by K. S. Adkins
When I walk out the door he turns, stops, and just stares. No emotion, nothing. In an effort to save what little pride I have left, I approach, hoping this isn’t the biggest mistake of my life. I don’t know shit about this kind of thing; I just know now that he’s within reaching distance, I want to grab on and never let go.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he says back, all but ignoring me. “Are you lost?”
“Totally,” I admit. “Aren’t you?”
“Thought you’d be gone by now,” he says, walking toward the picnic table that not too long ago he devoured me on. Even though it was a week or so ago, it feels like a lifetime. “Are you here on business?”
“Shouldn’t you be resting that shoulder?” I ask, worried about his healing, especially if he’s pushing it. But then he grabs a water and gives me a nasty look and that look stops me cold.
“Shouldn’t you be flying back to DC?” he throws back with attitude, then ignores me in earnest.
“I’ll be gone before you know it,” I whisper, hoping he’ll ask me to stay.
“Not soon enough,” he says, pushing past me and into the house.
What.
The.
Fuck.
About three seconds after the shock of what he says wears off, the hurt sets in, followed by the I’m gonna kick his ass for this feeling. Throwing the door open and stomping in I look and he’s not in the kitchen or living room. Swear to god if he left, I’ll gut him. Two-timing it up the steps I hear the water running, so I sit down on his bed to wait him out.
Fuck him. He wants to wreck me, he can do it like a fucking man. He can do it to my face without all of his bullshit excuses. I’ve never asked him for anything; I want the truth, or I’ll put a bullet in his other shoulder, and it won’t be with a god damned .22.
When the water cuts off and he walks out in just a towel my mouth starts to water. Does he have to be so perfect? Looking up and noticing me he turns to his dresser, pulling his jeans out. Having enough of being ignored I stand up, walk over, and push him into the wall.
“Talk to me,” I growl, pushing him harder. “Quit acting like I don’t fucking exist. Wasn’t eight years of it enough for you?” When he says nothing, just looks past me, I snap. “You don’t have to love me back! But I can’t leave knowing you hate me, either! Just tell me the truth! Wreck me like a fucking man, Maxwell! I keep coming back for you because I love you. You don’t feel the same? Fine! How about a thanks for saving me, Jules? Or nice knowing you, see you in court!”
Still nothing. Fuck. There it is, then. How he really feels. He feels absolutely nothing while I feel absolutely everything… Backing away as quickly as possible, I make it to the door so I can run back to my rental when he grabs me by the waist, pulling my back to his front.
“Don’t,” he says quietly.
“God dammit, don’t what?”
“Don’t leave.”
I want to turn around, to look into his eyes, but he is holding me firm. Deciding that here is better than in my car driving away, I ask him a very difficult question.
“Why do you want me to stay? What else could you possibly take from me, Max? I’m tapped out; I gave you everything I had. I’m broke.”
“When I’m with you, I can breathe. I forget about all the years spent without you, but you’re here now and I can’t let you leave. Existing isn’t working for me, not when the alternative is living. Fuck existing, Blue; I want to live.”
My breath hitches at his words; his body language is protective and his arms are my home. Why does this have to be so hard? Where’s my anger? My hurt? Why am I not lashing out at him making him suffer as I’m suffering? I suppose it’s simple, really; I love him that much. He takes my silence and fills it with his words, and the more he speaks the further the hurt fades. This is dangerous territory, but my soul needs this; my broken heart needs this.
“He said he hurt you, raped you,” he groans out. “When he said it I wanted to hurt him back, I wanted to kill him, Blue. Before I could react, he shot me. My own father fucking shot me. Then he sat there taunting me while I bled on his floor. Thank fuck his aim sucks and that he used a .22. I wanted to do it though, Blue. I wanted to take his life, to avenge you, but I guess I needed to hear what he had to say, because the more he ranted the more I got it. He hated you, he hated me, he hated both of us, what we had. Then you showed up and when it counted I couldn’t do it. I’m not that guy; I tried to be, but I don’t think I ever will be.”
