by Cari Quinn
Yet by the time the lights from his grandmother’s four-wheel drive vehicle swung across the driveway, he was standing outside with the ring box in his pocket.
His chill was nonexistent. Except the one turning the tips of his ears and his nose to icicles.
They were laughing as they got out of the SUV, chattering gaily. They definitely didn’t seem the least bit worried about the inclement weather. He was beside them helping to unload packages and bags before they seemed to even notice his presence.
“Hi.” Ricki grinned up at him. “Where did you come from? Look at all this snow!” She kicked at a drift already growing beside the tire. “It’s so beautiful and powdery.”
“Isn’t it just?” His grandmother beamed at him, then frowned. “Oh, oh, it’s that time, isn’t it? And we were late. Oh my gosh. Let me just take this bags and scurry in.”
“Time for what?” Ricki asked, sticking her tongue out to collect snowflakes just as he’d done as a kid.
“Never you mind. Just go with Mal.”
“We’ll get these in first.” He took the bags out of his grandmother’s hands. “Did you two clean out every store?”
“Only half.” Ricki propped her hands on her hips. “First? What’s going on?”
“Never you mind,” he echoed his grandmother, making her laugh.
Once they’d offloaded all the packages in the front hall, he gripped Ricki’s hand and trudged into the back with her, aiming straight for the pasture with all its assorted inflatable creatures and Christmas lights. Her favorite place. The closer they got, the broader she smiled. She clutched his hand that much tighter, skipping a little in the snow.
God, she was amazing. Somehow still so childlike and innocent, even after all she’d dealt with.
She was his blessing. His gift.
His life.
Once they were beside the giant Snoopy, he dropped to both knees. Her mouth rounded as she stared down at him, and then she covered her face with both hands, her mittens completely obscuring everything but her golden hair.
Halfway with the ring out of his pocket, he stopped. “You okay?”
She shook her head.
He reached up for one of her hands, prying it away from her face. “If you’re trying to avoid this, you can let me down gently.”
Eyes already brimming, she shook her head again. And said nothing. But she didn’t pull her hand away, so he took that as a good sign.
He tugged her mitten off with his teeth and tossed it aside before popping open the ring box. The diamond in the simple, elegant antique setting sparkled in the light from the blow-up decorations, and he angled the box toward her for her inspection. She wasn’t looking at the box though. Her eyes were only for him.
“You planned all this?” she whispered, her question barely carrying over the wind.
He nodded awkwardly. “Uh, I don’t have a speech. I forgot that part. So uh—”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
She nodded and wiggled her hand in his. “Yes. Let’s do it. Get it on me already.”
He laughed. Here he’d worried so much about making the moment just perfect, about if she’d say yes, if she’d think he was crazy for moving so fast—and she’d said yes before he’d even asked.
“I have to do it the right way.”
“Hurry up then.”
He pried the ring out of its box and stuffed the box back in his pocket. “Will you marry me?” His heart stampeded in his ears. He wasn’t sure his lungs were still functioning. “Be mine forever?”
“I already am the second part, but yes. Oh yes.”
His momentary joy was short-lived.
She plastered herself against him, kissing him with every ounce of the passion between them—and bounced the ring out of his hand.
Into the snow. In the dark.
“Fucking hell.”
“What’s wrong?” She kept right on kissing him, her mouth hungry on his. “We don’t have to have babies just yet. Practice is good for now.”
She definitely wasn’t hiding her interest in procreation. But he’d cross the bridge to Toys ‘R Us another day.
“The ring. The damn ring fell.” He drew back and scanned the thick snow already on the ground. The Christmas lights and glow from the inflatables helped, but dusk had already fallen. He was never going to see it out here now.
“Oh whoops. Sorry. Overexcited. Don’t worry, we’ll find it.” She dove to the ground, searching on her hands and knees while he shifted to do the same. “It couldn’t have fallen far, and oh my God, it’s so sparkly. We can’t miss it.”
Fifteen minutes later, there was more snow on the ground and no ring. He was becoming more frantic, and she was behaving like Lola prancing through the snow.
“Seriously, we’ll find it.” She patted his arm. “Don’t stress.”
He truly didn’t want to have his first fight as a committed couple this soon, but her relentless cheer in the face of the biggest fail of a proposal ever was…well, he loved her even more for it. Other women would be pitching a fit.
Instead he was.
“Wait a second. Is that…” She trailed off as she rolled on her back on a pile of snow, waving her arms in the classic shape of a snow angel. He might’ve growled if she hadn’t dug for something among the thick flakes and held it up victoriously. “Score!”
He grinned. “You drive me crazy, woman.”
“You must like it.” She was about to put the ring on herself when he seized hold of her hand and pulled her up into a sitting position before kneeling beside her to do the honors himself.
“Oh,” she breathed once he’d slipped it on. “Oh, it fits.”
“Of course. I checked with Lila and Nick about your size.”
Her eyes popped wide. “You told my brother you were going to propose?”
“I asked his permission.”
