Chapter 19
Max
What had I done?
I dragged in a deep breath and flipped the bacon in the pan, grateful for my dad for dropping off the breakfast essentials—eggs, bacon, toast—at the crack of dawn this morning without asking any questions.
At least, no verbal ones. His curious stare was easier to answer with a short rundown of what happened with Mrs. McCormick at the store yesterday.
If it had been Nox or Harper, they wouldn’t have left it at that—the simple facts, not the complicated feelings.
I’d spent half the night tossing and turning, feeling like an ass for the way I sent Daisy away, but I was so fucked in the head after what had happened in the bathroom, I didn’t trust myself to make any decisions, let alone the right ones.
Grease sizzled and sprayed from the pan, catching the back of my hand holding the tongs, but I didn’t even flinch.
There was nothing that burned me nearly as much as the memory of Daisy’s legs spread on that counter, her bedroom eyes soaked with lust and moaning my name as she pleasured herself to my command—came to my command—with his damn ring buried in her perfect cunt.
I tapped an egg on the counter to crack the shell. Too hard, apparently, because it split before I could get it over the bowl.
“Shit.” I grabbed a paper towel and wiped up the soppy mess, tossing it in the trash.
A metaphor for what happened last night. I’d been weak, a fragile shell of frustration in that shower, and as soon as she’d walked through the door and saw me, I shattered. The way I wanted her, the way I’d always wanted her, spilling into messy, mind-numbing domination.
I groaned and rinsed my hands.
What had I done? Guilt whispered.
What she wanted, a whisper talked back.
My second attempt to shell the eggs went better, six of them sliding smoothly into the bowl. I turned on another burner, cut a slice of butter into a second pan, and fished out four slices of bread from the bag.
The sound of my—Daisy’s—bedroom door opening tumbled all the way down into the kitchen. I gritted my teeth and grabbed a fork from the drawer.
There was no going back after last night. I’d crossed a line, a double-yellow one, that I couldn’t come back from. All that was left was to see just how completely I’d mangled not only our friendship, but our fake marriage.
Her footsteps started to make their way downstairs. She didn’t try to quiet her approach, maybe a warning for the both of us to prepare for the conversation that was about to happen.
What if she wanted to leave?
What if she wanted to walk away from me? From my help? My protection?
I smashed the fork through the eggs so hard you’d think I was trying to hand-crank an engine to start, not scramble soft eggs.
What if after the way I treated her, she never wanted to see me again?
“Max.”
Shit. The fork stopped, my heart stopping right along with it.
Daisy stood at the base of the stairs wearing one of my MaineStems tees over a pair of leggings. I couldn’t help the quick detour of my gaze, raking over those legs that had been spread wide for me last night, before I braced myself for the worst and lifted my eyes to hers.
She could put on a front like the very best showgirl, but her eyes would always tell me what she was really thinking, how she was feeling.
I met her stare, and my gut clenched. I’d prepared all morning—and all night—for what I’d see when she looked at me, but somehow, I hadn’t prepared for this. And I wasn’t sure if that was worse.
Instead of finding regret or embarrassment or anger, Daisy looked at me with the same expression she wore when she slid her cum-soaked finger into my mouth—the one that told me she wanted more.
Fire chewed through the marrow of my bones. She wanted more.
And then her hand came to rest on top of her stomach, pulling the shirt taut to her fuller breasts. Instantly, my cock thickened, having a memory instead of a fantasy to feed it. And then I saw it. The ring still on her finger.
An arctic chill seared through me, making me feel as brittle as a bomb.
She looked at me like she wanted more of me, more of us, yet she still wore another man’s ring, knowing it would stop me every single time.
“Good morning.” I couldn’t hide the shredded tone of my voice.
“Morning.” She came into the kitchen but stuck to the far side of the island, her eyes roaming over the food. “It smells amazing down here. Where did the food come from?”
Turning away from her, I whipped the eggs roughly with the fork, the most paltry vent for my pent-up frustration. “My dad dropped it off earlier. I texted him and asked if he could bring over some food.”
She let out a small hum, the sound sinking straight to my groin.
Christ. I gritted my teeth. Would I ever not be turned on by even the smallest of things about her?
