by Mary Smith
When the door opened, everything stopped. He walked in with another man.
“No,” I yelled. “No.”
He yanked me across the bed, and the other held me down.
I screamed as loud as I could until the other shoved himself into my mouth. She came into the room, and I pleaded with my eyes for her to stop them, but she just closed the door.
The next hour of my life was the worst. They took turns, over and over, in every place one could image. The smell of blood and semen hung in the air.
When they left my room, I could barely move. The bed covers were stained with my blood, tears, and their sweat. I threw up in the trashcan, picked up the clothes that had been torn off me, and clean myself up.
After I changed into new clothes, I grabbed my duffle bag. I eased my door open and listened. There was loud moaning and thumping down the hall. They were with her now and this was my only chance.
I ran and never looked back.
My first few months in Boston were rough, but finding out I was pregnant almost killed me. I couldn’t have a baby at sixteen. I wouldn’t have his baby.
“I’m going to throw up.” I push Remington away and barely make it to the bathroom as my lunch comes up.
Remington holds my hair back. Maybe he really does care for me. Isn’t this how a real man treats you?
When I finish, he helps me up to the counter and hands me my toothbrush. I brush my teeth as he uses his sink and rinses out a washcloth.
“Here, look at me,” he softly requests when I put my toothbrush up.
I do. He gives me a small smile. Very gently he wipes my face. My heart slows down, and I’m able to breathe regularly again.
“Will you tell me what happened?” he asks after patting my face dry.
I don’t say anything.
“You can trust me, Maxima. Hell, you just cried on my chest for almost thirty minutes; can you at least tell me why?”
Did I cry for that long? Can I trust him?
“Jackson blocked me from leaving his office and it…” How can I say it? “It scared me.”
“What? Why? Did he hurt you?” He firmly, but gently, grasps my upper arms.
I shake my head. “He didn’t hurt me. It just…scared me.”
Remington isn’t buying my answer.
“I swear I’m okay. I just had a small melt down.” I swipe at his shirt where I cried off my makeup. “Sorry.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the shirt, Maxima. It’s you I care about.” He cups my face tenderly.
My heart races again, but not from panic. It’s joy. I realized when I was in the bookstore with Arabella that no man has treated me the way Remington does. True, I’ve not let men get close to me, but Remington’s actions speak to me in ways I can’t explain. They ease me. It’s why I kissed his cheeks, slept in his bed, and let him touch me. It’s why I turned to him to calm the panic, the fear.
But do I trust him?
“Kiss me.”
Wait…did…I…did I say those words? No, I’ve never said those words. I’d never say those words.
“Please.”
Yes, I said those words.
I’m standing here asking this gorgeous man who held me through a panic attack to kiss me. I’m sure he’s not too keen to kiss a fat girl.
His dark brown eyes search mine, and he leans in, brushing his full lips against mine. I stifle my gasp as we fully connect. There’s no harshness to it. It’s firm, but I like it. The soft hint of Remington’s spicy cologne fills me, making me relax more. I open my mouth, allowing him to slide his tongue in.
He moves his hands from my face and grips my hips. I jump away from his hold.
Remington repeatedly says, “I’m sorry.”
I nod at each one of his apologies until he stops saying them. “It’s okay. I just can’t…do things.”
Do things? What am I? Ten? Well, in some ways I wonder if I am, especially in the bedroom.
“It’s completely wrong of me to push you.” He holds up his hands. His expression shows he’s deeply afflicted. He’s rooted in pain.
“Remington, no.” I grab his hands and pull him toward me. “It wasn’t you. I asked, well begged, you to kiss me. It’s my anxieties, my uncertainties. You did nothing wrong.”
His face seems to relax a bit.
“You wouldn’t hurt me. My heart, my soul knows it, but I’m messed up, and…” I can’t say all I want to. My words and past will scare him away.
The fat girls don’t get the heroes.
“I’d never hurt you, Maxima. I swear.” He squeezes my hands.
