The One Real Regret

by Janet Nissenson

  “What sort of nasty bug crawled up your ass and took up residence?” grumbled Finn. “Christ, I know you’ve never aspired to be Mr. Personality, Max, but this is bordering on abuse now.”

  Max calmly took another swig of his drink - at least his fifth tonight - and flipped Finn the bird. “You don’t even know the meaning of abuse, Finley,” he replied darkly. “But if you keep pushing me, I’ll be happy to give you a lesson on the subject.”

  Jordan, who’d been haplessly trying to play peacemaker all evening, attempted to lighten the tense mood. “And here I thought you liked being abused, Finn,” he joked. “Or were those stories you told us about the dominatrix in Miami made up?”

  Finn scowled, clearly still upset about Max’s foul mood. “Hah, hah, Doctor Dreamboat. Hilarious, as usual. Totally different kind of abuse, as you know. And right about now I’d take a good spanking or paddling over the rude shit this asshole has been dishing out all night. And not just tonight, come to think of it. You’ve been in a crap mood for weeks now, Max. Ever since you got back from Seattle. I know you said it was a rough assignment, that the CEO was a real fucker, but it’s not like you to let stuff like that bother you. You’re the dude with ice in his veins.”

  Max shrugged, polishing off his drink and wondering why he didn’t feel the least bit drunk yet. “I’ve put that particular assignment behind me, and have finished two others since that. And if I’m in a bad mood, perhaps it’s because I have friends who don’t understand the meaning of mind your own business. I need another drink, by the way.”

  “No, you don’t,” interjected Jordan, waving off the bartender before Max could summon him over. “You’ve been belting that single malt back like it was soda pop, and I’ve counted at least six glasses. I’m cutting you off, buddy.”

  Max arched a brow, hoping he looked threatening. “Is that a fact? Fine. I’ll just get a taxi and head home. I’ve never minded drinking alone. And the pair of you are such pains in the arse tonight that I’d actually prefer my own company.”

  “Sit down,” barked Finn, putting a hand on Max’s shoulder and practically restraining him. It didn’t seem to concern him in the least that Max was more muscular, worked out much harder, and was in overall better physical condition, even though Finn was a recently retired professional football player.

  “You do realize I could break your jaw with one strategically placed right hook, don’t you?” sneered Max.

  Jordan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like you’d really try something like that in my club. And you’re drunker than you think, my friend. Enough that your upper crust accent is starting to sound a lot more like a working class one. Instead of the Queen’s English, it’s more like the coal miner’s English.”

  Through the alcoholic haze that he was really beginning to feel now, Max was appalled that he could have let himself get so out of control that he’d lapsed back into his old way of speaking. It had been more than two decades since he’d used the old dialect, a part of his disreputable past he had left behind long ago. Though apparently, he thought in disgust, not quite as far in the past as he had always believed.

  “Fine,” bit out Max. “I suppose I’ve had enough. And some coffee probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  He motioned the bartender over and ordered a mug of black coffee, though it wouldn’t be enough at this point to ward off the vile headache he was sure to have in the morning. It wasn’t like him to drink this much, not even close, but then this past month had been anything but routine for Max. Nothing, it seemed, not his job nor his extreme workouts or even imbibing far too much alcohol could block out the look of anguish on Jill’s face when he’d walked out on her four weeks ago.

  Because of his work and travel commitments, he’d had very few opportunities to socialize with Finn and Jordan since his return from the disastrous trip to Seattle, and he had initially refused to join them this evening. All he had wanted was to be alone with his misery and guilt, and going out to a club or dinner with his friends was the very last thing he’d wanted to do. But Finn in particular had been annoyingly persistent, even threatening to bring the party to Max’s house if he didn’t join him and Jordan this evening. Though Max had stood firm in his refusal to go to the noisy, trendy restaurant followed by an even noisier, trendier club that Finn had initially suggested. He had only agreed to join them - and reluctantly so, at that - when Jordan had hastily offered to get them in for dinner at the exclusive private club he belonged to, a place that was far more refined, sophisticated, and blessedly quiet than any of Finn’s favorite haunts.

  As he sipped his coffee, Max found himself admiring his surroundings - the high ceilings with their heavy crystal chandeliers; the polished wood floors that didn’t have so much as a nick or a smudge; the gleaming wood counter of the bar. The service was always exceptional here, the food some of the best in the city, and the décor reminiscent of a centuries-old establishment in London or some other European capitol. He knew that gaining entry to this particular club was nearly impossible, and that the only reason Jordan was a member was because of his father’s influence. Jordan, who knew how much Max liked this place, had encouraged him to fill out an application on more than one occasion, offering to sponsor him and put in a good word with the membership committee. But as much as he would have enjoyed being a member of the club, Max had declined, knowing that part of the application process would have involved a very thorough background check. And not for anything, not even a coveted membership in this extremely exclusive club, would Max have let anyone know that his father had been a convicted murderer, his mother an addict and dealer, and that he himself had been responsible for a man’s death.

