by Nicci Harris
* * *
"Wow, Max has really lost his mind over this," Flick says, staring through the window and across the moonlit street to Carter's parked car. Max wasn't kidding when he said Carter doesn't sleep. It's 10:00 p.m. and he's out there. Of course, I can't see him through the tinted windows, but his car is there either way.
Closing the lounge room curtain, Flick sighs and wanders over to me. "So he's always going to be around? You'll never be alone?"
I don't want to be alone. It's a truth I can't say aloud because it's completely embarrassing and completely not me. I used to love being alone. But now I take great comfort in Carter's lingering presence. "He gives me privacy. He barely looks at me, and for such a big guy, he seems to be able to make himself invisible."
"And what if Dad calls the cops? Have you spoken to him about your new shadow?"
"No," I admit. "Not yet." It's a fair question. But even though my dad is a protective man, I know he won't call the cops. He knows more about Max's family than he's letting on. The secrets around us are like an intricate web. At times, I'm eager to put a torch to it just to see if I can burn it all down. But I don't know who will burn along with it.
My big brother, Konnor, maybe?
Max, definitely. . .
Flick sits down opposite me, her hazel-green eyes pinned to me, holding back so much emotion. She drops her line of sight to my bruised cheekbone and then to the jagged gash running the length of my forearm. "The guy that did that-" She winces and takes a big breath in. "He's dead. . . isn’t he?"
Swallowing hard, I nod. It's all I can manage.
Her eyes widen even though she's clearly not that surprised. "Max killed him?"
I nod again, hating that I do, even though it's what he would have wanted. The fact that I pulled the trigger is a secret between Max, Bronson, Xander, and I. Carter probably assumes as much, but he never saw the deed done. Butch might suspect it, but the words were never uttered aloud.
She breathes out fast. "That's so fucking heavy."
My heart picks up pace when the idea of Flick sharing this information hits me. "You can never tell anyone. No one." She's quickly beside me as my body beings to tremble a little.
Her arms go around me. She rests her cheek on my head while her molten-red hair cushions my face on her shoulder. "I won't tell anyone. I promise. Does Stacey know?"
"I don't know." I sigh. "I haven't seen her since the auction. I presume so. I presume Xander would have told her everything."
A stream of light moves across the curtain as another car parks across from our house. My arms release their hold on Flick and drop to my sides. I stand and wander over to the window. Sweeping the fabric aside, I see Max's Range Rover idling beside Carter's car. He switches the headlights off.
My heart pirouettes. I already miss his smell. His touch.
Flick moves in behind me, peering over my shoulder. "I don't like this, Cassidy. You are being almost owned."
Peering up at my sister, who is at least six inches taller than me, I say, "It's not like that. He's protecting me, that's all."
"And Carter is reporting to him. . . like you're his property. If I'd known, I'd never have. . ." I feel her sigh against my back. "I'd give up Stacey in a second to get you out of this mess."
"I'm not in any mess, Flick. Max-" My attention is snatched by Max's car pulling into the driveway. Moving away from Flick and towards the door, I suddenly stop at the handle. "I love Max. He didn't choose his lifestyle."
But before I can step out onto the veranda, Flick says, "Yeah, but you still can."
I don't like how those words ring in my ears.
Stepping outside into the warm dark night, I wait for him to park and switch the ignition off. I literally have to jump when exiting Romeo; he's like a few feet off the ground. Max, on the other hand, steps out with ease.
He strides with purpose towards me, cloaked in the occasional shadow.
"Max-" I begin, but when his face comes into view, I'm shell-shocked. Covering my mouth with my palm, I gasp into it. "Oh my God, what happened to your face?"
I rush to him, feeling the need to touch his beautiful face and kiss it back to health. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I nuzzle his chest. "What happened?" I can tell something is wrong. His body is taut. Feverish. When his arms go around my head, holding me to him, I rub into his body further. "Max. Did you get into a fight?"
Dropping his arms to his sides, he says, "Boxing. Let's go."
