No Magic Moment (Secrets of Stone Book 4) (11 page)

“Easy. I didn’t mean to set you off. Just an old habit.”

“Well, unlearn it. Fast. There are way too many demons down that road for me.”

“Fine. Understood. It won’t happen again.”

A long silence passed between us. I lowered back into the chair. Now I really did need a drink but my hands shook so badly, I doubted my ability to hold a glass to my lips.

Mother. Fucker. One stupid slip of a nickname and I was right back in that hospital room, inches from a death I prayed for, all because of a broken heart from this asshole. We’d both played our part in the mess but he knew—
knew
, even now—how shitty it had all been for me. Logically, I knew the room still had air but I was nearly suffocating. Damn triggers.

I started twisting my ring. Calm, deep breaths followed. I took more and closed my eyes.

And pictured my Captain America’s smile.

Michael.
Of course. He would save me from this agony.

But where was he?

My eyes flashed open on the dawn of my stupidity. No.
He
needed
me
right now—only I’d behaved like an ass, flouncing out of that security room, paranoid about making him understand my “comfort level” on the supportive girlfriend gig.

What the
hell
was I thinking?

I shook my head in shame. Stood in a harsh rush. I shouldn’t be here with my past. I needed to be with Michael—

My future.

A bright smile spread across my face as my plan cemented in my mind. I’d go find Michael, tell those morons in security they couldn’t keep him any longer, then have Andre take us home. We’d have that good Scotch. Run a warm bath. Then we’d work it out, all of it, together—because that was what we’d promised each other. How we’d do it all from now on. We’d share our successes and our failures.
Together
.

I turned one more time to the man now leaning in again, eyeing me with abject curiosity.
Go ahead and stare, buddy.
As much as Doug’s heart had grown, I doubted he could comprehend one-tenth of the connection I shared with Michael.

“Listen, Doug…” I grabbed his hand and gave it a fake politician squeeze. “I’m glad we ran into each other, okay? Sorry for the bitch-itude. I’m under a lot of pressure tonight. Things are really tense with Michael. We just don’t know where it all stands.”

“It’s cool,” he reassured. “But maybe that’s something you should ask him in person—after he clears the seven hundred bees out of his jock strap.”

“Huh?”

“Here he comes.”

He disengaged our hands. It was too little, too late.

I groaned and spun toward the door—weathering the frantic echo of just one word through my brain.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Michael

F
uck.

My.

Life.

Yeah, the universe could have supplied worse reasons for the sentiment. The fundraiser could’ve been sharing the hotel with a clown convention, or one of those “furry cons.” Chad could be standing here, nagging about when we were escaping to the bar so I could watch his pick-up attempts on anything in a skirt. “The Big One” might have finally hit and we’d all be sliding into the Pacific right now.

Instead, after the grilling from hotel security and the PD, I’d not been able to reach Margaux by text or phone, so had stupidly returned to the ballroom—

To find her bringing one of my worst nightmares to life.

With Doug fucking Simcox.

It was the final nail in this screwed-up night. I led the pack on crazy, didn’t I, actually thinking my girlfriend had taken this time to reconsider
her
shit? To say, go somewhere and
think
about the man she’d been living with for three months, then recognize he was smart enough to see the idiot move of going publically aggro on a guy—even a douche like Declan—then turn around and go for
more
punching practice on the asshole?

She’d clearly misjudged a lot of things about me—like assuming I’d “behave” now, to make up for the shit
Declan
had started earlier. Like how I’d just dive into being “the good boyfriend,” understanding and sweet, even when finding her with the shit jockey who’d shattered her heart. Why the hell should I invest in being that guy when she’d given up on him, too?

At least she didn’t hide her stress. Her face betrayed the dread of the screws popping off my moorings then flying into Doug. Couldn’t say her fears were unfounded. Not yet. While approaching Doug and her, I jammed my hands into my pockets. Better hide the fact that they’d become fists again.

She took a few steps to meet me, flinging her arms around my neck. “Thank God you’re here.”

I didn’t reciprocate the embrace. Her hands fell to her sides. She bit her lip, looking tense and unsure, not that she gave me more than two seconds to evaluate. That privilege belonged to Simcox, as soon as she swung her stare to him again.

I dragged in air through my nose, hoping for a calming influence, but was assaulted by a sour stench instead. Wasn’t anything the hotel could be blamed for. That smell belonged to one thing only, and I was repulsed that I recognized it so easily. It was the sewage of jealous rage.

“Michael? Are you all right?” When she turned back around, she assessed me physically, dipping her gaze over all of me. “They only questioned you some more, right?”

I steeled my jaw. Forced the shield to cover my heart, too. Didn’t matter. The worry in her voice was like a blowtorch, threatening to sear it. She’d been distant and quiet in the security office. What the hell was this fresh concern all about?

“Do you even care?”

“Of course. I—” She pulled back, looking hurt at first, until green fire flared in her eyes. “Why the hell would you say that?”

I grunted, letting my regard travel to Simcox. “Looked like you were filling your time just fine when I walked in.”

Her hands flew back to her hips. Her gown, even rumpled, swished so every line of her delectable figure was accented. “Michael Adam.
Don’t
.”

“‘Michael Adam don’t’ what? Drag up the past? Looks like I’m a little late for that, baby. Did you two have a nice little trip down memory lane while I was playing a thousand and one questions with Andy Griffith and Barney Fife?”

“Wonderful,” she muttered. “Way to prove it taught you a damn thing, Opie.”

She wanted Opie? I’d give her fucking Opie. “Thanks, sweetheart. This is the perfect ending to a dream of an evening.”

As if matters could get worse, Simcox loped forward with the exuberance—and social aptitude—of a Saint Bernard. “Hi there. Great to meet you. I’m—”

“I know who you are.”