“I know, but there are…” Tears fill my eyes. I can’t tell him my past.
“Can I hold you?” he softly asks.
I nod because I don’t trust my voice.
He wraps his arms around me, and I inhale his scent one more time to ground myself in the calmness he evokes.
He’s my hero.
“What?” Remington asks. “I’m your what?”
Damn.
I step out of his hold. Do I tell him the truth?
“Dad! Max!” Arabella calls from downstairs, and I hear her racing up the stairs toward us.
“In here, Arabella,” Remington calls, and he hands me the washcloth again.
I wipe my face again and pat it dry while he goes into the bedroom. Feelings for Remington are out of the question. He might be my hero, but I’m just a fat girl who’s in a fake engagement. I can’t have any feelings.
I stroll out of the bathroom and down to the living room where everyone is sitting.
“Max,” Arabella wraps her arms around my waist.
“Did you have fun with your grandparents?”
“So much.” She smiles up at me. “Grandpa is taking us to dinner.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“Actually,” Daniel, Remington’s father, interrupts. “I said I’d make dinner, but my forgetful son didn’t set up the grill.”
Oh no! He looks upset. “Mr. Rosin, it’s my fault, not Remington’s. I came home early, and he was helping me.” I sound almost pleading, hoping he isn’t going to start yelling.
“Maxima.” Claire, Remington’s mother, stands and approaches me. “He’s kidding with Remy. He’s not upset.” Her tone is soft and low.
“Maxima.” Remington is next to her. “You can let Arabella go.”
“What?” I’m baffled until I look down and see Arabella pushed against the wall, and I’m blocking her with my body. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
“Yes,” she frowns. “You pushed me, Max. Why?”
“I’m so sorry.” I hug her to me. “I didn’t mean to. I swear. I was—”
“Arabella, why don’t you go with your Dad and Grandpa? Okay.” Claire doesn’t leave room for any other option.
The little girl nods and takes Remington’s hand. I scared her. I can’t believe I did something so stupid.
“Maxima, let’s sit for a moment.” Claire holds her arm out toward the couch. “Sweetheart, you’re shaking. Let’s take a seat.” She says it more firmly, and my legs begin to move following her to the couch.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat several times.
“You’re fine. My husband’s sense of humor is dry and rough. It takes time to get used to it. Protecting my granddaughter was instinctual, just like a mother.”
I don’t say anything.
“I’ve seen the look in your eyes in other people. I won’t ask you who or any details, but if you ever need to talk, Remington is a great listener. You can trust him. He may have a lot of unorthodox methods to express himself, buy my son deeply cares for you.”
I nod. I experienced it first hand less than an hour ago.
“You’re not shaking anymore.” She smiles. Her eyes are more of a golden brown, but they are welcoming, accepting.
“I feel better.” I’m able to breathe again, and I take in everything she told me about Remington.
Does he really care for me? I’m sure he hasn�
��t told his parents the truth about our fake engagement. She’s just being kind. Even though he’s been helpful, there’s more to this strange relationship of ours.
“Let’s see what those boys are up to.” Gently patting my knee, she stands, and I follow her out to the back patio.
Daniel and Remington have the grill going, but no meat is on it yet. Arabella is curled up in one of the chairs looking at her dad’s phone.
I pat Remington’s shoulder as I pass him and head to Arabella, taking a seat next to her. “What level are you on?”
“Eight.” She smiles and then comes over and climbs onto my lap. “See.”
I still don’t understand the video game, but she seems to forgive me. It’s the only thing I do care about.
Remington and Daniel work the grill, and as soon as Arabella finishes her level, we head into the kitchen to make up some side items. No one speaks of my crazy moment, and Remington seems the same after my breakdown with him.
When we sit down to eat, the conversation is light. Daniel tell stories about Remington’s early years playing hockey. Claire tells us about funny stories of her JAG career. I don’t have anything to contribute, but I do tell them about going to Boston College at sixteen. They seem impressed, which I’m not sure is much to be impressed by. They have extremely honorable careers. I’m an investment banker.
