by C. C. Koen
“You gonna let these beauties get cold or are you eatin’ with me? Mmm . . . you’re missin’ out, buddy.”
On cue Rick’s stomach growled, ready to devour and feed his ravenousness in another way. When he took the first bite, his low growl and eyes rolling into the back of his head made Matt bust a gut. He hadn’t eaten a burger in months. The fresh-cut fries he’d dumped onto the foil wrapper became his next target, and he shoveled a handful into his mouth.
“Jeez, if I’d known you were that hungry I would have bought you more than two. Damn, man, did you have anything to eat today? I haven’t seen you suck down food like that since college.”
Rick shrugged and took another huge bite of the stacked and sinful beef.
“How’s your grandfather?”
After Rick had a chance to swallow enough to talk, he shared the good news. “Doctors said if he keeps improving, he’ll be transferred to a regular room in a few more days. When I stop by, he bitches and kicks me out after a half hour. Says not to worry about him, that I need to be working and makin’ him money.”
Matt shook his head, wiping ketchup off his chin with a wad of napkins. “He’s a trip. Unbelievable. Good to hear he hasn’t lost his bite.”
Rick snorted. Fat chance of that happening. Grandfather might’ve mentioned staying out of his life, and their recent conversations had stuck to safer topics such as politics, world events, and Mom’s book tour. So far, so good, but he wouldn’t hold his breath. More stubborn than a donkey, Horatio Stone wouldn’t change his spots overnight. Grandfather hadn’t mentioned a thing about Kensington Securities since their falling out. Airing on the side of caution, he contacted John and went jogging yesterday. That gave him a chance to feel John out, and lucky for Rick, the owner had no interest in partnering or merging.
“Thanks for checking in on the girls while I was out of town. Soph said you came for dinner every night. I heard Harley and Lizbeth painted your toenails.” Matt’s smile widened. “At least I’m not the only one sufferin’ through girly primping.”
Rick jerked his chin up and kept chewing, then sucked down a huge gulp of the sweet tea. Matt pretended he minded the girls’ froufrou play, but the doting daddy would’ve been right next to him watching sports and drinking beer as the twins threw boas on them, painted their faces, and anything else they dreamt up. Since Rick would do anything for them, their happiness outweighed his temporary pain. Besides, his part of the deal involved them removing the paint before he left. Since they enjoyed taking it off as much as putting it on, he lucked out. “I was outnumbered,” he grumbled over another mouthful of fries. “How was the convention?”
“Aw, man, you should’ve seen all the new tech gadgets. As much as I hate being away from my girls, I can’t resist going and tryin’ them out. Besides, our booth drums up at least a dozen accounts, and I get to hunt out new recruits too.”
“You hiring?” He swallowed the last bite and started on the next burger.
Matt nodded, not bothering to talk while he chewed. “We’re swamped. I need about five or six more investigators and at least three bodyguards. Business is hoppin,’ my friend.” Finished with his fries, Matt reached across the table and snatched his.
“Hey.” Rick folded the foil halfway over the top, covering the three or four left. “Hands off.”
“You owe me. I came to collect.” Matt leaned back in the leather chair, patting his stomach. “So how you gonna do it?”
Lowering his head, Rick concentrated on the half-eaten burger, refusing to make eye contact. He figured Matt would call in the favor he asked for in the emergency room. He just didn’t expect it now. When he could talk, he asked, “Do what?”
Matt stretched his arms across the table, hands clasped in the center, like he might be sitting on the edge of his seat. “Propose.”
On an inhale, a clump of bun and beef got lodged in Rick’s throat, making him hack. He covered his mouth with a napkin in case it came flying out. Once his airway cleared, he yelled, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Matt rolled his eyes, unaffected by the possibility that he could’ve choked to death. Rick took a few sips of tea, washing any remnants of food down. He swept his hand across his watery eyes and collapsed into his chair. He wasn’t hungry anymore. Good thing he just had a bite left.
A lengthy silence ensued. Matt crossed his arms along his chest, his muscles flexing through his Westlake Security T-shirt as he leaned into his seat. “Did we or did we not have this conversation before? Don’t bother telling me you don’t remember.”
