“I know, brother. We’re square as far as I’m concerned. I mean that.”
A heavy, relieved sigh released the tension in my shoulders I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying. “I don’t deserve it, but I’ll take it.”
“Good boy.” She sipped her coffee, and I did the same, missing the way Maxim’s crappy blend tasted. “When did you two start fucking again?”
I choked. I fucking choked—full-on chest thumping and lack of oxygen. “What?” I asked, though it came out rough and gritty. I’d also burned my throat.
“You guys are soulmates. He’s always loved you, for whatever twisted reason.” She softened the words with a grin.
“Can we please talk about something else?”
“Fine,” she agreed. Too easily. “Have you been to see Mom and Dad?”
Brat. “Do they want to see me?”
“Yes… Maybe. Fuck, probably not.”
I grinned, matching her expression. “I’ll go see Mom first. Don’t tell them I’m back yet.” I needed way more time before I’d be ready for that fucking nightmare.
“I take it you’re not coming to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow then?”
“No. I have plans with Maxim.”
“All right. I won’t mention you until you’re ready.”
Our server came back to take our orders, which Roz gave without a second thought. I hesitated, cursing my money woes. I hadn’t told Maxim about the extent of how broke I was now, but he seemed to have an idea anyway. Before I left to meet Roz, he’d given me fifty bucks and told me to have a nice breakfast. Of course, I’d tried to refuse it, but Maxim was stubborn. I also didn’t have any alternative.
“Um,” I stalled. I eyed the cheapest option on the menu before it struck me that Maxim wouldn’t be happy about it. He’d ask me about this visit when I got back, and if I said I’d ordered a side of toast, he’d be disappointed.
I closed the menu, handed it to the server, and ordered chocolate Belgian waffles with extra whipped cream and strawberries, and a double side of bacon.
On Thanksgiving we stuck to our plan and picked up pizza—pepperoni and double sausage—from Lou Malnati’s on North Wells, along with a twelve-pack of beer. Maxim surprised me with another box of those glorious sweets from his friend’s place, which he’d hid from me the night before.
“Does that bakery deliver? How did you get these?” I asked as I shoved a whole confetti macaron in my mouth. Heaven.
Maxim snatched the box from me and put it in the fridge, along with the beer and snacks we’d picked up. “I asked Macalister to swing by Eat Cake and get them. He likes to drive Dubhlainn to school when he can, and the bakery isn’t far out of the way.”
“To school? I figured he was young, but damn.”
“College. He’ll be twenty next month. You’d like him. You’re both”—his forehead creased while he chose the right word—“spirited.”
“Why do I get the impression you mean feisty and not enthusiastic?”
He smirked and shrugged, feigning innocence.
I grabbed the pizza boxes off of the counter and kicked him on the ass gently before moving into the living room. “I’ll make you pay for that comment later,” I called out as I sat down on the floor in front of the couch.
Maxim walked in a minute later balancing several cans of beer and my box of treats against his chest. He took a seat on the couch over my left shoulder and leaned forward to kiss my temple before handing me a beer. I had no doubt the sweet gesture colored my neck and cheeks; the tips of my ears felt aflame.
I wanted to crawl into his lap and have his hands all over me, and I would. As soon as we finished eating. Over ten years without a proper deep-dish pizza was too fucking long. The first bite of that thick, saucy, meaty monstrosity gave me extra motivation to show Maxim just how thankful I was later.
November rolled into December, and another trip to the doctor confirmed that Maxim no longer had to be confined to a brace at all times. It would still be another two months before he could start with light workouts on it and he’d still have to wear it occasionally but this was great news.
We were sent home with a list of recommended stretches to maintain strength, flexibility, and range of motion, as well as a referral for a physical therapist. Max insisted on home care as much as possible, so seeing a professional every couple of weeks was necessary for his worker’s comp. It also reassured me that I wasn’t going to fuck up his recovery. The blind faith Maxim had in me only went so far to ease my doubts.
