Chapter 62 Cassidy
Cassidy
The ensuing days are like one big hallucination.
I'm not sure when the first day ends and the next one starts because I'm emotionally fatigued and have the curtains drawn shut to avoid the prying eyes of The District News.
With our very public displays of affection at the gala and then Max's arrest mere hours later, the media are having a field day.
Who doesn't like a romantic tragedy?
Not me. And nothing is set in stone yet, so I refuse to fall into a heap until I know what we—Max and I—are dealing with.
If I let myself fall, I'm not sure I'll be able to claw my way back up again. So I just can’t fricking fall, no matter how drastic the earth feels like it is tilting beneath my feet.
Every day. Every second. That I am without him. ..
So I only allow myself a few hours at night to cry. It's when I feel closest to Max, knowing he's probably lying on his back, feeling the absence of me as I feel the absence of him. The rest of the time, I put up a facade for Butch and the boys.
As I hold my tears for the fifth day, I call Toni.
"I can't leave the house," I say as soon as he picks up. Clutching the handset to my cheek, I peek behind the heavy fabric at the news crew parked up across the street. "I mean, how boring is the District these days that they can afford to station a van out there night and day?"
"Well, I'm thoroughly engrossed in your epic love tale. The Ballerina and The Butcher Boy. I especially like it when Bronson goes to get the mail in the morning and forgets to put clothes on."
He doesn't forget. I scoff. "Yeah. I bet every girl in the fricking District is enjoying those posts. Clay had a heart attack when he saw the photos. It's really bad press."
"Erm, a naked Bronson Butcher is not bad press. Also, gotta tell you something, darlin’, you are going to have to start saying fuck not frick. Your baby daddy is in jail now—"
"He's getting out soon," I state firmly with a nod of my head, ignoring the light-hearted teasing, not really feeling like I want innuendos and humour and silly retorts right now. "Yeah, really soon. Maybe tomorrow. Then it'll all be over."
"Oh," he says, his tone pitching higher. "So you've spoken to him then?"
"Nope." I yank the curtain shut and move back to my spot on the floor beside the Nintendo controller that has been my distraction for the past few painfully long and lonely days.
"It's been five days and Butch has spoken to him, Bronson has spoken to him, Xander has spoken to him, and the maids have probably spoken to him.
I don't know, have you spoken to him? You probably have.
" I slump with a sigh, ceasing my petty comments and jealousy and ugh.
"I just need him to be out soon. That place can't be good for him." I want to say it can't be good for his darkness. A place like that feeds toxic masculinity. It stokes it. Fuels it. But I don't let that concern leave my lips.
"Golden Girl, come on." He lets out a slow breath. "He probably can't talk to you because he doesn't want to get a boner in case he ends up all Shawshank Redemption-ed."
I smirk in condescension. "I'd like to see anyone try."
Toni smacks his lips. "You think he'd be the giver then?"
Ugh! "I'm hanging up no—"
"I'm lightening the mood, darlin’." He speaks gently as if he can tell I'm a few stupid comments away from either bursting into tears or hissing like an alley cat. "You know why he hasn't spoken to you."
"No, no, I don’t."
"He's ashamed."
I roll my eyes even though he can't witness my silent display of derision. "Max doesn't get ashamed."
"Okay. Then he's probably just trying to keep his head in the game—"
"If you make a head job reference!"
"I wasn't going to." He chuckles quietly because maybe now he wants to. "I was going to say, you know he needs to stay tough in there. You're all gooey and sugary and he can't have that right now... I get that."
"Yeah." I nod sadly, imagining how exhausting it must be to continuously feel defensive and on high alert.
To lack the luxury of honest expression, unable to show any form of vulnerability.
"I get it too. And that is totally him." I hesitate on the next question, not really wanting to extort my best friend's boyfriend.
.. Still, the need for information outweighs my uncertainties. "Have you spoken to Braidy about it?"
"Yes, of course," he states straight away, and if I could kiss him for that, I would. "The first thing I did was get all up in his grill, but he's local control, darlin’. He told me this is in Australian Federal Police jurisdiction."
"Miss Slater," Carter's voice comes through the bedroom door, followed by a light tapping sound. "May I come in?"
"I gotta go," I say to Toni as I end our call and stand up.
Staring down at my yoga pants and Max's oversized shirt, I cringe a little.
