Leo Maddox (8 page)

Then she pulled away, rushing off—leaving the bar and me.

What the hell just happened?

CHAPTER 7:

“
W
ow,” I said aloud, debating.
Should I chase after Clara right now?
I knew how she was. I knew how she often needed space to breathe and think. This was one of those moments, but every bone in my body wanted to chase her. It was getting late. Where the hell was she going? Back to the hotel?

“Don’t chase her,” Stephany said. I’d forgotten her existence, but she’d been right there this whole time. “Trust me and don’t chase her.”

“I know,” I answered, tugging my hands through my wet hair, shaking off some of the liquid. “I know how she is. I know how she needs her space.”

“Oh.” Stephany stared big brown eyes at me. She was tall and almost my height. “You really like her, don’t you?”

I simply nodded. No point in denying it now.

“Then you should know, she took the key to my apartment. That’s where she went.”

My jaw dropped. “It’s ten fucking thirty! Is she going to walk?”

So much for not chasing after the girl. I hurried through the bar, racing outside. No chance in hell was I about to let her walk home alone. I had to catch up to her. I had to make sure she made it back to Stephany’s place in one piece.

Stephany chased me outside, into the street. “No, Leo,” she urged, tugging on my arm. “My apartment is two blocks over. I walk it every night. It’s safe. She’s fine.”

Dammit, this girl was strong. She had such a firm grip, but I was stronger. We played a ridiculous game of tug-of-war as I started off in one direction. “Stop being an ass,” she moaned. “That’s not even the right direction. Let me text her. She’s probably already home.”

I felt like a fool. But my heart and head were both spinning. I’d just kissed Clara. It hadn’t been a fantasy this time, it had been a reality. I’d kissed her then she’d dumped beer on my head and told me to
prove it to her
. To prove my feelings. To prove I wasn’t the asshole she thought I was.

“There,” Stephany said, her fingers moving fast over her phone. “I texted her. She texted back. She says she’s home. You happy now?”

“Yes,” I muttered. “Thank you.”
Why is she staying there and not at my hotel?

“I need to get back inside before I lose my job.”

I nodded, unsure of what the hell to do with myself now.

Stephany disappeared inside.

I walked. I walked until my feet hurt and I had to call my driver to come pick me up.

***

T
he next morning was the reopening. It went off without a hitch. A few of my father’s celebrity friends even showed up, checking into the hotel, showing their support. I never understood how my old man had so many friends. They say money can’t buy everything, but it damn sure nearly could. It couldn’t be his winning personality that brought people in, could it?

Either way, my thoughts weren’t on work today. They were on the girl with purple hair in Brooklyn. I wondered if she thought of me when she woke up. If she thought of our kiss. If she regretted the moment we’d shared. I needed to see her today. I needed to know if she hated me or if I had a genuine shot—

“Mr. Maddox, sir, I have a phone call for you.”

“What?” I blinked several times, the vast lobby of the hotel coming back in focus. I’d zoned out there for a moment.

“Yes. It’s a women on the line,” one of the hotel managers explained. His voice shook as he spoke. I think this was the first time he’d ever spoken to me. Was I
that
intimidating? “She says her name is Detective Agent Ryder from the NYPD, but I’m positive she isn’t a real police agent.”

“Oh,” I said, an involuntary smile spreading across my lips. It was Clara. “Maybe she was afraid you wouldn’t put me on the line unless she lied. I’ll take the phone. It’s my friend.”

He handed the phone my way. And then suddenly it occurred to me.
Why the hell hadn’t she just called my cell?

“Hello? Clara?” I said, my voice desperate, but I hardly cared. “What are you doing calling this line? Is something wrong?”

“Yes!” shouted back a voice. But it wasn’t Clara’s naturally calm and steady voice. It was a slightly higher pitched voice. “And this is Maggie, not Clara. Why would you automatically assume Clara was calling?”