Maxim’s doctor stepped out of his office to grab a business card for the physical therapist, leaving me alone with a hot, half-dressed Russian stud. Yeah, great job keeping it professional, Rem.
“Can you check and see what movies are playing? I don’t want to keep you cooped up in my small apartment all the time,” Maxim said sheepishly.
My fidgety foot stilled, and I looked up at him on the exam table. “I’m not being ‘cooped up.’ I love spending time with you at h—at your place.” Nice save. I pulled out my phone and zeroed in on the screen, not wanting to know whether or not Maxim caught my near slip. “What genre are you in the mood for?”
He grunted noncommittally. It was my choice. I tapped the AMC app, but it wouldn’t load. I tried Safari next and furrowed my brow when it too wouldn’t fucking load. Then I noticed that I wasn’t connected to a mobile network and it hit me.
Dread. My breath caught, and my fingers trembled. My benefactor. My sugar daddy. My owner of sorts. Stanley. He must have canceled my phone service—the plan he’d taken out for me and had been paying for.
Fucking fuck! Why hadn’t I considered this would happen? Because you were too busy trying to live in your past. What the fuck was I going to—
“What’s wrong, love?”
I flinched, then shot my gaze to Maxim. He was studying me with slightly lifted, creased brows. He knew I was distressed, so I couldn’t lie. But what could I say? The best lies always contained pieces of the truth. “Ah, sorry. My fucking phone isn’t working. Mind if I use yours?”
Maxim eyed me up and down before he handed me his unlocked phone, which I took with strained thanks. “Please tell me what’s wrong, Remy.”
I squeezed the phone tight to keep my hands steady, and I forced my breathing to remain even by mentally counting backwards. In—three, two, one. Out—three, two, one. “I’m all right, Max. Hey, that new comedy with James Franco is playing. You used to have a thing for him when we were younger.”
“You’re still a bad liar,” he replied.
The good doctor came back in, business card in hand, and saved me from lying to Maxim again. “Ah, sorry. I’m all finished with the examination. You can get dressed now.”
Maxim nodded, then reached for his shirt with his now-freed right hand. It was a touch too far, and the extension made him wince.
I jumped up and grabbed the shirt, helping him into it. “Easy there, big guy.”
“Yes, please do listen to Mr. Kincaid since you insist on not listening to me.”
Maxim flushed. “Sorry, Dr. Wells.”
“It’s quite all right. See the nurse on your way out to schedule a follow-up in a month’s time.”
With a new appointment set and a movie picked out, we left the doc’s office and spent the rest of the day deliberately not addressing the fact that I was the world’s shittiest fucking liar.
Ten
Maxim
For over a week I’d been trying to get Remy to come to the gym with me. Some days he spent time with his sister; otherwise he stayed at my apartment and watched TV or used his MacBook. I hated him being home alone, but I couldn’t skip my workouts. Remy would have come along if I’d insisted or framed it as me needing his help, though that level of manipulation didn’t sit well with me. I tried to respect his decision to not want to come, but that didn’t stop me from asking in case he ever changed his mind.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come today? Bryan will be there to entertain
Mac if that’s what your concern is.” I leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him chop up a green bell pepper.
“It’s not a good idea, Max.”
“Okay. Oh, we need more groceries. Mac has a meeting to get to, and Bryan has to go back to work, so do you think you could meet me at the store?”
“For sure.” His chopping faltered a moment then resumed. “Um, what time would that be?”
“I don’t know exactly. I’ll send you a text when we’re finishing up so you can head over.”
The knife came down hard, and I noticed his hands were trembling.
“What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing. You’ve been acting strange all week. Please talk to me, Rem.” I was one step away from shamelessly begging him.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, then he set down the knife. His gaze remained on the counter. “My phone isn’t working. I wasn’t able to pay the bill, and it’s been shut off.”
