Midnight Encounters (22 page)

“Ben?”

He stopped. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m the one who should be sorry.” He gripped the door knob with one unsteady hand.

“Goodbye, Red.”

“The prodigal son returns!” Miranda Barrett chirped as Ben trudged into the front hallway of his childhood home.

It was nearly one in the morning, but somehow Ben wasn’t surprised to see his mother up and about.

She was the ultimate night owl, and Ben couldn’t even count how many times he’d slithered into the house at three in the morning thinking he’d orchestrated a successful sneak-out, only to find his mother baking cookies in the kitchen.

In fact, as he kicked off his shoes and walked toward her, the scent of baked goods floated into his nostrils. His mom’s long red apron and the white flour sticking to her gray-streaked hair confirmed that she’d been baking up a storm prior to his arrival.

“You should have told me you were coming to visit,” Miranda chided with a shake of her head. “I would’ve baked another batch.”

As a half-smile reached his lips, Ben removed his leather jacket and tossed it aside, then stepped forward to embrace his mother. He kissed the top of her head, and then linked his arm through hers and they strolled through the oak swivel door leading into the kitchen. After receiving his very first million-dollar paycheck, he’d offered to buy his mother a new house, but she’d refused. She loved the small bungalow she’d raised Ben in, and he had to admit he liked it too. It represented a warmth and coziness his life lacked these days.

“I know I should have called,” he said as he rounded the counter and flopped onto one of the tall white stools. “Coming here was sort of last-minute decision.”

“Every decision you make is last-minute, Benjamin. You’re nothing if not spontaneous.” Well, she had him on that one. His spontaneity was how he’d ended up with Maggie, how he’d forced his way into her apartment—and her life—without even knowing why he was doing it. Look how that turned out, though. He’d fallen in love, sure, but he’d also cost Maggie her job, her dreams and her privacy.

So much for being spontaneous.

“So, what have you done?” Miranda asked as she poured a tall glass of milk and set it on the splintered cedar counter in front of him.

“What makes you think I did something?”

She chuckled, then slid two fluffy oven mitts on her hands and removed a tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven rack. “You’ve got guilt written all over your face,” she tossed over her shoulder, setting the baking tray on the stove to cool. “And please don’t tell me you got another tattoo. One is enough.”

“No tattoos.” He released the sigh lodged in his chest. “I fell in love, Mom.” The kitchen went so silent you could hear not one, but thirty pins drop on the tiled floor. Gaping, his mother turned to face him.

“Seriously?”

He nodded glumly. “Seriously.”

After another second of bewilderment, his mother’s dark blue eyes lit up like a string of Christmas lights.

She whipped off her oven mitts, marched over, and rested her palms on the counter. “Tell me everything,” she ordered with a huge grin.

He told her. About Maggie. About the hotel room mishap that threw them together (though he did leave out the details of what happened
during
that room mishap). He finished with the entire paparazzi mess and Maggie’s request that he leave, ending with, “So basically, I screwed up her life.” He let out a groan and reached for the milk in front of him, feeling like a little kid again as he sipped the cold liquid.

“You didn’t screw up her life,” Miranda soothed. “It will all settle down sooner or later.”

“Yeah, until the next scandal hits the newsstands.” He tightened his grip on his glass, then, fearing it would shatter, set it down gently. “Maggie doesn’t want to be part of my lifestyle, Mom. She doesn’t want that kind of attention.”

Miranda assumed that knowing look of wisdom he’d grown used to over the years. “The only reason you receive that kind of attention, Benjamin, is because you go out looking for it.”

“I certainly do not.”

“Sure you do.” She shrugged at his indignant frown. “You date floozies, my dear son. And when you date floozies, the media likes to take pictures of you with your floozies.”

“Stop saying floozies,” he grumbled.

“Don’t sulk, sweetheart. You know I’m right.”

Fine, so maybe his mother had a point. There were plenty of other celebrities, actors far more famous than him, who didn’t find their faces splashed across the tabloids every week. Ben didn’t go out and solicit the media’s attention, but he could see his mom’s point. The women he dated were gorgeous, flashy, demanding to be noticed. Like Sonja, who ought to be wearing a sign that said ‘notice me, take my picture’.