“Then why are you askin’?”
A loud sigh blew out between Matt’s vibrating lips as he scrubbed his jaw, staring at him. “You’ve seen Maggie and Cece since the hospital, right?”
A lump lodged in Rick’s throat and he swallowed, shifting his attention to the painting of the Catskill Mountains over Matt’s head. His dad bought it from a roadside antique stand when he was a little boy. He remembered the exact moment like it had been yesterday. Since he couldn’t bring himself to speak, he just shook his head.
“I go away for a few days and what? You lose sight of the prize. How’d that happen?”
A crumpled napkin hit Rick in the middle of his chest and pulled his gaze downward. Picking the clump off his lap, he flicked the wad of paper into the empty food bag. “Let’s just say that our feelings aren’t the same in that department.”
“Are you insane?” Matt chuckled into his fist. “The two of you are like magnets that seek each other out whenever you’re in the same space. What makes you think that?”
The bits and pieces of Rick’s lunch became more fascinating. He used a fork to flick a leftover fry across the wrapper and stabbed a chunk of bun that fell off the patty. “She just doesn’t.” He wouldn’t relay the embarrassing altercation in the lounge. It took everything to drown out her brush-off, which kept replaying in his head ever since.
As if Rick were a complete idiot and wouldn’t understand the message unless it had been delivered one clipped word at a time, Matt’s deep growl sounded like it came through clenched teeth. “Did you ask her?” Matt paused and pulled in a breath before continuing his investigation. “Did you say, ‘Maggie, I’m fucking crazy about you? I want you to have my babies. Marry me.’”
Sick of the interrogation, Rick jumped up, shoving the chair so hard with the backs of his legs, it fell over. He paced along the windows, resuming his steadfast fascination with taxis and people coming and going.
“I’m gonna take your non-answer as a no.”
Maybe he should just beat Matt’s ass, since his buddy dredged up the disappointment and defeat that crushed him, smothering his heart all over again. It sure would make him feel a hell of a lot better. He wanted to do the same thing after the fiasco in the hospital anyway. Matt’s advice put him in this predicament. He came to an abrupt stop, pivoted on his heel, and marched toward him.
Matt held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not fightin’ you. So don’t waste your energy.” As he drew closer, Matt threw his arm out, pushing him in the chest. “Hitting me isn’t going to fix things with Maggie.” Matt squeezed his shoulder and asked with a gentler tone, “Did you tell her you love her?”
His eyes slammed closed, and Rick replayed the whole scene in his head. Did he? No. He never did. In fact, in all the time he’d known her, he hadn’t done anything except maul her, grinding his damn pecker into her ass. Not once did he discuss his growing affection. Why? Because he’d been fighting it. He rubbed his palms on his forehead, trying to stop the ache that started. “Shit.” He dropped his hands to his sides, ready to kick his own ass for being so fucking stupid. “I didn’t.”
“Okay.” Matt nodded. “You can fix that. Since it’s Saturday, she might be home. Why don’t you go over? If Kat’s there, maybe she’ll watch Cece. You could take Maggie out. Talk to her.”
He glanced at the messy wrappers and then at Matt. “I’ll think of something.”
“Good.” Ma
tt picked up the empty bag and cleared the table in a matter of seconds. “Go ahead, I’m not leavin’ yet. I still need to go to my office.”
Nervous and out of sorts, he waited as Matt dumped the trash into the garbage can and walked with him down the hallway. “Any parting advice?”
Instead of joking or laughing at him, Matt threw an arm over Rick’s shoulder and with a slow and steady stride, led him toward the exit. “Tell her a story.”
Rick stopped walking. After that off-the-wall suggestion, he had serious doubts about entrusting Matt. “What?”
A carefree grin perked up Matt’s pace as he tugged him back in step. “About her and you. The first time you saw her. When she made you smile. A time she ticked you off. And the moment you started to fall for her, and when you did. Women love the sappy stuff and wanna know you recognize it and remember. Why do you think they’re so good at recalling every date, each present, and all the other garbage they catalog and bring up at the worst possible minute?”
