I pulled away but his hand only tightened on my neck.
“We’ll talk about that later.”
That meant yes. And he’d already been mad enough at me that morning to last a lifetime, rightfully so, but I couldn’t go through it again. Not then, not ever.
I shook my head and pulled at my neck but his hand only got tighter.
“I…” I swallowed then went on, “Max, you don’t have to take care of me anymore.”
“Shut it, Duchess.”
“No, Max, you don’t –”
His head dipped again and his mouth on mine stopped mine from forming words.
Not taking his lips from mine, when the kiss was over, he repeated, “Honey, like I said, we’ll talk about it later. Yeah?”
“Okay,” I whispered, because, really, what else could I do?
He lifted his mouth but only to kiss my forehead then say there, “Let’s go.”
It was good he took my hand because from the minute his lips touched my forehead I closed my eyes therefore, blind and still feeling his sweet kiss, thus not processing anything else, I needed him to guide me out the door.
* * * * *
When Max brought me back to the cabin after our visit to the small, local hospital, he had no trouble finding the lock to open the door for he’d cleverly flipped on the porch light before we left.
Once he used his hand in mine to guide me through the front door, he hit the light switch and a lamp came on by the couch in the small living room. He closed and locked the door, still keeping hold of my hand then his mobile rang.
He pulled it out of his back pocket and looked at the display.
Then he squeezed my hand and murmured, “You get ready for bed, darlin’, I’ll be there in a minute.”
I stared at him. What did he mean, he’d be there in a minute?
He let my hand go, flipped open his phone and put it to his ear before I could ask my question (which I probably wasn’t going to do anyway) and said, “Yeah?”
Beyond exhausted from fear, adrenalin, heartbreak and a bout of crying unlike any I’d ever experienced in my history of bouts of crying, and I’d had a long history of bouts of crying, I realized I didn’t have it in me to argue or even discuss what was going on. In fact, I barely had energy even to stand there. So I wandered to the bedroom, flicking on the overhead lights, heading to my bag, zipping it open and I dug out my pajamas.
I’d kind of thought he was just bringing me back in order that I could make breakfast for Norm and Gladys and then he would be leaving. After what happened that morning, even if he had told me he’d shown up in the middle of the night to take me “home”, I didn’t exactly understand what that meant. Though my guess was that he was on an errand for my mother who had his number and, Max being Max, regardless of what happened between him and me, he would run that errand for my mother because he liked her and that’s just the kind of thing he did.
He’d kissed me, of course, three times in two places, and I really had no understanding of that
Further, on the way to the hospital, as he said he’d do, he’d called the Gnaw Bone Police Station and told them what Damon did, saying I’d be in the next day to press charges. After he did that, he took my hand but didn’t pull it to his thigh. Instead, he rested his hand on my thigh and released mine to shift then came right back to it, every time. Other than that he didn’t say much, he was acting gentle to the point of being tender but he was also obviously lost in thought.
And, I figured, after that morning, not to mention him finding me having been beaten up by Damon, they couldn’t be pleasant thoughts.
The good thing about visiting a small, local hospital in the dead of night was that there was no waiting. We found out very quickly that my ribs weren’t broken just bruised, same with my nose. Even though the swelling was contained by the ice, the bruising was already coming up, including at my side where there was an angry, curved mark the shape of the toe of a boot. To my horror, and at Max’s demand, they took photos of my midriff and my face and, when we left, they promised Max and me they would send the photos and medical reports to the Gnaw Bone police department.
Max had been silent on the way back to the cabin as had I, but he still held my hand.
I listened to the murmur of his conversation in the other room as I stripped off my clothes and put on my pajamas. Then I looked around the room, taking it in for the first time.
The owners lived in a house about a quarter mile up the lane that led to the cabin complex. It was definitely a family run business, they didn’t even have an office, just a locked key cabinet behind the front door and a guest register book on a spindly-legged table under the cabinet.
