Rebounding

by Shanna Clayton

  No girlfriend. Okay. I’m much better equipped to deal with that. I’d never let myself become a homewrecker after experiencing the other side of it. I don’t blame him for not wanting a relationship either. In my limited experience, I’ve learned that they pretty much suck the life out of you.

  Still. If he’s not with lingerie girl, that leaves me even more confused.

  Unless…

  “You’re not attracted to me?”

  He laughs once, stopping short when he realizes it was a serious question. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Charlotte. You have to know that.”

  “Then I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s just,” he pauses, thinking, and I can tell he’s trying to censor what he’s about to say. “You’re hurting right now, and we have to live together for who knows how long. Let’s not complicate this.”

  “It won’t be awkward, Max. I’m an adult. I understand what I’m getting myself into.” I touch his cheek, lifting my face to his. I gently press my lips against his again, but he grabs my hands and backs away from me.

  “Don’t, Charlotte. I can’t handle this,” he says, gripping my hands as if he doesn’t trust me with them. “You have no idea how tempting you are, but I won’t do this with you.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t take it as a rejection. Take it as a compliment.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense.” He sighs, tucking a stray curl behind my ear, and then he gives me a long, tortured look. “If I didn’t have any respect for you, I’d give into you in a heartbeat. Not because I don’t want to, God knows I want to, but because it’s the wrong fucking thing to do. You’ve been drinking, you’re vulnerable, and I want you to be able to do whatever you came here to do. After what you did for me…if I did this with you now, I’d hate myself.”

  I’m so caught up by what he’s saying that when he’s done, it takes me a few seconds to realize I’m holding my breath. At this point, I can’t even think straight. “Goddammit, Max.”

  “What?”

  “Why’d you have to go developing respect for me?” I sigh, knowing he’s right about everything. If we did this now, I’d probably hate myself too.

  He smiles, shaking his head at me. “Come on, kid. Let’s go back inside and get you a towel.”

  I take the hand he offers, and he yanks me up. My head spins dizzily, the wine really hitting me hard. Max catches me right as I’m about to fall, wrapping his arm around my side. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

  The rain pours harder as we plod back through the wet sand. I look up at Max, seeing the raindrops trickle down his skin, wishing I could lick them off, one by one.

  Respect.

  Ugh, that word. I hate it already. Who would guess that these days I’d rather be disrespected?

  “We should at least be friends,” I tell Max, my voice starting to slur. “I know s’against your rules and all, but I don’t have anyone else, ’cept for Batman. We hang out sometimes when you’re not paying attention—not a big talker though.”

  An amused smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. “Friends?”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t do that either,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or are Trevor and Stephanie innocent bystanders? Because I don’t—”

  He cuts me off with a laugh. “I know you’re only joking, but sometimes I think of them that way too.”

  “If we were friends, you could s’plain that to me.”

  Max opens the sliding glass door, his arm still wrapped around my waist. We both step inside the house, puddles dripping at our feet. “Stay here,” he says, heading toward the nearest closet. Inside there are stacks of plush towels. He tosses me one, and then grabs another for himself.

  I wrap the towel around me, grateful for the warmth it provides. Behind the storm clouds, the gray sky is darkening to black. It’s not that late, but I let out a yawn, feeling ready to pass out.

  “Come on,” Max says, holding out his hand. “I’ll make sure you get to your room without falling on your ass.”

  “What a gentleman.” I wink at him.

  He helps me up the stairs, and it’s a good thing too, because I doubt I’d make it up them on my own.

  When we get to my room, I finish drying off. Max looks around, rubbing the back of his neck. “Will you…are you gonna be all right?”

  I plop down on my bed, slipping under the covers. “Yes, thank you very much, sir.” My tone is playful, but he still looks concerned.

  “Okay then.” He turns to leave.

  “Hey, Max?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tomorrow I’ll be too embarrassed to say this, so I’ll just get it over with now. I apologize for my deranged level of insanity.”

  “Don’t worry about it, kid. It happens.” He walks out the door, but then surprises me by coming right back.

  “Yes?” I ask him curiously.

  “There’s something I want to say to you, too.”

  “Go for it.”

  He looks at me, and then down at the floor, thoughtful. “You’re probably better off without him, you know. If he didn’t appreciate you, he didn’t deserve you in the first place…that’s how I see things anyway.”

  Of all the things he could’ve said, I wasn’t expecting that. “That’s real sweet, Max.”

  “It’s the truth.” He shrugs. This time he leaves for good, shutting the door behind him.

  I lie back down, not sure what to make of that. I yawn again, feeling myself drift off. I hope out of everything that happened today, that I won’t forget Max saying that.

  Oh, and the kiss.

  That was pretty incredible too. It’d be a shame to forget that kiss.

  ***

  The next morning when I wake up my head hurts like there’s a pile of bricks attached to the top of it. I’m never drinking an entire bottle of merlot again. There’s an alert on my phone that makes me smile though. It’s a reminder I typed last night before I went to sleep.

