Chapter 31 Hollie
HOLLIE
“Ilove my parents, but that party was exhausting.” Slumping down onto the couch back at Maxim’s penthouse, I draw the blanket over myself and try to process.
I need to tell him what happened, but where to start?
How to explain everything that happened, and then my determination not to ruin my parents’ party?
My eyes close until the couch dips. Maxim sits beside me with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. “Hollie, tell me what happened at the gig.”
My heart jumps. Just five minutes. I want just five minutes to process and feel safe, but when Maxim’s gaze locks onto mine, I realize that he already knows.
“What did Stu tell you?”
“Did you really think he would keep it a secret?” Maxim leans toward me. “Tell me.”
He speaks softly and yet his words are like a command, a demand for the truth, yet somehow, it makes me feel like refusing wouldn’t be the end of the world.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, clutching at the blanket.
“He was nice. I played music and I watched him propose to his fiancée, and then he asked me to come with him to get paid and I went. It was no different from any other booking I’ve had but suddenly, we were alone.
And I remember thinking that it was oddly quiet with just the two of us, and then he started talking about my performance but it was like he wasn’t talking about my music. And then he…”
I can’t say it.
It sounds pathetic. Maxim faces danger every day and I’ve told him I can take care of myself. In the great scheme of things, it hardly seems important.
Maxim doesn’t speak. He watches me intently, but his hands have twisted together so tightly that the white of his bone bleeds through the skin of his knuckles.
“He grabbed me.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
“And he threw me down on the desk and he pinned me down and he… He was saying all these things about how he’d waited for me before or something, but it was easier to let me just walk into his trap, and I—” Gasping, my hand shoots over my mouth.
“Oh God… I hit him. It was a paper weight, I think, but it shattered and he was bleeding and he fell, and I tried to run but he—”
The tattoo suddenly appears in the forefront of my mind, and the realization brings with it the weight of what could have truly happened had I not gotten away.
“He had the tattoo.”
Maxim’s brow lifts slightly. “The tattoo?”
I nod quickly and hold out my hand. “On his wrist. He had a heart tattoo. I knew I’d seen it before when Zoe told me about it, but I just couldn’t remember where, so I thought it was nothing, but he…
he had one. Right here.” Pressing my fingertips against my wrist, I show Maxim exactly where the tattoo was. “I kicked him and I ran, and then—”
Maxim suddenly scoops me into his arms and draws me into his lap. The comfort of his secure hold is enough to unlock the next wave of tears and suddenly, I’m sobbing into his shoulder and clutching so hard at his shirt that my nailbeds ache.
“I’m sorry,” he grunts. “I should have gone in with you.”
I can’t speak. On the drive to my parents’ house, I kept telling myself I was fine and there was nothing really to worry about. I got away and that’s all that matters. But now, after it’s sunk in and I’ve finished performing as the perfect daughter for my parents, the pain hits.
I cry until my throat is hoarse and my eyes burn.
Maxim doesn’t relax even for a second. He holds me tight and close, rocking me back and forth and caressing the back of my head while murmuring things I can’t decipher.
Just the noise of his voice is enough to soothe me, and I cry until my phone rings for the third time in a row.
“Let me,” Maxim says, reaching for my purse, but I catch his arm and shake my head.
“S’fine. Probably my mom.”
“Are you sure?” There’s such worry flooding Maxim’s eyes, but I nod quickly and slip from his lap. “Do you think there’s a connection?” I ask softly. “About the tattoo?”
Maxim doesn’t reply. He stands and kisses the top of my head, then he moves out of the lounge and stands in the kitchen with his own phone pressed to his ear.
Maybe it’s nothing. That tattoo is surely common, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something there.
Drying my eyes, I answer the phone while sniffling softly to control myself.
“Darling!” Tiffany’s voice bursts forth. “You didn’t call me after the gig, how did it go? I called the client but he didn’t pick up, so I can only imagine he’s celebrating his fancy new engagement and we’re insanely richer, right?”
I forgot all about the money. God knows where that check ended up after we fought.
“Tiffany, hey.” I try to subtly clear my throat. “Sorry I didn’t call.”
“Oh, honey, are you alright? You sound awful. Did you not go?”
“Uhm… I’m sorry, Tiff, there’s no money.”
“What? Did he stiff you? Because I swear I don’t care how rich that fucker is, I’ll blacklist him up and down the entire city, and he won’t be able to even eat anywhere without feeling smothered by judgment.”
“No, no, he…” I look back at Maxim. He’s speaking quietly and hurriedly into his phone. “He attacked me, Tiff. So I ran. I’m sorry.”
“What?” She almost blows my ear from how loudly she yells.
“I’m sorry.”
“Honey, don't you dare apologize! I’m so sorry. Have you called the police? Do you need me to? I can call them right now!”
