“How far is the restaurant?” he managed to ask past his clenched jaw.
“About five minutes. Why?”
“I don’t like this.”
“We’ll sneak back into my place from the front.”
“No, I mean, I don’t like this.”
Chloe finally seemed to register that he was digging his nails into the upholstery. “What’s wrong?”
“This truck is wrong!”
“Whoa. Are you freaking out?”
Max gripped the door handle tighter as Chloe passed a slow-moving sedan. “I’m not freaking out. You can’t tell me that anyone likes riding in this truck.”
“Er…actually, no one seems to care much. They think it’s funny.”
“Funny?” She was driving way too close to the center line. How could she not see that? Another car approached, its headlights aglow in the pinkish light, and Max squeezed his eyes shut. “Would you mind easing over to the right a little? I think your perspective is off.”
“You’re not having a panic attack, are you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? You look pale.”
He forced a smile and ignored the bead of sweat sliding down his hairline. “Hey, I’ve got a better idea for breakfast. Why don’t we just go back to your place? If you’ve got a can of whipped cream, all I need is you and a kitchen table.”
“Seriously, Max? Even you aren’t pulling that off.”
“Oh, Jesus,” he prayed as Chloe sped up to make a quick turn past a yellow light.
She patted his hand. “We’re almost there now. No point in turning back.”
He pressed his foot harder to the floorboard, his toes numb from the pressure, and clenched his jaw to keep from shouting something ridiculous. Like Please stop the car and let me out here before I throw up!
The car bumped over something, but he kept his eyes closed until it rolled to a gentle stop. He cracked one eyelid open and saw a sidewalk and a fence. Forcing the other eye open, he made out the rest of the parking lot and popped open the handle of the door. When he set his foot to the asphalt, Max felt like an astronaut stepping out of a space shuttle after a safe landing back on earth. He just managed not to fall to his knees and kiss the wonderfully solid ground.
“Maybe you should ride in the backseat on the way home.”
“Maybe I should.”
Chloe cleared her throat while he rolled his shoulders and stretched his tight neck. “So…no control issues, huh?”
“None at all.”
“So you’re ready to eat?”
His stomach turned, but he managed to hold out an arm and tilt his head charmingly toward the restaurant. “I’m starving. After you, madam.” But when he considered the ride home, Max found himself ordering toast and coffee, and he willfully ignored every raised eyebrow Chloe aimed in his direction. He wanted this weekend to be totally normal, and so it would be, despite the complete, chaotic mess that seemed to dominate Chloe’s everyday life.
She’s normal, he repeated to himself over and over again. Everything is totally normal.
But it was just the start of the day, after all.
“SO WHAT DOES YOUR DAD DO NOW?” Max asked.
Chloe glanced at the rearview mirror. He did look slightly less crazed in the backseat, but she noticed that he kept his eyes closed. “Now he gardens. And does something like Meals on Wheels. Mom is trying to get him to take up golf to get him out of the house more, but he says he enjoys their time together too much for that.”
“And your mom disagrees?”
“She’s used to having the house to herself.” She caught him smiling in the mirror, and she smiled back, even though he couldn’t see her. “See? I told you I was normal. Perfectly average and normal. I even had a dog named Lassie when I was growing up.”
“You did not.”
“Did, too. So what was your family like? Obviously I know your brother, but what about your parents?”
The smile faded and he let his head fall back onto the headrest. “Papa was a rolling stone. He’d show up out of the blue and hang around for a few months, then be on his way again. He liked the idea of having two big, strong sons, but he wasn’t interested in taking care of a family.”
“Ooh.” When she looked again, Max met her eyes in the mirror.
“Yeah, it’s so transparent it’s kind of embarrassing. I’ve been the man of the house since I was seven years old. But a seven-year-old can’t tell his mother what to do, and little brothers are kind of resistant to that sort of thing, too. I imagine that’s when I started developing creative ways to take charge.”
“You mean ‘maintain complete control over everyone around you’?”
