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The Crowne looms bright in the distance, and a lot of cloudy memories about Max drift around in my heart. I don’t like to think of where we’d be as a couple if a stray bullet from Ash’s gun hadn’t ended his life. Gage said Max wanted to marry me, and I’ve avoided letting that simmer mostly because I know I wouldn’t have said yes.
I admired Max, loved his strength and kindness, his excitement and passion in wanting revenge to pay Ash back for what he’d done to me, but when he looked at me, I didn’t shiver, didn’t have the squishy feeling I now recognize as love. His kisses didn’t make me wet. They made me feel safe, and relationships like the one he wanted with me can’t survive on only that.
For as much as Max cared about me, as Zane weaned me off Ash’s poison, our relationship would have dissolved into friendship and nothing more.
I sigh.
“You good?” Zane asks, catching the breathy exhale as it floats out of my mouth.
“Yes. Thanks. I’m a little melancholy, thinking about Max.”
Zane kisses the top of my head. “Me too, kiddo.”
He helps me slide my jacket down my arms and passes my coat to the attendant. I wish Gage was already here, but he and his dad are driving to the hotel after they finish working on acase and might be a little late. I’m nervous to meet him, Gage and Max’s mom, and Max’s dad.
Stella links our arms, and Zane follows us into the tiny, but opulent, ballroom. The lights are dim to allow a slideshow to play against a giant white screen hanging from the ceiling. Flashes of Max with coworkers or the people he interviewed for his articles flow together in an unhurried, silent collage.
I turn away. It hurts to look at him.
People start to whisper, but a malicious undertone is missing and my muscles loosen. I’ve always shouldered the blame for Max’s death, and I know Zane has, too. Sometimes we both forget that Max was investigating on his own, that he approached Stella and Richard Denton without an assignment. He wanted to help, as much for putting the Blacks behind bars as for boosting his own career, and he died a hero to Ash’s villainy.
We lose Zane to a group of business associates, and he flashes us an apologetic smile as he’s sucked into conversation, one of his friends pushing a glass of something into his hand. These kinds of events are for networking as well as entertainment, maybe more so, and I wave him off. In my old life, Mom would have used an event like this to solicit funds for her charity causes, dragging me from group to group teaching me the delicate art of kissing ass. This isn’t anything new, except I don’t recognize a lot of the faces here. I’ve been hiding for too long to keep up with local gossip and a new list of Who’s Who as the old list is torn to shreds.
Stella and I casually walk to the bar. Even if I can’t drink, holding a glass will give my hands something to do, and a lime slice will chase away the bland taste that has invaded my mouth. I can’t say it’s fear, but I won’t lie—Jerricka would never let me and Gage would see right through me anyway—I’d feel better at home or at Gage’s apartment watching a movie and eating pizza, sneaking Baby the crusts.
But I can’t expand my world if I hide, and I desperately want to be the confident young woman I used to be. When people would hand me anything I wanted just by flicking my fingers.
Experimenting, I beam at the bartender who pours Perrier over ice and adds my lime slice. His Adam’s apple bobs as he tries to say something.
“He’s working. That’s not fair.”
“Gage!” Ignoring the drink and the bartender, I throw myself into his arms. My heels give me a bit of height and he doesn’t have to bend so far to brush a kiss over my mouth.
“You’re gorgeous, Zarah. Truly. I’m like that poor son of a bitch. I can’t breathe.”
Stella and I stood in my closet for hours trying on dresses, and I finally decided on a plain black dress that hangs off my shoulders by delicate spaghetti straps. The neckline dips, revealing the lace of my hot pink bra. I pinned my hair up exposing my neck, and I kept my makeup minimal. Only mascara and a bright slash of hot pink lipstick.
“Thanks. You look good too.” Wearing jeans and a t-shirt, Gage smolders, the bad boy look oozing sensuality and sex appeal. In a tux, he’s lethal, and several women standing around us check him out.
An older gentleman tugging at his bow tie stands next to Gage, and I hold out my trembling hand. “I’m Zarah Maddox, and this is my soon-to-be sister-in-law, Stella Mayfair.” I dredge the gumption to introduce myself to Gage’s dad out of nowhere, but I’m pleased I sound confident even if I’m shaking inside. I need him to like me. If he doesn’t, it could affect Gage’s and my relationship. He won’t date someone his dad doesn’t like.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, darlin’. Gage has told me a lot about you.” He shakes my hand, his grip dry and firm. “The name’s Linc, no ‘Mr. Davenport’ business,” he says, winking at Stella. She smiles.
I try to read his face, looking for a squint of aversion or a curl of his lip betraying his disgust, but the only vibe he gives off is discomfort.
“You’re not used to attending events like this,” I say.
“Not one bit.”
“A drink will smooth things over,” Stella says, tilting her head toward the bar. “We opened a tab. Please, let us host. In Max’s memory.”
Gratefully, I squeeze her arm. I wanted us to pay for their drinks, but I didn’t know how to say it. Trust Stella to know what to do.
“Thank you. That’s kind, and we gladly accept. I don’t suppose the paper could afford an open bar. People need a lot of alcohol to get through a night like this.”
“Don’t listen to Pop,” Gage whispers in my ear. “He’ll bitch, but he’ll have a good time. Do you mind if I grab a beer?”
“No, go ahead.”