around me, pulling me into his side.

  As I was curled into the corner of the sofa, my legs under me, my plate gone, my champagne in my hand, I wasn’t able to do anything but teeter more fully into him so he had all my weight.

  I tried to pull away.

  I stopped when he announced, “You move, Daisy, this once, right now, watching this fucking movie, I won’t let you.”

  Well, that was clear enough.

  “Roger that,” I muttered.

  “Settle,” he growled.

  Oh boy.

  I felt that in my coochie too.

  I pressed my lips together again and did as told.

  “Fuck,” he went back to muttering, lifted the remote, and started the movie again.

  As I told him, within minutes, Ouiser and Clairee ripped the lid off.

  Even so, Marcus didn’t let me go.

  He kept hold of me.

  And he didn’t stop.

  Not for the whole rest of the movie.

  * * * *

  We stood in my open doorway.

  Marcus was leaving.

  I was marveling at the fact that at his texted command, Marcus’s men showed, cleared everything, even to the point of cleaning the flutes and putting the plates in the dishwasher (but even if they cleared everything, they put the extra bottle of Dom in the fridge and left the flutes). Then they took off leaving Marcus and me at the door.

  I was also marveling at the fact that Marcus didn’t mind that I rewound to the locker room scene (and played it twice).

  Since my mind was otherwise occupied, it came as a surprise when his hand fell light as it cupped my cheek.

  My body jerked and my eyes darted up to his.

  “Please don’t touch me.”

  His hand dropped away but this time he didn’t move away.

  He shifted closer. In my space. Not threatening. Not pushy. Just…there.

  “Have you talked to someone?” he asked gently.

  “I’m talkin’ to you now,” I pointed out.

  “About what happened to you, honey.”

  I looked to the side.

  “Please, darling, look at me.”

  I pressed my lips together, drew in breath through my nose, and looked up at him again.

  “You need to talk to somebody,” he urged.

  “I’m doin’ a-okay,” I shared.

  “You have trouble with me touching you.”

  “You find that surprising?” I asked a little sarcastically.

  “No. My fear is that, if you don’t speak to someone about it, you won’t be able to get past it.”

  I shook my head. “Had a lot of shit happen to me in my life, sugar. This is just another load a’
shit I gotta get around. And make no mistake, like all the others, I’ll get around this.”

  His brows went up. “And it’s necessary for you to do it on your own?”

  “All a girl’s got is herself.”

  That’s when Marcus Sloan rocked my world.

  He did this by declaring, “You’re entirely wrong.”

  “I—” I began and I got that one letter out but it didn’t count because he talked right over me saying it.

  “A woman like you should have had a momma who loved her. A daddy who adored her. Friends who thought the world of her. She should have grown up every day knowing that straight to her soul, never doubting it, not for a second.”

  I felt my eyes narrow for no other reason than to beat back what his words were making me feel.

  “You don’t know what kind of girl I am.”

  “I know precisely the kind of woman you are, Daisy. And if you don’t understand it, then it’ll be up to me to show it to you.”

  Oh Lord.

  Time to try another tack.

  “Marcus, I’m tellin’ you, you don’t got a pla—”

  He put his hand up between us and shook his head, cutting me off saying an impatient, “No.”

  I kept trying.

  “The food was real good and it was sweet, you bein’ all…” I didn’t know how to express the gorgeousness of it so I used the universal, “whatever with me when M’Lynn lost it at Shelby’s funeral. And I’m not sayin’ I haven’t hit a rough patch. I know I have. I’m not in denial or nothin’. I’m workin’ through it, but doin’ that my way. What I’m sayin’ is, this is sweet and all, but you don’t have a place in that.”

  “You’ve made that clear. I just don’t agree.”

  Again, I was getting mad.

  “Okay then, I’ll explain it this way. I’m not gettin’ used to some fine man showin’ me attention, bringin’ me fancy food and bein’ sweet only to hit that time when I get my gold bracelet and a good-bye.”

  He stared down at me, something flitting through his eyes.

  Then he murmured, “Ah.”

  “Ah, what?” I snapped.

  It was then he got closer. Still not threatening, but coming on strong.

  I held my breath.

  “It’s understandable, in a sense, that you’d say that. You don’t know me. But I’ll tell you and then I’ll show you that I am not a man who would come into a woman’s life, a woman who had what happened to you happen to her, with the intention of doing what I had to do to get what I wanted and then give her my good-bye.” He drew in breath and didn’t release my gaze when he finished, “Although understandable, it’s still insulting as all fuck.”

  I blinked and felt my stomach twist painfully.

  He shifted back.

  “Goodnight, Daisy.”

  And with that, he turned, walked down the hall, and disappeared.

  Chapter Five

  Prince Charming

  Daisy

  I woke up in a cold sweat.

  And terrified.

  I didn’t even think. I couldn’t coordinate my limbs. So when I moved, I fell off my bed, right to the floor. I crawled half the distance to the door to my bedroom before I found my feet.

  Once I did, I sprinted to the dinette where I’d left my purse. I snatched out my cell and sprinted back to my room, slamming the door, locking the lock, so lost in my head, when I ran across the room, I thumped into my bed, falling on top of it, but I didn’t hesitate.

  I scrambled over it and off the other side, hitting the floor on my hands. The cell digging into my palm, I just kept going. My knees falling off the bed, crashing into the floor, I crawled to the corner, turned, pressed my back in, lifted my knees up protectively in front of me, and fumbled my phone as I brought it to my face.