  He was fairly certain that the latter incident was not a matter of public record, that because of his youth the information was sealed. But he also knew from the work he did - when oftentimes it was necessary to delve into personal information about CEO’s and other executives - that no information was completely private. He shuddered to imagine the reaction of the starchy old members of the club’s membership committee were they to ever uncover certain facts about him. And far from granting him a membership, they might even ban him from the club altogether.

  No, he assured himself, it was enough to be invited here on occasion as Jordan’s guest. The privacy that he guarded so fiercely was worth much more to him than a membership here or at any other club.

  “God, I’d forgotten how boring this place is!” complained Finn as he motioned the bartender for a refill on his drink. “No music, no dancing, and not a hot babe in sight. I think my mother would be the youngest woman here tonight. By at least a decade. Tell me again why we’re spending a Friday night here instead of at a place with some real action.”

  “Because this was the only place Max would agree to,” reminded Jordan wearily, having already had this particular conversation with Finn two other times this evening. “Remember?”

  “Yeah, it’s all coming back to me now,” sneered Finn. “What I still don’t know is why old Maxwell here is acting like more of a stick in the mud than usual. I mean, let’s face it, Maxie, you’re seldom what I’d actually call fun, but tonight you’ve been the total opposite of fun. Which would be - uh, let me think now.”

  Max rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Are you really trying to think up antonyms for fun? Here, try one of these - boring, serious, unhappy, unpleasant, disagreeable.”

  Finn brightened. “Yeah, any of those would work. Maybe all of them. Though you forgot to add depressing as fuck. Seriously, man, what is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” snapped Max. “At least, nothing I’m prepared to discuss with you. Some things, Finley, are private, as I’ve been reminding you for almost twenty years. So just leave it alone, will you?”

  Jordan gave a low whistle. “You are in a bad mood, aren’t you? Finn’s right, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you quite like this, Max. Oh, sure, you don’t talk much, and you’re quiet and frankly a little stuck-u
p, but tonight you seem different. Not just moody and withdrawn, but - well, depressed. Sad, even.”

  Max glared at both of his friends, sorry that they’d convinced him to lay off the booze. “Bugger off, both of you. In fact, I’ll save you the trouble and just leave. That way the two of you can go someplace less boring. Thank you for dinner, Jordan. I’ll return the favor when I get back from Oslo. Though I can’t guarantee it won’t be at someplace Finn finds equally boring.”

  “Wait!” called Finn, a look of disbelief on his face. “Don’t you want to go clubbing with us? Though I’ll tell you now, Maxwell. No way are you getting lucky tonight with that look on your face, like you want to punch somebody. But maybe getting laid is just what you need to snap you out of your vile mood. I can make some calls for you, see - ”

  “No.” Max’s reply was emphatic. “Trust me, getting laid is the last thing on my mind right now. The last thing I need. Better all around if I let you two enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  Jordan snapped his fingers. “That’s it, isn’t it? The reason you’re in such a shitty mood. There must be a woman involved somehow. And I’m going to guess you met her in Seattle. Am I right?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it,” replied Max tersely. “Ever.”

  Jordan smiled in satisfaction. “I knew I was right. Never thought I’d see the day when you were all torn up over a woman, but it’s happened. Hasn’t it, Max?”

  “Hey, we want details!” exclaimed Finn. “Name, age, measurements. A photo would be better, of course. Where exactly did you meet her? And how long did it go on? You’re not exactly the one night stand type, Max, so probably at least a couple of weeks. So, did she dump you, is that why you’re such a downer tonight? Or were you the one - hey!”

  Max had taken a firm hold of Finn’s shirt, yanking him close enough to mutter in his ear, “If you don’t shut your mouth, and keep it shut, I’ll be happy to do it for you.”

  “Cool it,” hissed Jordan, putting a hand on each of his friends’ shoulders and forcibly separating them. “Do you want us to get thrown out of this place? I’ve seen it happen for a lot less than this. Worse, I could get my membership revoked, and then I wouldn’t care how the hell long the three of us have been friends, because I’d never speak to either of you again. So, Finn, stop being nosy, difficult as that might sound for you. And Max - whatever’s bugging you, get over it.”

  Max and Finn glared at each other, neither one willing to look away from the stare down they had going on. Finally, Max gave a disinterested shrug and walked out of the room, not breaking stride until he had exited the grand Georgian building that had housed the club for more than a century.

  During the short taxi ride to his home, Max briefly considered texting Finn and Jordan, apologizing for his bad mood this evening. But he thought better of the idea, not wanting to invite additional questions about what was troubling him. There was no way he was ready to discuss Jill and what had happened in Seattle with anyone, including his two best friends. In fact, thought Max grimly, there was a very strong possibility that he might never be ready to talk about the most earth shattering two and a half weeks of his life.

  He was a bit shaky as he made his way up the front steps of his Victorian, and reluctantly acknowledged that he might have had a little too much to drink this evening. Getting drunk, even partly, was so out of character for him that he’d forgotten about all the potentially nasty after effects. Once inside, he swallowed down three ibuprofen tablets in hopes of lessening the headache he felt coming on, then made himself a cup of ginger tea to soothe his stomach. God knew he had nursed that jackass Finn through enough hangovers during their college years, not to mention getting him sobered up in time to attend football practice, that the old habits came rather naturally to him now.