Now I saw that they took pride in their cabins. The room was clean, the wood planked floor looked recently redone and the warm, sage green walls also had been recently repainted. And there were touches here and there that showed they made more than a small effort. Thick, blue, mushroom and green braided rugs; prints on the walls that were chosen with personal taste, rather than just a generic attempt at décor; the bed had a duvet, not a comforter and the duvet was soft and downy, its cover a tasteful design of the green of the walls and the blue and mushroom of the rugs as well as some browns and grays; there were four fluffy pillows on the queen-sized bed, not two thin, unappealing ones, there were even a gaggle of toss pillows that kept up the color scheme; and there were attractive reading lamps on either nightstand with muted shades but, at the top, there was an apparatus for the lamp to swing inward so it could throw light where you needed it.
I was surprised, considering all of this and the fact that each cabin had a goodly amount of space around it with trees and shrubs providing more privacy, more quiet, that the cabins weren’t booked solid. Then again, this all looked pretty fresh so maybe the owners were new or they’d just done renovations and hadn’t had time to get the word out.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Max said into his phone as he walked into the bedroom and I realized that I’d been standing there in my pajamas staring stupidly at the room, examining the interior decoration.
I pulled myself together and walked to the bed, turning on the lamp at his side as I heard him flip the phone closed. He turned out the overhead light as I used the last of my energy to scurry around the bed, throw the covers back and I got in, listening to his phone hit the nightstand.
I settled on my good side, facing the room and I saw he’d moved. He was now standing by my suitcase which was resting on a chair across the room. He’d thrown his leather jacket over the top and he was unbuttoning his flannel. I watched silently as he shrugged it off, dropped it on his jacket and both his hands came up to the back of his neck where he pulled the long sleeved t-shirt over his head. Then he turned back to the bed and his eyes hit me as he walked to it.
My breath caught, not just per usual at the sight of his chest, but because it struck me suddenly he was there, I was there and all day I’d been attempting to come to terms with the dreadful reality that I was never going to see him again.
I rolled to my back and closed my eyes, feeling it as he sat on the bed. I heard both his boots drop then I felt it as he got up again then I heard the buckle on his jeans crack against the floor along with the swish of the fabric.
Then the covers moved and the bed rocked as he got in. The covers moved again, sliding down to my waist, my eyes opened and my head turned to him as his big splayed hand glided gently up to my ribcage.
It rested where Damon’s boot print was and Max rested on his side, close to me but not touching me except with his hand. His elbow was in the bed, his head was in his hand, his eyes were on me.
Then his hand slid down to come to rest on my belly and I realized I was holding my breath so I let it out and when I did, Max spoke.
“All right, baby, let’s start this with you tellin’ me what Harry said to you last night.”
I held my breath again.
I wanted to ask him to turn out the light. I also wanted to
ask him if I could go to sleep and we could talk about this in the morning (or never). Mostly, I wanted to ask him, before I’d so stupidly messed up and acted unforgivably selfishly, if he’d really been falling in love with me.
What I didn’t want to do was tell him what Harry said to me, not only because of what Harry said, but because it was mostly about Anna.
But I knew I couldn’t hide behind my neurotic behavior, not then. Max deserved better.
So I let out my breath and said softly, “He told me about Anna.”
Max showed no reaction to this, his face didn’t darken, his eyes didn’t narrow, he just asked, “What’d he say?”
I pulled in air through my nose then let it out and answered, “He said you loved her.”
“I did,” Max agreed readily.
I bit my bottom lip but let it go before I continued. “He said she was your world.”
“She was,” Max agreed again and I struggled against the urge to close my eyes against a different kind of internal pain and won, miraculously holding his gaze.
“He said, after her, you had a lot of women.”
“That’s true.”
I swallowed as this was confirmed and finished on a whisper, “He told me that you loved her so much, when she died, you were undone. And he told me no one was ever going to be that to you, not ever again, and you and everyone would know it and he thought I should know it too.”
Max had a reaction to this, his mouth got tight, his eyes got dark and his hand pressed slightly into my belly.
