"We can't be friends, Tyson." There. I said it. It's out there. And now I feel even worse.
"What? Why not?" he asks. I look at him, surprised to see that he appears angry. I'm not going to lie, I was hoping he'd look a little sad.
"Why? Why? Are you a damn idiot? Why can't I be your friend?" I yell incredulously, throwing my hands in the air, then letting them fall back to my side. "Because…" I swallow back the lump in my throat and push forward. "Because you hurt me, Tyson. You know what?" I shake my head swiftly. "Hurt isn't even a good word for it. You fucking wounded me." Jesus Christ, these fucking tear ducts are getting on my nerves. My eyes have met their threshold, but I wipe them before any tears are able to fall.
"I know I did, Harley!" Tyson yells back, pounding his fist into his chest. "I know I fucking hurt you. And it fucking killed me, I told you that! I thought we were past this. I thought you forgave me and we were moving forward." His hands are fisted at his side and his shoulders are tense, but some of the anger has drained from his face. Now he just looks lost, and maybe confused.
I hate that we’ve come to this point. We shouldn't be fighting—this just isn't us. I soften my voice, trying to diffuse the situation. "We were, and I thought I could move past it. But you've given me so many mixed signals this past week that I don't know whether I'm coming or going."
"I gave you mixed signals? What about y—"
"I'm not done talking," I snap. He rubs his hands over his face in frustration but lets me continue. "Maybe I was the stupid one. Maybe I misread everything. But you did—you gave me mixed signals. You flirted with me. You found small ways to be close to me and touch me. You were persistent in wanting us to spend time together. And then you pulled away from me and started acting funny. I thought it was me. I thought maybe I was giving you mixed signals, so I wanted to make it clear."
Goddamnit. Remind me not to have these conversations again when I've been drinking. I stop trying to prevent the tears from falling. What's the use? My therapist told me once that I need to let things go, that it's not healthy to hold it all in. So this is me…letting things go. Tyson's body instantly reacts at the sight of my tears and he reaches forward, gripping my arms gently.
"Harley…"
I twist my arms out of his grasp and his eyes flash with pain. I'm hurting him. Ironic, huh?
I'm surprised how steady I'm able to keep my voice when I state, "I tried to kiss you last night, Tyson." This obviously hits a note with the silent trio standing off to the side, because the three of them speak at the same time.
"What?" Levi gasps, eyebrows raised.
"Yup," Quinn responds without taking her eyes off of us.
And I swear I hear Avery murmur, "Jackass."
Tyson's face twists in anguish and his chocolate eyes flash with regret. He reaches his hand out but drops it immediately when I shift away from him. "Harley, I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I wasn't rejecting you. God, I would never rejec—"
"And then," I interrupt, not wanting to rehash the embarrassment I felt last night, "I show up tonight and see you with her." I wave my hand at Avery. "She had her arm around you and the way she was looking at you…my God, I'd be an idiot not to notice—"
"Actually, that's why I came in here to talk to you,” Avery interjects softly. Frankly, I don't care. I don't want to hear what she has to say…this is between Tyson and me. I continue talking, not even acknowledging her and not caring that I’m being rude either.
"At first, I was bothered because you got called into work and had to cancel our dinner. But then when I saw that you came here with her instead, and the way you looked at her…" I take a deep breath, willing myself to talk through the tears. "You looked happy, Tyson. You were smiling and I realized that it's been a really long time since I've seen you smile like that.” My throat is burning and scratchy and I want nothing more than to run out of here and save face, but this is good for me—I need to get this out.
Tyson is watching me. His face is guarded, but his eyes are hard. I hate that I can't tell what he's thinking or feeling, but I have to finish this. "So I'm done. I can't be your friend. It's too hard," I sob, "I can't be your friend when I'm still completely in lo—"
"Enough!" he yells, stepping into my space. I stumble back, bumping into the sink. "Enough. Don't make this my fault, Harley. Don't play the fuckin' martyr, because it isn't attractive on you."
"What?" I ask, feeling like he just slapped me in the face. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Oh, come on, Harley. You want to know why I pulled away from you? You want to hear me say it?" His voice starts to shake and he twists away from me, running his hand across the back of his neck. "Because I was fucking jealous, okay? I was mad at myself that I had the chance to be with you and I blew it, and someone else stepped up and I was fucking jealous."
