26
Wake Up Call
Mitch
The room smells of us. Of Max’s perfume, my cologne, our sweat and lust. Sunlight streams in from between a crack in the curtains, bathing us in its warm glow and turning Max’s copper hair to a bright shade of apricot.
I roll onto my side, prop myself up on an elbow, and watch her sleep.
Her bow-shaped lips are slightly parted, the sun highlighting the smattering of freckles across her creamy white skin.
She’s so damn beautiful, I almost forget she isn’t mine.
I mean, sure, we’ve had sex, but no matter what she says, she hasn’t changed all that much.
This undeniable attraction between us is volatile and explosive when we give in, but how could it not be when it stems from a place of deep hurt and anger, not love.
As fun as last night was, it’s not a healthy place for either of us to be in.
Besides, I have this massive decision hovering over me, plus I need to go back to New York in a few days to meet with Phil.
The ever-increasing pressure is getting heavier and heavier with each passing minute.
And when I connect with Max this way, it gets harder to face the reality that I’ll have to let it all go.
It kills me but I’ll need to accept that we’ll never have a future together.
Who am I kidding? Did I ever really believe I’d have anything permanent and long-term with her? At best, we’re old acquaintances, not friends. Lovers, but not in love.
The thought makes something fierce gnaw at my insides.
Wishing we could stay in this room forever, I run my fingers along her arm. The tiny hairs on her forearm lift to meet my touch, and I lose myself, mesmerized by her body’s reaction to mine.
Come on, Adams. You are in love with her. Just as you’ve always been.
“What are you doing?” she asks, cracking an eye open.
I smile, but don’t stop moving my fingers. The sunlight hits her eyes, bringing out tiny flecks of gold. “An experiment.”
She drops her gaze, following the line my fingers trace, watching the shivers surface. “You’re enjoying that way too much.”
“As if you’re not,” I reply with a wink, then move my hand to her face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We should probably get up soon.”
Right on cue, my stomach growls in protest, and Max giggles.
I’m starving. Last night, my massive jumble of anxiety didn’t let me eat much at the party, and with all the energy I’ve spent since then, I feel like I could eat an entire breakfast buffet. Maybe even two.
She moans into the pillow, the sound heading straight to my crotch.
Then she turns onto her back, and the sheet falls away, revealing her perfect breasts.
Hurriedly, she tugs the sheet up beneath her chin, hiding herself, but when she glances over at me, and her eyes fall to my bare chest, then drop to my naked waist, her cheeks turn bright pink.
“Um, you maybe wanna cover that?” she suggests, noticing my uncovered morning wood.
“Why? Does seeing me naked bother you?” I turn onto my back, tucking my arms behind my head, and my semi-hard dick bobs against my lower stomach.
“No, not at all,” she answers.
“I mean, after everything we’ve done, nothing about this should faze you.”
“And I’m not fazed. I’m completely unfazed.”
A deep, husky laugh bursts out of me, and it feels too good, reminding me of how things used to be between us. The ease of our conversations and how we could pick up on the subtlest details.
A faint vibration sounds nearby. I reach for my phone on the nightstand, but come up empty.
“Shit. Where’s my phone?” I sit up and scan the room.
“In your pants?” Max suggests.
I groan. My clothes are scattered all over the place, so I’m not sure where my pants are. If a fire were to break out this instant, and I had to get dressed in a hurry, I’d be screwed.
“Think I should ignore it?” I ask, uninterested in leaving the comfy, warm bed, but already rolling out of it.
Beside the wingback chair, where I sat while Max rode me raw last night, I find my pants crumpled on the floor and pick them up. The phone keeps vibrating, and something unnatural upsets my stomach. When I pull it out and read the screen, my entire being seizes; my heart and my body grow icy.
Alert, probably noticing my expression, Maxine sits up in bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Mom?” I answer to her crying on the other end. Not crying, sobbing. She’s muttering something about Bill having another stroke. Her words are so jumbled it’s hard to be sure, but deep down, I already understand. “Is he okay?” I ask.
Her crying stops abruptly. An eerie silence takes over, as if all the sound in the world has disappeared. All that’s left behind is the whooshing of my heartbeat between my ears.