After we all clean the kitchen, Arabella asks to watch TV. Most of the time she plays or reads, so Remington agrees and takes her to the TV room, turning on a Disney cartoon.
Claire opens a bottle of wine and we sit back in the living room, talking about random things. Until the question, the one I’d hoped would never be asked…is asked.
“Maxima, where’s your family from?” Daniel is the one to ask.
I feel my body tense, and Remington takes my hand. I clear my throat. “I don’t have any family.”
“Oh dear, have they passed on?” Claire asks with genuine concern.
“I’m not sure,” I answer truthfully.
Daniel and Claire stare at me, and for no apparent reason, I begin to ramble.
“I left Vegas when I was sixteen to go to college. After I finished, I moved here. I haven’t spoken to them since I left for college, and I have no desire to speak to them. If they are even still alive.” More than likely they’ve died from drugs or alcohol, but I leave that part out. I think I need to stop drinking the wine.
“Do you have siblings?” Daniel asks.
“She was pregnant a lot, but I’m the only one they kept.” I take a large gulp of wine, and my hands begin to shake. I know of at least four other pregnancies she had, but no babies ever came home with her.
There’s a moment of silence, and I know I’ve said too much. I never say anything about them, and here I just blurted out more than ever before. To Remington’s parents of all people.
Finally, Remington begins talking about hockey, and I am relieved. In Las Vegas, hockey isn’t a huge thing. It wasn’t until Boston I fell in love with the sport. It took me a bit to catch onto the rules and such, but once I did, I was hooked. I was glad when I moved to Manchester and the Bears were here. I’ve never had season tickets, but I go to the games from time-to-time and watch them on TV as much as possible.
Arabella comes into the living room looking tired, and I know she’s ready for bed. She says good night to everyone with a round of hugs and kisses, and I take her upstairs. After the normal routine before bedtime, before I begin to read, Arabella seems a little distant.
“You okay?” I gently sweep her black hair from her cheek and forehead.
“Why don’t you have a family?”
“Oh,” I softly exclaim. Not what I thought she’d ask. “Well…” I pause. She is a child, and I need to make sure I don’t scare the kid into therapy. She’s been through enough. “My family weren’t nice people, and I didn’t want to be around them. So, I left.”
“Is it like how my mom was mean?”
Oh, so much worse. “Similar, but let’s not talk about it and get back to Percy Jackson.”
Arabella smiles, snuggling close to me as I begin reading. Not even three pages into it, Arabella’s eyes shut, and she’s fast asleep. I’m going to have to get this book on my Kindle just to find out what’s going to happen to this poor kid, since Arabella keeps falling asleep.
As I leave her room and go down the stairs, I try not to think of how this day has been. I’m exhausted. I head toward the kitchen where I hear Remington and his parents talking, but I stop before I reach the door. Eavesdropping is something I never do, but my gut tells me to stop and listen.
“Remington, I’m telling you if you don’t tell Maxima the truth, you’re going to lose her,” Claire says almost angrily.
“I agree with your mother. What were you thinking?” Daniel questions.
“I love Maxima. Today just solidifies it. I can’t lose her. I need her as much as she needs me.” Remington’s voice cracks.
There’s no way I heard him correctly. Love? He loves me?
“But you lied. You lied to her. I truly believe that beautiful, young woman has been through a hell of lot more than any of us can imagine.” Claire’s voice lowers, but I can still hear her. “She trusts you enough to do all of this for you, barely knowing you or Arabella. Now look at the situation you’re in. Maxima has feelings for you. Your father and I can both see it, and she treats Arabella as her own. You can’t ask for a better person.”
He lied?
What is she talking about?
“How do I keep her in my life?” Remington sounds almost heartbroken.
“You won’t know until you tell her. It’s a gamble, but you have to tell her,” Daniel answers.
