AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It means that I don’t know shit about you, and obviously that’s the way you want it.”
Her eyes flashed, and he knew she was angry. She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“Where do you come from?”
“What?”
“You’re from the South, that’s obvious. The night we met, Rebecca told me you were from Savannah, I think.” Her lips pursed tightly at his words, and she clutched the blanket up tight again. He pierced her with an intense look. “Is she right?”
Maggie stared at him in silence, and the anger inside him festered. It wasn’t rational, what he felt—the resentment that rushed through him—and that fed the frustration even more. He wanted her, but he didn’t know what the future held. Why couldn’t they just enjoy each other and take this thing day to day? Why did everything have to be hard?
“What are your parents’ names? Are they alive? What’s your favorite color? Do you have any siblings? Why do you draw?”
She shook her head, “I…”
He didn’t give her a chance but plunged forward. “Who the hell is Michael’s father? Is he in the picture at all?”
“That is none of your business.” She slipped from the bed, the blanket held tight to her chest. Her face was flushed, and he saw the sheen of tears that filled the corners of her eyes. It killed him to see her like that. To know that he’d been the one to upset her. But hell, all he was asking for was a little honesty. Was that too much to expect?
“I think you should leave.”
“I was already leaving, Maggie, but this isn’t over.” He turned and opened her bedroom door. “Because I’m coming back, and we’re going to finish this conversation.”
He left without another word and slipped out of her house in silence. Luke Jansen was putting out his garbage as he drove by, and the urge to flip his middle finger in the guy’s direction nearly won out. He did, however, manage to keep his cool and ignored the man instead.
He left town and hit the open road, trying his damnedest to clear Maggie from his mind. After a while the silence settled him somewhat, and he cranked the tunes, tried to lose himself in the melodic strains of U2 as he sped down the interstate, but it was no use. By the time he arrived at airport he was wound tight and his mood was dark.
He kept his head down—no sense scaring all the little old ladies with his scowl—and was relieved when he spied Dax Jones with relative ease. He was glad to see him, glad Dax had agreed to play for the benefit, and for a moment his spirits lifted. The tall Brit was among a posse of people who’d just cleared the baggage area, but he stood out like a sore thumb. How could he not? With his shock of midnight-black hair, pale skin, myriad tattoos, and red and white plaid jeans, he wanted to be noticed. His T-shirt pr
oclaimed God Save the Queen, and the Union Jack adorned the top hat that rested upon his head.
“Cain, you look like utter crap, mate.”
Cain smiled, aware that they were garnering a fair share of interest. “Nice to see you too, Monk.”
“Hey, let’s not start up with that bit, eh?” Dax grinned and slung his bass over his shoulder.
Cain said nothing, though his grin said it all as he grabbed the other bag offered to him. Monk was a nickname Dax had earned on their last tour with the Grind. The story was pretty damn funny and a lot raunchy, involving Dax, two strippers, a judge, a principal ballerina from the Prague ballet company, and a monk.
“I’ll go easy.” Cain nodded. “This way.”
The two of them made their way through the terminal, and by the time they’d reached Cain’s truck it was late morning.
“We got time to stop for a drink? I’m fecking thirsty, mate.”
Cain backed out of his spot and pointed the SUV toward the highway. “It’s not exactly happy hour yet, my friend, though I do have a full fridge of beer back in Crystal Lake.” And a woman I need to see.
“But do you have cider?”
“No, but I’m sure we can track some down.”
Dax relaxed in his seat and sighed. “I’m bloody tired, so don’t mind if I close my eyes.”
“Go ahead. Get some sleep. We’ve got a couple hours ahead of us.”
“And Cain?”
“Yeah?” He glanced at the Brit, not liking the sly smile that graced his mouth.
