Chapter Seven

Madeline

" D rive faster, Drake," I complain, tapping my foot impatiently against the floorboard of his truck early Monday morning. "I'm going to be late for work."

"That eager to be rid of me, huh?"

My gaze flies to his, horror coursing through me. "What? No!"

Is that really what he thinks? Oh, man. I'm a jerk. I didn't want to leave his bed at all. After spending the last three days with him, the thought of not having him by my side is seriously making my stomach hurt.

I'm not ready for our weekend to end…but I desperately need to talk to someone about him. And I can't talk to him about him. That would be weird.

Tyler is a clueless idiot, but when a clueless idiot is all you have, you make due. And he owes me, both for the unicorn costume and for the interruption on Halloween.

I mean, the sheriff now knows I had sex. I've never even met him, and he knows Drake had his dick in me on the first date. Awkward.

"I need to get to work so I can kill Tyler," I explain to Drake and then hesitate. "Besides, the sooner I get there, the sooner I get to leave."

"I like this plan if it involves you coming to my place when you get off, unicorn."

"You want me to come over after work?" I smile at him.

"I didn't want you to leave at all," he growls, scowling at the road ahead.

"You're thinking about that dungeon in the basement right now, aren't you?"

"No." His gaze flickers in my direction, his brows furrowed. He looks like a cranky little boy who was told no. It's kind of sexy, especially with his hair all messy and his tattoos on display. The intricate vines of ivy run up his arms from his wrists all the way to his neck. It's way too damn sexy. "I'm thinking about revising my plans to turn the goddamn bedroom into a dungeon."

"I saw that movie once, Drake. The housekeeper was scandalized. Oh, turn here!"

He narrowly avoids missing the turn onto my road. Once the truck is steady again, he shoots me a look that makes me laugh.

"You're the one who distracted me." I shrug.

He sighs heavily, but I see the tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He's not nearly as annoyed as he's trying to pretend. "Which house is yours, baby? Tell me before you get us both killed."

"It's the last one on the left. And you're the one driving, not me."

"Thank God," he mutters.

I reach across the console and poke him in the ribcage.

"Tell me about this movie," he rumbles. "For research purposes."

"You think it was porn, don't you?"

"Maybe." His gaze flickers in my direction. "Was it?"

"Maybe."

He grins, shaking his head. "You're coming over after work, Madeline."

"You really want me to?" I don't know why I find that so hard to believe. I guess part of me expects him to be tired of me already. We slept together. We spent all weekend together. Isn't this supposed to be the part where he runs?

He isn't running.

I don't think he intends to run at all.

Why aren't I running?

I need to talk to Tyler because my head is all messed up over this man, and I have no freaking clue what I'm doing. All I know for sure is that I want to keep doing whatever this is.

He doesn't say anything until he pulls into my driveway and kills the engine. And then he turns to me, slipping his hand around the back of my neck to force me to look at him. Our eyes tangle, his blazing with sincerity.

"If your gorgeous ass isn't on my doorstep fifteen minutes after you get off work, I'm going to tear this entire fucking town apart, unicorn," he says, his voice somber. "Today is going to be the longest fucking day of my life."

"Mine too," I whisper.

When I walk through the doors to Dooley Advertising an hour later, Tyler is pacing outside my office, a scowl on his handsome face.

"You're late," he growls.

"And you're lucky you're still breathing," I retort, stalking toward him. "I hate you, Tyler Dooley."

"What the fuck did I do?" He furrows his brows at me, looking like he has no clue.

"Oh, I don't know." I slam my hands down on my hips to glare at him. "Let's think about it. Where did you send me on Halloween?"

"To the party at Trick or Treat ?"

"Right. And what did you tell me about the party?"

"That everyone would be dressed up… Oh. Shit." He rubs a hand over his beard, trying to hide a smile. But that stupid hand can't hide the humor in his eyes.

"Yeah, shit." I scowl daggers at him. "I hate you so much."

"What did you do, baby cousin?"

"I showed up dressed in a freaking unicorn onesie, Tyler!" I cry, stabbing him in the chest with my fingernail. "I was the only one in the entire bar in a costume!"

He throws his head back, roaring with laughter.

