The drunk driver that’d hit them with his 4x4 sat cuffed at an officer’s desk and when Eugene pointed to the man that’d killed his parents, Max was unrelenting.
We all knew Max had a temper, but I’d never seen him like this before.
He stormed for the driver, shoving the cops out of the way, breaking through their tight grips until he came face to face with the man, tugging him up by the collar and spewing venomous words of how he’d kill him for this, how he’d pay.
I knew he meant none of it—that he wouldn’t act on it—but I was shocked. I’d never seen him act so reckless. So monstrous. So destructive.
But I can’t say it didn’t make sense. Other than Eugene, his parents were the only family he had.
“Max! Stop!” I wailed.
But it was like he couldn’t even hear me.
The police officers finally got control of Max, handcuffing him as well and sending him to a back room.
I called for Max before he could disappear. He wasn’t paying me any mind. He was too busy screaming at the driver, shouting hateful obscenities.
It hurt to see him like that. So raw, so broken.
I waited three hours for Max to be released and, due to the guilt that ate at the drunk driver, he didn’t press charges on him.
I sat in the parking lot on the hood of his car and when I saw him I lit up, my heart racing, still accustomed to that old feeling I got whenever he made an appearance.
But my light rapidly faded when he came my way. I tried to hold him, but he pulled away from me, asking for his keys.
Hesitantly I handed them to him, unblinking.
“I’m taking you home,” he grumbled, passing by me and jumping into the car, slamming the door behind him.
The slam made me jolt. He cranked the car and I got in, wary. “Max, I’m so sorry about—”
“Just stop, Shannon, Don’t,” he bit out, avoiding my eyes. He drove away from the police station, muttering, “Just fucking don’t,” once more before allowing silence to take over.
I didn’t say anything more for the rest of the ride.
Hell, I couldn’t even look at him.
He dropped me off at home, didn’t even bother to come up or allow me to comfort him with a departing hug.
Instead he pulled off as soon as I’d made it to the sidewalk and my heart cracked as I watched him leave, his tires skidding.
It seemed like he wanted to be as far away from me as possible.
And as I walked up to my apartment, I thought, perhaps he was partially putting the blame on me. If I hadn’t suggested taking the trip to Hilton Head, he would have gone to the lake with his parents, like he did every single year.
Three tears fell down my cheeks but I swiped them away, and it was then that I realized I didn’t have my keys to get into my apartment. They were in my bags, which were in his car.
I walked up to the door, knowing Max wouldn’t answer his phone if I called, but luckily, Emilia was home.
She allowed me in with a smile on her face and questions in her eyes, but as soon as she saw the gloomy mask I wore, her entire demeanor changed.
She asked me what was wrong… and I told her everything.
That night… that’s when everything changed.
And the following morning, I expected to hear from Max, but I didn’t.
The day after that, still no call. Not even a text. I figured he needed space, time to grieve, but I wanted to be there for him.
I even went by his place but he wasn’t there. I visited the club. There was no sign of him. Eugene hadn’t even seen him.
All I wanted was to talk to him, be there for him, but he was avoiding me. I called an infinite number of times—so many times I lost count. So much that his voicemail box became full.
Then, one night, I felt absolutely horrible. My head was pounding, I vomited all night long. I slept all day long, and then felt even more fatigued when I woke up.
It was dreadful, and even worse, I was still without Max. He was the only person I wanted to be around but there was no sign of him.
After spending four nights going through the same vomiting and fatigue stages, I visited my doctor. It wasn’t like me to suddenly fall ill. I knew my body well; I hardly ever got sick.
The doctor ran every test that could lead to a stomach virus but it turned out it wasn’t a stomach virus at all.
My doctor came in, handed me a sheet of paper and said, “Shannon, Congratulations. You’re pregnant.”
He beamed, but I stared with wide, blank eyes. And then I jumped off the table, rushing for the trashcan in the corner, heaving up the little fluid I had guzzled down earlier.
I held it together, though. I refused to cry until I made it to my car.
Unfortunately, I didn’t make it to my car. The tears started as I crossed the parking lot, but they overflowed when I made it home and hid beneath my sheets.
The feeling in my tummy was odd. It wasn’t good or bad. It was… a neutral sensation.
Oddly, I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t worried. I was just… confused.
I was confused because I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted to keep it, but at the same time it felt like the wrong time to bear the child of someone that didn’t even want to see me.
So, I called Max again. Then once more. Around the fifth time, he actually answered. I was surprised, the sound of his voice making my heart throb like hell.
“Max,” I breathed. “What the hell? Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for weeks!”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t say anything more.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, sitting up against the headboard.
“Fine, I guess.”
“Where are you?”
He was quiet for a moment. “In a good place. Don’t worry.”
I wasn’t sure how to accept that statement so I changed the subject. He was still grieving apparently, which was fine, but how long did he need?