My brows knitted together, and I cocked my head slightly to the side. I had no doubt what he was telling me was the truth, though I didn’t believe for a second that it was the entire truth. For whatever reason, Remy was withholding things from me. But what could I do? I had no right to demand he tell me. It was technically none of my business, no matter how much I wanted it to be. So I let his lies slide. What else could I do?
“Okay. Thank you for telling me.” I tried to keep my tone light and even.
Remy turned his attention to me and narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “That’s it? You aren’t going to ask why?”
“You’ve already told me you were having money troubles. I’m here to listen if you want to tell me more, but I don’t want to push you, love.”
He forced out a shaky breath and gripped the edge of the counter. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” I pushed off of the counter and swept in behind Remy, wrapping my arms around his waist, and pulling him against me. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but will you please let me get your phone reconnected?” He started to protest. My lips on his neck silenced him. “I need to be able to contact you. We’re not always going to be together, and you need to have your freedom.”
I rubbed the jut of his hip bones, and he sighed, melting against me. “All right, Max. Thank you.”
“We can get it sorted out after the gym.”
“I suppose I have to go now. Fucking hell,” he muttered.
I hugged him to me and hummed, glad he caught on to what I was implying. It wasn’t going to be as bad as he was assuming.
“I’m not gonna let a selfish dick like you win,” Macalister panted, sweat dripping down his forehead.
“Go fuck yourself, Ken Doll.” With his face reddened, and his arms coated in a sheen of sweat, Remy looked about ready to collapse. He and Mac exchanged a few more colorful unpleasantries as they scowled at each other from side-by-side stationary bikes.
Bryan’s low chuckle grabbed my attention, and I turned back toward him. He was watching me, and not the other two like I’d been expecting.
“Your guy will be fine. You know that Mac is all talk, and even then, he’s not very intimidating. Let them run themselves ragged, and they’ll be too exhausted to bicker and go on.”
I cleared my throat, embarrassed that Bryan had seen through me. “Remy isn’t my guy.”
“Sure he isn’t. From what Mac’s told me—which isn’t much—I know it’s complicated as hell. I’m not trying to pry, and I hope you don’t think I’m overstepping, man. It’s pretty damn obvious that there’s something between the two of you.” Bryan slowed his jog to match my walk then reached for his water bottle.
I grunted and nodded. There wasn’t a point in denying what Bryan had said. It was all true. Remy and I had something going on, though I don’t think either of us knew exactly what. We didn’t talk about the physical aspect of our relationship anymore. It felt like so much more than merely fooling around, but not nearly enough.
I was sure Bryan could understand at least a bit after the waiting he did for Elijah when they were just friends. They had a fresh, innocent love that everyone else could see blossoming, even when they—Elijah in particular—couldn’t. I didn’t have that with Remy. What we had was messy and tainted from secrecy and a decade of distance. I couldn’t wait and hope that everything would be okay.
Shouting from the direction of the stationary bikes caught my attention, and I craned my neck to see Macalister and Remy pushing and kicking each other while still trying to pedal.
Bryan groaned, then turned off his treadmill. “I should go break that up before they get kicked out or banned.” He patted me on my left shoulder as he jogged off to go wrangle Macalister.
Bryan’s chiding was too low for me to hear, though Macalister’s protests followed by his defeated, “Yes, Dad” were crystal clear. I was smiling to myself when a warm hand settled on my lower back.
I spun around and found Remy, drinking from a water bottle. He looked… rough. With his chest heaving, his legs shaking, and sweat pouring off of him, he looked like he might actually pass out. Despite his state, he was still beautiful.
“I fucking hate the gym,” he wheezed.
After turning off my treadmill, I stepped off, slung my left arm over his shoulders, then kissed his temple.
“Ew, don’t kiss me right now. I’m all gross.”
“You’re always gross, fuckboy,” Macalister said from a few feet away. He and Bryan were heading over to the weight machines—which I missed most. Bryan grabbed Macalister’s ear and tugged, eliciting a yelp from our ridiculous, blond friend.
