I hate the vulnerability that’s crept into my voice, even as I battle to keep it steady. The fortress around my heart is crumbling, and I have to fucking retreat before he gets inside.
“Mama—”
The pain in his voice pulverizes another chunk of my protective wall. My traitorous eyes burn, threatening to cry. No. No. No. I’m not going to do this here. Not now. I refuse.
“Leave me alone, Moses. Just leave me the hell alone!”
I turn and run for home like the coward I am, because I’d rather avoid every bit of this than relive the devastation I felt the day I realized he was never coming back for me.
Thirty-Two
Moses
Well, hell. That didn’t go as planned. Not even a fucking little bit.
Magnolia disappears around the corner like the hounds of hell are on her heels. The strongest woman I’ve ever met, and she’s fucking running from me.
I scrub my hand over my face and mouth, feeling the scratch of stubble there. Christ Jesus. I fucked this up so goddamned bad, I don’t even know how we got here.
The spooked look on Magnolia’s face was one I’ve witnessed before. I saw what the call with Keira did to her. It was as if the rug had been pulled out from beneath her feet. Her nature and former profession have made Magnolia an incredibly private woman. This morning, she was getting railroaded from all sides.
I thought, like a fucking asshole, I could use it to my advantage. To get through to her. To make her understand just how fucking serious I am about why I’m here.
Instead, I fucked it all up beyond recognition. I should have known better.
I lean against the building and drop my head back against the plaster. Pushing off a moment later with a sigh, I crack my neck to the left, then right.
Magnolia isn’t like any other woman. She won’t fall to pieces. But in this state she’s fragile—like TNT. Handle with fucking care, or she’ll detonate and blow your plans to smithereens.
Lesson learned. Time for a new plan anyway.
I pull out my phone and call Jules. He picks up on the second ring. “Yeah, boss?”
“Take the SUV and keep tabs on Magnolia. She’s headed home now. Follow her wherever she goes and don’t let her out of your sight. Keep her safe.”
“Okay . . .” he says slowly. “Obviously, I’m happy to take care of this for you, but . . . wasn’t the plan for you to hang with her all day?”
I kick at a stone on the broken concrete as I march forward. It’s not too bad of a walk back to our place, but I’ve got plenty to think about on the way. “Plans changed.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Jules keeps fishing for information, so I decide to just tell him what the fuck he wants to know.
“I fucked up. Miscalculated. I gotta give her some space.”
There’s a beat of silence, and I can practically hear what Jules isn’t saying. How the fuck did you, the man who always knows how to get people to do what you want, fuck up so badly with something this important?
“Okay. I’ll get the SUV and watch her. It’ll work out, boss. There’s more than one way to catch a rabbit. You just have to keep trying until you find one that works. Get yourself another way and try again.”
Jules is right. Hell, Mags is right. I’m just not willing to lose her twice. Once was hell enough.
Thirty-Three
Magnolia
I lock myself in the bathroom and drop onto the closed toilet seat while the water for the shower heats up. Goddamn it, if I’m going to cry, it’s going to be where I can deny those tears ever fell.
Then after I’m done, I’m going to put myself back together one piece at a time—armor and war paint included—so I remember exactly who I am.
Magnolia Marie Maison.
No man owns me. No man controls me.
I do what the hell I want, when I want. Things work the way I want them to work.
And what if that’s exactly what Moses wants? Ho-It-All pops into my head for another ill-timed thought.
“Shut the fuck up,” I tell the empty room. “It doesn’t matter what the man wants. He can’t just show up and decide I belong to him. I belong to me.”
And he wants to belong to you too.
“Ugh!” I let out a screech of frustration and strip before climbing into the shower, where hopefully the spray can drive out the stupid voice that has suddenly decided it’s a fan of Moses Gaspard. Well, too fucking bad.
However, the voice has helped steer me away from enough trouble over the years that I don’t want to discount it completely, but it also needs a reality check.
Moses is crazy. All the shit he said might sound pretty, but nothing can take away the fact that he waited fifteen damn years to come back and say any of it.
Fifteen. Years. He left me alone.
He doesn’t get a pass because he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and what we had in those two weeks so long ago was close to a perfect fantasy. It doesn’t matter.
I’ve got a life I’ve worked my ass off to build, and even if it doesn’t always go according to plan, it’s mine. I’m supposed to just magically trust him and whatever he has planned?
I don’t think so.
Then how do you explain how you feel? Ho-It-All asks in a silky tone. You really think you can resist him? It’s not like you’re going to the club to play with Rhodes.
I freeze for a beat, water spraying me in the face as I push open the door of the shower and reach for my phone on the counter.
Screw Ho-It-All. She doesn’t know everything. Because maybe I am going to play with Rhodes.
Leaving puddles everywhere, I blink the water out of my eyes and type out a quick message.
Magnolia: Are you still in town? I might want to play tonight.
Dropping my phone on the counter, I seal myself back in the shower, hoping the spray drumming against my head will somehow provide answers, or at least a little fucking relief.
I can stay here and sit on my pitiful air mattress all night thinking about Moses, or I can go to the club and put him out of my mind for a few hours.
It’s easy to lose myself with Rhodes. And there’s a bonus to visiting the club tonight.
I tap my fingers along the side of my naked thigh as I consider it. A feline smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. If I go . . . there’s no way in hell Moses won’t find out. Maybe it’ll drive him crazy for a while, and he’ll know what it’s like to wonder what I’m doing, the same as I’ve done for years thinking about him.
Don’t do it, Mags. You know better than to play with fire . . .
But I don’t listen to Ho-It-All. I’m too busy thinking about how brilliant I am. If I wanted one easy way to show Moses he doesn’t control me, this is it.
And he’ll never know what happened, because he can’t get inside.
Ten hours later, Ho-It-All has me almost reconsidering my plan. Now isn’t the time to play games. Just shoot straight with Moses. Tell him how you feel.
But I can’t do that. I can’t take the risk. Not with him. Not after all this time. Because if I let my guard down, and then if he leaves again after seeing the real me, I’ll fall apart. So it’s better to test him now. Trial by fire. Can he take it—take me and my life—or will he walk away?