Rick chuckled and jabbed Matt in the ribs with an elbow. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
After pushing the elevator button on the wall, Matt faced him. “You got this, man. Just speak from the heart. That’s what matters.” Matt reached out and sucker punched him in the shoulder. “That’s for luck. But you don’t need it. I’ve seen it in her eyes. She feels the same way.”
He hoped so, because he didn’t know how he’d take another battering. His heart wouldn’t recover. Not after revealing to Maggie he loved her. The only woman he’d ever say those words to. If she didn’t return those feelings, he didn’t know what he’d do. All of this felt so nerve-rackingly foreign, yet invigorating too. A crash and burn would destroy him, again.
After he shifted the car into drive, he glanced at the time on the radio panel. One o’clock, traffic should be light. He’d be able to make it there in about twenty-five minutes. While driving, he beat his thumb on the steering wheel, recalling everything Matt said. He rehearsed various ways he could remind her of their brief, yet precious moments together. Hopeful that by the time he arrived, he’d have a rough idea.
Even though he wasn’t a praying man, he said one just in case. He needed all the help he could get.
The sun’s warmth and brightness calmed his nerves a bit. He swung his car into the same parking space, across the street, as he had on Cece’s birthday. It seemed like a lifetime ago but had been a mere three weeks. So much had changed since then. The fact Kat’s car wasn’t in the driveway already didn’t work in his favor. A worst-case scenario would be that they weren’t home, and he’d have to find the courage to return. He’d rather hope for the best though, and envisioned Maggie alone, giving him a prime opportunity to deliver the big reveal in private.
When he got to the curb, a blast and a scream had him sprinting toward her house. As he got closer, the curtains in the bay window were yanked closed. In that instant a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Matt’s launched him into preservation mode. He removed his cell from his back pocket and sprinted down the sidewalk, swiping the screen and pushing the app he never thought he’d use. Then he jammed the phone into his jeans.
As he leapt up the porch steps two at a time, he prayed the door had been left unlocked. Loud sobs propelled him to the knob, and he rushed into a situation he couldn’t have predicted.
A bald-headed man with his legs spread wide in a prepared-to-shoot stance swung a gun from Maggie to him. “Don’t move.”
Oh, he wasn’t. Unable to pull his concentration off of Maggie rocking back and forth, her arms clutched around her stomach, he scanned her head to toe, checking whether she’d been shot. Not seeing any blood, he released a small breath, locking his eyes on her enlarged and terrified ones.
“Hands out, spread 'em,” the thug with tattooed sleeves ordered from across the living room, positioned on guard next to the kitchen entrance.
He did as asked, wishing he had his best friend’s bodyguard training.
“Step back, real slow, shut the door.”
“Jake, please,” Maggie shouted.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” The semiautomatic pointed to her chest.
Sometimes being Matt’s friend had advantages. Rick went to the shooting range with him enough times to recognize the weapon. The name Maggie used registered, and the only person he knew with it, her ex.
“You, shut the door. Now.”
Rick shuffled backward, one leg moving and then the other. His left hand snagged the steel edge and followed the directive. As he eased it closer toward the jamb, he stopped and didn’t latch it.
“All the way, asshole. You think I’m stupid?”
Since he didn’t think Jake wanted to hear what he thought of him, he kicked the door with his heel and when it latched, the click had an eerie resemblance to a cocking gun.
“Please, let him go.”
“You asking, Maggie, is just gonna get him shot.”
“No.” She jumped up from the couch and scrambled toward Rick, arms reaching out like she could block a bullet.
“Stop,” both he and Jake yelled, one over the other, yet Rick doubted the warnings carried the same meaning. His brain told him keep Maggie safe. Jake’s weapon pointed at her—didn’t.
“Sit the fuck down. You take another step toward him, I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
“Maggie,” Rick called out. Her gaze whipped from Jake to him, and while Rick had her undivided attention, he jerked his chin in the direction he wanted her to go. She stumbled and reached behind her, feeling for the arm of the couch as she inched toward it. When her legs hit a cushion, she plopped onto the edge.