  I flipped it open and saw it tremble in my hand as I searched for the number I’d programmed in no matter I knew it was a fool thing to do.

  I was glad I’d done it then.

  I hit it, put the phone to my ear, and felt it shaking against the shell.

  I heard it ring.

  It rang four times, and with each passing one I wanted to scream before I heard a deep man’s voice say, “Yes?”

  “M-M-Marcus, I do-don’t…I just had a…” I gulped, “I c-c-can’t—”

  “Daisy,” he stated urgently, “is someone there?”

  “I, no, I…y-y-es…um, no.”

  I was making no sense and didn’t even know it. I was too busy realizing that my teeth were chattering, and worse, I couldn’t do a thing about it.

  I sensed vaguely he sounded like he was on the move as he asked, “Where are you?”

  “B-b-bedroom.”

  “Stay there. In a few minutes, the man I have on your apartment will be in your apartment. His name is Louie. He’ll call out his name so you’ll know he’s there. He won’t approach. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “O-o-kay.”

  “As soon as I can, darling. Yes?”

  “Y-yeah.”

  “I have to let you go now.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Be right there,” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” I repeated, unable to say anything else, trembling so badly I was quaking.

  I heard the disconnect like it was far away instead of right at my ear but I didn’t take the phone away. I held it there until my hand floated down, the phone still flipped open, and I stared through the dark at the door.

  “It’s Louie!” I heard yelled from my living room and I jumped, crying out quietly, tucking my knees tight to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “All clear!” he shouted. “All good! Mr. Sloan is on his way.”

  I didn’t say thank you. I didn’t say anything.

  I didn’t think anything either.

  I didn’t think how I’d been a bitch to Marcus after he’d been nothing but kind and patient with me. Sending me daisies. Bringing me Dom. Being gentle and sweet.

  It had been a week since that night and I’d heard nothing from him. Saw nothing of him.

  But the daisies kept coming.

  As they did, I thought it was that he forgot he was sending them, and the minute the bill showed, he’d cancel them.

  I didn’t allow myself to think further on that.

  For a number of reasons, I’d wanted to call. To apologize.

  It was what a good Southern woman should do, for one.

  But it was what I wanted to do. Me. Daisy. For him. Marcus. To make it better. To take it back. To let him know that I wanted to be like Shelby from Steel Magnolias. Strong like her. Strong enough to know that it was better to have a little bit of something wonderful than a lifetime of just plain nothing.

  Then explain to him that he had to go because I couldn’t allow myself to have a little bit of something wonderful knowing it’d be taken away.

  I was just not that strong.

  It wasn’t just about a man like Stretch knowing he shouldn’t leave me with my mother, and doing it anyway. Maybe because he had no claim to me. But mostly, I reckoned, because he wasn’t strong enough either.

  And it wasn’t just about Miss Annamae giving me all I needed to live my life right, but not being around long enough for me to show her I’d listened to every word.

  It was about being the kind of girl that the only good thing a man had given her was a really fantastic boob job and no matter how much she fought and scratched and worked for a little hint of peace in her life, she still got herself raped on the blacktop of a parking lot.

  So I didn’t call Marcus. I didn’t apologize. I didn’t explain. I thought it best to leave him be.

  I didn’t care what he did for a living. He deserved better.

  Much, much better than me.

  The bruising was gone, most of the scrapes had healed, and I was going to go back to the stage next Saturday.

  I’d wanted to do it that night but Smithie was not big on that idea. He wanted me to take more time. He wanted me to talk to some woman
LaTeesha had found, a woman named Bex, who worked at some rape crisis center. And then he wanted me to give it a month or two, still paid leave, and he also wanted me to move in with him and LaTeesha for a spell.

  I’d put my foot down. We’d had words.

  After sharing I was a pain in his ass, he’d given in but only if I’d give it another week.

  I could do that so I’d agreed.

  But I didn’t think of any of that. Not right then, cowering on my ass in the corner of my darkened bedroom, some man I didn’t know in my living room who another man I’d insulted had watching my apartment to keep me safe.

  I just stared through the dark at the door, doing it like the fool I was, the coward, quaking on my ass in the dark.

  I heard the knob on the door jostle and then Marcus calling, “Stay where you are, honey.”

  That wasn’t hard since I couldn’t move.

  There was some muted scraping before light poured in from the living room as the door opened and I winced at the bright.

  Almost before it illuminated the room, it was gone, and I stared as Marcus’s tall shadow moved toward me.

  I thought he’d stop, and with him there, his man outside, I tried to pull myself together. The humiliation of cringing in a corner beginning to dawn, the feel of it spreading over me.

  He didn’t stop.

  He made it to me, bent low, gathered me up and then he went right back down. Situating himself exactly as I had been in the corner but without the trembling and with me in his lap, held close to his chest, one arm tight around me, the other one slanted up my back, fingers in my hair, pressing my face to his throat.

  I felt his strength. His warmth. Smelled hints of his cologne.

  “What happened?” he whispered. “Nightmare?”

  At that word, it came rushing in, and I wasn’t strong enough to beat it back.

  And because I wasn’t, I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t even feel myself do it.

  But I did it.

  I burrowed into him, grasping his sweater in my fists, shoving into him like I wanted his flesh to soak me in and take away the fear, the shame, a life that was mostly misery.

  “Okay, okay,” he soothed, his hold on me tightening. “Shh. I’m right here. Right here, honey.”