His fingers entwine with mine, but when he turns to pull me towards his car, I resist.
He has bruises all over his face. Blood on his lip. Yet, he wants me to just accept that he's been boxing recreationally when I know it's more than that. That someone has hurt him. Intentionally. That knots my stomach.
So secretive.
My fingers slip from his.
When he freezes with his back to me, I try to stand strong. Wanting to know what happened. Wanting the truth. Slowly, he faces me again, the light from the veranda highlighting his bruises and the cut in his lip and-
My breath catches.
And even though he's my Max. My Max. For the briefest of moments, I see Erik.
His scarred face lit up between the tree limbs at the wedding. His defensive, distrusting expression. His eyes full of revenge as he stroked between my legs.
Women were created to be so weak. Small. Fragile.
Max's brows draw together slowly. "What's going on?"
Slowing my breaths, I try not to heave.
"I miss my family," I blurt out before I can analyse why. Max's gaze darts to my feet, narrowing on them as I take a tiny step away from him. His fingers twitch as if he's resisting the urge to grab my hand again. "I just want to stay here tonight," I say, but the words are not strong and true; they are brittle and confused. As his expression darkens with suspicion, my heart twists. For him. For the confusion in my own actions.
I glance at the ground, my throat filling with heat. I've never denied him my company before. But I can't. . . not tonight. Not when he looks like- "Don't overthink this, Max."
He straightens. "Get in the car, Cassidy."
I meet his gaze again and try not to see the bruises. The lies. "Max." I say his name, hoping it'll ground me. It doesn't. "Stop it." Fierce stormy-blue eyes narrow on me just before he grabs my arm. "Max!" As he drags me towards his car, I dig my heels into the grass. A futile attempt to slow him. How easy it would be for him to throw me around. Control me.
Max controls you too.
My pulse ignites.
Manoeuvring me until my back is pressed to the passenger side door, he cages me in with his body, his palms meeting the car either side of my face, his muscular arms flexing as he leans forward, leaving me very little room to move.
My breaths come in hard and fast.
Dipping his head, his heavy exhales hit my neck as he whispers, "Don't make me beg, little one."
Trying to control my racing pulse, I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on Max's smell. He smells like sweat and our sheets and home, not like herbs and tobacco. Not like dense, pungent dark clouds of tobacco. This is Max. My Max!
I take a big breath in.
Out.
And I realise, something is wrong with him tonight. Something has happened. He needs me, and it's that need that drags me back to him. I bat my eyes open. He's staring down at me in a world of pain, turbulent and chaotic. Volatile and yet, deeply vulnerable. But Max is never vulnerable.
He needs me.
"What happened?" I whisper, ignoring the chaos in my head. The fear that makes no sense. He presses his forehead to mine, and I feel as though our hearts ache together but for different reasons. Neither of which we can explain to the other. His body vibrates with anger and restlessness around me.
"Just get in the car,” he whispers, his voice deep with emotion. "Please."
Oh God, he is literally begging me. "Shh." I cup the back of his neck, feeling the ridge of his shoulder muscles react. Pulse. T
hey are on fire.
I stroke him soothingly, summoning all my will to remember that this is the man I love. That the fear I'm feeling isn't associated with him. Not at all. Even though that is all true, I can't stop the tremble in my voice. Or the sob that wants to burst out. I can't be there for him tonight. I just can't. Not when it is taking every piece of will I have to not flinch from his touch. To hold his gaze. "I want to spend the night here."
"Why?" he barks, and I immediately recoil.
Growling low at himself, he takes a step backwards as though he's wrestling with something internally. He breathes angrily as he eyes me up and down. Max is often unreadable. For the most part, he doesn't reveal. He's closed off. But not tonight. Tonight he's radiating emotion. Pain. Desperation. Anger. . . Need. He needs me right now for whatever reason and I should-
When Max fists his hands, wincing ever so slightly, my attention shifts to his clenched fingers, the bruising on them visible even in the gathering night. The bruising from punching someone. I lift my hand and touch the remnants of the bruise under my eye.