“This is fucking great. I get two for one.” Jake sidestepped along the wall, then limped closer to Maggie, coming to a stop in the middle of the room, a small coffee table between them. “He mean somethin’ to you?”
Maggie didn’t answer. She hadn’t looked at Jake again after she sat down.
“Answer the fucking question.”
In all the scenarios that ran through his head, Rick never imagined the exchange would happen quite this way. Stressed the entire drive, he tried to figure out how to express everything in his heart, and now, considering the circumstances, he might not get to.
Timing was everything, and by his calculations, it took forty-five minutes on the busier than usual highway. If Matt received the alert, it could be an hour before he got out of the building and arrived in Riverdale.
If Matt hadn’t gone home or somewhere else.
If the damn app even worked.
If Jake didn’t shoot to kill before Matt arrived.
If . . .
“H-he’s . . . a . . . f-friend.” Maggie’s faint, stuttering whisper almost couldn’t be heard, even in the silence. The hum of the refrigerator and dull thuds, he guessed cubes dropping into the plastic bin from an ice maker thirty feet away, came across like a battering ram against the door behind him. Too bad it wasn’t the rescue he hoped for, just a distraction, and one that pummeled his heart when she friend-zoned him.
“Of Kat’s,” she said louder, steadier, shoulders pulled up straight, firmer. Her eyes widened and pleaded with Rick, then darted toward the kitchen and back to him. She repeated the move. At first he thought she might be telling him something about Jake, but she lifted her hand, formed a fist, and placed a thumb under her chin. She rubbed a knuckle along her nostril as she opened and closed her fingers the slightest bit while scratching her nose.
“You’re lying. That’s all you do, I should know.” Jake trudged within a foot of Maggie, which pulled Rick’s focus away from her and onto him. The barrel inches from her temple, Jake bent over and with spit flying out of his mouth, veins popping in his neck, screamed, “Tell the truth for once in your life.” Then Jake swung the gun toward Rick, aiming at his head. Maggie leapt to her feet, but Jake’s other hand surged out, latching onto her throat. She grabbed Jake’s wrists and tugged.
Jake stared at Rick, probably waiting
for him to do something stupid and a reason to shoot. Not that Jake needed one. Sweat dotting her brow and upper lip, cheeks flushed, Maggie released her grip and moved a hand below her breast. Without moving his eyes too much, Rick concentrated on her and figured out what she’d signaled before and signed again—letters.
His control slipped. He dropped his chin into his chest and rubbed his fingers on his forehead, pretending the events taking place were overwhelming him.
“Looks like you crushed the man, Maggie. Exactly what you did to me, you fucking liar.”
With a slight tilt of his head, Rick had the angle he needed. His hand covered his face enough as he searched the tiny kitchen, under the table, the open back door, the screen displaying an empty backyard, and then the far side of the fridge, revealing the tiptoe of a sneaker. Oh, fuck. Christ, hell no. His eyes slammed shut, and he sucked in a life-affirming breath, refusing to let the tears fall. God, please help. Please, Dad, God, whoever might be listening to his silent prayers, save Maggie and Cece. If he could fall to his knees and beg he would, but he needed to keep his wits about him. He couldn’t let on. For Christ’s sake, where the hell was Kat?
Jake must not know, or this entire clusterfuck would be much different. Privy to their sordid history and Jake’s lack of affection toward his daughter, this just went from a nightmare to torture at the stake, dangling over a bomb fire, descending into hell in a blink.
Figuring out how to protect Maggie had been bad enough. Now he had the other half of his heart, no doubt scared, and more than her five-year-old brain could process.
His memories didn’t appear in a quick flash as news reports wanted people to think when confronted by a life and death situation. The images—Maggie—Cece—him, came as a never-ending cycle. Before them, he hadn’t pictured himself as a family man. Now, he might never get the chance to ask Maggie to be his wife, become Cece’s daddy, have more children, live in blissful, challenge-him-every-day, pull-a-rabbit-out-of-a-hat love together.
