Page 41

Hadley

May: Bedazzling horse manes and singing karaoke—Lady and Fergie are the best listeners.

There’s always more to a story. Anyone who tells you otherwise just isn’t privy to the details. I’ve lived in Fiasco my entire life, and I’ve always known there’s more to Ace. Too bad for him that I’m feeling brave tonight.

Rumors swirl about what the Foxx boys do to people who steal from them.

That they like to teach their own lessons and not involve the authorities.

To never cross them. But beyond that, Ace has always rubbed elbows with people I’ve only ever seen once.

He takes meetings with governors and senators.

He hosts events with sports agents and their clients.

Celebrities aren’t interesting to him, but he’ll always say yes to drinks with anyone in the bourbon business.

I’ve always wondered if Ace ever got his hands dirty.

With one look at his knuckles and the blood rubbed across his forearm and splattered on the side of his shirt, I guess I have my answer.

He’d been at Midnight Proof for business tonight.

Ace would never just pop by to see me; that wasn’t his style, but when I saw him come in and settle at the bar instead of the table on the floor, I thought maybe he wanted to see me.

Which is why I have on replay the woman with short blonde hair and gorgeous bone structure speaking to him.

Watching him speak to someone I don’t know, and with such familiarity, made me feel like an outsider, jealous, and I hated that.

It helped me realize that there’s so much I don’t know about my brand-new husband.

Yes, I’ve witnessed plenty over the years, paid attention to small nuances, like his body language and favorite things.

But the secretive moments between him and Griz, the minimal details I have regarding women he’s seen here and there, and the small whispers around town of a man who people respect, none of those things make me feel any closer to him now.

I splash bourbon into a rocks glass beside him as he runs cold water over his bruised and battered hands.

I know what the aftermath of a fight looks like.

Lincoln has been in plenty over the years.

I’d assumed that he was the muscle while Ace sat back watching whoever needed a good swat to the face. Apparently, I was wrong.

Pulling a hand towel from the rack next to the double-wide shower, I hop onto the bathroom vanity. With my ass perched next to the sink, I drape the towel in my hands and say, “I’m going to need to know who she was.”

As he moves closer, I push past the heated feelings I get any time I’m alone with him—swooping stomach and goosebumps along my arms. It’s equal parts nerves and anticipation, but I’d like to stay in charge of the conversation. I don’t want his stupid blue-gray eyes to distract me.

“When we agreed to this marriage, I told you that I don’t like things being kept from me.”

His eyes lock with mine. “I remember.” With his jaw tensed, he says, “What if the things I’ve kept from you are to protect you?”

“I call bullshit,” I bite back. It sounds like a placating line.

He exhales, and then tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. “It’s not bullshit, baby.”

Baby? I turn off the water and pull his hands to rest on the towel in my lap.

“Don’t baby or sugar me. Right now, I’m not your wife, just your friend,” I say as I softly pat at the ripped skin.

“You think I care if you fucked that woman?” With exasperation, I shake my head.

“ Nope . Don’t care. You asked me what I wanted when we started this—I said I wanted honesty. And I want it right. Fucking. Now.”

I tamp down the emotion that’s threatening to surface. I will not cry. Hold it together, Hadley. “Secrets say, ‘I don’t trust you.’ Lies tell me you’ve got something to hide. And I don’t want either of that in this sham of a relationship.”

Like he knows I still have more to say, he quietly watches me be gentle with his hands.

“I want proof that I can trust you, Ace. I want to know that I can count on you to be the one person who won’t hurt me.

” When I look up at his face, his eyes immediately lock with mine. “So, answer the question. Who is she?”

Reaching for the rocks glass, he hands it to me. I take a sip and let the burn of it coat my mouth before sliding down my throat. I didn’t drink to ease pain or mask problems, but a well-timed shot of bourbon had its own healing power sometimes.

“There’s always a solution to every problem,” he says, his tone measured. “You just need to ask the right people to help solve it.”

With a pinched brow, I open the ointment and blot some on his wounds.

He keeps his attention on my face when he says, “You’ve met Julian.”

