Page 83 of Moonlit Kisses

–max–

Fuck!

I fucked up badly.

She’s right. I had no right sharing that information with anyone and until then I hadn’t told a soul. Even though none of it happened to me, I have a sense of protectiveness over Molly and I’m angry at Martin, Joanna, and her husband on her behalf. But I should have kept my fucking mouth shut.

Beth, Joanna, and I stand in my living room in stunned silence. Slowly, Beth turns to me. “I had no idea. I don’t think she told Martin, because he would have said something to me.”

“Why didn’t Nicole come home? I don’t understand.” Joanna mumbles in disbelief. “That poor girl. Living in a car for her childhood. We could have helped her,” she sobs.

“Look. I’ve already said too much, obviously. But I need you to leave. I need to find her and make sure she’s okay. I need to apologize to Molly.”

“Of course. Please let us know she’s okay.” Beth reaches into her purse and hands me a business card. “You can reach me on this number.” She turns toward Joanna. “If you give me your number, I’ll call you once Max calls me.”

“Sure.” I shuffle them toward the front door, stepping out with them and locking the house.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Joanna asks.

I stop and study the two women. Creases across their foreheads display their worry. “Molly’s been through a lot and she’s as tough as steel beneath her delicate features. She’ll be fine. She needs some time and space to deal with everything. It’s been a lot for her. Losing her family,” I raise my eyebrows at them, “finding her father, half siblings, and now her grandmother. She’s gone from having nobody to having a whole new family she never knew. She packed up her life over east and made her way here on her own. In my opinion, she’s fucking amazing and she’ll find her way through anything life throws at her. What I’ve learned about Molly is that she’s proud and extremely independent. She won’t want your pity and she doesn’t want handouts.” I stride toward my car. “I need to go.”

I climb into my car and gun the engine, not giving them the opportunity to respond. They’re not my priority right now. I need to find my girl. It’s almost completely dark, and I don’t want her out here on her own.

Where would she have gone? I know she’s fit and can run for miles, but she didn’t have her running shoes on. I have to assume that would limit her somewhat.

Think.Where would she go?

I drive to the park a couple of miles from home. Maybe she’s there. It looks empty. Most families would be eating dinner now, leaving the park empty. I climb out to check the park on foot. The darkness makes it hard to see too far into the distance. I’ll have a better chance of seeing her if I walk through the area.

“Molly!” My steps pick up speed when I don’t get a response. “Molly!” I check in the tunnel kids often use to hide in. Empty. “Molly!” I call out as I wander around the entire space, becoming frantic.

Nothing. I don’t think she’s here.

I head back to my car. Maybe she went to the apartment at the workshop. She still has a key. As I pull in, I note the apartment is dark. If she’s inside, she’s sitting in the dark. I pull up around the back. Dammit, her car’s gone. She could be anywhere. My mind races, trying to think of places she’d go.

Frustration bubbles up inside me and I slam my hands on the steering wheel.Fuck!I pull out my phone and press her number. The phone rings and rings. She doesn’t have voicemail set up, so I can’t even leave her a fucking message. I try again and again. Each time the phone rings out, my frustration builds. She has to know I’d worry about her. Why isn’t she answering me?

Because she’s pissed at me. That’s why, asshole.

I drive for hours through the streets and along the riverfront. It’s not until I’m driving along the coast that I finally spot her car in a parking lot at the beach. Relief fills me, then anger floods my system. I’ve been so fucking worried about her. She could have let me know she was okay. I park next to her car and jump out, glancing inside, but it’s empty. Following the path down to the shore that I assume Molly would have taken, I use the flashlight on my phone to guide the way. As I get closer to the water, I see the lone silhouette of someone sitting close to the shore.

I take deep breaths to calm myself as I approach, then drop to the sand beside her. She doesn’t even flinch, she simply draws in a deep breath.

I want to pull her into my body.

I want to wrap her up and never let anything hurt her ever again.

I want to protect her from all the awful shit.

“I’ve been worried about you,” I whisper, “and with good reason. I could have been anyone coming up behind you, Molly.”

Without lifting her head from her knees, she turns her head toward me, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. “I knew it was you. I heard your car pull in.” She turns back toward the water. “I’m sorry I worried you.” Her voice is small, sad. I put aside my frustration and move closer to wrap my arm around her. Pulling her in tight, I kiss the top of her head and she melts into me, heaving out a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have run like that. I’m sorry, Max.”

I blow out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry, too, Dimples. I shouldn’t have said anything. It came out before I could think about it.” I turn her chin with my fingers, making her look at me. “I can’t help feeling protective of you and when you told me your story, I became pissed on your behalf. I know I have no right to be pissed at the people who let your mom down, but I do. When they were looking at you and your grandmother said she hoped you had a good life, I couldn’t keep my frustration inside.” I sigh. “I promise I haven’t told anyone else. I know it’s your story to tell.” I lean forward and press my lips to hers; the taste of salty tears coating my lips. “Please forgive my stupidity.”

Her shoulders relax and she offers me a sad smile, her dimples barely making an appearance. “Only if you can forgive me for worrying you.”

“Now that I know you’re safe, you’re forgiven. But please don’t run like that again. Go to another room in the house or something, but don’t take off.”

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