“What the hell was that for, dude?”
“I told you to stop acting like an asshat not even two minutes ago.” Bryan dragged him away, then threw his arm around his neck and pulled Macalister close. He said something in a hushed voice I couldn’t hear, and Macalister nodded.
“I like Bryan,” Remy said. “I can see why you’re friends with him. Still don’t understand wh—”
“Rem,” I warned.
“Fine. I won’t say it. But we both know I’m thinking it, and that still counts.” He stormed off and plunked down on a weight bench, dropping flat onto his back with his hands clasped behind his head.
I joined my friends a few benches away from Remy. Macalister was spotting for Bryan while he did bench presses. Sighing to myself, I picked up a forty-pound dumbbell, took a seat on a bench, and went to work on my good arm and shoulder.
Despite having a working phone again, Remy accompanied me to the gym twice more that week. He and Macalister had downgraded from manly competitions of endurance to childish stares and silly face-making. Whatever Bryan had said to him was clearly working. I’d have to thank him the next time I saw him—which would be soon considering how much Remy enjoyed his desserts.
An email from my financial advisor got me thinking more about my situation with Remy, and what I wanted for my future. She reached out quarterly and we sat down for a face-to-face to go over my investment portfolio. At thirty-two, I was far from retirement, but I had other goals. I’d started saving for a home as soon as I’d turned eighteen.
I was hoping to be able to surprise Remy on his twenty-fifth birthday with a place we could call our own. After he’d left, that plan fell to the wayside. I still saved most of the money I earned even if I hadn’t seen the point in taking that next step. Apartment living wasn’t something I wanted long-term, but it had been adequate. I didn’t have much, and I hadn’t needed it up until this point in my life.
It was far too soon to be thinking about the future with Remy, but I couldn’t help it. No matter how much I told myself not to get too attached, it was pointless. I wanted him just as much as I ever had, and now I knew that that wasn’t going to change.
I chose a day when Remy would be going to visit his sister at the hospital where she worked. Her schedule was a mess this week, so Remy said he’d go to her during one of her breaks. It hadn’t snowed in the last week, so I walked to my bank. Of all the m
eetings I’d had with Meghan, this was the first one I was nervous about.
“You should come with me sometime to see Roz,” Remy said from the kitchen as he washed our dishes. He passed me a plate to dry. “She asked about you again.”
“I’d love to see Rosalind. I wanted to give you two a chance to reconnect.”
He snorted. “If you call her Rosalind now, she might claw your eyes out. Then again, if anyone could get away with it, it’d be you.” His brow furrowed then he shut off the water and turned toward me. “Why do you always use people’s full names? You always have—except with me.”
Because you’re mine, was my first thought, though that wasn’t entirely it. He watched me intently while I searched for the right words, studying my face, then he grinned.
“Is it because I’m special?”
I nodded.
“Anything else?”
Another nod.
He cupped my jaw and brushed his thumb over my lips. He stopped at my scar and traced it, making me shiver. “What else is it, Maxim?” Remy brought his other hand up to my face and scratched at the thick scruff on my cheeks. “You haven’t trimmed this since that night on the couch, huh?”
He didn’t have to specify which night he meant. I always kept a few days’ worth of growth, but since the night when Remy touched my scar, I’d been letting my beard grow to hide it. At least that’s what I was hoping to achieve.
Remy tugged gently on my chin then let his hands drop. “Yeah, you fuckin’ haven’t. Come with me.” He took my hand and led me out of the kitchen, past the living room, and down the hall to the bathroom. He flipped on the light and guided me to sit down on the closed lid of the toilet seat. “Stay put.”
I watched in silence as he dug around in the cabinet behind the mirror, first taking out metal scissors, then shaving cream and a pack of disposable razors I’d forgotten I had. I always used an electric razor, which I kept under the sink.
Somebody to Love (Crazy Little Thing Book 3) Page 8