Probably not, came the whisper again. Hell, I hadn’t even been turned off by the ring on her finger, let alone the biggest of things when she’d been my best friend’s fiancée.
“Do you want some orange juice?” I asked, dumping the eggs into the hot pan.
“He brought orange juice?”
I looked for her because she didn’t sound close anymore. I was right. She stood at the window on the other side of the living room, staring at the ocean.
She turned, and our eyes collided, a pop and crack echoing through the room. It came from the bacon grease erupting in the pan, but it felt like it happened between us, because of this tension combusting between us, heating dangerously close to igniting.
“He brought everything,” I grunted and returned to the stove. “Is that a yes?”
“Please.”
My family—and extended family—didn’t do anything in half-measures.
Maybe that was where I got it from. A blessing and a curse.
I traded the egg carton—because Dad had brought over a whole dozen—for the orange juice from the fridge and poured Daisy a glass, setting it on the counter for her as she came over.
“This…your house is incredible.”
I stiffened. I didn’t want to talk about my house, but there were other topics hanging between us that I wanted to avoid more.
“Thanks.” I turned the eggs over in the pan and then staggered the bread into the toaster.
“I can’t believe you’re selling it. I’d never want to leave if I lived here.”
“I know,” the reply came unbidden, and I swallowed down a curse. Maybe she hadn’t—
“What do you mean you know?” She’d heard. When I didn’t answer right away, her bare feet padded closer. “Max…”
“‘I don’t know how anyone could have a house next to the ocean and not want to spend every waking moment here. Not even something big or fancy.’” I cranked off all the burners, the food finished cooking.
I shouldn’t say anything else, but I couldn’t stop myself.
“Something peaceful. Big windows to watch the waves. A back porch to sit on and watch the sunrise. A yard to lie in and count the stars. Somewhere…to stop and just be.”
I grabbed the frying pan and turned to split the eggs between the two plates on the counter. In my periphery, Daisy’s brows pulled together, the words tugging at something buried in her mind.
Her words.
“I told you that,” she finally breathed out.
Like watching a train wreck about to happen, I knew devastation was coming, and I was powerless to stop it.
“The night of Mr. McCormick’s birthday party,” I revealed roughly, plating the bacon next before grabbing the toast from the toaster oven.
I wasn’t surprised it took her a beat to remember. Daisy was a lightweight. Even before Todd’s drinking became a problem, she never indulged in more than a glass of wine here and there.
That night, she’d had two glasses of champagne to bolster herself against Todd’s parents by the time I’d found her sitting on the railing of the grand mansion’s back patio, her hands propped on the edge, her head tipped to the sky.
“I remember…on the deck…” Like a Jenga tower being built in reverse, I watched her piece together the memory. “I was avoiding Todd and his parents,” she murmured with a strained laugh.
“You told them how much you loved the house, and how if you lived there, you’d never want to go into the city…” I offered up another piece along with her plate of food.
Her eyes flicked wide. “Mrs. McCormick said, of course I’d think that because I hadn’t grown up with multiple residences. Something about how society doesn’t stay in one place, and as Todd’s girlfriend, I should know that.”
I nodded, vividly recalling what she’d told me about why she was hiding out on the deck, and exactly how furious it made me.
Taking her fork, Daisy stuck it into her eggs, irritated by the memory. Only when she had a mouthful of food did I start to pick at my own.
We ate for several minutes in silence, and I could practically hear her mind turning through everything I’d just told her. A Rubik’s cube turning the facts round and round until the only explanation that lined up was that I’d bought the house because of her.
Her fork clanked on her plate, drawing my attention straight to hers.
“I remember…” she began. “I remember you asked me if I really wanted a house on the coast. A place out here to start fresh.”
My body stiffened like my veins were being pumped with steel. “Are you finished?” I asked, though I could see she wasn’t.
“No,” she said with an edge, pulling her plate toward her. “You asked me if I wanted a house on the coast, and I said yes, and you…you asked me what I would do if you bought me one.”
“Daisy—”
“No, Max, you asked what I would do if you bought me one, and I said I doubted Todd would ever agree to live in it. And you…” She paused, her breath catching. “You asked me if it was really Todd I saw myself living with…”
She’d finished the Jenga tower, and now I wanted to knock it all down.