The One Real Regret

by Janet Nissenson

  Max took another swig of water, wishing again for a large tumbler of something much stronger. “It was when my mother was trying to pull the bat out of my hands that I lost my balance and fell against Robby. I suppose he was already woozy from getting smacked around, and that caused him to fall to the floor and hit the side of his head. The impact of the fall is what killed him, they told me later, caused massive internal bleeding, and he probably died instantly. Meanwhile, my own mother is screaming that I’m a murderer, telling the police officers who’d been summoned by the neighbors that I had killed Robby. It must have been fairly obvious to the officers that Mum was completely wasted, plus the bruises and cuts Robby had inflicted were clear as day.”

  Jordan was the first to speak. “What happened next, Max?”

  “I was taken to the local police station, fortunately not in handcuffs or otherwise restrained. I got lucky, Jordan, if one can look at it from that perspective. The officer in charge of the case had figured out rather quickly what had happened, and that I’d simply been defending my mother. He also took it upon himself to call his neighbor, who just happened to be one of my teachers at the local school, to see if he knew anything about me. And it was my teacher - Mr. Harkness - who was responsible for changing my life. Rather than being shipped off to the English version of juvenile prison, I got sent to a very posh boarding school instead. Full scholarship, all arranged by Mr. Harkness’s brother who was the headmaster there. I worked my arse off there, determined not to let either Mr. Harkness down. And it resulted in my earning another scholarship, this one to Stanford where I met you and Finley. The pair of you know the rest of my life’s story after that.”

  “Hmm.” Finn regarded Max warily. “Why do I have the feeling, though, that there’s more to your story than what you’ve told us? Especially if what happened to you as a kid - how old were you, like thirteen, fourteen? - is the only reason why you didn’t feel worthy of this woman you’re so crazy about. Come on, Max. Tell us everything. Because you know we’re going to keep hounding you until you do.”

  Max glared at Finn, thinking again of what a royal pain in the arse he could be at times. “Of that, Finley, I have little doubt. Fine,” he bit out. “I’ll tell you the rest.”

  He struggled with the next part, ashamed to admit to his friends that he’d continued to experience violent tendencies during his teenaged and young adult years. He told them about how much he’d enjoyed hitting an opponent during a rugby match, and how he had had to hold himself back from inflicting too much harm. He haltingly described the way he’d fended off those upperclassmen bullies, how the sight of a busted lip or blackened eye had made him feel triumphant. And how that same simmering desire to inflict harm had carried over into his college days, in particular the first few months he, Finn, and Jordan had lived in the fraternity house.

  Jordan winced. “It all comes back to me now - the way you wouldn’t take shit from any of those arrogant bastards. And the reputation you acquired, how nobody dared to mess with you. To be honest, at the time I thought a lot of that was just exaggeration, that Finn here was spinning one of his wild stories and making you out to be some sort of badass that you really weren’t, just so everyone would leave him alone if they thought Max would come after them.”

  Finn shook his head. “Nope. Not, of course, that I didn’t make up all sorts of crazy stories during college, but one about Max being a thug wasn’t one of them. No, he earned that reputation all by himself. But after the first couple of months, the older guys in the frat house just left us alone, and I never thought anything more of it.”

  “It got better after that,” admitted Max. “When no one tried to bully me or one of my friends, I didn’t have any real need to react physically. But I’d be lying if I said that those sort of violent tendencies weren’t still there in some manner, simmering beneath the surface, and just waiting for the right - or wrong - sort of provocation to be released. I still struggle with it from time to time, but mostly I worry that it’s more of a genetic trait, something that my father passed on to me and that I could potentially pass on to any children I might have. Or that one day I might not be able to control it, that I could possibly harm Jill if I became angry enough. So it’s for all of those reasons why I couldn’t have a relationship with her four years ago, why I should be flogged for even considering it now. Not to mention the facts that I’m moody and irritable, have no idea how to express my emotions or open up to someone, and would probably be the worst boyfriend ever. And this is all assuming that she even wants to get involved with me again, or that she can find a way to forgive me for everything I’ve put her through. Her boyfriend - ”

  “Would come up short in every possible way when compared to you,” insisted Aubrey. She left Jordan to sit on the sofa by himself while she perched on one of the arms of Max’s chair, taking his hand in hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “If your Jill cared that much about you four years ago, I guarantee you’d only have to crook your finger at her now and she’d come running back into your arms. Real love doesn’t die out that easily, Max, and in spite of convincing yourself that you’re this awful person, you’re actually one of the finest men I’ve ever known. You’re loyal and thoughtful and kind, and have always been a perfect gentleman towards me. And I for one don’t give a rat’s ass about any of the stuff you did as a teenager or a college student, or who your parents were. Hey, don’t forget that I never knew who my real father was, and that my birth mother wound up being severely bipolar and totally unreliable, enough that she had to give me up for adoption because she was incapable of taking care of me. And that she subjected my half-sister to stuff that was so bad Tessa still won’t talk about it to this day. So if Tessa and I turned out okay, didn’t take after our mother in the slightest, then there’s no reason why you should be afraid of winding up like either of your parents.”

