Taken by Storm (2 page)

The Old Man had run her off a year and a half ago, but this time it was different. She was here for a good reason. A reason that had nothing to do with MJ.

Maddie sat on the end of the couch and dug her chain out from under her shirt. Her ring really was beautiful, a full carat emerald cut diamond set in a platinum band. It sparkled and shot rainbows up onto the ceiling.

She knew Talan would be at home, sitting up in bed with his electronic tablet wearing his black-framed glasses, no shirt and pajama pants. He’d have ESPN on the TV, but he wouldn’t be paying any attention to it.

Contentment settled over her thinking about how warm it would be snuggled next to him. How he’d still smell faintly of cologne and play with her hair.

She’d been so lucky to meet Talan. After graduating from Michigan State and coming home to Sandy Springs for what she thought was forever, only to be run off by Enzo Roach, she was devastated when she moved back to East Lansing. She and Talan hadn’t started dating right away. She told him about MJ, about how she’d had to break up with
him, although she didn’t dare tell Talan—or anyone—why she left Sandy Springs.

They became great friends first, then slowly, their relationship developed into more. He was perfect. Loving and loyal, caring, hard-working. She never had to worry about the ground shifting under her feet with him. He was stable and their relationship was what good marriages were based on.

Maddie curled up on the couch with her head on the armrest. She even liked Talan’s family, and from what she knew from her married friends, that never happened.

Clearly, there were more pros than cons when it came to her decision. Any sane woman would jump at the chance to marry a man like Talan. So, what was she doing wasting time back in Sandy Springs, Georgia, at the Rocha Estate?

Don’t answer that question
, she told herself. It was of the rhetorical variety that had plagued her mind on repeat for the past year and a half. Every question came down to the same, one-word, one-name answer.

MJ.

He hit the door of the Third Base Lounge with both hands, making it bounce back off the wall as he stepped inside. His first priority was a drink or five, then he’d move on to a distraction. Glancing around, he didn’t see the female distraction he’d been getting around to knowing better. Carnally better. Too bad. Tonight would’ve been a night for her to remember.

He was glad Paul was behind the bar tonight and not
the new guy Coach had hired who tried to card MJ two nights ago. He settled in on a bar stool and ordered a double of Jack. This was home and Coach Harting, the owner, was as close to a father as he’d ever had. MJ had grown up eating peanuts and watching cartoons with Maddie in the bar’s back office while Coach balanced his books.

Coach Harting had coached every summer Little League team MJ had ever been on and sponsored them with Third Base Lounge jerseys. He was the reason MJ made it onto the GSU baseball team at all after Maddie left.

Those first few months after she’d left, MJ had been a mess. He got drunk and passed out every night, dropped most of his classes his first semester, and started fighting with anyone who wouldn’t back down. Coach wouldn’t give up on him though, said MJ had too much talent to let a woman destroy his dreams. Coach met with the GSU baseball coach and personally vouched for MJ, said he’d kick MJ’s ass if he didn’t shape up. Somehow, the GSU coach believed him and let him on the team.

Now Coach owed MJ an ass whooping.

MJ took the shot glass from the bartender. “Keep these coming.” He tossed the fiery whiskey down his throat and slammed the glass down onto the bar.

“Bad day?” Paul asked, whisking the empty away and replacing it with another.

MJ rolled his head back and forth from shoulder to shoulder. The Jack warmed his stomach and dulled his senses. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

Paul braced his hands against the bar. “A chick?”

MJ took a deep sip of his double shot, nodding. “Kicked me square in the balls.” He swallowed and winced. No need to mention his daddy issues. That situation was too fucked up to even try to explain.

Paul dropped his hands. “Sorry, man.”

“Yeah. Whatever. We haven’t been together for over a year anyway.”

Paul leaned in, resting his forearms on the bar. “Wait. You mean Maddie? Is she back?”

MJ exhaled sharply through his nose and downed the rest of his shot.