  Max said Miles didn’t deserve you.

  Oh, and he kissed you better than you’ve ever been kissed in your life!

  Not only am I impressed with myself for not making a single spelling error in my drunken state, but I’m also pretty pleased because I still have both of those memories—in explicit detail.

  I’m still smiling when I see the little envelope indicating a new text message. My smile slowly fades.

  Miles: We need to talk

  Before I get a chance to absorb it, my phone is ringing. I hate myself for not removing him from my contacts. I hate myself even more because the picture of him that comes up on my phone as he’s calling me is one that I took. It’s from last summer when we were tubing down the Ichetucknee Springs River. He’s wearing sunglasses and a big toothy grin. By looking at him, you’d think he was the happiest guy in the world. It makes me wonder how much he kept hidden.

  When I don’t answer, my phone dings with a new text message.

  Miles: Just give me a chance to explain, Char

  I consider ignoring him. I know he’s only calling because he knows by now I’m aware of the big engagement. He’s trying to smooth things over. Peacekeeping is in Miles’s nature. That pisses me off even more. He was always a really good guy. My mom used to say, “You picked a good apple, Char.”

  She was both right and wrong. A good apple, but with a worm eating its way through perhaps. Miles was—is a good guy. A good guy that did a really awful, terrible, horrible thing. If he had been a shitty boyfriend, this would be so much easier.

  I know I should ignore him, but I can’t help myself. I want him to know he has no right to contact me anymore. He doesn’t get to make up for what he did this easily.

  Me: You don’t get a chance to explain. What you did is BEYOND an explanation

  Miles: I know

  Miles: What I did was really fucked up

  Miles: I still loved you for mo
st of my life though…I never meant to hurt you

  Me: No kidding. Well, you failed

  Miles: You deserve to know why I’m marrying Gwen. By now I’m sure you’ve heard the news

  Me: I don’t give a shit

  Miles: I never meant to disrespect you by announcing the engagement at the same time you and I planned to do it. I want to marry Gwen, but I didn’t mean for it to happen now…I just wanted you to know that

  I swallow back the lump in my throat. Seeing the words stare me in the face, and knowing they’re coming directly from Miles makes it even more real. In the light of day, in my now sober body, it hurts so much worse. So. Much. Worse. It makes me want to drown my blood in another bottle of wine. I’d do it all over again just to make this pain hurt a little less.

  Me: Except you did plan it at the same time. So your “apology” is worthless

  Miles: I had to. For reasons out of my control

  Me: You CHOSE to do it now just like you CHOSE to cheat on me with Gwen.

  Miles: Please just call me. There’s something I need to tell you, but I don’t want to say it through a text

  Me: No. Leave me alone, Miles

  Miles: Char…I’m begging u

  Miles: PLEASE

  Miles: Pleeeeeeease

  Miles: I just want to explain

  Miles: Okay, fine. We’ll do this your way. I’m so fucking scared to tell u that my hands are shaking as I type this, but you need to know. This needs to come from me

  Miles: Gwen is pregnant

  Miles: I didn’t want to tell you like this, but you would’ve found out eventually…

  Miles: I’m really, really, really sorry you’re finding this out this way. You must hate me. You used to be my best friend, Char. Even though it didn’t work out between us, I miss my best friend. I’m scared shitless and more than anything else, I wish I could talk to you about it. Please….just call me

  Miles: Char?

  Miles: ?

  TWELVE

  Max

  A deep frown creases her face as she stands in the doorway. She’s been looking out into the hall for a while now, just standing there without moving.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, trying to see around her huge dress.

  “Stay back,” Mom says, holding out her hand to ward me off.

  “What was that noise?”

  She doesn’t answer me. Her hand is pressed against my chest, trying to keep me from coming closer.

  Outside the door we hear people screaming.

  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

  BANG. BANG. BANG.

  Fiona grabs hold of my arm, tugging on my jacket. “Why are they screaming?” she whispers.

  “I don’t know.”

  We both stand very still.

  Mom closes the door, then turns the lock. Her face is pale, and her eyes are wild. It terrifies me. I don’t know what’s happening, but I know it’s not good. She steps forward, scanning the room.

  “The two of you, over there.” She points to the coat closet. “Get inside.”

  Fiona and I stare at her. “Why?” we both ask in unison.

  “Just do as I tell you,” she pleads, shooing us inside.

  The closet is small and cramped with boxes. Fiona shuffles behind a stack of them while I struggle against my mom trying to push me inside.

  “First tell me what’s going on,” I say, gripping the frame, so she can’t close the door.

  She takes my face between her hands. “Please, Max,” she says, her voice urgent. “I need you to go inside of this closet. I also need you to promise me you will not come out until I come for you.”

  “But—”

  “Promise me!”

  “Okay,” I grumble. “I promise.”

  She kisses my forehead, and I release my grip. I’m not happy about it, but I do what she says.

  The closet door closes, darkening the tiny space. It’s quiet. Dark. Horrible. It makes me want to break my promise and leave.

