Catching Maggie Page 4

  Long gone are the sharp lines of the modern furniture that Sammy had required. The bed is now a warm cherry wood that holds a navy duvet with dozens of pillows in white, yellow, and teal. The closet is now devoid of men’s clothing and only contains my items. It is calming to have a space to call my own after so many years of being under Sammy’s rigid rule.

  “Tell me more about yourself, Marguerite,” he requests huskily as I hear him shuffling items around.

  “What are you doing?” I question, evading his inquiry. I hate talking about myself. If I am being truthful, I am boring and parts of my story are a bit depressing.

  “Walking through my front door. Now, don’t try and change the subject,” he growls, causing me to roll my eyes. Thinking he would probably not like that too much, I smile.

  “What would you like to know?” I take my short skirt off and replace it with a pair of sleep shorts before climbing into the middle of my beautiful bed.

  “Where are you from? Your family? Everything, little bunny, every single thing.”

  I sigh lying down as I pull the covers over my tired body.

  “I was born in Las Vegas, raised there too. My mother and father were married for a few years. My mother is a cocktail waitress who used to be a showgirl on the old strip. My father is a professional gambler but he isn’t very good at it. Before he completely disappeared from my life I remember him spending time with every woman he could.

  “I don’t remember much about him, really. I only saw him a few times. My mother didn’t let the fact that he was gone bother her, though. She was never without a man,” I confess shamefully. My childhood wasn’t glamorous or even decent by most standards, but I have learned to accept it. I hear him hum and that familiar burning in my eyes stings, thinking about the people who created me and never nurtured me, much like Sammy.

  “What about you?” Jackson tsks and asks me to please continue. He promises that he will get to himself soon enough.

  “I was eighteen and working on the strip as a cocktail waitress, kind of following in my mother’s footsteps, when I met Sammy. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen. When he smiled at me, I melted right there. I had never dated before him; I was a loner in school, trying to earn good grades so that I could get a scholarship and really make something of myself. Boys weren’t a priority.

  “Sammy chased after me, came in every single day for a week. He sweet talked me. He was so charming. One night he told me that he was going to be a professional baseball player; he had been picked up by the Yankees and was in town celebrating before he moved to New York. I was crushed -so completely devastated. I thought, how could the only man who had ever been kind to me be leaving? Then, that last night he begged me to come with him, to marry him. He said would take care of me and we would be so happy.” At first, I don’t realize that tears are flowing from my eyes as I recount the words Sammy said to me. Back then, I felt like I was the luckiest woman on the planet. I was a freaking fool.

  “Were you happy? Did he take care of you?” Jackson asks quietly. I snort in a very unladylike fashion.

  “The only kiss Sammy ever gave me was the one that sealed our marriage. My first and only kiss. We had sex that night and he didn’t even hold me, he just rolled over and passed out. He never held me, not once in our seven years of marriage. He promised me children, a family, the whole nine yards, but he lied – he didn’t want children. He barely wanted me. I was too naïve, or maybe too blind, to realize that he was kissing, holding, and doing only god knows what with dozens of other women. All the while, I got the leftovers, which weren’t all that appetizing.” I let out a harsh laugh at my very poor joke.

  “Beautiful girl, I don’t know why he treated you the way he did. All I know is that not every man is that way, and not every man will be that way. You were both young. Don’t beat yourself up for feeling and jumping. Some of our best decisions are made when we leap.”

  I close my eyes and chuckle.

  “And some of our worst,” I add.

  “Yes that is true. But think about this: without the path you have choosen, without your past, where would you be today? No life is a perfect life. Life is like a puzzle. If it weren’t for our experiences, the good and the bad, we wouldn’t be able to shape the pieces to complete our puzzle.” It boggles my mind how philosophical this man is. Based on his looks and his build, I‘d have guessed he didn’t have a brain in his head.

  “What do you do for a living, Jackson?” My brain is foggy and sleep is threatening to take over, but I want to know more about him.