  “Aubrey’s right,” declared Delilah briskly, as she, too, abandoned her fiancé to sit on the opposite side of Max, and take his free hand in hers. “My mother was a high-strung, nervous wreck of a woman who lived in the shadow of my father. And he’s the biggest asshole in the world, a man who abandoned his wife and daughters to go shack up with his girlfriend. I’m nothing like either of my parents, Max, and it sure as hell doesn’t sound like you take after yours in any way, shape, or form.” Her voice gentled as she reached down to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re just Max. Our Max. And you couldn’t hurt a flea.”

  Aubrey nodded, a mischievous grin lighting up her features. “Besides, if you’ve known Finn for more than twenty years and have managed to refrain from killing him all this time, then I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.”

  Everyone in the room laughed, including Finn, and Max began to feel as though an enormous weight had finally been lifted off his chest after all these years. It was still a very strange sensation, of course, for him to feel comfortable sharing these extremely private thoughts with anyone, but he was savvy enough to recognize that opening up was still a work in progress for him.

  “Can I ask what might be a rather obvious question?” inquired Jordan. At Max’s nod, he continued. “Why haven’t you ever talked to someone about this stuff - your fears about turning out like your father, the repressed violence, all the trauma you endured as a kid? And by someone I mean a professional, like a therapist or psychiatrist. I could recommend someone to you, after all. Someone discreet.”

  Max shrugged. “I’ve certainly thought about it several times but I suppose I always chickened out when push came to shove. I was too embarrassed, too proud, to admit I needed help. But I think if I’m to have any chance of making things work with Jill I’ll need to pull out all the stops. So, yes. If you can recommend someone, Jordan, I think the time has come to get professional help.”

  Jordan nodded. “Consider it done. I’ll send you a few names on Monday.”

  “Thank you.” Max stood, then assisted both women to their feet. “I don’t know ab
out anyone else, but I certainly need a drink after all that. Can I interest any of you in a glass of a very fine port?”

  But before anyone could reply, Finn, who’d been oddly quiet during this last interchange, surged to his feet and walked over to Max before enveloping him in a bear hug. Max, who looked distinctly ill at ease at this unexpected display of affection, tentatively began to hug him back.

  “I love you, dude,” croaked Finn, his voice raspy with emotion. “Even though I could throttle you right now for keeping all of this crap to yourself for more than two decades. Jordan and I consider you a brother, after all, and what good is having a family if you can’t lean on them? So don’t keep any of that stuff to yourself any longer, Max. You have all of us now - me, Jordan, Delilah, and Aubrey. Your real family might have been worthless, might not have given a damn about you, but the four of us love you like a brother.”

  Max blinked furiously, determined that no one notice the moisture in his eyes. “I love you, too. All of you. And I’ve never said that to anyone in my life before.”

  Delilah looped her arm through his as Finn hooked an arm around Max’s neck. “Well, there’s one other person you need to say those three little words to, Max. A very, very important person. So go grab that bottle of port so the five of us can put our heads together and figure out the best way for you to win your woman back.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It started to rain less than a mile from her apartment, causing Jill to run quite a bit faster than she normally would have at the end of a five mile workout. She had checked the weather report before heading out this morning, and had been almost positive she’d be able to make it back in time before the heavens opened up again. Apparently, she thought grimly, someone’s calculations had been off, but whether those were hers or the weather service’s she wasn’t quite sure.

  ‘Well, you can only get so wet, right?’ she asked herself resignedly as she fairly sprinted the last few blocks home.

  At least she’d dressed suitably for the cool, rainy weather this morning - Lycra tights, a long-sleeved, wind-resistant top with thumb holes to protect her hands, and a mesh baseball cap that helped to keep the rain out of her eyes. She was still going to get wet, no doubt about it, and would be fantasizing about a hot shower the closer she got to her apartment.

  An apartment that was technically a detached in-law unit, built in the backyard of a much larger home. The place was small, barely seven hundred square feet in all, but Jill had fallen in love with it at first sight. The owners had completely re-done the place, adding in touches like wood floors, a compact but fully equipped kitchen, spa-like bathroom, and plenty of storage. She even had her own private little deck at the back of the unit, and was allowed full access to the yard. And since the owners rarely if ever seemed to be outside, Jill usually had the space all to herself.

  Not, of course, that the weather in this part of the city was always ideal for sunbathing or sitting out for very long. But Jill had been well aware of that particular drawback when she’d decided to live in the Outer Sunset, just two short blocks from Ocean Beach. It hadn’t made the slightest bit of difference when the rental agent had warned her about the higher than average number of foggy days, or the often cool temperatures, or even the crowds and traffic that could clog the beach area on a rare hot day. Once she’d seen the inside of the adorable in-law unit she’d been smitten, and upon discovering the enchanting little hideaway of a backyard she had made up her mind. It didn’t matter that the neighborhood was far from trendy or hip, that while there were certainly cafes and restaurants and shops they were limited in number, or that she would have a longer bus ride to and from the office each day. She loved living so close to the beach and also to Golden Gate Park, where she spent lots of time on the weekends exploring the running trails, hiking paths, museums, gardens, and other attractions.