  Fiona tugs on my jacket again. “I don’t like it in here,” she whispers. “It’s scary.”

  “I don’t either, but we can’t leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  It’s not a good answer, but I don’t know what else to tell my little sister. I wish I knew why.

  There’s a sliver of light at the bottom of the door. Moving a few boxes aside, I lie down on the floor, trying to peek out of the crack. From what I can see, there’s no one there.

  Fiona’s hand slips into mine. “How long do we have to stay here?”

  “I don’t know, Fee,” I say, gently squeezing her hand. “Let’s just stay quiet until Mom gets back, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  ***

  I freeze right as Steph bounces into the kitchen. She’s wearing a pair of giant headphones, humming along to her music, but stops once she sees me. “Maximus Nathaniel Archer.” Her voice is low and deliberate.

  I slowly set the carton of milk down on the counter. “It’s my house. I can do what I want.”

  Sliding the headphones off her head, she walks over to me to pinch my sides.

  “Ow. Come on, Steph. Cut it out!”

  She continues to pinch me until I move away. Then she twists the cap back on the milk, and she places the carton back inside the refrigerator. “Next time, use a glass. I swear you’re just as bad as Trevor.”

  “You can’t compare me to him.”

  She considers this for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. I love my man-child to death, but he is pretty disgusting.” She opens one of the bottom cupboards. “You hungry? I’m making some rice and beans.”

  I sit down on one of the bar stools surrounding the island. “Woman, you know the way to my heart.”

  Steph laughs, setting a pot on the stove. “I’m taken, but you’re still free to feel all kinds of smitten.”

  As she prepares the food, I go through my phone, checking my emails. Every now and then I catch myself glancing back at the stairs, wondering if Charlotte will come down, or if she’s sleeping off her hangover.

  “When’s the last time you went to the office, Max?” Steph twists open a jar of sofrito, glancing over at me.

  “I don’t know. Last Tuesday,” I reply, shrugging. “Why?”

  “I dropped by yesterday to give my article to Briggs, and I overheard that they’re looking for a new receptionist.” She pauses to gauge my reaction. “Did you know Charlotte majored in Journalism?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “One of her résumés was left out on the counter, and I happened to notice it. Get this, she was also editor of her university’s newspaper. Pretty impressive stuff, eh?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I shrug, trying to act like it’s no big deal, even though it is. In order to score that kind of position, she must’ve beaten out extremely stiff competition.

  “What do you think of offering her the job?” Steph asks, stirring the pot.

  My stomach clenches at the idea. It’s already bad enough that I can’t get the image of her in her bra and panties out of my head, or how fucking incredible it felt to kiss her yesterday. I didn’t want to stop. Her eyes pleaded with me to keep going, and seeing her like that made it a million times harder. If it had gone on any longer than it had, I would’ve given in.

  Living here temporarily is one thing. It’s hard enough as it is, knowing she sleeps across the hall. But I can deal with it because I know she won’t be here forever. Working for me is a whole different kind of situation though. That makes her more permanent.

  “I don’t know,” I finally answer Steph. “It may complicate things.”

  “How so?”

  “It just would.”

  Her lips tighten, and I can tell she’s not pleased with my answer, but she knows me well enough not to press the issue. Unlike her boyfriend, who enjoys pressing any and every issue, all of the time.

  Yesterday Charlotte asked if we could be friends…is it even possible? If she knew the risks
involved, I doubt she’d have asked. No one wants that kind of trouble. Besides, I don’t want to be her friend. Friends don’t want to do the kind of things I want to do to Charlotte.

  I turn my phone’s screen off and look back at the stairs again. Just like the last time I looked, empty. “Hey Steph, have you seen Charlotte today?”

  “Yeah, this morning.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “I don’t know. Shopping or something. She had a brown paper bag in her hands. I asked if she wanted to go to yoga class with me, but she said she was busy.” Steph stops stirring and looks over her shoulder. “Now that I think about it, she didn’t look well. Really pale, actually. Maybe she was sick?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “You know, Max, you never told me how the two of you know each other.”

  Great. Here we go with this again.

  As much as I don’t want to tell her, I realize it might come up at one point or another, especially if they start asking Charlotte questions. It’s better for everyone if I just tell her the truth and leave out the specifics. So I admit Charlotte was the one who found me the night I’d been stabbed, and that she was the one who called for help. Everyone still believes it was a random mugging, but as far as they know, it could’ve been. Except for the fact that nothing was actually stolen from me.

  Minor details.

  When I’m through, Steph waves the wooden spoon around in the air, inhaling a deep breath. She stares at me, her eyes welling up with tears. “She’s the girl that saved your life that night?”

  “Come on Steph, don’t do the crying thing—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me it was her?” Her voice goes in and out, sounding choked. “Oh my God. I think I love her. No, I know I love her. She’s going to be my new best friend.”

  At this point, I roll my eyes. “She’s not staying long enough for that.”