Hot Summer Nights (Lucas Brothers)

“God, I love you, Maggie,” he whispers, and I could drown in the guilt I’m feeling. I don’t have a choice. I don’t have a choice.

I keep repeating that to myself—lying to myself.

“I love you, too, Bryant. You have to know that.”

“I do,” he says, surprise on his face and then a wicked little grin a second later as I take our joined hands and push them against the headboard, making sure his is the one against the wood. “Feeling adventurous, Maggie May?”

I click the handcuff closed. I fight through the shame that begins to fill me.

“Bryant—”

“What if I didn’t have the key to that?” he says, and he hasn’t caught on yet, even as I move off the bed and stand.

“You do. I saw it on the dresser earlier.”

“My girl thinks of everything,” he laughs. “Hurry and get undressed and show me what you got in store for me, Maggie.”

“I have to get back so I can go to my appointment, Bryant. I can’t wait. I need to be there early in the morning.”

I can see the minute trepidation begins to enter his face. He still fights it down and I know that’s because he’s trying his best to believe in me. That guilt I’ve been feeling explodes into this large cesspool of misery.

“We’ll get up really early. I can have you at the school in plenty of time. Now, quit joking around, Maggie.”

“My appointment isn’t at work, Bryant. It’s in Dallas.”

“Damn it, Maggie. Get back here!”

I walk backwards away from him, tears stinging my eyes. “I hope you’ll forgive me,” I whisper and truly do, but I don’t think he will. He jerks on the handcuff, rattling the bed.

“Don’t do this, Maggie. I don’t know what’s going on in Dallas, but it needs to stop. You and I are going to make this work.” I ignore him, opening his drawer and finding his truck keys, and while I’m at it, I grab the handcuff key off the dresser. “Maggie, I forbid you to do this.”

Forbid?

“Maybe we can talk about all of this after my appointment,” I whisper.

“Maggie, damn it!”

“I’ll send Green up to get you this evening,” I promise, and then I slip on my shoes and take off running.

“Maggie, get your ass back here or you won’t be able to sit down for a week!” he orders as I walk out the door, locking it as I go. Then, I run harder than I’ve ever run, scared, ashamed and crying.

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.