“Trust is the foundation of every relationship,” Claire adds.
What the hell is going on?
What did Remington lie to me about?
He loves me? Is that it?
Everything I heard is spinning like a whirlwind in my head. I can’t process it all. My hands begin to sweat, and my heart races. I can’t have another panic attack. Not right now.
I slip into the TV room and do the breathing exercises Caryn taught me. It seems to help, but I need to process this, and I can’t inside these walls. I grab my phone from my pocket.
In desperate need of a friend.
Come over. Harlow responses within seconds.
“Hey, I was just looking for you.” Remington’s voice makes me jump. His black hair is a mess, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times. “Are you okay?”
“I needs to go over to Harlow’s house for a little while. Arabella’s all tucked in.” I rush my words out.
“Oh, well, I thought we could go to bed early. Maybe talk.”
I shake my head. That’s the last thing I want to do right now. “I’ll be back later.” I brush past him, rushing to my purse and keys.
Thankfully, Harlow doesn’t live far from Remington, and in a few minutes, I’m knocking on her door.
“You need wine.” She hands me the glass as I walk over the threshold.
I take two large gulps and sit down. She doesn’t even ask me anything before I tell her everything that happened today. Of course, I leave out my childhood memories. No one needs to know those, well, except the Rosin’s since I’m a motor mouth around them. I go into every detail, especially my eavesdropping.
“I can’t take it all in.” I drop my head into my hands.
Harlow sighs. “You’re so smart. You can work through this.”
“Remington isn’t a liar.” I defend him. “Right?” Obviously, I’m not the greatest defender.
“Well,” Harlow tilts her head. “You know what I said before.”
I groan. More than once Harlow has expressed her opinion about our fake engagement.
“I don’t see a good, reputable attorney telling his client to lie to a judge. Getting engaged and having someone move in sounds like bullshit.”
“It’s not. He wouldn’t lie about it. It’s for
his daughter.”
“And he’d do anything to keep her. To include lying,” Harlow counters.
I shake my head.
“Look, I’m not saying Remington doesn’t have feelings for you. I’ve told you since day one he does, but something is going on, and you need to find out. Soon.”
I didn’t stay at Harlow’s much longer after her speech. The house is dark when I get back, and I’m thankful everyone is in their beds, and that I don’t have to wake up early in the morning. The salon appointments aren’t until ten, and it means I can sleep in a bit. I have put my body and emotions through a lot today, and I doubt I’ll even need a sleeping pill. I already emailed Caryn’s office to confirm my appointment next week. It’s going to be a doozy, I’m sure of it.
The bedroom door is cracked, and Remington left the bathroom light on for me. He’s too kind to me. Hell, maybe he does love me. I know my feelings for him run deep, but I also know this will end once he gets full custody of Arabella.
Right?
I take a hot shower, scrubbing away the day’s mess. I’m barely keeping my eyes open when my head hits the pillow.
Tomorrow will be better.
The smell of bacon and coffee overwhelm me as I come downstairs. I slept in more than I thought I would have, and it felt good. I can’t remember the last time I slept in. I must have needed it after the mental exhaustion of yesterday.
“Max.” Arabella calls my name as I enter the kitchen. “Are you excited about today?”
I kiss the top of her head. “Yes. I am. Are you?”
“Yes.” She chomps on a piece of crispy bacon.
I smile, taking my seat across from her. Remington sits a cup of coffee in front of me and a plate of eggs and bacon. I’ve not talked to him since I ran out yesterday. I’m still trying to figure out what he’s lying about, and it makes me wonder if Harlow’s right.
I think I need to do some more research.
“Thank you,” I say to him.
He pats my shoulder and goes back to talking about hockey with his dad. Claire is on her phone, and I assume she’s answering emails or texts as she vigorously types on the screen.
I focus on my breakfast, not saying anything. Even though I’m well rested, thoughts are still bouncing around my head. I’d do better if I could pace the room, but it’s not an option right now.
