Harbour Falls (26 page)

The rain that had been threatening for the past hour began to fall, and I rocked back on my heels. Running a muddy hand over my tear-streaked face, I pushed away the stray hair that had escaped from my ponytail.

What was I doing here? What was Adam Ward doing to me? I wanted to go to his door and scream at him to give me answers.
Fuck the mystery
. I wanted—no, I
needed
to know how he felt about me. And I needed to hear it from him, not through the opinions and conjectures of others.

With the rain falling harder, I got to my feet and marched to the front door. I had no regard for the mess I surely was. If anything, my physical appearance would be an excellent indicator to Adam of the mess I was inside as well.

Hell with the doorbell!
I pounded on the door, leaving muddy rivulets in my wake. I watched as they trailed down, though they were quickly blurred by a fresh surge of tears.

Adam opened the door, eyes widening. “Jesus, Maddy! What the fuck happened to you?”

With a sob I collapsed into his arms, muddying his immaculate white T-shirt and faded jeans. He held me upright, blue eyes darkening with concern as he scanned over my body. “What happened? Are you OK?”

I closed my eyes, tired and broken, and pressed the key to the cottage—his key—into his hand. When he looked at me with confusion, I uttered the only words that came to mind, “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Adam.”

“Are you done?” Adam asked.

I ignored him and pulled at the sides of the clinging, muddy T-shirt that was sticking annoyingly to my skin. “I can get you a change of clothes from upstairs,” Adam offered, his demeanor softening as he headed over to the sofa.” You really should get out of those wet clothes.”

He knelt down beside me and gently lifted the hem of my shirt, but as he began to tug it up my torso, I stopped him. “No,” I croaked, clumsily smacking his hand away.

“Maddy,” Adam scolded. “Quit behaving like a petulant child. You’re filthy—”

I pulled my shirt back into place and crossed my arms.

“—
You
make me feel filthy, Adam!” I cried out, choking back a sob. “What are you planning to do? Clean me up so you can keep on playing me? I’m done with being used. I need more.”

I was upset and angry, and I wanted my words to cut to the quick. I glanced up, and Adam’s eyes, for a moment, were pained. But only briefly.

His expression of hurt rapidly morphed to anger. “Stupid girl,” he growled, yanking my shirt unceremoniously over my head, while snapping my bra off in one swift move. I yelped in surprise, covering my bare chest with my arms as I attempted to scoot away from him.

Pulling the quilt from the sofa and wrapping it around me, he pulled me back to him. “I’m
not
using you,” Adam soothed, stroking my head and sliding my loosened ponytail holder down until my hair cascaded to my shoulders. “I’d never do that to you.”

The tone of his voice hinted more at exasperation than anger, so I relaxed against him. “But you used Lindsey,” I protested.

“Shhh,” he calmed, fingers gently combing through my tangled locks. “Things are different with you. Everything is different with you. Haven’t you realized that by now?” He traced along my cheek with his fingertip, urging me to meet his gaze.

It was at points such as these that I usually caved. But not tonight. I wasn’t going to let him off so easily. Adam was going to have to give me more than this.

“How is it different?” I pressed, breaking away from his captivating eyes and tightening the quilt around my body.

Adam shook his head resignedly. “You know I’ve shared things with you,” he said quietly, “that nobody knows.”

Shamefully I cast my eyes down to my muddy sweats, and Adam continued, “If you could only comprehend the magnitude of my telling you my secrets, you’d already know the answer to your question.”

In my heart I felt the impact of his words. I thought about it. True, a man as shrewd as Adam Ward would not have done such a thing without thoroughly examining the consequences. And if you loved somebody, surely you’d want to share yourself—good and bad—with that person. Right? Did that mean Adam was just as in love with me as I was with him?

Vastly different from the secret crushes we’d had on one another in high school—and even more intense than the undeniable lust we shared—there was a deeper connection developing. Despite everything, or maybe
because
of everything, it felt as if we were destined to be together. Did he feel it too?

“Why? Why did you tell me your secrets, Adam?” I whispered, staring at an especially prominent streak of mud that had dried on the right knee of the sweats. “Did you let me find those things in your desk?”

Adam’s lips brushed the top of my head, and I looked up. “In business,” he said, “sometimes you have to take a calculated chance. Sometimes the potential reward outweighs the risk.”

“This isn’t business, Adam,” I reminded him.

Adam chuckled humorlessly. “You’re right, it’s not. It’s life, it’s love. And it’s not going to be perfect, Maddy. If we’re really going to make this work, you have to accept that I’m not going to do all the right things, nor say all the right things.” He paused. “But I do know I want to make you happy.”

“Why?” I whispered.

“Because you make me feel something I thought I’d never feel again. So I’m willing to take this chance with you.” His voice faltered somewhat, and then he added in a quiet voice, “Even if it means my ruin.”

Adam stilled, and I held his fiery gaze, filled with raw emotion. What I saw touched my heart. Though I was the one physically half-unclothed beneath the quilt, it was Adam who was emotionally naked and, surprisingly, vulnerable. Not even in confessing his secrets had he let me in like he was doing at this moment. I knew with every fiber of my being that Adam was allowing me to see a part of his soul. It was a part of him to which no one else was privy, that much I was certain. He was sharing something bigger than his secrets; he was sharing his true self with me. And, in that moment, whatever doubt I’d been harboring, regarding his true intensions, dissipated.

Reaching out and tracing the perfection of his features with my fingertips, I found myself in awe. He had never appeared more beautiful than right now. “I’m falling in love with you, Adam,” I admitted, my voice soft.

My words were simple and honest. I was no longer asking for anything in return. But Adam still delivered. He flattened my palm against the light stubble on his cheek and simply said, “You may be falling, but I already fell. I love you, Madeleine Fitch.”