Then he sighed and his hand lightened.
Then he asked, “You know something?”
I pulled in both my lips and shook my head, though I did know a lot of somethings, just not the something he was about to share. However, I wasn’t certain I wanted to know what he was about to share. I didn’t tell him this and, therefore, he shared.
“When Anna died, it was her world that ended, not mine.” I closed my eyes then but Max whispered, “Honey, look at me.” So I opened them again.
“You don’t have to talk about this,” I told him quietly.
“Yeah, I do.”
I swallowed again and my hand went to rest on his at my belly.
“It took awhile for me to understand that,” he told me. “About ten years. I figured it out just over a week ago during a snowstorm.”
Oh. My. God.
“Max,” I breathed and his hand slid along my belly to my side, he carefully pulled me to his body and leaned in.
“Harry doesn’t know dick,” Max informed me, his voice soft but slightly harsh. “He lost Bitsy and I don’t know why, I don’t care, it’s got nothin’ to do with me. It’s his problem, he didn’t fight to keep her and everyone knows he didn’t. He just gave up and let Curt win. His story is different than mine. He gave up and had to live with his decision, Bitsy in the same town makin’ her life with another man. I lost Anna because Curt was bein’ Curt, it was outta my hands. He and I had our fallin’ out but Anna and Bitsy were tight. They tied one on at The Dog, Curt was designated driver, went to get them, take them home. About three weeks ago was the anniversary of it all, Spring Break, kids in town, doin’ stupid shit, gettin’ drunk like they always do. They fucked with Curt, shoutin’ things out their car windows at him and he had a short fuse. He lost his temper, thought he’d teach ‘em a lesson, decided to fuck with ‘em back, did it and lost control of the car. The kids swerved into a ditch, they were okay, goin’ fast, shaken up but only minor injuries. Curt’s SUV rolled four times and only stopped when it slammed into a tree.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered, turning slightly toward him, my hand automatically moving to rest at his waist.
“Yeah,” Max grunted. “Worse, there was a factory recall on the SUV Curt had. Somethin’ wrong with the back passenger side seatbelt. Curt didn’t bother takin’ it in to get it fixed. Anna’s seatbelt snapped and when the truck rolled, she flew all over the inside of the cab, broke her neck.”
At that, I rolled totally into him and wrapped my arm around his waist, whispering, “Max.”
“Not a mark on her,” Max whispered back but his eyes had drifted away. Even though they were still on me, I knew he couldn’t see me. He was seeing something else, something acutely painful. I knew it because it was etched in his face and witnessing it, I wished I had the power to put my hand there and absorb the pain.
But I didn’t have that power, no one did. So I just gave his waist a squeeze and Max went on.
“When I saw her at the funeral home, no joke, she looked like she was sleepin’.”
I wanted him to stop talking but I didn’t request that, I just pressed closer and tightened my arm around him.
Max was still back there, I could tell by the look on his face and the words he said next. “Wanted to kill him. Christ, I was blinded by the urge, couldn’t think of anything else. Not only did he kill her, actin’ like an asshole, but he did it because he was a lazy son of a bitch, not takin’ his car in to be fixed and he was careless, didn’t even warn her to sit behind him.” Max’s eyes focused on me but they were still far away when he said, “You know, I woulda taken her like Bitsy, in a chair, been happy with that for the rest of my life.”
I knew that. I definitely knew.
My hand moved from his waist to wrap my fingers around his neck and I whispered, “I know.”
“He had Bitsy, alive and breathin’, broken but still around to laugh, to talk, to share his bed. Fuck, he never got how fuckin’ lucky he was, comin’ outta that crash. Not that he didn’t get hurt, but that he didn’t lose Bitsy.”
I stroked his jaw and stayed silent.
“It was Curt’s negligence that he didn’t take it in when the factory informed him of the recall. George told me I had a case but I let it go. Money wouldn’t help but money meant everything to Curt so he didn’t get that. He sent Trev to offer me a settlement, didn’t want me suin’ him, the asshole.” Max shook his head. “Christ, he was such a dick.”