He looks at me, brows weaving with confusion. With anguish. "I'm sorry, little one. I just need to know why you're still here? Why didn't you get Carter to take you home?" he asks roughly.
I breathe slowly, craning my neck to catch the intensity in his eyes. I want to say, 'But I am home'. The words seem to burn my throat because maybe. . . I'm not. "You know things aren't right with me. Something huge happened to me -"
He bares his teeth, leaning down to press his cheek to mine. "What happened to you is making me murderous, little one. I assure you, I haven't forgotten."
I shake my head. "I just need to process it, Max."
He grabs the top of my arms and squeezes lightly - a warning. Controlling. "You made me want this, Cassidy." His voice deepens. "Now you think you can just take it away?"
My shoulders move as I take shallow breaths in and out.
Erik's body cages me. "I want to take something from him."
I squeeze my eyes shut, holding them like that as I fight the onslaught of Erik's memory. "I'm not taking anything away from you, Max," I say, my voice choked. "I promise. I love you-"
My eyes fly open while his narrow at the sound of my sister's voice. "Get your hands off her, Max!"
And Max's resolve shatters.
Detonates.
I don't think Flick understands that our thing is our thing and people can't get in the middle of it without being torn apart. Max tightens his grip on me as if she were physically prying me from his hold.
Bending his head to the side, his eyes burn, piles of embers being stoked by her presence. His body unmoving, he hisses, "Walk back inside, Felicity, or they'll never find your body."
Oh my God!
Something inside me snaps.
I shove at his wall-like body, barely making an impression in his chest, completely ineffective in shifting him. He turns his head to frown down at me.
My heart beats frantically. "Go inside, Flick," I say, swallowing hard, feigning anger but feeling weak. . .weak. Like I want to shrink into him where I am safe and hide from him all at once. It hurts. It stirs my insides. Wanting to clutch at my stomach as nausea rolls through me, I curl a little in on myself. "Don't" –I shake my head slowly– "ever threaten my sister, Max."
He fastens his eyes shut, muttering under his breath. "Fuck."
He's not Erik.
I force myself to press my shaky palm to his cheek. Force myself to remember who he is to me. "Menace," I whisper, the word breaking. Trying to steady my voice in the face of his anger, I call over to my sister again. "Flick, go inside. I'm fine."
Peering past him, I watch as she moves inside the house unhappily.
He opens his eyes, seeking out mine. "Don't take this away from me," he says, his voice tightly coiled.
God, my emotions run riot inside me - a little fear, a little discomfort, and a bucket-load of confusion. "It's just one night," I say, but I know things won't just go back to normal tomorrow. I also know he needs to hear that they may.
He's not Erik.
My trembling fingers move up to caress the swelling on his cheek and under his eye. "What happened to your beautiful face?"
"Boxing."
I lift onto my tippy toes and press my lips to his bruised cheek. "With the hulk?"
He lets out a sound that toes the line between a scoff and a chuckle. "Say, this is what I want." His feverish lips meet mine in a chaste and yet, helplessly needy kiss. Need takes control. His lips become punishing against mine. Demanding something I can't give him tonight.
I recoil.
Stilling, his mouth freezes on mine.
He leans back to gaze at my face, eyes moving around each aspect of my expression. His mien turns dark, distorting into one of pure fury. "You're hearing him, aren't you?" He growls.
He pushes off the car and moves around to the driver's side, every piece of him radiating with rage.
My world tilts a little at his sudden absence. "Don't leave things like this." I rush after him, but when he turns around to meet me, I stumble backwards, my feet taking me away from him. Away from his dark, bruised face. Narrowed eyes.
"Fuck!" he roars. He tears himself away again, ready to just leave, to take away the thing that has my pulse shuddering through my veins. Him. He's scaring me. And it's killing him.
It's breaking me.
How could I let this happen to us?
"Max!" I beg, the heat of tears tightening my throat. "Not like this." My heart leaps out to be with him, but my feet stay rooted to the ground.