That was all the answer Paul needed. He gave MJ a friendly punch to the arm and shook his head before striding to the other end of the bar where he was being flagged down for a beer.

Someone ran into MJ from behind, jolting him sideways on his stool. Instantly enraged, he swung his fist around, connecting with the back of the guy’s head. It was one of the idiots playing pool. “Watch yourself.”

The guy grabbed the front of MJ’s shirt and threw him back into his stool where he lost his balance and fell off onto his ass on the floor. “Want to try that again?”

Drunk and stumbling, it took a second for MJ to get onto his feet and start swinging. The dull, dark pounding in his head was a tribal drum beat spurring his anger. The man became every guy he’d ever imagined Maddie with in Michigan and MJ threw every punch harder than the
last, determined to take back what was his. He wouldn’t be denied any longer. MJ slammed his fist into the side of the man’s head, making him shuffle sideways against the bar. MJ rushed forward, eager to finish this asshole.

With another punch to the man’s gut, the man became MJ’s father, and a surge of animosity crackled under MJ’s skin. He would be heard. Seen. Acknowledged. His fists jabbed hard and fast against the man’s face and abdomen. The cracks of fist against skin urged MJ on again and again. Thanks to his trusty friend, Jack Daniel’s, he didn’t even feel the hits he took.

A pair of hands grabbed him from behind, and as he was being dragged backward, he saw Paul had a hand on the other guy’s chest pushing him back.

“You’ve got way to much piss and vinegar in you, Son,” Coach said from behind him. “Let’s get you back to the office and sobered up.”

Looking up into Coach’s face, etched with disappointment, MJ wished he’d make good on his promise and kick his ass. He deserved it.

Y
our boy’s drunk off his ass, Peach. Got in a fight. Come get him.”

From his spot lying in the old, battered booth inside Coach’s office, MJ heard Coach’s words spinning around in his head. Peach. Maddie’s nickname. “I’m not her boy,” he mumbled, incoherently. “I’m not her boy,” he said again, to make sure it was understood.

His bottom lip throbbed, and when he swiped it with his thumb, he realized it was split open and bleeding. One punch was all he let the other guy have. Or maybe it was the only one he remembered.

“Paul says you been in here talkin’ about her all night,” Coach said, putting a hand over the receiver to talk to MJ. “I’ve known you both too long to fool me, kid.”

MJ could only imagine what Maddie must be thinking, must be saying on the other side of that phone conversation. The last thing she wanted was for him to be her boy. She’d made that perfectly clear.

MJ grabbed the sides of his head. Jesus, why did she have to come back? Thinking about her sent a freight train loose inside his head. Off the tracks. Derailed. Combusted into a million flaming pieces. Or was it the music blaring
on the other side of the wall, and the crack of billiard balls breaking his brain in half?

Fuck, he was dizzy. And his stomach hurt like hell.

“Thanks, Peach. The kid owes you one.” Coach hung up the phone and loomed over him, glaring down into the booth. “Your woman will be here in ten. Get your drunk ass out of that booth.”

MJ grabbed the top of the booth and pulled himself up. “You know she’s not my woman.”

Coach cocked a gray, hairy eyebrow. “She’s back, ain’t she?”

MJ couldn’t help but smirk. She
was
back. He didn’t know why that made him feel like grinning like an idiot while facing Coach. Maybe because he couldn’t hide anything from the man. Maybe because he was drunk off his ass.

“Make her stay this time.” Coach smacked him on the back, sending spots flashing in front of his eyes and the room spinning.

Coach grabbed a bowl of peanuts off his desk and slid into the booth across from MJ. “You didn’t come in here hell-bent on oblivion just because of her.” He rested his arm across the back of the booth. “Tell me what’s eatin’ you.”

How could he tell Coach what he’d come to the bar to drown? How could he admit that his father found out he existed and bolted without a word? Didn’t even talk to him on the phone.

This fucking day. Why was he still conscious? “Same
old shit, Coach. Just wasting time until classes start again. Had to get out of the Old Man’s house for a while.” His words slurred in his ears. Slurred or not, they didn’t sound convincing.