  Who is he?

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he snorts. I don’t hear anything else because I reluctantly surrender to my exhaustion.

  My dreams are filled with black eyes, shaggy dark hair, and a masked face that is both chiseled and beautiful. I also see a strong body, his thick arms and legs, his broad chest that begs to be touched – often. Beyond that, my dreams are filled with his voice - soothing yet strong.

  The knocking on my door is overly insistent and borders on psychotic. I roll out of bed, still in my tank and sleep shorts. Bleary eyed, I make my way to the pounding door. I practically groan at the sight in front of me.

  It is Amalie and Axel.

  I truly love Amalie, and I must admit that without her I probably would have gone a tad insane during the past six months, but my heart aches when she brings Axel. It hurts to see Amalie so incredibly happy with a piece of her and Jarrod cradled in her arms. As much as I love her little man, he’s a painful reminder. For years, I yearned and ached for a baby with Sammy, only to be rebuked every time I brought it up.

  “You forgot?” Amalie asks, her white blonde eyebrows pinching together.

  I stand back and let the six-foot tall woman through the door. As she strides by me, another pang of envy hits me as I take in her generously curved body – the way a true woman should be shaped. I have earned a few curves as of late but nothing in comparison to Amalie. She is a pin-up model and is truly built for it. I watch Amalie sit down on the sofa and take little Axel out of his carrier. At only seven months old, the little man looks like a beast. He is sure to reach his parents enormous heights in no time.

  “What did I forget?” I ask as I start a pot of coffee.

  “Axel and I coming over and all of us going shopping,” she says as she chews her lips, looking at me nervously.

  Something is up.

  “I’m down for that. I did forget, but it won’t take me long to get ready. What else?” I arch a brow at her as she lets out a puff of air.

  “All right, don’t get pissed, but the team is going to do a dedication and a ceremony to retire Sammy’s jersey number. They want you there. It’s opening day, so it’s a big deal, and it’s going to be televised; but Libby, Victoria and I will be by your side the entire time.” Amalie holds her breath as we let her words sink in.

  I will have to play the grieving widow one more time at this dedication. Will it never end? Will my life ever be just mine? In the brief moments I was with Jackson last night, I felt like Marguerite for the first time in years. This dedication will thrust me back into the role of Maggie, the role of Sammy’s Maggs. I hate it, but of course I’ll do it.

  “Tomorrow evening then?” I ask, taking a sip of hot coffee and letting it burn my mouth. Enjoying the way it makes me hurt, at least I feel something other than just emotional pain. I feel like I have been nothing but a ball of nerves, pain and anger for months.

  “Yeah, the execs were supposed to tell you about it months ago but everybody has been acting like a bunch of pussies,” she practically growls. I giggle at her words as I shake my head.

  “No worries. I’ll do it. After this, I’m done. I don’t even want to think about Sammy anymore,” I accept.

  Amalie knows everything; she and Jarrod are the only ones who know every gritty detail of my façade of a marriage with Samwell. I love thinking about him in the context of his real first name because he hated it so muc
h. I am still very angry with him and probably will always be so.

  “Get dressed and let’s shop then,” she orders.

  I tickle Axel as I walk away and get changed into a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top. The weather isn’t brutal yet, but it is warm enough for what I’ve thrown on. If I know Amalie, she has brought Axel’s stroller and will want to walk to our destinations. She has a shoot in a few months and she’s always working on ways stay trim for her career.

  We leave as soon as I am ready and as we walk down the street, I tell Amalie about Jackson. Im careful not to mention the sex club part because I don’t think she would quite understand that, but I tell her that I met someone and that I am open to seeing where it could go with him. She asks me a million questions, none of which I can answer, and then I realize that he knows pretty much everything about me but I know hardly anything about him. That should bother me, but I can’t find a reason worry about it. I like him; I like his dominance and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to let go and surrender my power to him. I imagine it could be a beautiful thing.