When his face nestles into my neck, it makes sense. He is ashamed of himself for lacking the killer instinct. How did I let it get this far? Did I honestly think showing him some moves and giving him range time was going to morph him into a killer without a conscience? That’s not Max. That’s also one of the reasons I love him most; he is a kind person.
“I remember walking home that night. Even though I’d just left my friends, I was lonely. Then you showed up, larger than life and so gentle. You made me happy, Max. I knew you for a few hours and for the first time ever, I wasn’t a street kid; I was special. The next morning you found me, and when I opened the door and you were there I fell for you,” I tell him, squeezing his forearms. “I loved you because you were gentle, Max. It’s easy to be hard and unforgiving. You are an enigma; you fill a room, you tower over most, but you’re sweet and empathetic. For a girl like me, you were perfection, Max. You balanced me out; that’s why I married you. That’s why I never filed, and that’s why I always waited.”
“You said loved,” he whispers. “Not love. I may lack what it takes to take it a life, Blue, but I had what it took to shred your heart, and I’m not okay with that.”
“I know, Max,” I whisper. “I came here because I was worried about what you thought of me after that night. I just need to know that when I leave, that you won’t hate me for what I did.”
“Jesus,” he says, pulling me tighter. “I could never hate you, Blue.”
Taking a deep breath I realize this situation is heavy on my heart. He hasn’t said he loves me back, that he wants another shot, that he’s ready to be truthful. He’s letting me go again, and if I’ve learned anything in life, it doesn’t take a relationship expert to know both people have to want it. A relationship, but most especially a marriage, has to be cherished by both people. They have to be willing to do anything to keep it, make it grow, and fuck the consequences.
That’s not what is happening here. This, well, this feels like a goodbye. If I had a voice I’d ask him what the secret is to making it so easy for him to do it, because I want in on it.
Maneuvering my body away from his, he releases his grip. Meeting his eyes knowing this is it, our time is up, is more painful than any wound I’ve sustained, more devastating than any loss I’ve ever dealt with. This is losing my one and only. So if this is it, he needed to know the truth, straight from the source. Taking my hand, reaching up, and placing it on his jaw, he covers it with his own.
“I loved you then, I love you now, I will love you always. I love you enough to step aside. I love you enough to stay gone and I love me enough to stop allowing you to break me. I’ve got one break left before I shatter, Max and this is it, it’s happening right now.”
Closing his eyes he whispers my name, not “Blue,” my name, but he allows me to remove my hand. Backing away I watch him until I make it to the hall, then my heavy feet pick up speed and I race to my rental. Just as I reach for the door a wail leaves my body and my knees hit the gravel. Sobbing, shaking, and a hurt so intense takes me over so that my breath is lodged and it won’t come out. Saying goodbye is destroying me. My soul is dying and there is no one to call, no team for backup, and no medicine that will fix it. Trying to catch my breath is so painful; the gravel digging into my knees hardly registers. Then he’s there, picking me up, carrying me back, and holding on tighter than he ever has.
And I let him.
I stopped having Tony search for her. It’s been years since I’ve asked or even mentio
ned her name outside of my own thoughts. I don’t know where she is, what she’s doing, or if she’s moved on. I haven’t moved on, and without her, I know I never will. Lush is busy, but I stay in my office, refusing to interact with anyone. After Venessa was arrested and then released we hired a man to watch her back, and if I’m reading this right, they’re into each other and Tony doesn’t like it. I don’t get it because in all these years he never treated her as more than a sister, and it was his idea. What do I know about relationships anyway? Not a fucking thing, so I keep my mouth shut.
The vibe here feels off, but I can’t place it. Probably because, I’m off. These days I can’t make sense of anything. I want to shut the doors, grab a flight, and beg her to come home with me. But I don’t because I wouldn’t even know where to look. That’s my punishment for giving up, for being a pussy. It’s a daily reminder I can’t shake no matter how hard I try.