Yeah, that wouldn’t be a moment he wanted to relive either. But he’d been committed to doing this the proper way.
There would be no do-overs.
“And he gave it? Oh my God. Miracles never ceased.”
“Not until I promised to always be faithful, no matter who propositioned me backstage.”
“Oh Lord.” She covered her face with her hand.
“And to always remember birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays.”
“He does have a point there. But I don’t like white chocolate.”
“Noted.” Mal cleared his throat. “He also warned me you would want children, so if I couldn’t man up, step off.”
She gave him a cautious look, her eyes glowing from the sparkling lights all around them. “And?”
“I’m not letting anyone else plant a baby in you but me,” he growled.
As for that three, four, or five year engagement? Fuck that. He’d marry her tomorrow. Everything else was just details.
She laughed and rose on her knees to hug him. And kiss him. And generally demonstrate that hey, life as an engaged man was pretty damn awesome.
“I love you,” she said between kisses.
“I love you too. Now let’s go inside before my balls freeze off.”
“Can’t have that.” Rising, she winked. “I have plans for them.”
Then she glanced up at the snowy sky as she squeezed his hand, her ring a solid, comforting weight between their fingers. “Merry Christmas to me.”
Turn the page for details on the FINAL book in the FOUND IN OBLIVION SERIES…
FINDING FOREVER.
Coming Soon.
Finding Forever
You’re invited to the comeback arena tour of the century…
and just maybe a wedding too.
Who: Malachi Shawcross and Richelle Crandall (you can call her Ricki or Elle, she answers to both)
When: After they make it through the three biggest shows of their career.
Where: Happy Acres Orchard, Turnbull, NY - or possibly a judge’s chamber in the next city they roll into, if they can’t
pull this off.
Who’s attending: Well, everyone - at least everyone in the Warning Sign and Oblivion families, along with some familiar and unfamiliar faces from Brooklyn Dawn, the headliner on Warning Sign’s big mega tour.
Who’s also attending: Jules’s, Randy and Tristan’s brand new baby, who is getting christened with his or her entire rocker family in attendance. And there may be some more exciting surprises in store for Jules and Tristan as well.
A whole lot of healing, hijinks, and happiness is ahead…and oh yeah, plenty of steamy moments and screaming rock and roll too.
Coming Soon
Finding Forever #7
And if you missed the story of how Mal and Elle really met turn the page for our BONUS short story, FIRST RHYTHM.
First Rhythm
Around three years ago
In the darkness, all the women looked the same.
Wavy hair, big eyes made up with too much eyeliner and shadow, slinky dresses intended to reveal more than conceal. Pouty lips that begged for something, whether it was alcohol, or pills, or a cock.
Another night, another party. He’d been to so many of them that they blurred. But not here, not this area. His own playground was farther north, away from the glitz of LA and the seedy underbelly that crept in around the edges of Carson. This was a different dynamic altogether. The danger was hidden under booming music and fake smiles. And the weapons of choice were the kind that you armed yourself, intended for your own destruction.
He moved to the closest corner and slouched against the wall as he scanned the crowd. His expression made it clear he wasn’t looking for conversation—or more. But only an idiot would turn his back on these people.
Without looking at his phone, he hit the speed dial he’d set up just yesterday when she’d first called him. It wasn’t as if they were close. In fact, it had been a long time since he’d spoken with Lila Shawcross—now Ronson, since she’d recently shed herself of her marital entanglements to his father. Then she’d broken that lovely streak by calling him out of the blue, and not for a social call. That was one of the things he’d always disliked most about her. She was always searching for angles, always on the hunt to play the game.
He didn’t fucking play. Money meant little to him, and fame and attention even less.
But there were always other ways to barter. Other kinds of currency to trade.
Lila was a button-pusher from way back, and she’d known what screws to turn with him before she even picked up the phone.
“I’m here,” he said without preamble. “Now what?”
“You know what. I laid it all out for you yesterday. Richelle used to date Vinnie Santorini, the guy who owns that building. My sources say he remains her main supplier.”
“What’s your point?”
“I want you to scare him into dumping her. He’s in deep, and she needs to make a clean break.”
“And I give a fuck why? If she needs to make a clean break, that’s on her. I have my own shit to handle.”
“Yes, you do, and I promised to help you make that problem go away. Cassalia’s parents want to sue you for negligence and civil responsibility in her death, Malachi. If you keep hiding your head in the sand, they’re going to go to the media and you’re going to be hit with a huge—”
“Because I’m guilty,” he said flatly. “Of course I’m guilty.”
“You were her fiancé.”
“We broke up. She wouldn’t quit that shit, so I ended things.” He lowered his voice when the guy in front of him shot a glance over his shoulder, his joint hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
There was no need to advertise his business here, even if half these people were too stoned to remember it tomorrow.
“Still, she was a small-town girl before she met you,” Lila went on. “Your lifestyle helped introduce her to the drugs that ended her life. You were the one who broke her heart and sent her into a spiral.”