What? He's jealous? Okay, I know I've had a few drinks, but I have no idea what he's talking about. Who the hell is he jealous of? Despite my complete confusion, I don't miss the fact that he never told me I was wrong about Avery.
He turns back to me. "I want it to be me, Harley. I want to be with you." His voice is strong and firm, and his determined eyes bore into mine. "I want to be the one that gets to kiss you good night. I want to be the one to make you breakfast in the morning. Not him. Not Max," he says, shaking his head angrily.
Thoughts…meet brick wall.
What the what?
What the hell is he talking about?
He lowers his head in defeat at my silence and wipes a hand across his face while my heart clenches in my chest.
"Max?" I ask slowly, trying to make sure I heard him correctly.
"Yes, Max. You know…oh-he's-so-handsome, he's-doing-great, Max." His voice is laced with hurt and sarcasm, and it pisses me off because he is oh-so-fucking wrong. I glance at Quinn and she cocks an I-told-you-to-tell-him eyebrow at me. Then it hits me…this is my fault. I never told him I have a son. I never told him about Max.
I'm mad and hurt and pissed and every other negative emotion known to man. But mostly, I'm angry with myself. Maybe if I had been up front with him, none of this would have happened. But his sarcastic words ring in my ears, and as much as I know I should be gentle and truthful, I just can't.
"Oh my God, you're joking, right?" I ask mockingly. "You're jealous of Max? You don't even know who Max is," I spit.
Tyson's eyes swirl with emotion. He's watching me, waiting to see what I'll do or say next. Well, I hope he's watching closely, because I'm about to rock his fucking world and then he's going watch me walk right out that door.
"Uh-oh," I hear Levi whisper. "She's going to do it."
"She is soooo doing it," Quinn replies.
"What? What's she doing?" Avery whispers.
"She's going to tell him who Max is."
"I was right," Avery says, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "Max isn't her boyfriend." Levi and Quinn both shake their head. Tyson appears completely oblivious to the conversation that just took place behind him.
Well, let's go down in flames, shall we? With tears racing down my face, I open myself up, allowing him to see every emotion that I'm feeling. In fact, if he looks close enough, I'm fairly certain he could see my soul.
Stepping up to Tyson, I take a deep cleansing breath, which doesn't really help. "Max isn't my boyfriend." My voice is laced with venom when I go in for the kill, "He's my son."
Tyson's face pales. His chocolate eyes darken and nervously roam my face, looking for some sign that I'm lying. He's not going to find one. His body sags as the truth sinks in, and I can see tears glisten in his eyes under the dim lighting. He doesn't move. He doesn't respond or try to touch me. He just stands there—frozen.
Just before I push past him to walk out the door, I see a million emotions flash across his grief-stricken face: disbelief, pain, grief, regret, acceptance, hope, and then confusion. But I don't wait. Shameful tears prick my eyes as I push my way out of the bathroom and through the throngs
of bodies, trying to exit the bar.
I should have stayed. I should have let him come to grips with what I just threw at him. I'm sure he has a million and one questions and he's going to want answers. But I've had enough for tonight. I want to go home, curl up in bed, and go to sleep. I'm going to spend tomorrow wallowing in my pain, and then I'm going to pull myself together, pick myself up off the ground, and dust myself off. Because let's face it, this is my fault. I should have been up front with him from the beginning.
I unlock the car, drop into the front passenger seat, and lean my head against the window. So much for a fun night out. I know Quinn won't be long, and since we've been drinking, I'm certain Levi will be hot on her heels.
Just before Levi slides behind the wheel and Quinn gets in the back, I remind myself to never let Max leave for the weekend again. Leaning forward, Quinn gently strokes my hair. Levi reaches across the center console and squeezes my thigh reassuringly before he starts the car and pulls away. Neither one of them says a word— they don't have to. They've been down this road with me before, and they're prepared to go down it with me now. I just pray to God that I never have to go down it again.
