3. Max
“If you’re offering.” I follow Ryke to the kitchen, pulling a stool out from the island and taking a seat on the black leather. “I like your friends. Even Chris though he ever-so politely tried to insult me.”
He opens a low cabinet, pulling out a container of kernels. “He’s probably crying in his bedroom right now because you showed his ass up.” He searches in a drawer, pulls out a measuring cup, and lays it next to the container.
“I wasn’t that good. I did well for a newbie, but Sara and E had that shit on lock.” I lean my elbows on the marbled surface.
“Yeah, they’re the best duo. I swear E can read Sara’s mind. Not so much the other way around because he’s been in love with her for years, but won’t use his balls and admit it.” He turns back, pulling a pot and lid hanging along the wall.
“He seemed quiet.”
“E? Yeah. We’re pretty similar in that way.” He heats oil on the stove, tossing a few kernels in and covering it.
“You’re not quiet. You’re...mysterious,” I declare.
“Yeah...I’m the masked guy, I get it.” He nods as he talks.
Pop...Pop. Pop.
The kernels erupt into popcorn. Ryke lifts the lid and adds his measured cup or half a cup—I’m not sure—into the pod, replacing the cover.
“I wasn’t expecting you to make popcorn on the stove like this.” I point and lightly laugh.
He leans his hands into the counter across from me and stares at me deeply. “Butter control.”
A genuine smile breaks from my uncertain face, laughing the breath out of my throat.
He relaxes his shoulders forward, tilting his head. “The butter control is everything.” A wink and back to the stove he goes, watching the kernels pop.
I reach into my bowl, slowly munching a few pieces of the buttery popcorn. Ryke shovels a good handful back, watching the scene in Pulp Fiction where Jules is eating a burger. I’ve seen this movie so many times that I could recite the script. It was on his Freebiez streaming app.
Ryke’s jet hair waves down the sides of his forehead, splitting perfectly down the middle. It’s about the same length all around and it works for him. It fits his soft cheekbones and rectangular face. He laughs at the movie and it makes warmth surface on my cheeks. His smile is really nice and welcoming...and his eyes light up with passion. I wonder how many times he’s seen this and laughed at it the same way. I should ask him. No, I can’t...I’ll interrupt it for him. Just keep watching the movie, Max. I want to ask him though. I shouldn’t. He’s invested. Oh shit, did he see me staring?
“What?”
He saw me.
“Nothing.” I shove popcorn in my face and look back at the flatscreen.
“This is your job, Max!” Cole hasn’t been home more than an hour and he’s already stomping around in a miserable mood. It’s a Friday evening. Ri is at his parents after his mom guilted me into letting her stay there for the weekend. I thought we could spend some time together, just the two of us tonight.
“We both live here.” I feel like shit already, knowing I didn’t get all the chores finished for the week.
He paces the kitchen, walking around the six-foot oak table. I glance at the mess on it; random toys Riley stuck on it, an empty plate and cup from lunch, and a few pieces of spam mail. “You’re home all day while I’m out working.” He steps into the sticky spot again, yanking his sock off of it.
“I’m working too and taking care of another human.” I push past him, swinging the farthest cabinet open. The all-purpose spray is on the top shelf. I reach for it and slam the door shut.
“That comes second. The upkeep of the home is priority.”
“I bust my ass to keep up with everything, but I can’t do it all.” Smacking the spray bottle to the counter, I turn, searching for the roll of paper towels. “I’m not denying jobs because the floor needs mopping and the dishes are piling in the sink. You knew when my business took off that I would need more help around here.”
“It’s fucking disgusting. I’m not living like this.”
I hold out the paper towels. “Then fucking clean it!” He won’t, but I’d clean it again even if he did because if I don’t do it, it’s not done right.
“Yeah, I want to come home to do your job after I did mine all day.”
“We both fucking live here!”
“You’re here all day. I’m never home.” He snatches the mail from the table, tossing it in the trash can next to the back door.
“Because supercross is more important than helping with the chores.” I cut him deeper, knowing he’s been training since he was a kid for an injury to interfere with his career.
“I’d rather be riding than here with you, in this fucking place, listening to you complain how I don’t do enough.”
“You started it! You always start it! I’m fucking drowning, trying to wade the tide, and you want to start another fight over some dirty dishes and a spill I forgot to clean. I can’t do this anymore.” Freeing my hands of cleaning supplies, I walk into the formal dining room that we turned into a library and play area.
“Run away again, Max. See how far you get before you come crawling back.”
“I’m not coming back!” My legs move as fast as the thoughts in my head, taking off to our bedroom. I hate him. I hate him!
“Good. I won’t have to clean up after you anymore.”
I shut the door, lock it, and get my suitcase from the closet. I toss it on the bed, unzip it, and flip the top open. The amount of clothes I fill it with is far more than I need. I’ll be back. Not for him. For Riley.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck him.
I slam the case closed, getting the zipper stuck. Jerking it several times, I smack it and fall to my knees. My hands seem to separate from the rest of my nervous system, clinging to the side of the bed, wanting to steady my falling body with the comforter, but they lose, and I crash to my side, laying on the carpet with my knees hugged to my chest. Cole makes me cry more than I’d ever admit. Half the time, he doesn’t even know he does it. No matter how many times I’ve tried to reason with him, he reverts back to the things that slice me. He knows exactly how deep he can cut me without killing me.
I don’t want to leave. I want him to beg at the door to let him in. I want him to tell me he’s going to try harder to understand where I’m coming from. I want him to...I want him to kiss me like he used to when life was simple, and we were teenagers living with the only motivation of happiness.
Time machines only exist in the brilliance of movies and fiction novels. There’s no going back. If I could, I’d force every tear I’ve shed back into the ducts that produced them. I’d take back the accident so Cole would have never gotten hurt. Maybe he’d love me like he used to if his dreams didn’t shatter. He wouldn’t shatter me, making my pieces match his.
I don’t deserve this.
I wipe the tears from my face, breathing out the shaking in my chest.
I don’t want to lose him.
Tears return in streams, picturing my life without Cole; a single thirty-year-old mom. That’s not my fairytale. I’ve lived with Cole since I was thirteen when his parents became my legal guardians. I haven’t been without him in seventeen years.
I don’t want someone else.
I don’t want to hurt, either.
“You good? You look lost.”
I am lost.
“I feel like I’m going the wrong way on a one-way road.” I hug my arms tightly around my body, welcome to my tragic fairytale. Spoiler alert, the prince breaks my heart.
“Life doesn’t always turn out the way you want it to. So what if you took a detour and need to make a U-turn.” He shrugs.
“That’s the thing. I got everything I wanted. I had it all...and I hated it.”
“Then you had what you thought you wanted because we wouldn’t be having his conversation if you had what you really wanted.”
His eyes take me hostage. The way he’s looking at me...Waves crash in my stomach, rising to my lungs, stealing the oxygen, and dragging me into an ocean I haven’t explored in years. An object of desire, it’s nothing more than my subconscious, desperate to convince me to turn the page, to where Cole isn’t the love interest. It’s a stupid fantasy. Everyone has one, but it doesn’t mean you have to act on it. It’s that insta-lust that spikes our serotonin levels. His gaze adverts and I inhale deeply.
“Some things aren’t meant to be.”
“Some decisions aren’t that simple.” I adjust my hair over my shoulder, finding anything else to take my sight away from him.
He takes the hint, tossing the throw pillow from under his arm at me. “What do you want to do tomorrow?” I chuck it back at him, connecting with his face. Oh, shit.
“What happened to your quick reflexes?”
“They’re on break. They’ll be back in fifteen.”