Watching her walk away, seeing her run to her car, then witnessing her falling to her knees sent me into action. I just told her I couldn’t let her go again and there she was, going. Running out of the house, I scoop her up, ignoring my screaming shoulder. Bringing her in I kick the door shut, carry her upstairs, and lay her down on our bed. Sitting next to her isn’t enough, so I pulled her into my lap so she can cry. I’ve seen her happy, sad a few times, even pissed, then recently murderous, but never this. I’ve never seen her destroyed.
Sitting with her, absorbing her, satisfied that she’s close to me for as long as she’s willing to stay, which if I had my way would be forever. Tipping her chin up I take her mouth softly at first while she struggles to breathe through her stuffy nose. I missed her lips, her tongue, and her minty breath. When she throws her arms around my neck and pulls me down gently, I follow. She’s spread out beneath me, my body covering hers, and I want to put us in a bubble so it’s just the two of us forever.
Removing my jeans and boxers with my good arm, I kick them off to focus on her. Putting her arms above her head I remove her top but leave her bra. She looks so sexy in lace; I want to enjoy it a while longer. When she shimmies her bottoms off first followed by her panties, I stare at her being bare to me below the waist. Tracing her tattoo with my fingers causes her to shiver so I do it several more times. When she opens her eyes and gives me a small smile that screams uncertainty, I lean in, needing to taste her again, but to also reassure her. Reaching up for me she pulls me back down, and we let our mouths work for what feels like hours, but still not long enough.
She wraps her legs around me, pulling me closer. My cock sits flush with her core and I start rubbing myself all over her. She moans, digging her nails into my shoulder, never breaking our mouths apart. I slide in slowly and I feel her body accommodating mine, tightening and welcoming. Letting out my own moan I rock into her easy at first, but when her breath gets quicker, when her tongue picks up speed, I go at her harder, faster, and with desperation.
Wanting to last but knowing it feels too good to keep going like this I’m about to come when she pushes me off, onto my back, then straddles me taking all of me when she sinks down onto my cock. Arching her back she begins rocking back and forth on me, coming up some but sliding right back down even harder. Opening my eyes I see she’s riding me with hers closed, so I guide her, and when she loses her rhythm I help her regain it. All while I watch her with rapture clear on her face. Working her clit with my thumb faster and faster, she tightens, rocks harder, and just as she comes she opens her eyes and puts them on me.
Fucking beautiful.
Her release triggers my own, and even though we made love slowly, it’s a violent one. Hours later, in the middle of the night, I wake her and take her again, only this time we both keep our eyes open, and if possible it is even better than it was before. That’s the thing about her; every time with her is better than the first. When her lids get heavy and that smile is brighter I find myself able to let go of the guilt some. Making love to her soothed the hurt inside of me. Rolling so her back is to my front, we fall asleep like that, with my body cradling hers. Like we’ve done this a thousand times as husband and wife. I lay there holding the only woman I have ever loved knowing without her, I have nothing.
I even told her as much, and in the same breath I beg her to stay. For some time she’s quiet, but the more I go on she finally covers my mouth and then closes her eyes. “No promises, Max,” she whispers. “Not tonight, please.”
Closing my own eyes I pull her toward me so she is as close as possible. Tonight, I’ll keep quiet, but when we wake up tomorrow we’ll be hashing things out.
Naked.
“Men fuck up,” she says, exhaling on the other end of the phone. “You gonna forgive him or what?”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “I’ll forgive him, it’s what I do.”
“That’s my girl,” she says. “It never hurts to make him work for it. You know, foot rub, neck massage, wax your car, your crack or oral. Hell, take a vacation and have him flip the bill. It’s what I’d do.”
“Yeah, because you think all men owe you something.”
