Calder & Maggie
Glenna Maynard
Calder & Maggie © 2019 Glenna Maynard
2018 Glenna Maynard Crashing Into You
This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, business, establishments, locals or events is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real events, business, organizations or locals is intended only to give the fiction a sense of realism and authenticity. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Dedication
To happy endings.
Calder & Maggie
Hiding in a small coastal town after committing a crime, the last thing Maggie expects is to move next door to a good-looking sheriff’s deputy.
The longer she stays the more her lies begin to pile up and her relationship with her new neighbor heats up. When the past comes back to haunt her will the hunk next door be there to catch her when she falls?
*previously titled Crashing into You*
Content
Dedication
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
About Glenna
Also By
Preview My Best Friend’s Girl
Chapter 1
The loud bass of my boyfriend’s truck stereo thumps under the carport as he pulls in and parks. The music cuts off with the engine. I hurry to put his dinner plate on the kitchen table as I hear his driver’s side door slamming shut with more force than necessary.
I jump as the trailer door swings open. One look at him and I know he’s drunk or high. Probably both. His brown eyes are rimmed in red and he has this lean to his walk. The scar above his top lip looks pink and angry as his mouth screws into a snarl. A dirty blackened hand runs through his greasy hair after working at the junkyard all day stripping wrecked cars of their good parts.
He moves to the fridge and takes out a beer, popping the cap off. Chugging the Miller Lite pony in three gulps he then tosses the drained bottle in the nearby trash.
“I made you pork chops.” My voice comes out in a squeak. I never know which way his mood will go.
Sitting down at the table he picks up his fork and knife cutting into his meat. After chewing half a bite, he spits it out onto my freshly mopped floor. “Shit is fuckin’ dry just like your pussy.”
His insults don’t hurt me anymore. They did at first but not now. I stay quiet, taking away the rose-colored chipped plate dumping it food and all into the sink. I don’t know why I even try anymore. There hasn’t been anything left worth fighting for between us for nearly two years now. Dating the bad boy was fine when I was in high school. I did it to piss my old man off, but now the shit Chris is into is no longer cool. He’s not the guy I fell for. Addiction has an ugly hold on him, and it is never letting go.
The chair scrapes across the floor as he pushes it back. I busy myself with getting him another beer. Feeding the beast. The monster who now lives inside him. He accepts my peace offering and goes to the bathroom. I let out a breath when the door shuts behind him and the shower kicks on.
I would leave him if I could. My father kicked me out when I became pregnant at seventeen. I thought Chris was my white knight when he moved me in with him. I was so wrong about him. I was wrong about everything. My hand goes to my stomach remembering how happy he seemed when I told him the news of our baby.
Then one day he got mad at me for no reason and accused me of trying to trap him. I should have seen the signs back then. There were warning signs. I chose to ignore them. I was determined to prove my father wrong and show him that Chris did love me. We were going to make it and be more than another teen parent statistic.
The shower shuts off and his cell phone rings. I hadn’t noticed it laying on the counter. I look at the screen. It’s his buddy, Flip, the guy he deals for.
Chris marches into the kitchen with a towel slung low on his waist. The sight used to make my heart skip a beat now it only makes me sad. He’s skinny—unhealthy in appearance and no longer the muscular tough guy.
He grabs his phone and answers the call.
“Lo…yeah. Yeah. I got it. I just got out of the shower. Give me fifteen minutes.” He goes back to the bedroom, and I lean against the kitchen counter taking deep breaths, trying not to cry as I remember the girl I used to be. The life I thought I should have. The life I imagined Chris would give me.
The bedroom door slams shut, and he stomps through the narrow hall, his eyes trained on me. I wish I could shrink or melt away as his gaze burns through me.
“Where did you hide my shit, you dumb bitch,” Chris roars at me, raising his fist in the air ready to strike.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” I hold my arms up, folding them over my head for protection as he towers over me.
“Don’t lie to me, June. I know you took it.” I shake my head, but it only makes him angrier as his brows furrow. A crease forms across his forehead as he grabs both my wrists with one hand and yanks me by the hair with the other. “Just tell me what you did with my stash and I swear I’ll let you go,” he seethes, tugging me up by my hair. My scalp tightens and burns as he pulls so hard that the bastard rips the blonde strands out.
“Please, Chris. Let me go. I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I cry and plead to deaf ears.
His response is to slam my head down on the green formica countertop. Pain radiates in my left ear as he holds me still. “I’m not playing, cunt. I want what’s mine,” he growls in my ear like a drooling beast and smacks his hand down next to my head.
I squeeze my eyes shut terrified for what will come next. “I swear to you if I knew where it was, I would give it to you. Have you checked all your usual spots?”
