She kissed him.
She didn’t need him to say another word or pack on another platitude. She didn’t need to see the joy in his eyes at the thought of a future with her—and when she closed her eyes and imagined the rest of her thirties and her forties and beyond, she saw Joel. Joel Rusk. The boy from high school. There was giddiness in her kisses and a sense of fully letting go.
“I’ll marry you,” Holly said between kissing. “I will. Yes. Let’s do it. Let’s just…” she pulled back and smiled, “not waste a minute more. Make me Mrs. Rusk and watch the wrath and jealousy abound…” she laughed and placed his hands on her ass. He bit her neck. “We work in the same district. That’s so cute. We’re fucking cute, now.” She laughed and he laughed.
This, she thought, as she grabbed the shampoo and began to lather up her hair, aware of the way his sudsy hands slipped across her nipples.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Cute and sexy and hilarious and brilliant…especially since,” he reminded her, “I’ve already washed your hair.”
“Oh God, we’re dumb and insufferable,” Holly whispered and turned around. She dropped her hands. He took up the lather and then tilted her head back and washed her hair a second time, running his fingers through until it was clean and smooth and tangled in his hands.
“Yes, probably. Happiness can appear like that,” he offered with a kiss so present that Holly’s knees nearly buckled.
Joel turned off the water and reached out and grabbed a towel. But Holly wasn’t done; she sat him down on the in-shower stool and with the towel still over her shoulders climbed on to his lap and kissed him and nibbled him until he was hard. Then she took control and there they rocked, face to face, her arms bracing against the shower walls, his hands guiding her hips, eye-to-eye and breathlessly excited for all the ways their happiness could manifest.
About damn time, Holly thought. She knew she deserved it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Three months LATER
They decided on a Christmas Eve wedding.
The event hall downtown, small and industrial and perfectly empty, hummed with the kind of excited energy only Christmas Eve could bring. They’d passed a group of carolers on the way inside and someone, somewhere whispered of snow—a Portland rarity—and the excitement of a White Christmas filled the gathering.
Alex walked her down the aisle to an Avett Brothers song. And as Holly and Joel met in the middle of the room, the group closed around them, encircling them in love.
He gave her away and they made him wear a suit, but he insisted on his own shoes, sporting white tennis shoes, unlaced.
The crowd was small. So small that everyone gathered in a circle around the couple as candles flickered around the event space. Everyone was muted in orange and yellow and faces danced in the shadow, and Holly could never remember feeling so happy.
Her friends from the Social Club attended dressed in black per the instructions, and there with their small group, Joel and Holly said their vows.
To a nice, old, unremarkable death do them part.
To which the Love is Murder group raised a toast and said and crossed their chests, performing the rituals of cleansing necessary when someone tempted the fates. They all loved to discuss murder, but too often they found themselves embroiled close to the pain and heartache that crime caused. Holly married Joel and gave her life to him, and she loved doing so with her group of crime fighters by her side.
“Hey, husband,” she tried on for size.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he returned. “Wife,” he whispered
Outside, the Mt. Scott hillside was covered in a blanket of snow. Portland got its white Christmas, after all, a surprise in the early morning hours; Joel and Holly made love slowly and quietly with the curtains opened so they could watch the flakes fall.
When morning approached, they woke up on their first day as newlyweds as if they’d finally shrugged off the cobwebs of malaise and embraced that it was possible to give themselves fully into each other.
“You’re mine,” she’d whispered and he ran his fingers through her red hair, tucking it behind her ear and kissed her once and twice before they heard Alex stir downstairs and call up the stairs.
“Christmas!” he screamed, with the same amount of enthusiasm he’d had at five-years-old.
They put on robes and descended down to set the scene: plugging in the lights and starting the music, as Joel went to the kitchen and made them coffee. The tree in her living room was tall and bright, sparkling with white lights and years worth of ornaments—decades of Christmases and memories of trying to make the day special for a boy who had to spend it with just her.
Alex sat on the couch, holding a new phone and new shoes and a ski pass from Joel, and carols played from the stereo and it was perfect. A fire roared, built by Joel, and Holly was treated like the Queen of Christmas: together the boys made breakfast, relieving her of the duty, and she was grateful for the tender moments of normalcy.
Holly realized the biggest present for her holiday was from her son: for his consistency and his heart. Her biggest grief in the ordeal of the last few months was the worry that she’d been wrong about the character of her child. But no, she shouldn’t have doubted. He was still the kid she’d always known—kind-to-a-fault, awkward, charming, nerdy, and stubborn.
She’d raised him after all.
Now she didn’t have to do it alone. She examined her ring. Her partner.
And when Holly looked out her window to the view of the Portland cityscape across the way, everything glowed white and bright and beautiful. Benny Goodman and Peggy Lee sang her into a peaceful trance of contentment, and Holly rested in all that she’d received and all that was yet to come.
The End
Also by Talia Maxwell
Available Now:
Forgotten Obsessions
The Love is Murder Social Club Book One
Savage Distractions
The Love is Murder Social Club Book Three
Visit www.taliamaxwell.com for buy links and to hear about new releases!
Coming Soon…
Books 4 & 5 of the Love is Murder Social Club:
Brittle Illusions
Reckless Intentions
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Acknowledgments
Every book is a collaboration of amazing people. Thank you to my girlfriends who have inspired me to tell the stories of kick-ass women and helped shape my view of female friendships over this past decade. You are my biggest cheerleaders from the sidelines/frontlines with me, and I am nothing without your support.
A special shout-out to author AG Henley for coming up with the “Love is Murder Social Club” title when I was wrestling around with many inferior options.
To my editor, Nikki at Indiehub and all my beta readers: Lesley, Matthew, Jess. Oh man, did we have some stuff to work out in this one!
To Barb at Coverinked: Thank you for bringing my visions to these couples.
To Murderinos everywhere! SSDGM!
The Love is Murder Social Club is absolutely a nod to the real work Murderinos and web sleuths are doing in their communities to help victims find justice, and because of that commitment to raising awareness and using a platform to do good, these books will add their voice to the issue of untested rape kits in our nation!
A percentage of proceeds from the Love is Murder Social Club Series will go to the nonprofit organization End the Backlog. From their website: “End the Backlog is a program of the Joyful Heart Foundation, a national non-profit organization founded by actress and activist Mariska Hargitay with the mission to transform society’s response to sexual assault, domestic violence, and child abuse, support survivors’ healing, and end this viole
nce forever.”
Thank you to my family most of all. Including our new kitten, Scully, who is a one-eyed marvel and really loves attacking hands typing on a computer…
About the Author
Talia is a Portland-based writer who loves true crime stories of all types, mystery novels, romance novels, the city lights reflecting in the Willamette River and the roll of the Pacific Ocean. Rainy nights are the best to cook up a tale that combines serial killers and sexy couples. She can most likely be found eating fried Oreos at Fire on the Mountain, perusing the taps in the Beer Store, or buying stacks of paperbacks at Powell's.
She lives with her husband, a writer, her two children, her hound dog and her one-eyed cat.
Visit her and learn more at www.taliamaxwell.com
Dispatched Confessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 2) Page 27