  Max sighed as he thought about his two well-meaning but meddling friends again. It was a certainty that they were not going to let this thing go, were going to persist in asking questions about what had happened in Seattle until he confessed all. And since he had zero intention of ever telling them anything, he would have to strengthen his resolve as well as limit his contact with them until they gave up on their questioning.

  He wandered into his office, though he had no plans to do any work done tonight. Since he’d left Seattle, work had been more or less all he’d been doing, determined as he was to keep busy, to keep his mind off of how badly he’d screwed things up. And to forget that look on Jill’s face, the one he feared would haunt his dreams for a very long time to come.

  But as he sipped his tea, he wasn’t able to resist pulling his phone out and scrolling through the half dozen or so text messages Jill had sent him over the first few days after they’d parted. That was in addition to the lengthy emails she had composed, and the tearful voice messages where she had begged him to reconsider, pleaded with him to call her so they could talk this whole thing out like reasonable adults.

  It had been after her last voice mail, the one where she’d told him yet again how much she loved him, how nothing he had done in the past could possibly be that bad, and that they were meant to be together, when he had ruthlessly forced himself to block her phone number and email address. He knew it would be the final blow, that it was cruel and mean and heartless of him to do such a thing, but it was the only way he could think of to force Jill to forget about him and move on. It was also, he’d admitted, the only way he might be able to actually survive this ill-fated affair.

  But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to actually delete any of her messages, just like he’d yet to get rid of the half dozen or so photos he had taken of her during their time together. And he wasn’t able to resist the urge to study those photos now, marveling anew at how photogenic she was, how her smile lit up the screen, and how those pale green eyes were so filled with pure joy.

  He’d taken another picture of her, this one without her knowledge, as she had slept so peacefully in his bed. Her long golden brown hair was splayed out across the pillow, the tops of her shoulders peeking out from the duvet. In sleep, her features were soft and serene, a smile teasing the corners of her lushly full mouth. She had looked like an angel, albeit a sensuous one, and one whose allure he hadn’t been able to resist as he’d set aside his phone and slid back into bed next to her.

  How would Jill look, he thought to himself now, in his own bed upstairs? The bed he had never shared with anyone else, or even been tempted to invite another woman to share. And as he closed out the photo, irritated that he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to stare at it, Max knew that it would be a very, very long time - if ever - when he might meet another woman who he would even consider sharing a bed with.

  He shuddered at the thought of dating someone else, much less sleeping with them, and had felt completely revolted by Finn’s casual suggestion of heading out to a bar or club and picking up some random woman to fuck. But then, in fairness to Finn, he had no idea about Jill, no clue about the fact that she and Max had carried on such a wildly passionate affair during his time in Seattle. Finn and Jordan had guessed that a woman was responsible for the vile mood he’d been in this evening, but a guess or a hunch was all it really was at this point. Max was determined that his overly curious friends never learn what had actually happened, and resolved to keep mum on the subject in the future.

  It certainly hadn’t been the first time since leaving Seattle that Max had flat out rejected the thought of being with another woman. For years now, he’d attracted women easily, but more often than not he’d ignored or rebuffed their advances, always insisting on being the one in control and having a great dislike of overly aggressive females. On his last two trips he’d been approached at least a handful of times by attractive women who’d offered to buy him a drink or asked if they could join him at his table. He’d been so turned off, so repulsed by any woman who wasn’t Jill, that he’d merely given each of them a frosty, almost menacing glare, causing them to scurry away, probably thinkin
g he was some sort of sociopath that they were well rid of. But he damned well didn’t want another woman, couldn’t even consider becoming involved with someone else, even on a very, very casual basis. Not when his emotions were still so raw, not when he still felt this overwhelming guilt at the way he’d treated Jill. And not when he still cared about her so much. He refused to even consider that what he felt for her might be love, would probably never believe himself capable of such an emotion. Whatever it was he felt for Jill, however, was something he’d never felt for another woman, and doubted he would ever feel the same way again.

  Forcing himself to ignore the multiple emails from Jill that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to delete as yet, Max read through several new messages, all but one of them having to do with work-related subjects. The final one brought a rare smile to his face, even before he began to read it. But then, anytime he heard from Theo, his old boarding school roommate, was an occasion to smile at least a little.

  Theo had done quite well for himself, considering his parents had had precious little time for him as a boy. Against their wishes, he’d majored in art history while at university, and then worked in a variety of galleries and museums for several years until he had opened his own gallery. Nowadays he owned a total of half a dozen successful galleries in various European cities, and was independently wealthy. He was married to an equally talkative Scotswoman, and they were raising three active, happy children in an affluent suburb of London.

  Max kept in relatively close contact with his former roommate, exchanging emails and texts on a monthly basis. During a couple of his trips to Europe over the past few years, he’d been able to meet up with Theo, who happened to be in the same city at the time, and the two friends had caught up over dinner. And Theo, who probably knew more about Max’s background than just about anybody, understood why his old friend refused to visit London or any other city or town in England and thankfully had never pressed the issue.