His grin faltered. “Uhhh, right. Well, then.” He recovered within seconds, extending a hand. “It’s Michael, right? Pearson? Like I said, good to meet you, man.”

I let him hang for a good five seconds. Ten. His composure teetered in the silence.
Yo; point to Pearson.
Boosh,
Dougie-poo.
Totally childish? Yeah. Totally satisfying?
Fuck yeah
. And why the hell not? Ancient history or not, Margaux would carry scars because of this big mutt for the rest of her life. He’d cleaned up well with a shit-ton of hair gel, a professionally close shave, and a tailored black suit, but he was still a goddamn mutt.

Did I wish they’d never broken up? Of course not. But there were ways you did things and ways you didn’t. The golden rules of guy code. He’d snapped at least a couple by breaking up with a woman when she wasn’t on solid emotional ground, jumping on a plane for his next away game, and never looking back. To the best of my knowledge, he’d never even checked in with Margaux again.

The asshole looked intent on making up for lost time now.

“Well,” he said after we finally shook hands. “Guess I should really thank you. You got the party rolling with one hell of an ice breaker.”

Touché, fucker.
“Anything to help the cause. The arts are pitifully neglected in our schools these days.”

“Much agreed, my man.”

Without lowering my head, I smiled—with my mouth alone. “I’m not your man.”

“Uhhh…pardon me?”

Through her teeth, Margaux seethed, “I said
don’t
.”

I grinned again. What the hell. Might as well enjoy my stint in the doghouse. “You heard me. I’m not your man, Simcox.” I rocked back on my heels, glancing around as if we were just shooting the shit about the Chargers’ chances for the upcoming season. “Don’t even try to pretend we’re friends, or that you ‘care’ one shit about this cause.”

Margaux pushed forward again. She raised her hands as if to embrace me but they froze in mid-air, stopping in front of my chest, as if there were an actual wall between us.

My gut turned over.

How had we gotten here?

This time last night, I was sprawled on her living room floor after the most incredible sex of my life. Now, I felt like the goddamn puppy who’d peed on the carpet.

“Michael.” She finally wrapped her fingertips around my tuxedo’s lapels. The tenderness in her tone unspooled me worse than her ire ever could. “Let’s just go home, okay? Andre is waiting out front.”

I debated how to respond to that. After all the venom I’d hurled at Simcox, it was Margaux’s tenderness toward me that finally rankled the guy. I smirked, openly gloating. He tensed, openly fuming. I wasn’t about to throw a punch at the Neanderthal but if he wanted to rumble, I was more than ready.

The Del’s security team had other plans. They appeared in two separate entryways, before approaching cautiously.

“Mr. Pearson?”

I didn’t stray my stare from Margaux. She was really the only one who mattered here. “Yeah?”

“Perhaps it’s a good idea for you to call it a night.”

Shit. Was the directive-by-diplomacy thing
still
a thing?

I didn’t care. I slipped my hand into Margaux’s, meshing our fingers. “Sure. I can think of some very nice excuses for going home early…can’t you, sugar?”

Dougie-poo’s face discernibly tightened.
Too bad, so sad; you lose, bastard.

“Thanks for taking the time to catch up, Mags. It was nice.”

Or not.

“
Mags
?”

She didn’t see the glare I swung at her with it, already stabbing hers into him. “Dammit, Doug. I told you—”

“Sure you did,” I growled.

She yanked her hand from mine. “Okay, you want to go at it with
me
as well, Pearson?” She scooped both hands into the air between us, beckoning with her fingertips. “Come on. Let’s just do it right now. Take your best swing and then let me put you down right after, because God fucking knows, that is seriously what I want to do to you right now!”

Like a sliced hot air balloon, everything inside deflated. Crashed. Then burst into flames. In their wake, my senses were a black mess I didn’t even want to sift through.

Without another word, I turned and paced out through the lobby. As Margaux had said, Andre waited with the car. I stalked past him, climbing into the limo then slamming into the corner seat, nearest the driver’s partition.

We traveled back across the bay, now haunted by fingers of mist, in silence.

No. Not complete silence.

As staunchly as she tried to hide them, Margaux’s soft sniffles filled the air every couple of minutes. Every one of them stabbed my heart like a rusted dagger.

And my own damn hand was on that hilt.

We pulled up the wide drive in front of the El Cortez. The car had barely stopped before I let myself out, digging in my jacket for my car keys. Despite that, I turned to assist Margaux out of the car. Her fingers were cold against my palm.

For a moment, just one, I gripped them tighter. Yearned for her to meet my gaze…and see the words I couldn’t speak yet.

I’m trying, princess. Goddammit, I’m trying.

Instead, she worked her hand free once more, instantly twisting it into the depths of her skirt. Her head remained down as she regarded the keys in my grip. “I won’t wait up.”

I almost went after her. Maybe I should have. Was that what she wanted? Fuck. I didn’t know anymore. Back at the Del, I’d envisioned a wall between us—a barrier stacked higher with every one of her tears in the car. What had I done? Sat there like a mute asshole, not even offering to go to her. The memory of how she’d lashed out at me on the beach, instantly connecting me to Declan’s bloody face, had been too fresh. It still stung like hell.

I was a mess. Plugs jammed into all the wrong sockets.

In order to figure it out, I had to disconnect and start over.

Once I got in the truck and pulled away from the Cortez, only one direction felt clear.

I headed for the mountains.

For home.

*

The best-laid plans
…

I didn’t need the rest of it spelled out. It was the story of my life lately, so why did I expect different now?

I made it as far as Ramona before a crowd of cars, the aroma of coffee, and the siren call of Dudley’s bear claws made me slow down. Frowning curiously, I pulled into the diner’s parking lot. What the hell? The place was rarely open this time of night.