I should have brought Drake to work with me to help me carry his overgrown stupid body out of here after I kill him. There's no way I can do it myself.

I practically drag him into my office by his Charlie Brown tie, tugging slightly harder than necessary in the hopes that it chokes him.

"Jesus Christ," he wheezes when I reluctantly release him once we're over the threshold. He rubs his throat. "Easy there, killer."

"Oh, you're going to wish I had murdered you by the time I'm finished with you." I spin toward my desk, making sure to smack him with my purse in the process. Revenge is so satisfying. I really should have hopped on this train earlier in life. "I walked in there thinking everyone would be in costume, only to find myself standing in a sea of expensive ballgowns."

He chuckles again. "I fucked up."

"Clearly," I sniff, arranging a stack of files on my desk.

"Doesn't explain why the fuck I had to go beating on the Sheriff's door to find out you went home with Drake Whitlock," he says "Or why you didn't come home all weekend."

"We're not talking about that." I plop down in my chair, burying my face in a folder. I scan the document inside, only to realize I'm holding it upside down. I quickly flip it right-side up, my cheeks bright red.

"Oh, we're absolutely fucking talking about that," Tyler growls, pushing my office door closed. "You went home with Drake Whitlock."

"Fine. Yes, I went home with Drake." I drop the folder, scowling at him. "And it's your fault I can never look the sheriff in the eyes, by the way. I've never even met him, and he knows I had sex."

Tyler's dark eyes widen. "Jesus fucking Christ. You were serious about being tied to Drake's bed."

Crap. I should not have said that.

"I wasn't tied to his bed," I mutter.

He narrows his eyes on me. "But you were in his bed."

I square my shoulders and meet his gaze. "Yes, I was," I say. "But that's not your business, Tyler. I don't ask what you do with the people you sleep with."

"Easy. Nothing because I'm not sleeping with anyone."

I blink at him, caught off-guard by the unexpected answer.

He notices my expression and smirks. "You think Drake is the only man in this town who knows how to keep it in his pants, Maddy?"

"No, of course not." I shake my head. "I just figured…" I trail off. "Never mind. It doesn't even matter."

Maybe I need to stop judging books by their covers. I assumed a lot about Drake, and I've assumed a lot about Tyler simply because of who they are—rich, young, and good-looking.

I'm not the only one.

It's a little sad, honestly. We judge women because of what they wear or if they've slept with anyone, trying to fit them into some box—they're either innocent or they're sluts. God forbid we just let them be women. For too many people, there is no in-between. But we're a lot slower to admit that we do the same to men. If they look like Drake or Tyler, we assume they sleep around. If they don't sleep around, we assume they're defective.

Maybe we should just let people be people without trying to fit them into some box or force them to fit our narrow views.

I've never cared what anyone thought about me, but I still somehow manage to make assumptions about others and try to find a box for them a little too frequently. It's an awful habit.

"I don't fuck around," he says. "Doesn't interest me."

"I'm sorry for assuming."

He shrugs like it's no big deal, but I'm still a jerk for doing it. Tyler may be a pain in my ass, but he's also amazing. Who else would have hired their crazy baby cousin and moved her all the way across the state just because she needed a job? No one, that's who.

"You went home with Drake Whitlock," he says after a moment.

"Stop saying it like that!" I cry, glaring at him.

"Like what?"

"Like there's something wrong with Drake. There's nothing wrong with him. He's hilarious and sexy and protective and sweet and kind and was so freaking good to me. And you have no idea what he's been through, Tyler. He's a good man. A really good man," I say. "I lov…think he's perfect exactly the way he is."

"Holy shit." Tyler stares at me, wide-eyed. "You were going to say you love him, weren't you?"

"What? You're hearing things. You should really get that checked out. Hearing loss can be fatal in men your age."

"Cut the shit, Madeline Alicia Dooley," he growls, pointing at me. "You were going to say you love him."

I stare at him, panicking. He's right. I was going to say that. I'm in love with Drake. "It's crazy, right?" I whisper. "Tell me that it's crazy, and I'm delusional. Maybe you should check me for a fever. I probably have a sickness or something. That's what this is. I'm dying of the plague. You should probably flee before you catch it."

His lips twitch. "Love isn't a plague, Maddy. It isn't contagious."