“Because who else would come up with Detective Agent Ryder?” I joked, disappointed
and
relived that it wasn’t Clara calling.

Maggie laughed then grew serious again. “How come you haven't been answering my phone calls? And what's going on with you and Clara? I know she ran you over with a golf cart.”

I sighed. Here we go. I guess everyone now knew about Clara being here with me in New York. “I'm fine,” I said. “I just have a bruise the size of Texas on my ass.”

“Maybe you deserved it. I also just found out you're both in New York. How do you explain that?”

“Wow, Detective Agent Ryder, impressive skills of deduction,” I groaned, hating how she was questioning me. I never questioned all her stupid life decisions—like dating Andrew Asshole Wellington for four years of her life. That’s nearly a quarter of her existence wasted away on that fool. “Did you figure all that out on your own?”

“Leo,” she urged, softly. “Stop, please.”

“I’m not trying to be mean,” I explained. “I haven't been answering your phone calls because this is exactly what I was afraid of—the voice of reason. Yes, Clara is in New York. I invited her and she came. For the first time in my life, she doesn't completely hate me.” I stopped speaking for a moment and took a deep breath. No use hiding anymore. “This is probably going to come as a shock, but I have a thing for Clara. I have for a long time now. I've been afraid to talk to you about it because I know you'll bring me back down to reality and tell me how stupid I'm being for getting my hopes up over this. I'm scared shitless, but I don't want to come back down to reality, Maggie.”

I swear to God, a good five minutes ticked by. Me waiting to hear Maggie’s response. And Maggie saying absolutely nothing. Finally I had to say, “Maggie? Are you still there?”

“I'm here,” she answered. “This is good, Leo. Really good.”

What? Maybe I should have confided in her years ago. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” she rushed to answer. “I think it's very good. All I want is for you to be happy. This...this is good. Clara still sucks as a sister and I can't stand all the dumb stuff she's constantly doing. I mean, really, who dyes their hair lavender?”

“It's pretty damn sexy,” I muttered. “You'll hate it, but I love it.”

“Ew, la, la, la,” Maggie groaned. “We better set some ground rules before this goes any further.” I laughed and then Maggie actually thought up some rules on the spot. “Rule number one, no talking about anything physical because I don't ever want to hear about that. Rule number two, you have to keep our friendship one hundred and ten percent separate from anything that happens between you and her. No matter what. Number three, if Clara and I get in fights—like you know we will—you always have to pick her side. Her side will be the irrational, moronic side and secretly you'll agree with me, but I'll be the bigger person and forgive you in advance for siding with her.”

Unable to control it, an even deeper laugh escaped my throat. “I can't believe you're okay with this,” I said, playing with the cord on the phone. “I thought you were going to freak the fuck out on me.”

Maggie giggled for another moment then recovered. “I do want to say one ‘voice of reason’ thing. Just one. It's about Clara and Andrew…is she still with him?”

Oh holy hell. There it was. Reality. I’d kissed Clara and deluded myself into believing she was all mine. She wasn’t. She had Andrew chasing after her too. “I honestly don't know,” I muttered. Nothing was funny now. “I got a little worked up Friday night because I thought maybe Andrew might mean something to her. But when I saw her with him, I could tell she despised him as much as the rest of us. Which really makes me wonder—what the hell was the show for?”

Maggie huffed a breath into the phone. “Probably just to hurt me.”

“Don't be so judgmental—not yet. Let me ask her about it and see what she says before you start World War III. Although, I’ll have to admit, I was more thrown by her reaction to seeing Robby.”

“How so?”

“Just that he got a reaction out of her at all. I know you both had a crush on him back in the day, and—”

“Don't, Leo,” Maggie groaned. “Don't start that. You are your own worst enemy. That was ages ago and she went with you to New York, didn't she? That has to mean something. You're perfect, Leo. You're sweet and kind and she'd be lucky to have you. Just let her in—let her finally see the real you.”