“I just like things to be safe and sound, that’s all.”
Chloe let it go. She didn’t even start humming “Queen of Denial.” He knew what he was. There was no need to force him to say it, unless, of course, she had him naked and at her mercy.
She turned onto her street and heard Max breathe a sigh of relief as she pulled up to the curb in front of Mrs. Schlessing’s house. “I’ll move the truck back to the garage tonight after dark. Let’s try to get up the stairs quickly. Sometimes they won’t notice if they’re on the phone.”
“Got it.”
But something was a little off today. Before they reached the wrought-iron gate, a man appeared on the corner, camera pointed in their direction. As Max pushed the screeching gate open, the man started jogging toward them. “Max!” he yelled. “Max Sullivan!”
Chloe stumbled as she squeezed through the narrow opening. “They found out your real name.”
“Damn it.” He forced himself through, though the metal must have scraped his back, then he slammed the gate shut and started up the overgrown path after Chloe. A huge mass of fur and muscle came barreling past them, fangs bared in a vicious growl. Max yelped and pressed into one of the bushes, but the dog aimed straight for the gate, slamming into the metal and pushing his muzzle through the bars to snap at the photographer. That distracted the guy enough for Chloe and Max to disappear into the vines.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe offered feebly, mortified that he had to suffer the experience of crazed photographers screaming out his name. “I’m really sorry.”
He said, “No big deal,” but his voice had that pulled-down sound again.
The path drew close to the main house, and Mrs. Schlessing appeared on the porch in housecoat and slippers, her shotgun cradled in her arms.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Schlessing. It’s just the press again. I parked in front to try to avoid them.”
“Damn pushy vultures.”
“The gate’s shut and Brutus has it covered. You can put the gun away.”
She was still muttering when they turned to follow the path around to the side of the house.
“Is that thing really loaded?” Max whispered.
“I’m pretty sure it is.” Smiling over her shoulder, Chloe didn’t register the voices at first. Not until she saw Max’s eyes widen, his gaze focused somewhere ahead.
Chloe whipped around to make sure the carriage house wasn’t on fire. It wasn’t, but from the sound of it, a whole brigade of people seemed ready to capture every lick of flame on film if it was. Up to this point, she’d been mildly hounded. At most, three or four photographers had staked out the alleyway, trying to capture a moment of her life that would earn them a paycheck. But now… She couldn’t see them past the fence, but she could see the three video cameras that had been erected on top of a van parked in the alley. Every lens was focused straight on her. And Max. “Oh, God. What’s going on?” This didn’t make sense. It was Sunday. Surely the DA hadn’t made any announcements. She stopped in her tracks, wondering what she should do. Go forward or go back? But when Max bumped her heel from behind, she started walking again. Fast. Then faster, until she was jogging toward the stairs. “Come on,” she urged Max, waving for him to hurry.
“Max!” Someone else shouted, and Chloe cringed.
/> “Max! How did you end up with the Bridezilla?”
“Is she a friend of Genevieve Bianca?”
Chloe was halfway up the stairs. She heard the still cameras clicking and whirring. The video cameras were menacing in their silence, as always. Something about their blank, impassive lenses creeped her out. Too many bad science fiction movies, maybe.
“Chloe! How long have you been sleeping with Max Sullivan?”
She couldn’t find her keys. She’d just had them. Where could they possibly—she patted her right pocket and snatched them out in triumph, keeping her face tilted down toward the doorknob.
“Max! What does Genevieve think of your dating Chloe Turner?”
“Where did you meet?”
She turned the key so hard that her wrist yelped with pain, but that little twinge didn’t bother her, because she was finally through the door and cocooned in darkness. The first thing she’d done when she’d moved in was buy light-blocking shades. If she couldn’t see out, they couldn’t see in.
Max slipped inside and shut the door behind him.
“Oh, my God, Max. What’s wrong with them?”
He shook his head and collapsed slowly back against the door.