  I think about how he said I was a naturally submissive person and I know he’s right. It doesn’t bother me like it might other people, though. I let my friends pick where they want to meet for lunch or what movie they want to watch on television. Sammy picked everything - what we ate, what I wore, how I styled my hair and even when and where we had sex. I now realize he trampled me but at the time it never truly bothered me. Being a decision maker makes me nervous and anxious. If making the choices about what to see or where to go makes somebody that I love and care for happy, then that in turn makes me happy.

  The only issue I have with my submissive personality is that I allowed Sammy to control me. I allowed him to control our future and I allowed him to walk all over me. I don’t want to do that again. Although giving up all control to Jackson sounds deliciously tempting, I do not want to be weak. I do not want to lose myself in a man again. I cannot deny that I miss the companionship of having another person to lean on. For all of Sammy’s despicable qualities when he was home with me he was with me. Sure, he had his phone with him at all times but he would sit with me, converse with me a bit, he would just be. I miss a man just being around the house. Another person who cared that I was there. I miss that. I have been so lonely.

  Can I be strong and still be submissive to a man?

  I hope that wherever my life’s current path leads me, that the journey will be one that helps me, teaches me, and that heals me.

  “I’m so glad that you met someone. Seriously, you deserve every bit of happiness you can get, girl.”

  Before Amalie and finish shopping, I find a dress for the dedication tomorrow evening. I tried on several, but a light blue wrap dress caught my eye. It ties in the middle before flowing down to hit just at my knees. Sammy would have hated the recent purchase which is probably why I picked it. It is low in the front, showing off my new ample cleavage from my weight gain, caused by lack of interest I currently have for the gym. I’m taking a well-deserved break from punishing myself with cardio. I am enjoying the fact that I look more like a woman and less like skin and bones. He told me it was weird when I wore the same color dress as my eyes. He detested when I showed cleavage, as if he didn’t want to look at me; he didn’t want anyone else to look at me either.

  “We should all go out, you know Jarrod isn’t going to allow you to date this guy until you have his seal of approval right?” Amalie winks.

  “I don’t know what will happen with him, but he seems nice. Even if it’s only to ease me back into the dating field, I think I’m going to see where things go and maybe after we go out a few times I’ll let Jarrod grill him,” I shrug and continue to walk beside her.

  “Have you thought about dating one of the single guys on the team? There are tons of them and they’re all hot as hell too,” she says with a grin. I scrunch up my nose at her.

  “I could go my whole life, never watch another baseball game, and be content. I’m not like those cleat-chasing whores out there. I wouldn’t go from player to player, trying to land one of them for life. That’s just not me. Honestly, I want to find a nice man to settle down with, have some babies, and just be happy - normal,” I tell her. I find myself smiling as we make our way to the front door of my apartment building.

  Amalie rests her hand on my shoulder before she says, “You will find what you need, Maggie. Ddon’t close any doors right now. You never know who the right man for you will be. I found and fell for Jarrod when I least expected it; had I gone with my initial reaction to him, I would have never ended up exactly where I am at this moment - blissfully happy.”

  Amalie gives me a peck on the cheek and tells me that she has hired a car to take all us girls tomorrow evening. She insists that I be ready on time. I wave her off and go inside.

  I take Amalie’s words to heart. She has suffered more than I could ever imagine at the hands of a man who abused, stalked, and assaulted her. Yet here she is, blissfully happy, as she would say. I want to be as happy as she is; I want my life to be fulfilled beyond my imagination.

  Sammy and I didn’t have family. I haven’t seen my father since I was a child and I left my mother in Vegas the day I got married, never looking back. I didn’t even tell her I had gotten married to begin with. When guilt would creep into my conscious, Sammy would shut it down and remind me what my mother was like. He would remind me about the men and the way she was so self-absorbed. Sammy was practically an orphan himself, his parents high and drunk during his formative years before he was thrown into foster care. Maybe we were too broken to be together; maybe we both needed someone who was raised in a stable and loving household in order to succeed in finding happiness and in a ludicrous marriage.