Eugene figured he was at the condo his parents owned in Wilmington. He was most likely packing their belongings, about to sell the place. Eugene said Max hinted at doing that during the funeral that Max didn’t even bother inviting me to.
I would have gone if I’d known.
How long could he actually go without me? I ignored my last thought, pretending it never crossed my mind.
“I have something to tell you,” I went on.
“What?”
“Well, I’ve been feeling kind of bad the past few days. I wasn’t sure what was up so I finally went to the doctor to get checked…”
“And?” he urged.
“And… I still can’t believe it but…” I laughed a little, some joy finally present, “I’m pregnant, Max.”
Max, who I expected to respond with an eager tone, didn’t respond at all. I waited for him to speak. He said nothing.
“Did you hear me?” I asked.
“Yeah…” Silence again.
“So… what do you think?” Another stretch of silence. It was killing me. He’d never been this quiet on the phone with me. Ever. “Max?”
“I’m thinking right now… isn’t the right time, Shannon.”
His statement made my heart sink to my stomach. I shut my eyes briefly, trying to place myself in his shoes, but I just couldn’t.
This unborn child that I’d just found out about… he or she was a blessing. He was right about it not being the right time. We were young and had just started at this boyfriend-girlfriend thing, but I knew deep down we could make it work.
Babies, they change everything. They test your patience, your faith, and your love, but if anything, I assumed this baby could make us stronger, heal Max in a way that I couldn’t. As someone new to love.
“What do you mean?” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
“I just…” He sighed. “You know what? I don’t know. Just do whatever you want, okay, Shannon? Just understand that I’m not ready for that… not right now. Not with everythi
ng that has happened the past few weeks. I’ll be there… but I’m not ready.”
Selfish. That’s what he was. A selfish asshole. Rage ignited within me and I sat forward, my nausea momentarily subsiding.
“Max, I get what you are going through, but I think you’re are forgetting that you aren’t the only person that’s lost someone! I lost a parent too! I know how it feels. It fucking hurts but look at me, I’m still here. I survived.”
“Your situation is different,” he muttered.
“How?”
“It just… is. You know it is.”
I huffed, wanting so badly to unleash my wrath but instead I just hung up. I couldn’t deal with his childishness. I only hoped that he’d come around—realize how good the baby could’ve been for us.
Max called later that night. I answered.
“I’m not ready. Just think about it, Shannon. I’m only being honest with you.”
“I have thought about it,” I whispered. “And I don’t mind keeping it.”
“No, you’re living in a fantasy world. Shannon, you work two fucking jobs just to provide for yourself. What makes you think adding an extra mouth to feed will help? I’m still in school. I’ll hardly be around. I want kids and I know you do too, but this just isn’t the right time.”
“There is never a right time when it comes to me, Max! But somehow I always make a way.”
“Shannon,” he groaned.
“No,” I snapped. “Fuck you, Max! Fuck you! Just grow the hell up already and stop thinking only about yourself for once!”
I hung up, weeping the rest of the night, until my stomach began to hurt.
I thought about it all, but mainly how much he was right. How much I couldn’t stand how right he was. How little I felt in this big world and him… how hurt he was.
I had no idea where he was, but I knew one thing: keeping this child would only keep him away.
I wanted him back, but I also wanted the baby.
I had to choose between the man I loved and the unborn child I had no clue about. This was a person I could create. Someone I could get to know from day one. That seemed legitimately rare.
I swore I would never resort to it—abort my child if I ever got pregnant—but now that I had a choice to make, I knew which one it was.
Though it was a tough decision to make, it was already made.
I laid on that icy cold operating table, legs spread apart, thick tears rolling down the side of my face, feeling each tug and pull, each clip and snag. Each one tore me apart even more, shredding my heart up.
When the doctor was done, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, and then I shielded my face from the light, crying so hard the nurses came in to check on me.
They weren’t cruel about it or judgmental. They understood and they soothed me.
But it didn’t help.
I drove home, crampy, muddled, and depressed.
I instantly regretted my decision. Even when Max showed up the next day to apologize, I couldn’t look him in the face without crying. I cried because his presence was no longer enough.
I wanted that baby.
And I hated myself for what I’d done.
All I could think was, “What if I’d kept it?”
Where would he be?
Would he still be here, sitting beside me?
That fucking crash, it ended us way before we completely gave up on each other. To this day, I hate myself for not fighting for us, but I hate myself even more for giving up a child that would have been beautiful.
I hate myself for throwing away that tiny blessing.
I hate myself for putting a man before myself.
But I mainly hate myself because now I won’t have the opportunity to have kids. That is my biggest regret. That kills me. Cuts me deep.
Some women long to have their own child, beg and pray for it… and I just tossed it away. Got rid of it like it was nothing.
Maybe if I’d heard the heartbeat… maybe if I saw actual proof…
It still aches a little, the pain lingering deep in my chest each time I think about it.
Max has apologized plenty of times for it, but his apology meant nothing. I forgave him, though, simply because that’s who I was. I still loved him. I still cared about him, but I knew that we weren’t meant to be.