I work through who he’s referring to, and the only person I can think of is one I only noticed recently. “Hot, leather cuffs, likes to flirt?” I ask.

He nods. “He’s a jeweler. Very talented. He’s made some impressive pieces. But that’s not how he works with me.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “He cleans things up when I require it.”

That has my full attention, and I glance up at him to confirm if what I think he’s saying is true.

He gives me another nod. “The night that I created a DNA-filled mess in the stables with that asshole, Switcher. Julian is who I called in to clean things up afterwards.”

My fingers stop moving along the gashes, trying to digest all of that. And the fucked-up part is that I’m more surprised that this is the first time in ten years that he’s bringing up what happened that night.

“The blonde woman is an architect,” he continues. “Seraphine draws up plans for just about every property we’ve ever built. She’s working on rebuilding the new rickhouse now. But she, like Julian, has other talents.”

The anger and frustration I had about all of this is quickly dissolving into even more questions, but of an entirely different tone, like, who the hell did I just marry? I try focusing on what I’m doing while he keeps talking, pulling out a butterfly bandage.

“Seraphine removes problems that no longer fit into an equation. If you’re asking if I’m sleeping with her, the answer is no.

It’s not like that between us, never has been.

She has a certain way about her, so I understand why you might have gotten that idea.

Like you, she leans into her sexuality. She uses it to her advantage, but she and I are purely business partners. ”

“Like us?” I ask, vulnerability sneaking into my voice, hoping he doesn’t say yes.

“No, Hadley. Not like us,” he says quietly, and the words hit me right in the chest in a way I didn’t expect.

“I’m trusting you here. This is not information that people know.

Griz knows, hell, it’s part of his legacy.

He knew Julian’s father, who had done the same.

I have no idea when Seraphine showed up, but he introduced me to her as well.

But my brothers don’t know any of this.”

Ace tells his brothers everything. I can’t believe that this hasn’t been shared with them.

“Seraphine operates on a larger scale, handling things that would be higher profile than Julian or I are equipped to deal with. I’ve asked her here to remove?—”

“Why would they do this for you?” I interject, trying to wrap my head around all of this.

“I help when they need the support. When I step in, it’s usually about strategy and connecting people, but I have no issue getting my hands dirty. You already know that, though,” he says, glancing down at his hand still resting in mine.

I suppose I did. Even outside of his busted hands from tonight.

I knew that he hadn’t just politely asked Switcher to leave and never come back.

I knew he wasn’t some gallant knight riding in to do the right thing, just like I knew that whatever it was he had done, it made me feel safe in a way I never had before.

All of it is unbelievable. A part of me wants to swoon over the fact that this man is morally fucking gray. And yet, a part of me feels like I’m just making excuses for poor judgement and criminal behavior. I did that with my father for decades. How could I continue to do it now?

He clears his throat, cutting into my thoughts. “It’s not right and not my first choice on how to deal with people, but some...” he trails off as he shakes his head. “I would kill Switcher all over again.”

I can only stare at him for a moment, staying quiet at that confirmation. It’s seven layers of fucked up, but hearing him say that and how he didn’t hesitate to make sure that fucker got what was coming to him...I feel cared for. Taken care of.

Searching my face for some kind of response, he says, “You didn’t ask me to do it.

Switcher could have gotten up and walked out of there with a bruised face and ego, but there would have always been the chance that he’d try coming near you again.

” His jaw twitches, head shaking. “No fucking way.” He tries to calm his tone, cupping his hand across his mouth, leaning close against the counter where I sit.

More quietly, he says, “Switcher put his hands on you, got rough, then ran his mouth. None of that would ever be okay with me.”

Nodding, I hop off the vanity. “You’re right.

I didn’t ask you to do that. I didn’t ask for any of that from you.

” It’s the second time in my life that a man I thought I knew has been carrying on with things I knew nothing about.

But this one’s actions only ever show me that I matter to him.

That I’m not a commodity or an inconvenience, like I am for my father.

That means more to me than even I thought it could.