His grip on my wrists loosens. I take that as a no he hasn’t looked. He does this at least once a month. He hides his stash, so he doesn’t do up all of his product. The only problem with his method is he gets messed up and forgets what did with his drugs—use them himself.
Letting me go, he storms through our mobile home, and starts trashing the place. I stay where I am in the kitchen not taking the chance of getting in his path or setting him off again. Rubbing the tender spot on my scalp where he ripped my hair out, I try to silence the sobs threatening to tear from my throat.
The couch is turned up and the cushions strewn around in the small room. His fist goes through the mirror and blood squirts from his knuckles as he comes at me again. “I need that dope, June. I owe Flip a lot of money for it. If I don’t get it to him who do you think he’ll come after for payment.” His bloody fingers stroke my cheek, and I shudder trying to shut my mind down from the bad memories, but they are all I have left.
Our baby would be a two and a half by now, but Chris got into debt with Flip, and I paid the price. No, my child paid the price with his life. He beat me so severely I lost our child. Chris had blamed me. Said I took the drugs and we didn’t have any money to pay him.
Anger courses through my veins as his beer stained breath blows in my face reeking like an old ashtray as well. His fingers move
to my throat and he squeezes. My eyes widen as his grip tightens. Part of me hoping that this is it—the day he finally kills me and ends my misery.
“Look at me.” A dark laugh bubbles from his throat as I gasp for air and pull on his hand desperate for a breath. “That’s it, fight me, you dumb cunt.”
I don’t know what comes over me but the feeling of being tired and ready to give up dissipates as I think about the child he cost me. The happiness he stole from me. I want my life back, the one he robbed me of living. An eerie feeling creeps up on me, and I know one of us isn’t leaving here alive. I pray that it isn’t me, but if it is, I’ve made my peace. I put my hand on the counter, looking for a weapon. I manage to open a drawer and when I feel a blade slice my finger, I don’t think I just grab it and defend myself.
I thrust my hand forward with my eyes closed not knowing if I will meet anything but air until I feel the cotton fabric of his shirt rubbing against me and the warmth of his blood coating my hand.
I open my eyes as shock masks his face and his fingers leave my throat. He looks at me and then the area where I stabbed him in his upper right side. “You fucking stabbed me,” he chokes out as he grabs the handle of the knife and pulls it out.
I scoot away from him inching toward the back door. He points the knife blade at me. “Oh, you bitch. Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” A devilish smirk stretches across his face as he lunges forward. I grab the skillet from the stove, it’s still full of warm grease and three other pieces of meat, and I swing.
The moment moves in slow motion, like a TKO in a boxing match when the opponent’s mouth goes sideways before the rest of their head. The pan connects with his face and he goes down hard, knocking his head on the kitchen table before he meets the floor. The knife falls from his hand and slides under the stove.
Gripping the edge of the sink I tap him with my foot, but he doesn’t respond. Bile rises in my throat as I look down at him sprawled in the floor laying like he is waiting to be traced in a chalk outline.
My hand flies to my mouth as hot tears slide down my cheeks. What have I done? Oh God, what have I done?
His cell phone sounds off again. I bend down to retrieve it from his front pocket and notice his chest isn’t moving. A vomit filled lump forms in my throat as I check his phone. It’s Flip again. Panic sets in, and I check for a pulse, only I don’t know if I am doing it right.
A text comes through from Flip.
I’m coming to you. You better have my money, Chris! – Flip
Shit.
I’ve got to get out of here.
I run to the bedroom and pull my duffle bag down off the shelf in the closet. Gathering whatever I can of my clothes off the floor I know I only have minutes to make my escape.
The loud engine of his truck flies down our gravel driveway,y and I make a run for the front door knowing he will come through the back. The front porch gate swings shut as I run down the rickety wooden stairs that have started to rot. A splinter digs into the bottom of my barefoot, but I bite my own tongue to stop from screaming.
My bare feet hit the damp fall grass, twigs poking me and the blades making my ankles itch as they make contact scratching my skin.
I run through the woods not knowing where to go or which way to turn as my lungs burn with exhaustion.
I come out on the freeway as traffic breezes by me. The headlights of a big rig blind me as I shield my eyes. The large loud truck rolls to a stop and the passenger door opens. An older woman pokes her head out. “Are you okay?”
I know I must look a mess. Dressed in pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt with holes in it. No shoes. My hair a tangled mess. “Can you give me a ride?”
She takes one pitying look at me. “Get in.”
I climb into the cab of the truck with her and another woman. “We’re heading north.”
“Sounds good.” I lay my head back and catch my breath.
**
The truck’s hydraulics whooshing wakes me as the rig stops on the side of the road next to a motel. “This is as far we go.”
“Thank you.” I offer them a weak but grateful smile.
“Good luck,” the women tell me and shove a wad of cash into my hands.