Yes, he definitely was.
Max carried on, “Anna had life insurance, got the payoff, never touched it. Not when I was buildin’ the house, never. Touchin’ it, usin’ it, felt like givin’ in.”
“Giving in?” I asked, confused.
Max focused on me again. “To her bein’ dead, makin’ it more final.”
“Death is pretty final, darling,” I said softly but carefully.
His face changed, a wave of that pain sliding through it, his head dropped so his forehead was resting against mine and he muttered, “Yeah.”
Still cautious, I guessed, “He mentioned her in his letter.”
Max lifted his head and nodded and I knew that was why the other Max came out that day, why Bitsy told me to take care of him, because, bottom line, Curt was being a jerk.
“What’d he say?” I asked, my thumb still stroking his jaw.
“Told me he was sorry. Told me he loved Anna and it ate at him, what he did to her. I’m sure that made him feel better, writin’ that out, makin’ him feel like a better man, admittin’ to that. What he didn’t get was what that shit would make me feel, how no apology could change the decisions he made leadin’ up to what happened that night. Nothin’ could change the fact that his wife and my wife were in his car when he acted like Curt, not thinkin’ that two precious souls were with him and the first thing that should be on his fuckin’ mind was gettin’ them home safe. Not pissin’ in his corner, provin’ to a bunch of kids who’s the bigger man.”
As usual, Max was right.
“The fuck of it is, he was writin’ that letter at the same time he was fuckin’ around on Bitsy with Shauna, God knows why, no excuse for it. And writin’ that letter knowin’ that his life was in danger, as was hers, and he was dickin’ around with a PI and not gettin’ the cops involved. He was writin’ that letter apologizin’ for his stupid, fucked up decisions ten years ago at the same time still fuckin’ makin’ ‘em.”
Again, Max was right.
An
d something else Max was and it was clear as day, absolutely obvious.
He was not over his dead wife.
This hurt, worse than a kick in the ribs, a punch in the face but I didn’t let that show. Not that Max, in his current state of mind, would notice. He was far away, still reliving a nightmare.
Instead of pulling away physically or emotionally, which was what I wanted to do, my hand left his neck to become my arm wrapped around his waist and I rolled deeper into him, pushing him to his back and getting close, resting my cheek on his shoulder, wrapping him tight with my arm.
Max’s hand slid under my body and curled around my waist.
“I saw her picture at Bitsy’s,” I told him, feeling his body get tight against mine and I hurried on. “She was beautiful, Max. You looked happy.”
His arm gave me a squeeze and his body relaxed.
“She was,” he agreed. “We were.”
“You should know, Harry told me everything,” I whispered warily. “About your scholarship, the pregnancies –”
His gravelly voice was back to harsh when he cut me off to remark sarcastically, “Remind me to thank him.” I bit my lip and he continued, “And remind me, next time I’m enjoyin’ your company and you get the stellar idea to leave me and go distract some bitter, drunk asshole from his fucked up issues that are his own issues, ones he created his damned self, and he doesn’t man up to that but takes pot shots at you, remind me, babe, not to let you go.”
This sounded a good deal like Max thought Harry’s tirade was my fault and to ascertain if this was true, I lifted my head and looked at his face. His unhappy, clear, gray eyes locked on mine and I saw that it was, indeed, true.
“He was just blowing off steam,” I told him.
“Yeah, he was, blowin’ off steam at your expense, my expense, Anna’s expense and she’s fuckin’ dead. Blowin’ off steam which meant you were night-time Zombie Nina, actin’ like your world had crumbled and you wouldn’t let me in to help. Blowin’ off steam which reinforced whatever fucked up idea you had about Anna and me in your head which meant you didn’t fuckin’ talk to me about it and we ended up havin’ a spat, you gettin’ another fuckin’ wild hair and takin’ off and then gettin’ worked over by Damon. Yeah, babe, Harry was just blowin’ off steam.”
The Gamble Page 54