Her faint “no” breaks through the wall in my brain, hitting me like a sharp smack across the face.
“I’m on my way.” I’m not sure, but I think I press End before letting the phone drop out of my hand and fall.
In the same moment, Max rushes to my side, holds me, and eases me down until my knees hit the floor. She tucks my head into the crook of her neck, running her fingers along the base of my nape and into my hair, lightly rocking my body.
“Shh, it’ll be okay. I’m here.”
Dark, clouded with so many emotions, her words crack through my mind like a beacon in a storm.
She’s here. She’s with me. And until this very moment, I never grasped how lost I was without her, or how much I truly needed her by my side.
Max
Oh, God. I’m dressed like Princess Peach, standing in the middle of Bill and Robyn’s living room, like a statue.
By my side, Mitch is in his wrinkled dress shirt and pants, and we’re staring through the space, but my eyes struggle to focus on anything in particular, avoiding specific things, reminders of what the house used to hold. Of a soul that was here only a few hours ago. A soul that is now gone…
“If we’d been here… if we hadn’t been…?” Mitchell looks so untethered, with wet eyes and a permanently clenched jaw.
“Don’t think like that,” I plead, weaving my fingers through his, bringing his hand up to my heart. “There’s nothing you could have done. The doctors said it was a matter of time.” I look up, forcing a reassuring smile, but his lips don’t budge.
“Will she be okay?” he asks.
“She will.”
Straight after getting the call, I drove us to the hospital in Hallstead, where we met Robyn. The doctor gave us the news, and we sat together in the family room, consoling Robyn as best we could, but I could tell Mitch was struggling to hold himself together.
Once I had helped fill out the paperwork and they were ready to leave Bill’s side, I drove Robyn to her sister Maggie’s house. Maggie said she’d come over to get Robyn’s things another day and that she could stay with her as long as needed.
For now, this house is the last place Robyn should be. Even I don’t feel right being here, as if I’m intruding.
“I need to leave,” Mitch states, reading my mind. “Let’s go to your place. Or back to the inn?” He cringes and shakes his head as if second-guessing himself. “No, not the inn. I just… I can’t—”
“It’s all right, Mitch. We’ll go to my place. Do you want to get some of your things?”
Spaced out, he looks at me confused, but then nods, squeezing my hand. Without releasing it, we head upstairs. There’s no reason he can’t do this alone, but I think he knows I understand his need to have me by his side and won’t judge.
My hand looks so tiny in his big one, and I recall the countless times he comforted me just by holding it. Back when no matter how grim things were, we knew exactly what to say to lighten the mood.
But today, I can’t come up with the right words.
We step into his bedroom, but he stops as if hitting a wall.
I release his hand and open the closet, pulling out his suitcase where I figured it would be.
I set it down on the bed, then open his dresser drawers to get some of his clothes.
A wave of familiarity spreads over me when I see that he still sorts them the same way—T-shirts in one drawer, pants in another, socks and underwear in the top.
I pack some items in the case, enough for a few days.
His steady gaze is locked on me the entire time, but I’m not too sure he’s aware he’s staring.
Then, I hear him shuffle across the room and sink onto his bed, dropping his head into his hands. “Max, I’m so sorry.”
I stop what I’m doing and sit beside him. “What are you apologizing for?”
“I should have stayed. I should have been patient and listened to you.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, then brings his eyes up to meet mine.
The desperate regret in his stare reaches deep inside me to a part only he’s ever had access to, and it burns, like an old wound being scratched open.
But it’s a pain I’m all too willing to suffer.
“Don’t apologize.” I bring his hand into my lap. “You don’t need to worry about any of that now.”
“But I do. I shouldn’t have waited this long to—” Again, as if hitting something impenetrable, he stops.
There’s something in his hesitation that makes me imagine the things he’s not saying. Expecting the words I’m sure I’m not ready to hear. I’m dizzy and realize I’m holding my breath.
Worry and fear flood his eyes, and he rips his gaze away. “To come back to Oakwhite,” he continues. “Dad deserved more from me.” A tear slides down his cheek. “I let him down.”