“What about my goddamn spiral? Does that matter? Christ.” He stabbed his fingers into his eyes, the questions and comments he’d received over the last few weeks after every freaking race pelting his skull.
It must be difficult, losing the woman you love in such a public way.
Had Cassalia always been suicidal? Was she dealing with depression, or was it your breakup that sent her over the edge?
And his favorite:
How can you continue to race after such a heartbreaking event?
How could he was a good question. And it was why he’d stopped doing the legit races that ended with questions and flashbulbs popping and turned to the underground ones where no one gave a crap why he did anything and just cared if he made them money. They were dirty, and dangerous, and just this side of legal.
He couldn’t have cared less, if it meant he got to do what he loved outside the glare of the goddamn public eye.
Now more conditions were being put upon that love. More threats levied his way couched under concern.
“There’s all kinds of ways to balance scales, Mal,” Lila said softly, and for a second, he thought he heard genuine compassion in her tone. Then she cleared her throat and her voice hardened. “Since you’re there now, that must mean you agree to my terms.”
He said nothing. Just gripped his phone and wished he’d never picked it up yesterday. He might not be any further ahead, but he wouldn’t be in this frigging untenable position of playing nurse-slash-bodyguard-slash-protector for a woman he didn’t even know.
Didn’t want to know, if she was a fucking user like Cassalia had been.
“If you convince Vinnie that it’s in his best interest not to sell to Richelle anymore, certain stipulations of our agreement will come into play. If you bump it up a notch and join Warning Sign as well, your garage will be funded, your issues with the Franklins will go away, and the story will be buried, deep enough that you’ll probably never hear the words Cassalia Franklin spoken aloud in your presence ever again.”
Mal cupped the back of his neck and squeezed. The pressure reminded him that this was a means to an end. The garage would be back in the black. His men wouldn’t have to worry about their jobs—not that he ever would’ve let it get that bad, even if he had to break his own moral code. Again.
Amazing how flexible that damn thing could be when you were desperate enough.
And he was.
He was fucking desperate to make all of this go away. To stop looking back at the waste before he drowned in it.
“This Richelle, why does she matter so much to you?” he asked, his voice close to a growl.
His ex-stepmother didn’t step out the door without a payday waiting on the other side, usually in the form of an artist she could mold for the benefit of her bank account. So there must be a damn good reason she was sullying herself with concerns about some druggie chick.
Just another one in a sea of them. Faceless, nameless, unrecognizable.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it fucking damn well matters. You’re asking me to walk into a goddamn nest of drug dealers and who knows what else, and you won’t even tell me why. Who is this girl to you, Lila? Some new commodity that went off the rails? Some investment that went bad?”
Her pause was so lengthy that Mal cursed, about to end the call.
“She’s the twin sister of the man I love. The only family he has left in this world. She’s everything to him. Okay?”
Mal narrowed his eyes, squinting into the smoky, shifting near darkness, lit only by the flickering Christmas lights strung along the eaves. The room throbbed with the bass from the music, something he’d never heard but would never forget.
He wanted to argue. So what? What the fuck does the man you love matter to me? Lila wasn’t married to his dad anymore, and he wouldn’t have felt more kindly toward her had she been. To his way of thinking, anyone who married his fuckwit of a father deserved whatever shit flowed their way.
But somehow her impassioned response stilled his tongue. He did
n’t know why. He didn’t believe in love any more than he believed in anything else.
But Christ, he was jealous as fuck that she still did. That she could.
“Third floor,” he said flatly, repeating the info she’d given him during their last phone call. “That’s his apartment.”
Lila let out a long breath. She’d been holding it, he realized, waiting for him to say no. Expecting him to.
Because Malachi Shawcross never did a damn thing for anyone unless there was something in it for himself. Just like good ol’ Dad.
“Yes,” Lila said. “Vinnie lives upstairs with his brother Don.”
Mal was already on the move, pushing his way through the dancing, laughing crowd and scanning the endless faces in the darkness. Lila had said yesterday that Vinnie and Richelle sometimes came down to the parties on the first floor when they weren’t “holed up.”
Lila had refused to elaborate on exactly what that meant.
“Family affair,” he said into the phone as he stalked through the writhing mass of people. His head was already a little buzzy from the scent of weed floating through the air. Just what he needed—a contact high.
Luckily, it took a hell of a lot more than their low-grade shit to get him lit.
“Yes. Though the woman they work with isn’t family. She doesn’t have any, from what I could find. Former foster child. She had previous dealings with someone else who is important to me.”
Mal didn’t know why Lila was playing share-and-tell hour, but that wasn’t unusual with her. She’d fill his head with useless crap so that he’d miss the salient points buried beneath her bullshit.
He wasn’t falling for it this time.
A woman toting beer in plastic red cups held high over her head bumped his shoulder and giggled as the liquid sloshed over his arm. “Oops, sorry.” She stared at his chest then apparently realized his head was a few feet up. Tilting her own back, she frowned. “You’re a big one.”
