“Giving in?” I asked, confused.
Max focused on me again. “To her bein’ dead, makin’ it more final.”
“Death is pretty final, darling,” I said softly but carefully.
His face changed, a wave of that pain sliding through it, his head dropped so his forehead was resting against mine and he muttered, “Yeah.”
Still cautious, I guessed, “He mentioned her in his letter.”
Max lifted his head and nodded and I knew that was why the other Max came out that day, why Bitsy told me to take care of him, because, bottom line, Curt was being a jerk.
“What’d he say?” I asked, my thumb still stroking his jaw.
“Told me he was sorry. Told me he loved Anna and it ate at him, what he did to her. I’m sure that made him feel better, writin’ that out, makin’ him feel like a better man, admittin’ to that. What he didn’t get was what that shit would make me feel, how no apology could change the decisions he made leadin’ up to what happened that night. Nothin’ could change the fact that his wife and my wife were in his car when he acted like Curt, not thinkin’ that two precious souls were with him and the first thing that should be on his fuckin’ mind was gettin’ them home safe. Not pissin’ in his corner, provin’ to a bunch of kids who’s the bigger man.”
As usual, Max was right.
“The fuck of it is, he was writin’ that letter at the same time he was fuckin’ around on Bitsy with Shauna, God knows why, no excuse for it. And writin’ that letter knowin’ that his life was in danger, as was hers, and he was dickin’ around with a PI and not gettin’ the cops involved. He was writin’ that letter apologizin’ for his stupid, fucked up decisions ten years ago at the same time still fuckin’ makin’ ‘em.”
Again, Max was right.
And something else Max was and it was clear as day, absolutely obvious.
He was not over his dead wife.
This hurt, worse than a kick in the ribs, a punch in the face but I didn’t let that show. Not that Max, in his current state of mind, would notice. He was far away, still reliving a nightmare.
Instead of pulling away physically or emotionally, which was what I wanted to do, my hand left his neck to become my arm wrapped around his waist and I rolled deeper into him, pushing him to his back and getting close, resting my cheek on his shoulder, wrapping him tight with my arm.
Max’s hand slid under my body and curled around my waist.
“I saw her picture at Bitsy’s,” I told him, feeling his body get tight against mine and I hurried on. “She was beautiful, Max. You looked happy.”
His arm gave me a squeeze and his body relaxed.
“She was,” he agreed. “We were.”
“You should know, Harry told me everything,” I whispered warily. “About your scholarship, the pregnancies –”
His gravelly voice was back to harsh when he cut me off to remark sarcastically, “Remind me to thank him.” I bit my lip and he continued, “And remind me, next time I’m enjoyin’ your company and you get the stellar idea to leave me and go distract some bitter, drunk asshole from his fucked up issues that are his own issues, ones he created his damned self, and he doesn’t man up to that but takes pot shots at you, remind me, babe, not to let you go.”
This sounded a good deal like Max thought Harry’s tirade was my fault and to ascertain if this was true, I lifted my head and looked at his face. His unhappy, clear, gray eyes locked on mine and I saw that it was, indeed, true.
“He was just blowing off steam,” I told him.
“Yeah, he was, blowin’ off steam at your expense, my expense, Anna’s expense and she’s fuckin’ dead. Blowin’ off steam which meant you were night-time Zombie Nina, actin’ like your world had crumbled and you wouldn’t let me in to help. Blowin’ off steam which reinforced whatever fucked up idea you had about Anna and me in your head which meant you didn’t fuckin’ talk to me about it and we ended up havin’ a spat, you gettin’ another fuckin’ wild hair and takin’ off and then gettin’ worked over by Damon. Yeah, babe, Harry was just blowin’ off steam.”
I heard everything he said but there was only one part of it that hit me like a bullet.
He called that morning a spat.
I got up on an elbow in the bed and looked down at him, whispering, “Spat?”
His arm came up, crossing his chest and his fingers curled around the back of my neck to contain me should I wish to retreat any further and he said, “Duchess, wake up. This is us, we’re gonna fight. You gotta learn how to shake it off.”
I blinked.
“Shake it off?” I whispered and this time my whisper was both incredulous and lethal.
“Yeah, shake it off,” he confirmed, ignoring my toxic tone completely. “Either that or learn how to talk to me, how to ask a fuckin’ question once in awhile without lookin’ scared as a jackrabbit about whatever answer you might get.”
I blinked. Max kept talking.
“I ain’t a figment of your imagination, Duchess, I didn’t start my existence the night you drove up to my house. I had a life, a wife. I got a family, friends, a history. I fucked around a lot, lookin’ for somethin’ and not findin’ it, just like you.”
I tried to contain my anger and reminded him, “Yes, Max, you had a wife who was your world.”
“Yeah, she was, until her world stopped. Mine kept goin’, babe.”
“Harry said when a man has a woman who is his world, and he loses her, nothing will take the place of that.”
I watched Max’s irritation grow to anger; he twisted toward me and got up on an elbow too, all without releasing my neck.
“Don’t lie in bed next to me and throw in my face the shit Harry fed you last night,” he warned.
“But you admitted it,” I told him.
“I fuckin’ did not.”
“You told me she was your world.”
His hand tightened on my neck. “Yeah, she was, Duchess. Was.”
“Harry’s a man and men know men.”
“Harry’s no man, Nina. Haven’t you figured that out?”
Okay, he had a point there.
“All right,” I agreed and foolishly went on. “That might be true but not five minutes ago you relived that nightmare, Max, I watched you do it and you cannot lie there and tell me you’re over Anna. You loved her and her loss broke you.”
His eyes turned to stone indicating his anger deepening, quite significantly, and he clipped, “Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”
“What?”
He rolled into me so I fell to my back and he was partially on me, though not on my tender side but I wouldn’t have noticed even if he pressed his full weight into me because he’d gone way passed angry right back to what he was this morning. He was furious and I braced for impact.
“You’re a piece of work, babe.” His voice was biting as he repeated himself, his face dipping close to mine. “Is this what you wanna hear?” he asked and didn’t wait for my answer just kept on going. “She was beautiful, she was funny, sweet, mellow, laid back. So fuckin’ mellow, Christ. Life was good for Anna. She loved livin’ it and didn’t let much get under her skin. We probably had two arguments the whole time we were together. Life with Anna was contentment, absolute. She didn’t get in my face, she didn’t get in moods, she didn’t throw attitude. She woke up happy and went to bed happy and she did everything she could to give me that same harmony and I loved every fuckin’ minute of it.”
My mouth went dry at his words and I tried to slide out from under him but he didn’t let me move an inch as he carried on.
“Not you, no. You get in my face, your mood changes like lightnin’, you throw attitude better’n any woman I ever met and I grew up with Mom and Kami, so, seriously, babe, that’s sayin’ somethin’.”