  Between the inclement weather and the still-early hour - Jill had departed on her run well before eight o’clock - the streets were mostly deserted as she made the turn for home. Her place was located on a quiet side street, where she knew most of her neighbors and recognized the majority of the cars parked nearby. But the gunmetal gray Aston Martin parked right in front of her residence was definitely not familiar to her, and she slowed her pace as she stopped right beside the elegant, obviously expensive vehicle.

  As she did so, the driver’s side door opened, and Jill gasped in surprise as Max emerged from the car. He was wearing a trench coat but no hat, though he seemed all but oblivious to the rain that was now coming down in earnest.

  “What - what are you doing here?” she asked incredulously. “And at this hour of the morning? And in this weather?”

  Max smiled. “I’m here to see you, Jill. I’d - well, I’d like to talk to you, if that’s all right. Preferably inside since you’re already soaked to the skin.”

  She was so startled to see him here that she didn’t even wonder how he’d gotten hold of her address, or why he had felt the need to seek her out so early. She merely nodded and beckoned for him to follow her, fishing the key out of a hidden pocket in her tights.

  “My place is back this way,” she explained, opening the side gate and leading him down a short, paved walkway that led into the backyard.

  Her hands were shaking as she inserted the key into the lock, but she couldn’t say for certain if it was due to the cold or nerves. Why on earth, she thought to herself, was Max showing up this way out of the blue? It couldn’t be business related, since he would have simply sent her an email if he had a question about something.

  He paused in the doorway, glancing around the small, cozy interior of her place warily. “I’m not intruding, am I? That is, will Tyler mind that I stopped by unannounced this way?”

  Jill shook her head. “No, he won’t mind. He - it’s not an issue, trust me. Come on in, you’re getting soaked standing there. Here, let me take your coat.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Max assured her gently as he removed his trench coat and hung it on the entryway coatrack. “You, on the other hand, had best get into a hot shower immediately. What were you thinking, going for a run in this weather?”

  She removed her cap, grimacing as it trailed a puddle of water onto the wood floor. “It wasn’t raining when I left forty-five minutes ago. And according to the weather report it wasn’t supposed to start for at least another hour. Guess you can’t predict Mother Nature. Just let me rinse off quickly and change. Oh, except I should make you some coffee or tea before that. And turn the heat up.”

  “I’m very capable of doing both of those things for myself,” he told her firmly. “In fact, I can see the thermostat from here, and starting a pot of coffee is one of my many hidden talents. Now, off with you before you catch a cold.”

  “You know, don’t you, that it’s just an old wives tale that you can catch a cold from being cold or wet,” she chattered nervously, feeling suddenly discomfited at his very unexpected presence. “You catch a cold from germs or a virus or something.”

  Max gave her a stern look. “Go take a shower, Jill. And there’s no need to rush. I’m aware that my visit - for lack of a better word - is unexpected, so please don’t let me interfere with your usual routine. I’ll make us some coffee in the meanwhile.”

  She glanced around the room - a warm, open space that was living room, dining area, and kitchen combined - and offered up a silent thanks that her place was mostly tidy. She guessed that the shabby chic, somewhat funky décor was a far cry from what Max was used to, assuming that his own place was as elegantly furnished as the hotel suites he lived in during his business trips. But he had already disappeared into the kitchen, opening up cupboards and drawers as he searched for the coffee supplies, and appeared to be very much at ease here.

  Jill rushed through her shower despite his bidding to take her time, even though she would have normally lingered awhile under the blissfully hot water. She dressed with equal speed, pulling on a pair of skinny
jeans and a warm, cream colored fisherman’s sweater she’d bought during a trip to British Columbia. She ran a comb through her wet hair, slicked on some pale pink lip gloss, and shoved her bare feet into a pair of slip-on loafers before fairly bursting into the main room.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted her, and she couldn’t help taking a deep, appreciative sniff. Max had already helped himself to some, and was sitting on one of the barstools at the small breakfast bar. Being a Saturday morning, he wasn’t wearing one of his usual designer suits and ties, but the black wool trousers, gray cashmere sweater, and black leather loafers still made him look as though he could be a male model or celebrity. His dark hair was neatly combed, though a bit damp from the rain, and he was clean shaven. The scent of his soap and discreet cologne combined to make her feel a little weak in the knees, and she couldn’t help emitting a little sigh of pleasure as she gazed upon his overwhelmingly masculine good looks.

  That small sound was more than enough to catch Max’s attention, however, and he turned slightly until their eyes met. Her breath caught in her throat as she noticed the way he was looking at her - as though he remembered all too well what she looked like without her clothes on. And since that made her recall just how delicious he had looked naked, Jill hastily looked away from his all too knowing gaze and strode purposefully into her small but modern kitchen.

  “Thanks for making the coffee,” she murmured, grabbing her favorite mug from the cupboard. The mug was white with black letters that read “I’m A Bad Girl. I Read Past My Bedtime.” It had been something of a gag gift from Shoshana, but Jill adored the mug and used it almost every day.