What if I’d already shown her the real me and that’s who she hated? “The real me is what I'm afraid of,” I told her with a groan. “But about Robby or Dean or whoever the fuck that was on Friday...when I get home, we'll get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

“That won't be necessary. I don’t plan on ever seeing Robby again.”

“We could only hope, but doesn't it seem odd that the jackass randomly shows up after six years? And with a whole new name? Nobody just randomly shows up in Blue Creek. And nobody changes their name unless they have something to hide. Something's up, Mags. And as soon as I get home on Monday, I'm going to figure out what it is and put an end to it.”

“Okay,” Maggie answered simply. “But Leo, don’t you ever ignore my phone calls again. No matter what. Remember? You and me against the world.
Always
.”

“Always. But I’m tired of fighting the world, Mags. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Monday,” she repeated.

I hung up the phone, my stomach a mess. Was I worried about Robby being back in Blue Creek? Yes, definitely. He’d been a part of Maggie’s life—of all our lives—for three short months over six years ago. Reed married Robby’s mother, Monica, spur of the moment, and the pair only lasted for that small moment in time. Essentially, it had ended as fast as it started.

Surprisingly though, those three months had been really good months. Days spent bonding, playing golf, swimming, rafting down Blue Creek—Robby had befriended all of us, not just Maggie. But then Reed caught Maggie and Robby in bed together, seconds away from Robby taking her virginity. And that ended everything. Reed demanded both Monica and Robby leave immediately.

So, with barely even a moment to pack up their things, they both left.

And for as smitten as I’d thought Robby was with Maggie, neither of us ever heard from him again. Months slipped by, while Maggie continued to have faith. She believed, so wholeheartedly, that he loved her and he’d come back for her. He’d promised her he’d return one day. But he never did.

Until now.

So whatever his motivation was for coming home—I knew none of them were honorable. He was about six years past honorable and no better in my eyes than his gold-digging mother. Thank God he’d never set his sights on Clara the first time around. I hated what he’d done to Maggie, but I might have killed him if he’d harmed Clara the same way.

Clara.

Dammit, I needed to see her again today. With this reopening, it was the worst possible timing, but I needed to make something happen. And I would. I had a plan.

CHAPTER 8:

Y
ankees tickets. I loaded them into the box, along with two Derek Jeter jerseys—hell, everyone loved Jeter—and two foam fingers.

“Chicks love opening shit. Dude, you’re a genius.”

Paul Kage hovered over my shoulder. The two tickets I’d placed inside the box were his two tickets. Aside from work, and of course the Reed family, Paul and his family were my only friends. They were a rag-tag bunch of brothers originally from Staten Island. Their parents died when they were younger and the brothers meant everything to each other. And about six months ago, I met Paul in the bathroom of some dingy-ass bar.

It was on the night of my twenty-first birthday. I’d been alone and feeling sorry for myself. My father hadn’t remembered the day and I’d decided to celebrate alone. Yet, all I really accomplished was passing out in some random bathroom in some random bar. Even after all the improvements I’d made since the night on the balcony with Clara—on occasion I still relapsed, still had nights where I drank way more than any one person should. Paul had been at the same bar as me that night. When I was too inebriated to function, he’d saved my ass from waking up alone and in my own vomit—something that had kind of become my birthday ritual.

Instead I woke up on his couch.

He hadn’t known what to do with me, so he’d taken me back to his place. He’d taken care of me as I’d spent most of the night throwing up in his toilet. He even insisted I shower and borrow some of his clothes the next morning. It had been a strange experience for me—because most of the people in my life weren’t anywhere near as kind as he was. And Paul had wanted nothing in return. Just doing his ‘good Samaritan duty,’ he’d told me. But I’d been grateful, and frankly…touched. To repay the favor, I’d purchased him, as well as the three brothers he lived with, season tickets to the Yankees. No big deal. It’s not like I didn’t have the means or the money to get him the tickets.