IT’S BEEN TWO DAYS since Harley told me that Max is her son. She has a son. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that. I can’t believe I never found out about him. I mean, my parents are friends with her parents, for Christ’s sake. Granted, they moved out of town after Dallas’ death, but I’m sure they still keep in contact. And Levi—fucking Levi. I shouldn’t be surprised that he never told me. It’s obvious that his loyalty lies with Harley, and if I had to guess, she probably told him to keep his mouth shut.
I’ve spent the last eighteen hours thinking about him…thinking about Max. What does he look like? Does he have Harley’s green eyes? Does he look like his dad? Who is his dad? Is the guy still in the picture?
I want to meet him. I need to meet him. It’s the weirdest thing, but once she told me she has a son, I got this incredibly strong urge to spend time with him. It’s almost as though we have this strange connection and I’m being pulled to him. At first, I thought the urge was simply because Harley has always been a huge part of my life and it’s natural to want to know her children. But I…I just don’t know how to explain it. I just need to meet him. And I need to talk to her.
Christ, I was so wrong. I should have just asked. I should have put her on the spot and asked who the hell Max was. Instead, I pulled away. The look on her face when she said I rejected her is burned into my memory. I don’t ever want to see that look on her face again, and it kills me that I’m the one who put it there. She needs to know how I feel; she needs to know I would never reject her again. Ever.
I’ve called her at least a dozen times, left several voicemails, and I’ve even texted her. No response…nothing. Well, I’m done giving her the option to ignore me because it’s going to be kind of difficult when I show up at her door. Thank God I didn’t have to work today, because I’m not sure I could’ve waited much longer. I should have fucking showed up the next morning. But I’m an idiot—pretty sure we've already established that.
Putting the car in park, I take a deep breath and wipe my hands down the front of my pants. Why am I so nervous? This is Harley and her son. Nothing to be nervous about. I know I’m going to catch her completely off-guard and she probably isn’t prepared for me to meet Max, but I just hope she doesn’t slam the door in my face.
Walking up the sidewalk, I notice a kid’s bike propped against the side of the house and a ball in the middle of the yard. Were those here last time? I knock softly three times and steel myself for Harley’s wrath. Crap, this is going to piss her off. Who am I kidding? Right now, I don’t give a shit. This is going to happen sometime, so it might as well happen now.
“Welcome to my dungeon!" I hear a little voice roar. “You must answer three questions right or you must go!" I can’t help but smile…I already love this kid!
“What are the questions, good sir?" I ask, using the deepest voice I can muster. I can hear him giggle through the door and it’s such a great sound. I want to hear it again.
“What president is on the United States penny?” he asks with authority.
“That would be the sixteenth president of the United States. President Abraham Lincoln," I answer proudly. There’s that giggle again.
“What great Cardinals player wore the number six?" Yup, he’s definitely Mr. Thompson’s grandson. Thank God I spent enough time at Harley’s house growing up to acquire plenty of Cardinals baseball trivia.
“Stan Musial," I reply, adding a “DUH!” at the end, which elicits an even bigger laugh from the opposite side of the door.
“What is the name of a butterfly’s tongue?"
“It’s called a tongue?" I half-ask, half-state, hoping that I didn’t get outsmarted by a child.
“Ehhhh!” he yells, doing his best impression of a buzzer. Well shit. I’m not sure how old Max is, but he has to be younger than five, so how in the hell would a five-year-old know the name of a butterfly’s tongue?
“It’s called a proboscis,” he yells through the door. “Now, I unleash the dr—”
“Wait!" I holler. “You have to give me a bonus question, it’s part of the rules!”
“Hey!” he scoffs, flinging open the door. My whole body is frozen in place as I take in the little ball of fire in front of me. His eyes…his eyes are what completely catch me off-guard. I know it’s impossible, but his large, coffee-colored eyes and thick black lashes are exact replicas of my brother, Dallas. Holy shit. I rub my fists over my eyes quickly, thinking that maybe I’m just missing Dallas so much that now I’m seeing him everywhere I go.
“You can’t make up rules!” he says firmly, pointing his Styrofoam sword at my chest.
“Max!” My head snaps up when I hear Harley’s voice, and Max drops his chin in defeat. She’s coming around the corner while wiping her hands off on a towel, so she hasn’t seen me yet. “Max, what did I tell you about opening the do—" Her words cut off when she finds me standing in her doorway. She inhales sharply and her mouth forms the most perfect 'O.' Max uses the silence to his advantage.