My own eyes filled with tears upon hearing those words from his mouth. I felt foolish for ever having questioned his intentions toward me. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, a single tear trailing down my cheek.

Kissing the stray tear away, Adam said, “I haven’t made this easy, I know. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“It’s just been, I don’t know, confusing,” I admitted.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I really am.”

Adam pulled me to him, his lips finding mine. He kissed me, sweetly and tenderly, until I felt him smiling against my mouth. “What?” I asked, pulling back slightly and smiling too.

Adam chuckled. “I was just thinking, since I’m new to this relationship thing, I’m probably going to fuck up…a lot.”

“New to this relationship thing?” I echoed, confused. “But you were with Chelsea for a long time.”

Adam shook his head. “That was a lifetime ago. And, sure, I thought I loved her at one time, but it was never like this.”

My heart soared, making me giddy with joy. “Well”–I nodded to my mud-splattered T-shirt on the floor, the dirty sweats sticking to my legs, both reminders of the meltdown that had led me to his house—“you can’t do much worse than I’ve already done.”

Adam laughed, brushing my hair back behind my shoulders. “Speaking of which, you probably should get cleaned up, and you have to be starving.” He hesitated, and then gestured in the direction of the kitchen. “I can make something while you shower. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” I responded as Adam helped me to my feet.

Fifteen minutes later, after a hot shower, I padded back down the stairs, clothed in a fresh pair of gray sweats, a white long-sleeved tee, and a black hoodie. A pair of thick, wooly socks completed my comfortable outfit. The one thing I’d decided while in the shower was to ask Adam about the blonde mystery woman. We’d been so honest with one another that I was certain if he knew anything he’d tell me.

“Smells good,” I said, entering the kitchen just as Adam was ladling steaming tomato soup into bowls he’d set out on the table, next to where he’d already plated grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Your gourmet experience awaits, milady,” he teased, gesturing dramatically to the table.

Laughing, I sat down. I took a bite of the sandwich, a sip of the soup. “Delicious,” I gushed as Adam sat down across from me. “But I expect nothing less.”

My tone was light, but Adam must have sensed there was something more on my mind because he said, “What’s up, Maddy?”

I set my spoon down. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

Tensing, I cautioned, “It’s about the case.”

Adam sighed deeply but said quietly, “I’ll answer whatever question you have. If I can, that is.”

This wasn’t an easy question to ask, but I forged ahead. “Um, did you ever hear anything about Chelsea possibly, uh, messing around with a
woman
? A blonde?”

Far from the reaction I expected, he laughed out loud, clearly finding my question amusing. “A woman?” he said, disbelief in his tone. “Chelsea may have been promiscuous, but she was definitely not into women, Maddy.”

Adam sounded so sure. Was it due to a male ego that couldn’t comprehend such a thing? Or had Chelsea kept that particular indiscretion well hidden? The one drunken incident at Billy’s supposedly captured on film the only lapse.

But there was also another possibility, one I had to consider. Jimmy could be jerking me around. Especially since there had been cash involved when he came up with his tale. Making that possibility more likely, I had yet to come across one scrap of evidence corroborating his claim that Chelsea had been messing around with some blonde female.

I was about to drop it completely when Adam took a sip of soup and then casually asked, “What did you uncover that made you think something like that?”

I almost lied.
Almost.
But things were different now. It was like we had turned a corner in our relationship, and I didn’t want to be the one to set it back. So I was truthful. “I heard a rumor about a picture.”

“A picture? Of what exactly?” Adam had been eating up to this point, but now he set his spoon down next to his bowl of soup.

“A picture of Chelsea supposedly kissing some blonde girl.”

Adam eyed me intently, interest piqued. “Have you seen this picture?”

“No,” I said. “I told you it’s just a rumor. It probably doesn’t even exist.”

He held my gaze. I knew Adam was contemplating something, probably how much deeper to dig. Sure enough, he asked, “And just where did you hear about this alleged photograph, Madeleine?”

Well, now what?
I didn’t want to start weaving another web of lies, so I admitted, “The bartender at Billy’s told me about the picture. He said Chelsea was there one night with this blonde friend of hers and agreed to make out with said friend so the bartender—a different one at that time—could take pictures.”

Adam rolled his eyes and picked up his sandwich, though he didn’t take a bite. “Did this bartender offer Chelsea something? Like make a bet with her?”

“Sort of. Jimmy said that the bartender told Chelsea he’d let her bar tab slide for the rest of that week if she’d do it.”

“Well, that’s why she did it then,” Adam said, biting into his sandwich nonchalantly.

I had given up on my own meal. Pushing the plate aside, I said, “But it’s not like she was on a budget or something. She certainly didn’t need the money.”

Adam swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It was never about money with Chelsea. It was about winning. At any cost.”

His words made sense, and he had known Chelsea probably better than anyone. The possibility that Jimmy’s claims were an exaggeration—especially the one where he’d supposedly overheard Chelsea saying to her blonde friend that they’d “already done a lot more” than kiss—was more than probable. And knowing what I’d learned so far about my young bartender friend, it was probably nothing more than some perverted, wishful fantasy. I made a quick decision to not even bother telling Adam those sordid details.

“So,” I clarified, “you think there really could be a picture out there, but that it doesn’t depict anything more than Chelsea following through with some kind of a wager?”

“Exactly,” Adam confirmed, reaching over the table to smooth back a damp piece of hair that had fallen to my cheek. “So Madeleine, there is absolutely no reason for you to go back to that bar. Don’t forget you made a promise when you lost a bet of your very own.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Remember?”

“Yes, yes.” My cheeks flamed. “I remember.” How could I forget the bet I lost—the one where I’d ended up begging him to take off my jeans?