“It’s never…” Though she tried hard to draw a breath, her throat had squeezed itself shut “…been like…this.”
“Chloe?”
He took a step forward, and she held up a shaking hand. “I’m…fine.” Her heart beat so hard it felt like every thump set off a violent shaking inside the chambers. “Just…” The voices rose to shouts outside. She couldn’t make out more than Max’s name, but it was enough to keep her pulse going.
Max lurched forward and grabbed her arms before she realized that the floor was getting wavy beneath her feet. When she leaned straight into him, he shifted and tucked his hands beneath her knees to pick her up. “Breathe, Chloe. Jesus, I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No! Panic attack.” She managed to draw a deeper breath and the scent of his shirt wound through her like opium. “I’m fine.”
He laid her down on her bed, and began touching her. Her forehead, her cheek, the pulse beneath her jaw. Then he set his ear to her chest. She couldn’t believe his head didn’t bounce right off with the force of her heartbeat. But he kept stroking her shoulder and making soft shussing sounds, and eventually Chloe could breathe without strangling on her own adrenaline. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, horrified.
“Are you okay? You scared me half to death.”
“I’m sorry.” Regret swelled up in her, pushing tears to her eyes. She didn’t want to be this person. A person people screamed at and chased. A person who had panic attacks and lived like a hermit. A freak in a traveling sideshow with circus cars that seemed to follow her everywhere. “I’m sorry. You can leave if you want to.”
“I’ll get you a glass of water.”
Chloe lay in the dark, staring up at a water stain on the ceiling, and she told herself it was going to be okay. Max would come back and he’d make a joke, and he wouldn’t care about having his name on television. He’d stay with her tonight, and tomorrow he’d hold her hand and watch the press conference. He’d be there for her when the final shoe dropped.
She knew the fact that she was telling herself this meant that it wasn’t going to happen. If it were going to happen, she wouldn’t be holding so hard to the fantasy.
And when Max returned with a glass, even in the dim light, she could see the way his eyes shifted nervously to the window. The way he stuck his hands in his pockets as she sipped. He looked at the door, then down at his watch. Finally, he sat heavily on the bed and held his head in his hands.
While her apartment had felt secret and cozy with Max in her bed, it wasn’t. It was a cave. A box. A trap she couldn’t escape. And Max looked far too big within its confines.
“Chloe.” He lifted his head. “I’m making this worse.”
“It’s my fault. It’s only been a month—”
“But part of it’s me.”
“Why?”
He ran a hand through his hair, setting it into crazy lines. “Genevieve Bianca.”
“Yeah.” Chloe laughed. “What the heck was that about?”
“She, um… The truth is…I dated her.”
“Genevieve Bianca? The heiress?”
“Yes.”
“Are you serious? That’s crazy. When did you date Genevieve Bianca?”
His eyes slid to meet hers before darting away. “We broke it off about nine months ago.”
Nine months ago. “Oh,” she breathed. “I see.” Genevieve Bianca. Good Lord. That woman was thin and fashionable and so rich she was famous just for that. And everyone agreed that she was remarkably nice for an heiress, if a bit of a magnet for users and troubled playboys.
Max wasn’t either of those things. Chloe curled her hands to fists. “She was one of those women.”
He didn’t answer.
“She was one of those women you stayed with just so you could help her.” And that was when it hit her. Chloe drew in a ragged breath and sat up so quickly that the room spun. “Oh, my God. I’m one of those women!”
Despite her shock, she half expected him to protest, to offer at least a token denial, but he didn’t. He just sat there, staring at her lap.
“I’m one of them.”
Finally, Max shook his head. “No, not at all.”
She didn’t want to hear him lie, so Chloe frantically changed the subject. “Genevieve Bianca? How long were you with her?”
“We were dating on and off for a few months. I wouldn’t say I was ‘with’ her.”
“Max.”
