She just frowned.
“Well, I say it’s bullshit,” he continued, gulping in the late night air. “You can count on relationships and other people to be there for you. Some connections can never be broken. Take my mother, for instance. She had a hard life, raised me on her own, struggled to put food on the table, and she never complained, never packed up and left, even though I know there were times she must have felt like it.”
“You want to talk about mothers, Ben?” Maggie shot back, pure venom lining her voice. “Well, mine abandoned me in front of a convenience store when I was five. She told me to wait outside while she went over to the bank, said she’d be back in ten minutes. You know how long I waited out there for her?”
He faltered, completely taken aback by the shards of raw pain slicing her features.
“Thirteen hours. I waited for thirteen hours before the owner of the store finally called the cops, who carted me off to social services.”
The driver pulled the little cart to a stop in front of their bungalow, and Maggie hopped out without another word. Quietly thanking the man behind the wheel, Ben shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and climbed the porch with slow, heavy steps. Maggie was already inside by the time he entered the room, but he still had no idea what to say to her.
Her confession reverberated through his head. It brought a knot of sickness to his stomach, a tight squeeze to his heart, and for a moment he had to wonder how this perfect night he’d planned had ended up in shambles.
Ben couldn’t wrap his brain around it. His own father had walked out on him, but growing up with a warm, loving mother had dulled the ache his dad’s desertion had left in his heart. He couldn’t even imagine how Maggie must feel, knowing she’d been abandoned on the sidewalk like a piece of trash.
“I lived in sixteen foster homes during the thirteen years I was part of the system,” she said, continuing as if they’d never been interrupted.
She paused in front of the armoire and reached for the overnight bag she’d stowed on the bottom shelf. As she rummaged in the bag, she glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “I’ve been on my own since I was five years old, Ben, so don’t talk to me about connections and lasting relationships. In my life, there’s no such thing.”
Chapter Eleven
The Gulfstream jet cruised the morning sky at thirty-thousand feet, heading back in the direction of New York, but Maggie couldn’t decide if she was looking forward to the prospect of going home, or dreading it. The events of last night still haunted her. Sonja’s harsh words, the blow-up with Ben that followed. He hadn’t tried to kiss or touch her after that, just slid into bed and went to sleep, while Maggie lay awake half the night and thought about everything she’d said to him.
Her head told her she’d spoken to truth, and years of being alone only strengthened her belief that relying on others was a mistake. Yet her heart spoke differently. Her heart argued that she shouldn’t allow the past to affect her future. That sooner or later she’d need to lower the walls she’d raised and let someone in.
It was funny, really. She’d tried to explain to Ben why she was keeping him at arm’s length, and in the process she’d ended up doubting her own convictions. She’d always told herself she needed to secure her career before thinking about relationships, about marriage and babies, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Was she simply using her goals as an excuse not to get close to someone? What about when she earned her degree and started her social work? Would she finally open her heart and seek out love, or would she merely find another goal to fixate on as a means of avoidance?
All troubling questions, ones she’d never asked herself before, and she found it ironic that an arrogant movie star had been the one to spur this internal investigation. Celebrities were supposed to be superficial, preoccupied with material things and trivial matters, and though it shamed her to admit it, that was partly what attracted her to Ben in the first place. She’d figured he’d tire of her after a day or two, and then be on his way. That he hadn’t was probably the most troubling thing of all.
Leaning back in her chair, Maggie raised her hands and rubbed her temples, excruciatingly aware of Ben’s presence.
Sitting there in a black long-sleeve shirt and black jeans, with morning stubble dotting his chin and dark hair falling onto his forehead, he looked sexy and dangerous, reminding her of how attracted she was to him. But he hadn’t said a word since they’d boarded the jet, and the silence between them had dragged on for so long she had no clue how to make it go away.
She didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t know how she felt about him, and she’d never dealt well with uncertainties.
“Gretchen was the other woman.”