We couldn’t get through the hard part of being in a relationship. We were unhappy with each other.
It was terrible.
But it was meant to be that way.
It was meant for me to leave Max behind for good. Meeting John was proof that I’d made the right choice.
Max wasn’t mine then. He never was. I just wanted him to be. And it sucks because we were both so wrong.
I constantly forgave Max, not because I was still in love with him, but because he begged so many times. Even though he went missing for nearly three weeks, I forgave him.
He was never the type to go through a hardship. Maximilian Grant always had it easy—always had it made—but the death of his parents, his closest family, took a serious toll on him.
He finally cried with me—no, actually we cried together. We cried because it turned out he actually wanted me to keep the baby, he was just afraid of fucking up, just like any guy would be.
Because of my impulsive decisions and stupid, inconsiderate thoughts, the baby was gone.
I didn’t know how to tell him at first. It hurt to see that light in his eyes when he rubbed my tummy and asked how the baby was doing in there.
It hurt to see the sparkles evaporate as he looked me right in the eye and I told him, “The baby is gone.”
It hurt.
It hurt.
It hurt so fucking much.
If I could go back and change it, I would.
But life is unfair. My life will always be an obstacle. My life, in most ways, has kinda sucked.
There was more darkness than light in my short lifetime. More sadness than happiness. More lies than truth. More fuck-ups than proud accomplishments.
Shit, after trying to play God and ending an innocent life, maybe I deserve to die.
Maybe God was testing my faith and after all of that, I failed him.
Maybe because I let Him down, it is meant for me to go.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Three hours later, after putting on a fancy red and white halter dress that Sonny had no problem helping me shop for, a set of gold, dangly earrings and a pair of sandals, Max and I are standing in front of the Eiffel tower.
It’s way bigger than I ever expected. The photographs and movies don’t give this metal tower justice. It stands tall and firm, built on solid slabs of cement. It’s miraculous and I nearly stop breathing as the sun sets behind it.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, staring ahead.
Max steps to my side, placing a hand on his hip. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
He points up and says, “If you think it’s nice down here, imagine having dinner inside of it.”
I gasp, meeting his brown eyes. They glimmer from the sunlight, bold and bright. “You’re serious? Is that why you told me to dress up?”
He puts on a simple smile, grasping my hand. “Come on.”
He leads the way and we enter the elevator with a few other tourists. My excitement can’t be contained. I’m too eager—too ready to be up high. Flying. Free.
Before I know it, Max is leading the way to a door where a hostess awaits us, greeting us in French.
She seats us by the window with a breathtaking view. My heart flutters when I realize how far up we are. I slide across the cushioned booth seats, looking down.
The cars are like tiny ants, the people like specks. I look forward. The sun is even lower now.
“Like it?” Max asks.
“Love it,” I murmur.
He picks up his menu and I do my best to compose myself, picking mine up as well. A waiter greets us, Max orders a bottle of
wine and I request a glass of water, and when the waiter is gone he looks at me, a small smile on his lips.
“What?” I ask.
“You look amazing, Shakes.”
“You don’t have to keep telling me that,” I laugh, tucking a few loose strands behind my ear.
“Yes,” he says, “I do. I need you to know that you are still so beautiful.” He shrugs. “I’m still attracted.”
“I tried my best to not look sick.” I pick up the backpack. “But this fella right here kinda prevents it.”
He laughs. “I guess you could do without the backpack and the tubes. Kinda throws off that nice dress, but you’re still gorgeous none the less.”
My laughter fills the space around us. “At least it’s helpful. Can’t complain.”
He nods, lips pressing. “So listen… I know we promised not to bring up the past or anything but—” he looks up, stopping midsentence. He waits for my reaction, waits to see if I will stop him from talking but I don’t. This has been on my mind as well, I’ve just done my best to avoid bringing it up. “I wanted to talk about it. Clear my mind and drop the weight that has been on my shoulders.”
“Okay,” I say, wary. “How about we talk about it once we order.”
“Good idea.”
The waiter returns several minutes later with a bottle of sweet red wine. He pours us each a glass. Knowing I can’t drink it, I thank him anyway and reach for my water. Once we’ve ordered, he takes off again, leaving me and Max at the table.
Alone by candlelight… well, sort of. There are people here. All of them dressed to impress, but none of them are worried about anyone but themselves and their guests.
“How did you even get a spot here?” I ask. “I’m sure this place is always booked.”
“I know a guy who knows a guy. He didn’t mind hooking me up.”
“It’s perfect.”
“I knew you’d love it.” His eyes lock with mine, warm and causing my belly to roll. I look away, keeping my gaze on the candle, cheeks flushed. Max reaches across the short table with his long arms, running a hand down my cheek.
“Max.” I shake my head, my voice wavering. “Don’t.”
“All this time I’ve spent with you, Shannon,” he murmurs, “I just don’t understand.”
Infinity: Based on a True Story Page 21
