Closest To My Heart

Chapter Seventeen

Maggie's breath caught in her throat when Tag's key turned in the lock, though she doubted he'd be sharing her bed that night, or any other. Frankly, as angry as he was when he'd left the apartment, she was surprised to hear him come back at all. A soft amber glow illuminated the seam around her bedroom door and Maggie sighed, rolling onto her back to contemplate the ceiling above. How could she have so horribly misjudged him? The guy had to be in his, what, early-to-mid thirties? How stupid of her to assume that he'd never been in love, or suffered a loss! But that's exactly what she'd done. All along, Maggie had just assumed that Tag sometimes behaved like a boorish ass because he was... well, a boorish ass. But maybe that was just his way of protecting himself, a means of keeping people at a distance so he couldn't be hurt again.

Like you've been doing to him these past few days?

Maggie briefly considered that thought before pushing it aside. What did it matter anymore? Whatever draw there might have been between them, it was gone now, and there were sure to be adverse effects. Tag would probably move out, or maybe she should be the one to leave, since he was the one paying to live there. Maggie didn't know which alternative was the right one, but one thing was certain—Tag deserved an explanation. She owed him at least that much.

Silently inching the door open, Maggie waited for her eyes to adjust to the light before creeping out to the great room of the apartment. On the far side of the room, Tag sat at the kitchen table with the tools of his work spread out and his laptop open before him. His head was propped in one hand and his eyes were closed. In his other hand he held a pencil, its lead still pressed to the yellow legal pad he favored for making notes on his work.

"Hi," Maggie said softly, stepping out from the shadows.

Tag jumped, snapping the lead off his pencil and nearly falling out of his chair.

"Oh. Hi," he replied, dragging a hand down over his face as he righted himself and focused his groggy eyes back on his work. "Sean's not home?"

Small talk, Maggie thought resignedly. Well, at least he's still speaking to me on some level...

She crossed the room and slipped cautiously into the chair to his right. "No, he came home to change his clothes before going to Sienna's," she said. "I doubt he'll be back before morning."

Tag nodded, his eyes still fixed on the computer screen in an obvious effort to avoid looking at her. Maggie pursed her lips and folded her hands on the table as she steeled her resolve. Obviously, the first move would have to be hers.

"Look, Tag. About what I said—"

"Don't," he cut in. "I overreacted. You had no way of knowing."

"No, but I shouldn't have assumed, either. And I'm sorry."

He shook his head distractedly as he typed something into the computer. "It's in the past."

"Is it?" Maggie probed. "Because it seems like I hit a raw nerve..."

Tag stopped mid-keystroke, the muscle in his jaw tensing. After a long moment, he slid the laptop aside and slouched back in his chair.

"Like I said, it's in the past."

"Okay," Maggie relented. "How far in the past?"

"I dunno," Tag shrugged noncommittally. "A year and a half, roughly."

"And are you over it?"