“This Maggie sounds very down to earth,” his mother added. “And I don’t mean this as an insult, but she also seems like the type who wouldn’t make the media drool. They need teeny-bikini models to sell covers, not your average Jane type. She’s too normal for those jerks.” Ben smiled. “You’re right about that.” His expression quickly sobered. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that they’re still all over me. Especially ever since Gretchen died.” He almost flinched, expecting to see sorrow—and maybe a bit of anger—in his mother’s eyes, but she surprised him. Looking serious, she crossed her arms over her apron and said, “Tell the truth already, Benjamin. Tell them about Gretchen and your father.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I’d never do anything to embarrass you, Mom.” Miranda rolled her eyes. “You’re embarrassing me now, for God’s sake! Everyone in town thinks my son goes to bed with women twice his age. The other day, Susan pulled me aside in the drugstore and suggested you go into therapy.”

Ben couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re lying.”

“I certainly am not! Call Susan yourself. I’m sure she has a list of therapists written up.”

“So you honestly don’t care if I tell the world Dad was a bigamist and a thief?”

“Of course not.” Her aristocratic features softened. “Ben, I’ve come to terms with what your father did.

In fact, I came to terms with it a long time ago. You don’t need to protect me from it.”

“What about the money?”

“What about it?”

“I don’t feel right keeping it,” he confessed.

“Then give it away.” His mother shrugged. “There are a lot of deserving charities out there, and if Gretchen’s money is that much of a burden for you, donate it.” Ben reached for his glass again, draining it. As usual, his mother was nothing if not frank. She’d always been frank. Always been the strongest woman he’d ever known, too, which made him wonder why he’d ever believed she’d be embarrassed or ashamed if the truth about his connection to Gretchen came out.

“Now, about this Maggie,” Miranda continued, strolling back to the stove to pluck one cookie from the tray. She nibbled on the edge of the cookie, her eyes narrowed. “I assume you’ll do everything you can to get her back?”

A smile played on his lips. “You assume right.”

“Good.” With a brisk nod, she finished chewing and wiped her hands on the front of her apron. “Before I give you a cookie, Benjamin, you’ve got to tell me one thing.”

“Sure.”

“Does Maggie have any tattoos?”

His smile widened into a full-blown grin. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t.”

“Thank the lord!” Miranda made a tsking sound with her tongue. “At least one of you has some good sense.”

Two days after she’d sent Ben away, Maggie still hadn’t mastered the art of getting off the living room couch and changing out of her ratty old sweats. Tough. She didn’t feel like getting up, or brushing her hair, or pretending that she was anything but what she currently felt—miserable.

It’s not like she had a job to go to, anyway. No school either, since her first exam wasn’t until next week. And though most of the reporters had abandoned their stakeout of the Broger Center, a few overly ambitious ones still lingered, making her feel uneasy about going back. Sooner or later she’d call Gloria and talk about that permanent position.

“Jeez, Maggie, did you rob a bank?” came her roommate’s incredulous cry.

Maggie twisted her head in time to see Summer walk through the front door, looking tanned, healthy and seriously confused. In comparison, Maggie felt like a big mess with her tangled hair and wrinkled clothing. A big, pathetic mess.

“Yes, Summer, I robbed a bank,” she said dryly.

After staring wide-eyed at her disheveled appearance, Summer dropped the bright red suitcase she held in her hands and marched toward the couch. “Seriously, why are there reporters standing outside our building? I heard one of them quizzing the security guard about you. Are you in trouble?”

“I guess you could say that.” She released a sigh that drained her entire chest of oxygen. “I did something stupid.”

“Oh God, do I want to know?”

“I fell in love with a movie star.”

Summer’s stunned silence didn’t come as any surprise. Hell, she’d been pretty damn stunned herself when she’d first figured it out. After Ben left, she’d been understandably upset. She’d lost her job, her position at the center, her dream of a successful career. And yet when she’d gone to bed alone that first evening, something shocking happened.

Lying there in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, she’d come to a realization that left any chance of falling asleep absolutely impossible.