“I can’t…the ride was plenty.”
“You’ll need it.” The woman sitting closest to me closes my fist over the money. The bills crinkle into my palm.
“How can I thank you or reach you to pay you back because I will.”
“Just promise us that whatever situation you’re running from that you won’t ever go back.”
I nod and lick my lips as I open the door.
“Here.” She reaches into the back of the truck and hands me a pair of boots. I slip them on my feet, trying not to cry. I grab my bag from the floorboard and give them a wave as they leave.
Across the road is a diner and gas station. My second stop after I get a room for the night.
I can’t stop the giggle that erupts from my chest when I read the name on the motel sign. The Hideaway.
Opening my fist, I smooth the money out in my hands, counting the bills. There is over three hundred dollars here. I look up at the cloudy sky and whisper a thank you to whomever is up there watching over me.
The old man working behind the counter watching the Today Show looks me over silently judging me. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“There won’t be any. All I need is a room for one night.”
He nods and slides the guestbook across the counter.
I count out sixty dollars and sign a fake name on the registry. Magnolia Grace. It’s what my mother wanted to name me, but my father wanted to name me after his grandmother, so they compromised and named me June Marie Lovering.
The man looks at the name and shakes his head but gives me the key to my room.
Inside my room, I kick my borrowed boots off and start dumping the contents of my bag out onto the bed. I’m in desperate need of a shower. If Flip found Chris’s body and turned me in the police will already be looking for me.
I need a plan.
I look down at my belongings and that’s when I see a large brick of cocaine and the three largest stacks of cash I have ever seen in my life held together with rubber bands. My mouth opens and falls shut. My palms start to sweat. I don’t know what to do with the drugs or the money, but my stomach growls, and I need to take care of my basic needs, so I can think clearly.
Chapter 2
That first night at the hotel, I went across the street to the gas station and bought a pair of scissors and a trucker hat to give me some small disguise until I could dye my hair brown. I found a ride with another truck driver the next morning and he and his friends worked together to get me as far as North Carolina. I don’t know why but I trusted him with my story, well parts of it when he started asking me questions. He reminded me of my dad in a lot of ways when I was just a kid. Before Mom left and he blamed me for his life going to shit. Anyway, this guy was fatherly and genuinely wanted to help me out of a terrible situation. I told him I was running from an abusive relationship. He ended up having a contact who was able to fabricate me a Georgia license with my alias Magnolia Grace on it. I need to lay low. I’ve been afraid to watch the news. Scared that I will see my face with the word WANTED above my photograph.
I showed up in Crimson Cove yesterday and am staying at the Brinnon Motel until I can figure out my next move. Two weeks have passed, and I am still free. I don’t know where my next stop is once I leave from here. The thought of always being on the go is depressing. Greg, the truck driver who got me this far said this was a good quiet place for hiding away from the rest of the world.
I’ve been sitting on the beach for an hour soaking in the peaceful sound as the waves crash the shore. It’s beautiful here. Beautiful enough that I do want to stay. At least for a while. I am going to meet a realtor later today about renting a small cottage apartment. I’ve even been searching the local job listings. I haven’t found anything yet but there
are a couple of restaurants that sound promising. I don’t exactly need the money right now, but I don’t want to draw attention to myself by being too much of a recluse. I need to blend in.
Standing up, I dust my backside off and go back to my room to freshen up. I was afraid that they wouldn’t want to give me a room without a credit card, but I showed my fake identification card and told them I lost everything when my house burnt down. The story worked.
I hope it will be enough for the realtor too.
The property isn’t too far from where I am staying and is even more beautiful than the advertisement I saw in the local newspaper. The outside of the house is a cotton candy blue with a navy door and white trim. Thick greenery surrounds the small home giving it a tropical atmosphere.
The realtor comes out the front door and its only now that I realize it’s a double. There is another navy door and the units are numbered one and two. I am not thrilled about having a neighbor so close by, but the rent is affordable and all-inclusive of utilities, and the rental is furnished.
“Hi, you must be Magnolia was it?”
“Please. Call me Maggie.”
“Okay, Maggie. My name is Ann and I work for the Beachfront Rental Company. Would you like to come in and take the tour?”
“Absolutely.”
Ann leads me inside and the scent of lemon sugar cookies hits me automatically.
The walls are painted a pale yellow and the flooring is hardwood. The place is small with the living room and kitchen connected. Beyond the kitchen is a full bath and a single bedroom. “It’s perfect,” I announce unable to contain my excitement. “Where do I sign?”
“Well we need to do a background check, and you’ll need to pay your first and last month’s rent upfront. Once everything clears you will be able to move in.”
I was anticipating this. “What if I pay cash today. Right now.” I pull an envelope from my purse.
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