27
Bryant
I listen to the door slam and I can barely believe it. How could I have been so wrong—so stupid? I thought Maggie and I had worked out most of our issues. Apparently, I was really, really wrong.
I rattle the handcuffs with my hand, pulling on it to see if I can break it free from the headboard. I know before I even try, however, that it’s useless. The headboard is solid wood, especially the bedpost that it’s connected to.
I’m stuck.
I’m not even sure what to do next. I just know that I need to do something. If I wait too long, Maggie will be long gone. I can’t let that happen. Things have been too good with her, and despite what just happened, I know that these last few days with Maggie have brought us closer. I saw signs of the Maggie I never thought I’d see again, and I can’t let this chance with her slip through my fingers. I’ve held back and let her call the shots for far too long and that needs to end. Maybe it took her mother calling me on my shit to make me see things clearly. I am now, however, and I need to force Maggie to acknowledge everything between us and what we will be losing if we don’t make it work. I feel like this is our last shot. I don’t want it to end this way. I don’t know what is going on with Maggie in Dallas, but I know it’s not another man. If there was someone else, she wouldn’t have given herself to me so freely, not just while we’ve been here, but before that. Maggie is not that type of woman.
Which means I’m going to have to chase her again. I have to make her see reason and if I don’t, then, I guess I do need to walk away. Whatever I do, I need to do it now, before Maggie gets too far away. Damn woman will hitchhike to get away from here.
I pull hard with my hand, seeing if there’s any way I can get my hand out of the cuff. It slips some but nowhere near enough. I reach over to the nightstand with my free hand, wincing in pain as the steel bracelet cuts into my wrist.
“Jesus, Ida Sue, couldn’t you have found some fur lined ones?” I mutter to no one but myself.
I manage to get the drawer open, but it sure wasn’t easy. Reaching in and finding the tube of Astroglide was even harder, but I managed it. I had better plans for this and a few other things I found in Ida Sue’s Bachelor Party favors from hell, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Unfortunately, opening it with one hand is next to impossible.
I hold the tube up and frown. It’s packaged like Astroglide, but it is not Astroglide. It’s a knockoff called Smooth Uranus. I have to read the title twice to make sure I’m not mistaken. Yep, it’s definitely called Smooth Uranus. It’s the tagline that makes me scared though. “We make ass sex out of this world.”
Ass sex?
“Alrighty then,” I mutter to myself. I put the lid part of the tube in my mouth and try to twist it open. Unfortunately, once the cap is off, there’s a foil wrapped seal with a little flap to pull it back. It takes several attempts to capture the tiny flap between my teeth, but when I do, I rip it off with a vengeance. The problem comes when I squeeze a little too hard on the tube as I tear the protective foil off. Once it’s free, it immediately squirts out and hits my mouth. It’s flavored, but not with anything sexy or appealing like you would expect. It tastes like a mix of liver and raw onion that’s been rotting away in a cabinet. I spit it out immediately. What kind of kink would you have to be into to use this shit? I read the tube and it says, ‘Now with an all-natural flavor combination.’ What in nature tastes like that? Unless maybe it’s cow shit baking in the Texas sun.
I do my best to squeeze the tube over my captured wrist, trying to slip it out of the damn cuff.
It doesn’t work.
I try a couple more times, but I know it’s useless. Time is ticking away, and I refuse to let Maggie do this to us again. Damn it, that woman is going to drive me to drink. “If I can’t get out of the cuff, I’ll just have to take it with me,” I growl. I heave forward, putting all of my muscle into the action, the bed creaks in response. Then I shove backwards, again with all of my might. It takes five or six times—hell, maybe even ten, it’s hard to count when all you can think of is getting yourself free and going to chase down the woman who has driven you to the brink of madness.
Finally, I hear a large cracking noise as the wood gives way. I repeat my action and finally the headboard snaps completely and I’m able to get off the bed. Unfortunately, I’m dragging half of a king-sized head board with me. I slam it against the wall, turning over the nightstand and busting a lamp in the process. Glass goes everywhere, but only the tiniest of pieces of the headboard breaks away.
“Fuck it,” I growl, reaching for my pants that are on the floor. For my trouble, the wood comes around and bangs me on the head. “Motherfucker!” I yell, standing back up. “I’m going to spank your ass so fucking hard you’re not able to move, Magnolia Tree Lucas Matthews!” I scream, hoping she can hear me. To do that of course, I’ll have to catch her. Somewhere in the cabin, I can hear the cat hissing, clearly not happy.
She’s not the only one.
I look at my pants. I might eventually get them on, but it will take precious time—time that I don’t have. And even if I do manage to get them up my legs, I know buttoning them is not going to happen. If I try, I’m liable to give myself a concussion. I accidentally step on the glass that has splattered, and I can feel it cut into the bottom of my foot, but I ignore that. Having to turn sideways to get out of the bedroom door, I walk to the kitchen. Next, I find my shoes, choosing the slip-on ones, since tying them, or doing anything with them really, is beyond my capability at this point. Once that’s done, I walk sideways out of the door, naked, my mouth full of lube and half carrying, half dragging the large hunk of wood behind me.
I have a runaway ex-wife to find, and Heaven help her when I do.
28
Maggie
I’m exhausted—and not from running down the hill. I’ve almost turned around twice. With every step I take away from Bryant, this feeling of wrongness hits my stomach, and it just grows like acid spreading through me and burning. I finally just drop down on the grass beside the dirt road and cry.
What am I doing?
Bryant deserves better than this. He always has. Hell, Terry deserves better, too. I’m a mess. Tears burn my dust-filled eyes as I allow my misery to swallow me. It’s not just recent misery, either. It’s everything I’ve been running from since losing my daughter. It all slams down on me, and I just let go of the millions of pieces of myself that I’ve been trying to hold onto to keep from falling apart. It feels as if I’m releasing them one by one until all that’s left is a broken heap. But then, that’s what I’ve been for way too long. I’ve just been faking my whole life. The only time I’ve allowed myself to even be half of the woman I was before Brylee is when Bryant is there to lean on.
I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t. I’m so tired. I bring my knees up against my chest, clasping them tightly and I allow myself to do something I truly haven’t before. I close my eyes, rest my forehead against my knees and gently rock as I let pictures of my daughter flutter through my mind. Her small delicate fingers, her tiny toes, the sweet, pink-colored lips that would smile as she slept. I let myself remember everything, right down to that sweet baby smell that used to wrap around me as I held her. For years, I’ve held myself back, even robbing my son of things we should have shared, things I should have taken the time to enjoy. I’ve only been half of the mother I should have been to my son…