She’d realized that the ache in her heart, the empty feeling in her stomach, that unbearable weight bearing down on her chest, had nothing to do with losing her job.

And everything to do with losing Ben.

“How long have I been gone for?” Summer said, blinking wildly. “In a week and a half you managed to fall in love with a movie star? Is this a joke?”

“No, it’s true.”

Summer motioned for her to move over, and then flopped down next to her on the couch. “Okay, spill.”

“Remember my stranger?”

“Of course.”

“Turns out he’s Ben Barrett, the celebrity I was asking you about at the Olive, where I’m no longer employed, by the way.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Try me.”

“Just remember, you asked for it.” In a shaky voice, Maggie recapped all the events of the past week and a half.

“Holy shit,” Summer breathed when she finished. “I’m so sorry, Maggie.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Her hand trembled as she waved it dismissively. “You didn’t cause any of this.” Summer opened her mouth to reply, but the ring of the telephone cut her off. Shooting her roommate a pleading look, Maggie handed her the cordless phone.

“Hello?” Summer said into the receiver. She paused, then handed the phone back. “It’s for you.” A tiny pang of hope tugged at her insides, but she willed it away. It wouldn’t be Ben. She’d asked him to leave. He hadn’t called since and he wouldn’t call now.

She was right.

“Maggie, it’s Tony.”

The weight returned to her chest, heavier this time, stifling. “Hi, Tony.”

“I’ve got good news, babe. I’ll be in the city tomorrow night.” He’d be in the city? She almost laughed out loud, realizing how things had changed so astronomically since the last time she’d spoken to—or thought about—Tony. A few weeks ago she’d have jumped up and down with excitement at the sound of his voice, at the idea of meeting up with Tony and going to bed with him. Now, it was the last thing she wanted.

How could she just forget about everything that happened and go back the way she was in the pre-Ben days? How could she ever settle for casual sex when she’d experienced something deeper?

“That’s great,” she finally answered, her tone hardly enthusiastic.

“Don’t sound so thrilled about it,” he teased.

“I’m sorry. I just…I’ve met someone.” Next to her, Summer’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

There was a brief silence. “You’re kidding me,” Tony finally said with a laugh.

“It’s not funny, you know.”

“I’m not making fun of you, hon. I’m just stunned. What happened to the Maggie I meet three times a year?”

“Two times,” she corrected.

Tony sounded perplexed. “Is it serious?”

She drew in a breath. “Yeah. I think so. I’m sorry, Tony.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. We had a good run, don’t ya think?”

“It was great,” she said, and she meant it. It
had
been great, the casual trysts with Tony. But she didn’t want great anymore. She wanted incredible. She wanted body-numbing. Toe-curling. Heart-thumping.

She wanted Ben.

Feeling her eyes well up with unwelcome tears, she said a quick goodbye and hung up, swiping at her damp lashes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Damn it. She was sick of crying.

Lifting her chin, she ran her hands through her messy hair and released a groan. “This is why I never wanted anything serious. Feeling miserable sucks.”

Summer stared at her. “You’re a different person. How the hell did this happen?” She managed a faint smile. “Shocking, huh?”

“No, I’m serious, Mags.” Summer rubbed her temples. “You just broke it off with Tony. Tony, for God’s sake! The guy you can’t wait to see each time he comes to visit.”

“I guess Two-Time Tony isn’t enough anymore,” she finally admitted. “Ben…well, he made me realize something.”

“You’ve already fallen for the guy,” Summer teased. “What more could you have realized?”

“That I don’t want to be alone.”

Instantly the anvil pressing down on her ribcage lifted. Saying the words out loud was difficult but cathartic because they were so undeniably true. The past couple days without Ben had been horrible.

Miserable and horrible and excruciatingly lonely.

The loneliness was what finally got to her. For so long she’d worked her ass off to make
something
of herself. She’d wanted her life to mean something, she’d wanted to matter, if only to the kids she worked with, and that’s what always drove her. Saving money, getting a college degree, finding a meaningful job.

But what happened afterwards? What happened when she went home at night, alone? When she woke up every morning, alone? When the only person she was able to share her dreams, thoughts and feelings with was a roommate who’d soon be building her own life with the man she loved?