Chapter Thirty-Five Max
Chapter Thirty-Five
Max
I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but every minute since Saturday night feels as though it’s stretched into an eternity.
I slept like total shit the past two nights.
Partly because I’ve replayed my thoughtless words to Gemma and her cold dismissal more times than I care to admit.
And partly because her scent is everywhere—lingering on my sheets, my pillow, in my bathroom.
Even if I wanted to, I can’t escape her.
I’ve jerked off twice trying to purge her from my system. It didn’t work.
Her cutting words—this is nothing—flood me like a current, washing away any lingering afterglow. I didn’t even have time to hold her before I opened my mouth and ruined everything.
The shower pounds my skin like a gavel, but it fails to wash away the thought that’s been circling my mind since she walked out: I wanted more time with her. I wanted to hold her.
Like Gemma, I never cuddle after sex. That’s why Ruby Lounge worked so well for me, along with similar clubs in New York. It’s transactional. I don’t obsess over women, replay conversations, and I certainly never second-guess my actions.
We simply enjoy each other, then we part ways. Rinse. Repeat. No morning-after awkwardness. No regrets.
I don’t have any second thoughts about what we did in that bedroom Saturday night; that’s a memory I’ll enjoy carrying with me forever. But I do regret my shitty apology that made her think I considered it a mistake.
My only real concern was coming between Anna and Gemma’s friendship. I’d hate either of them to get hurt in the fallout. I can handle my sister, but Gemma? I don’t want to be the reason they argue. Which is why we need to be more careful.
I slam the water off and grab a towel, rubbing it vigorously against my skin before roughly running my hands through my hair.
I dress in my usual—navy suit pants, a white shirt, and black shoes.
I need to focus. My mind needs to be on today. Work. The reason I’m here in the first place.
This whole arrangement was my idea, so I need to see that it continues without a hitch, just as we planned.
I make myself an espresso. The rich, nutty aroma of fresh coffee fills my kitchen, and I already feel more alert. I sip on the bitter brew, but my thoughts return to worrying about Gemma.
I’ve checked my phone a dozen times, half-expecting, half-hoping to see her name appear. Each time a new notification sounds, I’m hit with a jolt of unease, and each time it isn’t her, the disappointment hits harder than it should. How pathetic. I’m acting like a lovesick teenager.
I toss my phone onto the counter face-down, determined not to check it again. But as I reach for my jacket, the familiar vibration hums against the marble. I pause, then flip it over, screen up.
Remorse swells inside me as Anna’s name flashes on the screen. For a split second, panic sparks. What if she knows what Gemma and I were doing in the guest bedroom? But logic overrides the instinct. That’s unlikely. I swipe to answer.
“Hey, weasel,” I say.
“Hey, are you at work?” she asks.
I glance at my watch. “Not yet. It’s only half seven. Why?”
I take another sip of coffee.
There’s a pause. “Casey’s been messaging me on Instagram.”
My stomach drops. I set the espresso cup down. “What?”
“She’s sent me three DMs in the last twelve hours.”
I sigh, already knowing where this is going. I begin pacing the length of my kitchen. “What’s she saying?”
I hear rustling on the other end of the phone as she pulls up their conversation. “The last one says, ‘Hi, Anna, has your brother blocked me?’”
I exhale sharply, running my free hand through my still-damp hair. “Yes. I have.”
“She’s sent another message asking what’s going on.”
“She won’t stop calling and I just… I can’t keep doing this,” I say, keeping my voice even. I stop by the large windows, staring out at the London skyline without really seeing it.
There’s another pause. “What do you want me to say?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, irritated that Casey’s involved my sister. I force my shoulders to relax. “Just tell her you’re not getting in the middle of this. Or that I’m busy. That I’m not available—whatever you want.”
Anna hesitates. “That seems… harsh, don’t you think? You were married to her.”
I nod, even though she can’t see it. This is the last thing I need to be focusing on. “It is cold, I know. And I hate that. But I need it to be. She’s using you to get to me because I’ve finally drawn a line. She doesn’t know I’m back in London, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Another brief pause.
“She’s replying,” Anna says, her voice tight. “I already messaged her before I called you.”
My jaw clenches as I check my watch again, walking back toward the kitchen. “You did?”
“Yeah,” she says, casually. “I didn’t say much. Just that I’d ask you what was going on. She says she wants to talk.”
I press my palm flat against the cool counter, grounding myself. “I’ve been talking to her, Anna. For the last four years. I stayed in touch longer than I probably should have—because I didn’t want to be the arsehole who cut her off completely.”
“She still loves you, Max,” Anna says, her voice quiet.
“That’s the problem.” I move to pick up my suit jacket, slipping it on with the phone tucked between my ear and shoulder.
“She hasn’t let go. And I did—a long time ago.
It’s not fair to keep having the same conversations when they lead nowhere.
She needs to move on. I’ve tried to be kind about it, but kindness turned into false hope. And that’s not fair either.”
“I get it,” she says finally. “I just don’t like seeing people hurt. Even Casey.”
“I don’t either,” I reply. “But I can’t be the one to help her through it anymore. That’s not my place—it hasn’t been for years.”
“She’s not going to take it well,” Anna warns.
“I know.” I run a hand down my face, feeling the slight stubble I’ve neglected to shave. “But that’s not my responsibility anymore.”
“Are you okay?” Anna asks.
We’ve always been open and honest with each other. Anna’s stoic; she always has been. It’s how she presents to the world. But underneath it all is a gentle softness. She’s kind. She cares about people, even when it isn’t her place. My sister has a big heart, and I love her for it.
“Yeah,” I say, pressing my thumb and forefinger to my eyes, trying to chase off the exhaustion. “Just tired.”
“Okay. I won’t say anything else to her. I promise.”
“I appreciate that. How are you?” I ask, changing the subject. “I saw things were a little tense between you and Mason on Saturday.”
“I’m fine. Nothing’s changed.” Her tone has a finality to it.
I frown. “You know I’m always here, right?”
“I know. And I love you for it… I’d better let you go. I’ve got parent meetings to prepare for this afternoon.”
“Have a good day,” I say, tapping my hand against the counter. “And weasel? Thanks.”
“Don’t call me that.”
I smile faintly. “You love it.”
“Not even a little bit.” She hangs up.
Smirking, I slide the phone into my jacket pocket and head toward the door.
Another quick glance at my watch tells me it’s not yet 8 a.m., and I wonder what other fresh hell Monday can bring.
And how can I make up with Gemma.