  I walk to my bedroom and find my phone plugged into the charger. I forgot it when I left in a rush with Amalie. I type in my password and see that I have several text messages and missed calls. Lying down on my bed, I pull up the texts and see that they are all from Jackson.

  Jackson: Good morning beautiful.

  Jackson: I trust your day is going well?

  Jackson: Marguerite where are you? Please call me.

  Jackson: You haven’t answered my texts or my phone calls. This is unacceptable Marguerite. Where are you?

  I stand, clutching the phone in my hands in total shock. Sammy hadn’t ever really cared what I did if he wasn’t around. I guess it was because he was too busy with whatever woman warmed his bed at the moment. All of a sudden the phone rings, causing me to jump.

  It’s Jackson.

  “H-h-hello,” I stutter into the phone, afraid of what is to come.

  “And where have you been, little bunny?”

  I don’t let his little nickname lull me into any false hopes about him not being angry with me.

  “My friend came by this morning and informed me of a commitment that I have to endure tomorrow evening. I had to go buy a dress for it,” I admit. I know that I am being vague. Yes, Jackson knows a bit about Sammy, but I don’t want to go into detail about the dedication. I really don’t even want to think about it at all.

  “You didn’t take your phone?” he asks. There is something dark lingering in his words, but I can’t focus on that. I can’t focus on anything but trying to explain to him why I hadn’t taken my phone.

  “I didn’t even think about it, not many people call me,” I confess shamefully. I hear a small hum come from deep in his throat.

  “Beautiful, you need to keep a phone with you. If it is for the sole purpose of me being able to reach you. I need access to you twenty-four seven,” he says huskily as my mouth grows dry. I inhale deeply, hearing the words that he is saying to me, unashamed of their meaning. He is a straight talker and I like that. He wants me and it’s safe to say that he wants more than just a few rolls in bed, for which I am grateful.

  “Twenty-four seven access?” I repeat in a whisper, my legs beginning to tremble, my mouth still dry as cotton.


  “Yes, Marguerite - once I fuck you, I have a feeling I’ll not want to go too many hours without being inside of your sweet little body, so I will require knowledge of your whereabouts. I’ll also be requiring full access to your apartment and your body. This, what we are building, is not something I intend to take lightly,” he declares. His words ring throughout my head making me dizzy as my body grows hot.

  He wants me - he wants to fuck me and that is terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

  “I… uh…” What does a girl say to that? I have no clue, so I sit down instead trying to regain my composure and focus.

  “Jackson, I’ll take my phone with me no matter what - now repeat.” His voice is deep and rough and my nipples tingle at his command. I find myself repeating the words automatically, as if my brain has shut off and my body and mouth are on auto pilot.

  “Good girl,” he utters huskily. I feel wetness pool between my legs, my body automatically reaching to his voice, to his commands, to just him.

  “I would like to take you out to dinner this evening, Marguerite.” He doesn’t ask, he informs. I bite my lip trying to hide my excitement and I agree to dinner in two hours.

  Hanging up with Jackson, I feel light and happy, something I haven’t felt in years. Jackson makes me nervous but then in his next breath he calms me. He’s offering me things I haven’t had the opportunity to experience in years - possibly ever. I get dressed for my first date, something I haven’t done in years. I’m not only excited about going to dinner with Jackson, but also about seeing his entire face.

  I immediately call Libby and beg her to help me pick out an outfit for my dinner date. I don’t even get five words out. Once Libby hears that I am going on a date, she quickly hangs up the phone. Within minutes, she’s in my closet, rummaging through my things.

  “What does he look like?” she asks, pulling out a knee length cocktail dress before scrunching her nose up and shoving it back inside.