His big shoulders curved down in defeat. “I don’t really know what happened. We finished a site early. The captain had some connection to her uncle. They wanted to see a real treasure wreck. He invited them out for a postseason dive, and I was the one in charge of instructing and outfitting them.” He raised a heavy hand, as if he was too tired to complete a gesture. “The dives were done for the season, and…we hung out.”
“And?”
“And she seemed like she needed someone around her who wasn’t looking for a handout. I don’t know.”
“She needed help.”
“Yes.”
“So you stuck around?”
“I suppose I did. When I wasn’t working.”
Chloe felt suddenly drained, as if she were a puppet whose strings had just been cut. She wished she hadn’t bothered sitting up. Now flinging herself back down would just look melodramatic, and she wanted to hold herself still. Genevieve had needed help and Max hadn’t been working. That sounded awfully familiar.
“So,” he said, “that’s why the press is so crazed today. They finally figured out who I was. I wasn’t really part of her red carpet entourage. I only occasionally shared a picture with Genevieve, but that was enough, I suppose.”
She nodded as if she understood, but it was just starting to hit her. All her imaginings of Max were constructed around the isolation of his job. A romantic fantasy world, where Max sailed over turquoise seas by day and lounged in his solitary cabin at night. She’d forgotten that he sometimes got off the boat and wandered free and handsome through the world. With someone willowy and vulnerable.
This was awful.
“I’m sorry,” Max murmured. “I should have told you. I should have warned you. But it never occurred to me that they’d make the connection.”
“Unfortunately, they’re pretty damn good at what they do.”
He took her hand and cradled it carefully in his own. “I’m really, really sorry, Chloe.”
She didn’t want to be another one of those girls. Actually, she did. She wanted to be coddled and stroked and taken care of, but…in a different way. She didn’t want to be coddled and stroked and taken care of because she needed him. She wanted all that because he needed her.
But that wouldn’t be good for Max. Not with his history.
Chloe took a deep breath. “Ma
ybe you should go.”
The edges of his eyes tightened. He squeezed her hand. “Maybe I should.”
Oh, no. She hadn’t meant for him to agree. Not so quickly. Not so easily.
“You should go stay with your parents. It’s only going to be a few more days, and you need to be with someone.”
Her head felt strangely light when she shook it. “I don’t.”
“You do. Maybe Jenn could come stay with you.”
Now she felt panicked again. Why had she suggested he leave? “No. Jenn and I… I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She’s been acting strange. We haven’t talked since Thursday night. I called her, but she hasn’t called back.”
He ran his free hand through his hair with a sigh. “I’ll only draw more attention to you if I stay.”
“Just for a little while then. Just until tomorrow?”
He met her gaze, his eyes fathomless brown. A burst of laughter leaked from the window that faced the alley, and he looked toward it. She saw defeat flash over his face like a wince. “If you need me to stay, then I’ll—”
“Never mind.” The words didn’t want to leave her mouth, but she pushed them out. “You’re right. You should go. I’ll call you a cab and have it pick you up in front.”
“Wait, Chloe. I can stay until—”
“I know what you’re doing, and I don’t need that. I need to work this out on my own.”
His gaze dropped, as if he could hide his intentions.
“I’m fine, Max. I’ve been living like this for weeks now. It’s no big deal. My parents will be relieved if I come stay with them. That’s a good idea. They’ve been worried.”
“Damn it, Chloe, I want to stay. I swear I want to stay. But that’s the problem. I have this need to help, and I promised myself I wouldn’t do this anymore. It’s why I stopped dating. Why I stopped even looking at women. Living like this, it’s killing me.”
Like this, he said. Not like that. Like this.
She didn’t try to defend herself. How could she? She wanted him around for the same reasons those other women had. She was using him for his sweetness and his body and his beautiful way of worrying about her. Just like the others.
But unlike the others, Max had been honest with her. And she owed him something more than falling at his feet and begging him to stay. Her panicked mind formed the argument: You just got here. You came to me. Please stay.
Crazy for Love Page 19