Chuckling and chewing peanuts, Coach shook his head. “Nah. You’ve been tame all summer long. All the sudden you get ants in your pants about getting out of that house, get shitfaced and start a fight in my bar? Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, boy? Something’s got you riled up tonight, and it’s not just that pretty Peach coming back.”

“Peach,” MJ muttered. Coach had started calling Maddie Peach when MJ was in fourth grade and addicted to playing Mario Bros. video games. Coach said MJ was Mario, the Italian stallion, and Maddie was Peach, his pretty princess—even though she could field a ball better than him back then.

MJ patted the scratched tabletop with his palm. “Really, it’s cool. Sorry about the fight.”

Coach narrowed his eyes but didn’t press him. “I’m risking my business serving you underage you know. Don’t start pulling this getting into fights shit and get the cops on my ass.”

MJ patted the table again. “A few more months, and I’m legal. I’ll keep it straight until then.”

He laid his forehead on the table. The room had just stopped rotating when the door flew open and banged against the wall. The sound was like a nail being driven into the back of his skull.

“What the hell, MJ?” He didn’t think Maddie would be
happy with the call to come haul his ass home, but he didn’t expect her to be this livid.

He turned his head and willed his eyes to focus on her. “Hey, Mads. S’up?” Might as well stoke that fire. He could tell by her tight, drawn-in expression she was already in flames.

She stormed over to him and shoved his shoulder. It was all he could do to keep from falling over in the booth. “Don’t s’up me! You come here, get drunk and start a fight? Who are you?”

Her eyes were bright and wet with unshed tears. Her eyebrows, dark tilted strips making a crease above her nose. That look made him want to crawl under the table. “Don’t act all concerned. You’ve been back all of what? An hour?” He scoffed and shook his head. “Go back to Michigan and stay the fuck away from me.”

He didn’t look at her face, but by the way her shoulders sagged and her fists unclenched and fell to her sides, he’d gotten a punch in on her tonight, too.

Good. She’d beat the hell out of him without ever laying a finger on him. She couldn’t come back and pretend they could be… whatever she wanted from him now. Friends? Not hardly. They couldn’t turn back time.

Shit, all he wanted to do is slide his hands up her bare arms and rest them on her shoulders. Kiss her pouty lips until she smiled. Would she smile if he kissed her? Who the hell knew anymore. She’d probably smack the shit out of him.

Coach cracked him on the back of his head. “Don’t talk
to Peach like that. Now, get out of my bar and sober up.” He grabbed MJ by the upper arm and yanked him onto his feet. “Call me tomorrow and let me know you’re alive.”

MJ stumbled toward the door. Maddie followed behind him. “I’m parked on the street.”

“Whatever.”

“Why did I even come? I should’ve just left you here. Don’t you have anyone else to bother at…” she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and glanced at the time, “quarter ’til one in the morning?”

No. He didn’t. Is that what she wanted to hear? That he’d shoved away everyone who might want to get close enough to leave him flattened like road kill, exactly like she had? “Screw you. I’m not the one who called you.”

“Fine!” She shoved past him out the front door. “Call the Old Man to come pick your ass up. I’m out of here.”

She strode across the street, her hips twitching back and forth in tight jeans and that little black tank top… ugh. Damn. It. “Wait!” He jogged to catch up with her at her car.

“What?” She snapped around to face him. “I’m good enough for a ride when the only other option is your grandfather?”

Those dark blue eyes of hers flashed with rage. God, she was hot, and he hated it when she was mad at him.

“Screw you?” she shouted. “That’s how you talk to me now? Well, no. Screw. You. MJ.” She drove home each word with a sharp poke of her index finger to his chest.

He grabbed her finger and wouldn’t let go when she
tried to tug it free. He held her eyes, praying to feel her open him up again and climb inside. He needed her there. Needed someone to care as much as she used to. “Don’t leave me, Mads.”