There are Cheeto stains on my chest and a wet patch on my shoulder that I'm pretty sure is drool—maybe orange juice.
Using my hands to brush the crumbs off, I mutter angrily to myself, "Pull yourself together, Cassidy. "
When I look less like a depressed little pregnant girl who has been sprawled out on her couch for the past few days, drowning her sorrows in Skyrim and junk food, I make my way over to the bedroom door. Opening it, I am immediately greeted by Carter.
I crane my neck to smile up at him. "Hi."
His eyes drop to Max's shirt and then to my bare feet. I wiggle my toes instinctively when his gaze touches them. "Put shoes on. I am taking you for a drive."
I roll my head around my shoulders a little in protest. "I just want to wait here for Max. Maybe he'll be back soon."
Carter's starkly beautiful eyes beg me to listen and accept. "Just a little drive to get you out of the house, hey?"
Sighing in defeat, I nod. "Okay. I'm just going to change my shirt."
I move back into the room and pull on my own shirt, missing the smell of Max as soon as I do, and a pair of ballet flats.
We exit through the back door to avoid the press, and as we pull around the house to leave, I duck low in my seat even though the windows are tinted dark and no one can see me.
They snap pictures of the car and Carter.
"I feel like I should talk to them, ya know? Give them their story. Maybe they will leave if I do. What do you think?"
"I highly doubt that, Miss. Luca has already spoken to them. They are waiting to interview Max upon his arrival."
I exhale loudly, feeling a pang of anger and resentment that people can't just leave us alone. They want a piece of him. My Max. They can't have it because it isn't available. I am slapping a 'zero vacant spots' sticker up. I don't even have enough of him right now.
Frowning at the media, I wonder how long that has been going on for.
I know the boys have been headliners most of their lives, and I know Max hates it, but I've never experienced anything like this before.
We are going through something hard and personal and.
.. Max is going through something—something life-changing—and he doesn't need this.
.. this... shit. Yep, shit. And fuck them.
So... yeah. My baby daddy is in jail, so I can say that now, thank you, Toni.
I stare out the window, scowling silently as the world passes by.
After about fifteen minutes, we pass over into Brussman and I feel a flitter of happiness move through me, being in my own city again.
A quiet city. The car pulls onto a street and I sit up, staring at the beautiful old houses on the big country lots.
This part of Brussman was developed first. It has a rural feel and look, but it's only fifteen minutes from the city centre.
As we roll along, the speed bumps keeping us at a slow pace, I realise that I recognise this suburb.
It's about fifteen minutes from my home—funnily enough, both my old home and my new one.
Right in the middle, actually.
When Carter slows to a stop, I frown questioningly at him in the rear-view mirror. "Why have we stopped?" I see his eyes smile.
Warmth rushes through me, heating up every cell in my body.
In my soul.
My heart leaps when the realisation hits me. "Is he here?"
He's here!
Flying from the car, I search the street and properties, body spinning, eyes bouncing around.
Nothing. Beside me is a big empty block of land covered in long green weeds that have surely been there for a while.
There is a steep incline and— My heart pirouettes and aches, and I let myself cry when I see Max standing at the top.
With his hands in his pockets, casual stance, and thick muscular body, there isn't a woman alive that wouldn't feel his presence like a flutter settling right between their thighs.
I rush to him, laughing through my tears when I see him scowl at me as I run.
"Stop fucking running," he barks. But he's not angry. Not at all.
Controlling butthead.
My feet can't take me fast enough and then I catapult into his arms. He catches me behind the thighs, moulding me around him until my legs band his waist and our bodies press so tightly that they almost fuse together. I wish they would.
Our noses touch. Lips connect. His tongue moves inside me with aggression, licking, devouring, claiming.
My palms cup his cheeks and I accept it, accept the need.
The yearning. It's the best sensation ever.
I can feel his heart's pounding rhythm, a sure sign of his passionate, desperate, longing response to seeing me.
Holding me. Mine matches his as we kiss breathlessly, with a frenzied possessiveness that isn't safe and guarded but instead dangerous and utterly vulnerable.
"When did you get out?" I pant against his lips.
"This morning."
I freeze, pushing away from his chest to stare into his penetrating stormy-blue eyes. "This morning? I've been waiting for you. I've been worried. I've been... kinda messy."