Feeling as if I’ve been sucker-punched, I shove my stupid disappointment to the back of my mind. I wipe his cheek with my thumb, then run my arms around his chest, burying my face into it. “That’s not true. He was so proud of you.”
Mitch scoffs. “No, he wasn’t. I let him down, like I let everyone else down. Like I let you down. All because I was scared and couldn’t deal.”
“And I could have done a million things differently, too, Mitch. I could have been a better friend and been honest from the get-go. I could have insisted on clearing things up. I knew where you were all along. I could have fought to get it all back.”
He grips me by the shoulders and pushes me away, keeping me at arm’s length. “None of that was your fault.”
It’s my turn to scoff. “And it wasn’t yours, either.”
He slides off the bed, dropping to his knees at my feet and takes my hands. Minutes tick by. We stare at each other, trying to figure out what still needs to be said, but knowing we’re both too afraid to say the words.
Without dropping his gaze, I lift his hands to my mouth and feather my lips across his knuckles. The caress turns into a soft kiss on each knuckle, then more along the tops of his hands.
I flip them over, kissing his wrists, kissing his palms, the curve between his thumb and forefinger, treating each millimeter of his skin as if it’s thirsty for affection.
These hands I’ve dreamed of holding for so long it hurts.
Hands I’d do anything to have against my skin, making me feel right again, letting us forget the pain.
Every few times my lips touch his skin, he sniffles, but when a tear hits his hand, I glance up.
“Stop,” he says, pulling away.
I cradle his face, then kiss the tears on his cheeks.
“Stop,” he repeats, only this time the word is hushed, as if he’s forcing it out.
“Shh,” I say, brushing my lips over his.
“I said stop, Maxine.” He shoves away from me, stands up, and rakes his fingers through his hair.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault. This is… Damn it!” His voice bounces off the walls.
I sit straight, worried, preparing myself for what he might be about to say.
“I can’t trust how I feel. And this anger inside me? I’m not sure I can keep it in.”
“Then don’t.”
He paces the room, shaking his head. Tension rolls off his shoulders, the rage simmering below his surface. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is. I get it. Trust me, I do. But you need to let it go.”
“Let it go? This whole town, this house—” He looks at me, opening his mouth as if to speak, but then thinking better of it, he takes a deep breath instead. “It’s pushing me to run away again.”
Carefully, I step nearer like a skittish deer, but when I reach for his hand, he recoils from my touch.
“Maxine, not now,” he snaps, falling back against the wall, releasing a sharp exhale that sounds so painful it reaches into my chest and wrenches my heart.
I bite my lip, knowing he’ll fight me, but also knowing what needs to happen. I get close and reach behind me, tugging on the zipper of my dress.
“What are you doing?” he asks, frowning.
I let the dress fall to the floor in a heap of peachy satin.
“You’re feeling like this complete fucked-up mess.
Like everything around is unraveling and nothing makes sense.
And I can’t do much to change that.” I reach for his hands, and lay them on my hips.
“But if only for a short while, let me take your mind off of it.”
He shakes his head, but his eyes remain focused on mine, his thumbs skimming over the curve of my hips. “You don’t mean this.”
I step into him, straddling his thigh. “You need something good. A happy memory to replace the bad ones stuck in this house.”
“But I’m not in a good place.”
“Neither am I.”
“No, I don’t mean that way. You don’t know the things I want to do.
To you.” His eyes drift to my chest, then he bites his lip, pulling his hands away.
“You wouldn’t like it.” The heat in his voice, the utter danger coloring his words, sends all my blood to my core.
I already feel my arousal wetting his thigh.
“Did you ever think that I need this too? That I would like it?”
I shimmy out of my underwear, his heady gaze following my movements. He releases a gravelly moan when I run my fingers through his hair, along his jaw, and down his chest. A sinister expression darkens his gaze as his lips twist into something close to a snarl.
He grabs my wrist so quickly that I startle. Holding it with one hand, he uses the other to reach out and bunch up my hair, tugging my head to the side. Then, he brings his lips to my throat, resting them there and takes a deep inhale.
“Max…” he whispers, his voice so laced with warning, my knees shake.
Still, he’s right there with me. On the cusp of something precarious, but oh, so necessary.
For both of us.