"It might be," I mutter, slumping in my chair with a whimper. "This is too fast, Tyler. No one falls in love this fast. You're supposed to fall in love slowly and then eventually realize you actually hate each other and spend the rest of your life making your kids miserable."

His expression slips as he stares at me. "No, fuck that," he practically growls at me. "Just because your parents had a fucked up marriage doesn't mean that's the way love is supposed to work. There are billions of people in this world, and every single one of us is different. Different needs, different desires, different outlooks. You think we're all supposed to fit the same goddamn mold when it comes to love?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"So what? It comes with a checklist? A timetable? Do we have to know each other for exactly six months and three days? Exactly six years? How does it work?"

"I don't know!" I press my palms to my cheeks, staring at him, anxiety churning in my stomach. "It just…works. Or doesn't work."

"Exactly. it just works or doesn't work. There are no rules, no checklists, no timetables. Some people meet, and they just fucking know. And some people, like your parents, never should have been together in the first goddamn place."

"They loved each other," I whisper.

"No, they didn't. They were never in love. You were too young to remember how things really were between them, but I'm fifteen years older than you. I remember that shit better than you do. They were toxic from the day you were born," he says, perching on the edge of my desk. "And they're still toxic. They love making each other miserable. They always have. It's goddamn infuriating that you've always been stuck in the middle of their bullshit. I wish like hell I'd been able to do more to get you out of it."

"That wasn't your responsibility, Tyler."

He shoves a hand through his hair, scowling at me. "Someone in your life needed to be responsible, baby cousin. Because look at you now. You meet someone worth a damn, and you're fucking terrified to give it a chance because of their bullshit."

I gape at him, tears stinging my eyes. "You think Drake is worth a damn? I thought you didn't like him."

"I've always liked Drake," he mutters. "And you're right about him. He's been through a lot. I'd already graduated by the time all that shit with him went down, but it was fucked up the way some people treated him. He didn't deserve it. Some people are still assholes. They treat him like shit because he avoids town. But a lot of people around here have a lot of regrets for the way they bullied him back in school and feel guilty because he refuses to let anyone get to know him now. Maybe one day, he'll allow them to make amends and learn who he's become. I don't know. That's his call. But if you make him happy, he deserves that." Tyler's dark gaze pierces into me. "And so do you. Doesn't matter how long you've known each other. If you make each other happy, that's what counts."

"People want to make amends?" I ask, hopeful for him. He deserves that more than anything.

Tyler nods and then hesitates like he's thinking about something. "I'm going to swear you to secrecy on something."

"Okay…"

"You can't tell him about it."

I narrow my eyes on him, suspicious.

"He steals yard decorations and sets them up at the mansion where he was hurt," he says. "I don't know why. Never asked. But everyone around town knows he does it. No one has ever said a word to him about it. Over the years, som people just quietly started adding to his collection."

I stare at him with wide eyes, shocked. "Why?"

"To let him know he's a part of this town?" Tyler shrugs. "To apologize for the shitty things they said when he was a kid? To remind him that, even if he locks himself inside that mansion nine days out of ten, people still remember him?"

A tear slips down my cheek. I quickly brush it away. "He showed me the decorations. He started stealing them out of petty revenge," I whisper. "But when he told me about other people in town bringing the other decorations, his eyes lit up. If that was the plan, it worked, Tyler. He doesn't know they know it's him, but he feels included."

"Good," Tyler grunts. "Maybe, one day, everyone who takes part will be able to make their peace with him face-to-face, and his ghosts will finally settle." He eyes me seriously. "But if you bring him peace now, it matters, Madeline. Don't let your fucking parents steal that shit from either of you."

I bite my lip and nod, my mind a whirl of thought. But he's right. I feel it in my soul. I can't be a coward and hide from this because I'm using my parents as my model of what a relationship looks like. If I do that…well, I might just lose the most important thing I've ever found.

Maybe it's fast. Maybe we're crazy. But maybe that's the entire point. Love doesn't have to make sense. The heart isn't supposed to be logical. It's simply supposed to feel.

And mine is beating out of my chest for a hot billionaire who steals Halloween decorations, hoards notebooks, and builds his Roman mansion simply out of spite.