Opening the door, he puts one foot up on the step. "Little one, if I don't walk away from you right now, you'll end up over my shoulder. And after that, I don't know what I'll do."
I cover my face, tears bursting from my eyes. I cry for Max. For me. I move away from the car while he climbs inside, knowing I can't push him away and pull him back and mess with his head anymore. The lights flick on, illuminating me in the dark. Through the windscreen, he stares at me for a few seconds as if he's worried it might be the last time. But it won't! That's not what's happening here, is it?
I can’t breathe through that thought.
But then he pulls away.
Cassidy
* * *
I took two Phenergan last night to help me fall asleep.
I still woke up before my alarm.
And the antihistamines make me foggy. I welcome the feeling.
After a quick run followed by an even quicker breakfast, I am now on my way to my ballet academy. To keep from analysing what happened last night with Max, I stare at my phone, idly flipping through photos and messages.
Carter doesn't peer back at me. Cautious to keep his eyes on the road, he navigates the residential streets before turning onto the highway.
So apparently, my mind can take in pictures and scenery and also thoroughly dissect my anxieties. The fact that Carter is still here. That he picked me up to take me to my classes means I haven't lost Max. Or is this protection now due to his guilt and not his love? I swallow the thought.
Last night was restless. A night filled with yearning.
My insides are all tied up at the mere thought of spending another night alone in my bed. Without him. Wondering whether he's still so angry. So hurt. . . His pain had manifested the only way it knew how. Max Butcher doesn't cry. Or act weak. He doesn’t have a flight mode. . .
I have already foreseen the scenario where he charges into my bedroom and drags me out by the arm. What's more uncomfortable to imagine. . . is if he doesn't. I mean, I'm not exactly my charming, playful self lately. He might enjoy our time apart.
My stomach rolls.
God, that thought makes me feel sick.
Focusing on some selfies of Toni and me, I force my brain to analyse them instead. When my phone rings, I jump. I lift the handset to my ear and answer, "Hello."
"Is this Cassidy Slater?" a young female voice asks.
"Yes.
"
"We have been trying to get hold of you since you were discharged," she says with a little exasperation or maybe it's nervousness, I can't tell. "I'm a nurse from The District Central Hospital. We wanted to know how you're feeling?"
Shame hits me. I've been ignoring numbers I don't recognise. Every flashing nameless number fills me with fear, reminding me of Erik. Of his anonymous texts. Of how ignorant I was to ignore them.
Through a sigh, I answer, "I'm feeling a lot better."
"Is there any discolouration or pain around your sutures?"
Glancing down at the jagged slice on my forearm, I shake my head even though she can't see me. Erik threw me through a glass table - he made his mark physically and emotionally that night. "No."
"That's great. There is another thing, Cassidy," she says, sounding a little strange. "We were unsure whether you knew at the time and you left quite abruptly."
Sitting up straight, I frown at the rearview mirror. Wary of Carter while he focuses on the road, I lower my voice, but I'm not sure why. "Knew what?"
"Well. . . your blood test revealed that you're about six weeks pregnant, well, seven now." She keeps talking, but the words are suddenly foreign, her voice muffled and distant.
Between my ears, my heartbeat hammers like a drum.
Oh God.
Saliva builds up in my mouth, forcing me to swallow hard. This can’t be happening. Not now.
I'm eighteen.
I want to dance around the world.
I'm eighteen. . .
The phone starts to vibrate beside my ear from my hand trembling so fiercely. I blink at Carter, who is now glancing at me in the mirror. Hearing the tick tick tick of the indicator, I barely register that the car is slowing down and rolling into the strip lane.
"Did you know?" the lady on the other side of the phone asks. Apparently, we both speak English again. Well, this explains the whole crying over the position of a toothbrush thing. The sick feeling. The confusion.
I decide to lie in order to cut the conversation short. "Yes."
The phone call ends or I hang up or she does, I don't know which.
Pregnant.