“Hi!” he says cheerfully, sticking out his hand. “My name is Max, and don’t you dare call me Maximus." He’s attempting to give me the ‘stink eye,’ but it’s just so damn cute that I laugh.
"Hello, Max." I grip his hand firmly and pump it dramatically a few times, causing him to giggle. “My name is Tyson, but you can call me Ty." I quickly glance at Harley, who is watching Max and I with a look of horror, and for a moment I feel like maybe I’ve overstepped my boundaries.
I look back down when Max taps my arm. “I know you!” he says excitedly.
“You do? But we haven’t met until now. How do you know me?" I ask, squatting down to his level.
“You’re in the picture book,” he chirps, grabbing my hand and tugging. “Follow me, I’ll show you." I turn to Harley, who is still watching us. Some of the terror has drained from her face, but she still looks incredibly uncomfortable. I stop dead in my tracks at the thought that I’m causing her more pain, because that isn’t my intention. Her eyes flit from Max to me and then to our joined hands.
“Is this okay?” I ask her. “I can leave if—”
“No, no,” she says, waving the towel that’s gripped tightly in her hand. “Go ahead. It’s okay." Her voice is timid and soft and I’m not sure if it’s really okay with her, but I’m not going to argue. She’s letting me stay so I’m staying. I smile softly and nod my head.
“Okay, buddy, let’s go." I pull on his hand and Max jumps in step beside me, a big, toothy grin on his face.
He instructs me to sit on the floor and then he takes off running down the hall. I sit down and let my eyes wander around the room. A beautiful brick fireplace sits against the far wall and it’s adorned with photos of Max, Levi, Quinn, and Harley’s parents. I notice that there aren't any photos of another man—a man who could be Max's father. Against th
e adjacent wall is a large entertainment center with a big-screen TV nestled in it, and I spot a Nintendo Wii tucked in there too.
There’s a large chest tucked in the corner that is overflowing with toys, and a plush gray couch and rocking chair sit on the opposite side of the room. From what I can see, the entryway, living room, and hallway are all covered in a deep brown hardwood floor, and her walls—with the exception of the deep red wall that holds the fireplace—are a warm mocha color. Her home is warm and inviting and…cozy. Not for the first time, pride swells in my chest when I think of what Harley has accomplished. I find myself playing the ‘what if’ game as Max comes sliding back into the room.
“Got it!” he cheers, holding an album above his head. Sitting down on the floor, Max scoots as close to me as he can get and opens the photo album, so half of it is on my lap and the other half is on his. He doesn't waste a second as he starts showing me pictures of himself when he was a baby.
I can see his mouth moving, but as my eyes take him in, his voice fades deeper into the background. His hair is dark like Harley's and a bit wavy, almost curly. It's slightly unruly, and I watch as he bats a chunk of it out of his eyes. His cheeks are a little chubby with two perfect dimples. He has Harley's thin nose and his eyes…those eyes. They must belong to his father, because they sure as hell don't belong to Harley. Don’t get me wrong, her eyes are gorgeous and I could stare at them all day. But for some reason, Max’s eyes are stunning and surprisingly…familiar.
"Do you?" Max says, nudging me in the side.
"What? Sorry, bud. What'd you say?" I ask, pulling myself out of my head. He rolls his eyes at me and points to a photograph.
"Do you remember this picture? It's my favorite." I look down, shocked to find myself staring at picture after picture of Harley and me when we were kids. How did she get all of these?
She kept them. She kept them.
"Of course I remember that! Your mom and I both got new bikes for Christmas." I rub the picture absently, remembering how excited I was to get that bicycle. "We were so excited to ride them, we couldn't wait." Max looks at me, his eyes full of wonder. "It might have been winter, but it hadn't snowed and the sidewalks were still clean, so we begged and begged until our parents finally let us ride our bikes." I smile to myself when I remember how we only lasted about ten minutes in the freezing cold weather, but it was best ten minutes I'd ever had. "We bundled up and rode up and down the sidewalk, over and over. We only stopped because your mom's nose started running and the snot was freezing to her face!" Max throws his head back and snorts with laughter.
Where We Belong Page 17