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s being taken care of, I just… I’m sorry. It was so much money.”
“No amount is worth that, darling. Don’t you dare worry about that. God, I’m so sorry. If you need anything, then I’m here, okay? I’m right here.”
“Thanks.”
We talk for a few minutes and then I hang up, sinking back down onto the couch. Emptiness fills me. The back of my throat burns and my head aches. In the quiet, Maxim’s voice rises from the kitchen, but he’s talking too low and too fast for me to make out anything he’s saying. He sounds angry.
I hope he’s not angry at Stu. If he’d been there, maybe it would have been different. I shouldn’t have let him stay behind.
Back and forth my mind weaves, finding ways to make the attack my own fault, something avoidable and then something unavoidable. Even with the blanket on me, I still feel his weight against me and it’s not the same comforting weight that comes from Maxim. This is something different and I hate it.
My vision blurs as I stare out the window where the glittering city of New York swells with light and life amid the falling snow. The longer I watch, the quieter my mind becomes until I’m so numb that even my breathing becomes hesitant.
I’m watching the snow fall as my mind loops, replaying that fight over and over again. Time is infinite, and I’m alone in this bubble of anxiety until Maxim’s ridged abdomen blocks my view.
I blink and my eyes burn like I haven’t blinked in hours.
“Come with me,” Maxim says gently, holding out his hand.
“Don’t you have calls to make?” I croak, swallowing around the cotton in my mouth.
“They can wait.” Maxim takes my hand and holds me gently. “I need to take care of you first.”
A protest rises in me, a declaration that I’m fine, but when our eyes meet, I can’t bring myself to say it, so I let him pull me off the couch.
Maxim guides me down the hall to the bathroom and once inside, the prospect of a shower sounds equal parts amazing and exhausting. But he’s one step ahead of me.
He strips immediately, turns on the shower and lowers the lights to reduce the glare, then he faces me and holds out his hand. “Let me help you.”
He said once that he wouldn’t touch me without permission and it seems important now as he reaches out for me, but he doesn’t close the gap. He leaves that choice up to me.
After an eternity of the shower running and his hand hanging in the air between us, I finally take it.
From there, Maxim takes over like it’s second nature to him.
He peels me out of my clothes and sets them on the counter next to the sink.
As he looks me over, he pauses at my hips where a faint bruise rises from my hipbone.
I want to tell him what caused it but it’s like he already knows.
His thumb smooths over the bruise with feather-light pressure, then he removes my underwear and scoops me up in his bare arms. In the shower, he sets me down directly under the spray, then turns me to face.
I immediately close my eyes, but not before I notice that he positions himself between me and the door as if he’s protecting me from anything that could burst in and disturb us.
The hot water pours over my face, washing away the salt from my tears and the ache in my brow.
Maxim’s hands gently scrape my hair away from my face and soon, it dangles, soaked, down my back.
Wordlessly, he lathers up his hands and starts washing me.
It’s strange how he knows what to do, and every time I think about saying something, the comfort that comes from his attention keeps me quiet and content.
His strong, callused hands sweep up my arms, across my shoulders, and down my back, kneading and stroking with care.
At my lower back, he massages into my spine and sweeps back up to my shoulders.
My head drops forward and my breathing deepens, soaking up every second of his contact.
But more than that, it’s what he’s erasing.
Maxim’s hands replace that bastard’s weight against my back.
They replace his voice at my neck, the grip of his hands and the pressure at my hips.
He doesn’t stop there, either. He washes my breasts and stomach, down each leg, and around each ankle as if he knows exactly where that brute grabbed me.
I never gave details and Maxim is simply being thorough, but it’s welcomed.
By the time he lathers shampoo into my hair, my mind is calm and my body tingles as if every stroke of Maxim’s palms renewed me. My head falls back into his hands and my next breath feels like the first real breath I’ve taken since I left that place.
“Why are you doing this?”
Maxim slides his lathered fingers into my hair, massaging my scalp, and I sag against him.
“I said I would protect you and I failed,” he says quietly. “But I won’t fail at taking care of you. And I promise, no one will hurt you ever again.”
For such a large, intimidating man with miles of ink covering his muscles, he speaks with such tenderness.
Like a teddy bear coming to life. I can’t take his promise to heart.
Being around him has taught me how unpredictable his world can be, but if this care is the care I’m destined to, regardless, then I’ll take it.
I open my eyes and turn away from the spray. Squinting up at Maxim, he’s focused on keeping the shampoo out of my eyes while cradling my head back so the water washes back. He’s frowning slightly and his lower lip is curling faintly under his upper.
That glimpse and the warmth radiating from me because of his care births a new revelation that makes my heart skip a beat.
Shit.
I think I’ve fallen for him.