“Thank you. It’s not enough, but I pushed for answers, and you gave them to me. ”

Those haunted eyes search mine as he swallows and shifts his weight. Maybe there’s more, maybe not, but I want to fall asleep knowing that I’m important to someone. Someone I’m wildly attracted to, despite the fact that he skates along the lines of morally right and just.

“Hadley—” he says, like he doesn’t want this conversation to be over.

Ignoring him, I move into the bedroom. “You’re going to sleep on your side tonight. Beside me, for once,” I say, looking at the massive bed that I’ve been sleeping in the center of. “Wait, which is your side?” I turn to look at him.

He unbuttons his shirt and moves into his closet as he says, “I don’t have a side. I sleep in the middle, like you.”

My lips tilt into a slow, knowing smile.

“Do you sneak in here and watch me sleep?” I tease, louder for him to hear me.

“Very creepy and kinky of you, husband. But that’s not going to work if you don’t want me cuddling into you.

Pick a side, and I promise—” But my words falter when he emerges from the walk-in closet.

A very shirtless Daddy Foxx shuffles into the room with loose cotton pants slung low on his hips.

He swipes away on his phone, distracted and out the bedroom door without so much as a glance when he says, “There are a few things I need to finish up.” There’s a coldness to his tone that wasn’t there a moment ago. “Goodnight, Hadley.”

Relief and disappointment mingle, making my heart heavy as I crawl into his bed and think about the details of what he’s shared.

Sleep must’ve found me quickly, because when I wake up, I’ve barely moved. The room is still dark, but there’s enough light creeping above the horizon that the dim swell of morning bleeds behind the dark velvet drapes hung around the windows.

I turn over and find the space empty, but when I squint my eyes, I notice Ace passed out on the oversized chair just a few feet from the bed. A hardcover book is resting open on his bare chest, his head tilted down and eyes closed.

Ace has always been distractingly handsome, but asleep and vulnerable, he seems lighter, sweeter, younger.

Nothing like the man everyone knows. Sexier with a book, too.

A book about bourbon and grains is the only weight on his chest, while the heaviness of everything he carries is resting.

I should close my eyes and go back to sleep, but I don’t.

The hardwood floors are cold and the air cool when I shove the covers back.

Stepping over to him on quiet feet, I lift the book up and over him slowly to place it on the table next to him.

His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist suddenly.

It startles me and pulls a rather pathetic gasping squeak from my throat.

With his intense eyes locked on mind, his voice is low as he speaks. “What are you doing?”

I don’t answer. I don’t want to shake either of us up more from the haze of sleep than I already have.

I twist my wrist in his hand as he loosens his grip and I hold on to his forearm, pulling him toward me as I move backwards to the bed.

He follows easily, watching me with long, tired blinks as his knee hits the mattress.

I don’t have any ulterior motives other than wanting him to find comfort in a space that he’s made sure I feel welcomed in.

I crawl across the mattress, moving over to make space for him. He settles toward the center on his stomach, facing me. “Did you mean it?” he asks quietly, just above a whisper.

With his eyes on mine in the dimly lit room, I let the quiet settle around us.

“That you want this,” he clarifies.

I nod, watching rare vulnerability last for mere moments around a man who typically never allows it.

My heart beats a little faster as I whisper back without hesitation. “I’m sure.”

Taking him in like this, I can’t decide if it’s the gray or the dark brown hair that I like more.

I don’t remember when the deep-set “eleven” lines on his brow became a permanent part of his features, or if it’s just part of his life-long seriousness, but right now, he looks content.

The only lines that crease his skin are the faint reminder that years have passed since the first time I laid eyes on him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says with a smirk tilting his lips, his eyes closing. “Dangerous,” he whispers as a follow-up. Rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling—the wooden beams that look like charred barrels and a vaulted design that seem so far from where we are lying.

“Like what?” I smile, knowing exactly how I was looking at him.

“Like you’re mine,” he mumbles into his pillow, like he’s drifting back to sleep.

And all I can think to myself as I lie next to him is: that’s all I’ve ever been.