“Of course they do,” she says, acting offended. “They don’t cramp, bleed, or have sensitive nipples. It’s cool if they’re hairy and smelly because it’s ‘manly.’ I go two days without shaving, and a dude tells me that it’s bad hygiene. They have no idea what a Brazilian feels like, or I don’t know, a yearly exam when they bust out that speculum and don’t even warm it up first before they shove it—”
“Lina,” I groan. “Focus, please.”
“Right,” she says cheerfully. “Focusing! You have to forgive him, Red. One day you’ll need him to forgive you, too.”
Sunlight was pouring in, causing me to snuggle deeper into his furry chest. I wasn’t ready for morning; I wanted to stay here, with him, just us, just a few minutes longer. But when my bladder reminded me that UTIs were no laughing matter I untangled myself, used the bathroom, then headed downstairs to make coffee and check my messages.
Opening the necessary cupboards, grabbing the can, two cups, and some creamer, I hit “brew,” then head over to the fridge to see about making breakfast. Blindly setting everything I need on the island, I groan when I knock a stack of papers over. One of the things about him is he’s a neat freak like I am, and not wanting him to lose anything; I pick them up and attempt to put them back in order.
The first page I see is the cover letter from the county building with a time stamp showing proof of delivery. Turning the page I stare at my divorce decree and flip from page to page until I’m finally on the last page.
He signed it.
Every single page.
Yesterday. He signed them yesterday.
There it is, the shatter.
It is so swift and powerful, I am shocked the earth doesn’t quake with it.
Dropping the papers then looking around his kitchen, into his living room then back to the floor I am standing on, I feel myself break into pieces no amount of glue could fix . There was no stopping or stalling it. I was crumbling right where I stood. Had I not shown up here screaming in his face that I loved him he would have mailed these back. In hysterics, I took my phone, keys, and nothing else. I ran out to my rental wearing a T-shirt, threw it in reverse, and hauled ass back to my hotel room leaving my clothes, shoes, and heart behind at Max’s house. Forget crying or blaming him, this was one hundred percent my own fault. I knew better; I knew it last night when he held me, and I knew it again when he was inside of me. Bottom line is, I never know when to quit. He told me he quit and wanted out, but I just kept forcing myself back into his life.
This fuck-up in on me.
You can only hang out in a casino hotel room for so long staring at a bottle of whisky you know you shouldn’t drink but probably will anyway, because you’re an epic failure at matters of the heart. My phone is driving me nuts, too. Every time something goes down suddenly everyone wants to connect. Hours later I am sick of Macy calling every five minutes and finally answer. Looking back, I really w
ish I hadn’t.
“Hey, Macy.”
“Red!” she says enthusiastically. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning!”
“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry, I’ve been busy.”
“I bet,” she says. “Hey, any chance you’ve heard from Max? We’ve all been worried.”
“Max is fine,” I assure her. “I spoke with him myself just yesterday.”
“Thank god,” she says. “What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Being married as long as you have?”
“I can’t answer that, Macy,” I tell her without emotion, because I no longer have any. “You’ve known Rafe for months, but you know him better in a short time than I do being married all these years. Even if I combined all of our time together it’s still considerably less than the time you’ve spent with Rafe.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know, shit.”
“You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you,” I explain. “It’s okay, Macy. Did you need something?” I ask, deciding to take a walk downtown, grab a coffee, and clear my head. The next few minutes are spent listening to her talk about everything and nothing, and I find myself able to get lost in her happiness for a while. Macy is in a deliriously happy place and she deserves every second of it. She also deserves having her friend’s ear while she talks about it.
Rounding the corner to go and sit at my favorite spot at Campus Martius, my neck tingles. Casually I look around for a threat, but I don’t spot one right away. But then a uniform approaches me from the south looking lethal, and I know I am in deep shit. I’m out in public, I’m vulnerable, and I’m also pretty sure I’m being set up.
