5. Max
Why are there so many cars outside of our house this late on a Sunday?
Who has a Nissan now?
I shut the passenger door and walk toward the side entrance.
The music is loud enough that every lyric is crystal clear. I swear if he’s blaring this with Riley in there...She may not understand those words, but she sure as hell could repeat them.
I open the door getting smacked in the eardrums with the pounding beat. Tossing my keys into the oval wicker basket on the window ledge and dropping my bags on the floor, I make my way from the kitchen to the living room.
Empty.
They must be in the finished basement, probably playing pool.
Swinging the door open, I’m smacked with a sheet of noise. I’m not sure how his eardrums aren’t bursting. Ri must still be at his mom’s. There is no way he would have the music cranked this loud with her here.
“Cole!” I yell, taking the steps. “Cole!” I round the corner.
Every limb in my body burns. Gasoline lit on fire within my veins. The heat silences every intelligent cell in my brain, releasing a devil within.
Dustin looks at me with fear for his life, stepping away from the pool table and against the light blue wall. He grips the cue stick with both hands, bracing it against the floor, tightly to his broad chest. The six-foot-four man cowers back as I incinerate him with a single glare, rounding the pool table.
Blake tucks a dollar in a skanky blonde’s stringy bikini bottom, along her hip, as she grinds her ass against his crotch.
Nasty.
When he finally notices me he pushes her off and jumps up from the black faux-leather recliner. Suddenly the house is on fire. Pathetic. He takes off past me, heading straight for the staircase. The blonde wobbles in her six-inch clear heels, glancing up at me with a stupid smile.
Cole.
My fucking husband.
Colson Warren, MY fucking husband, leans back with his hands behind his head on the sofa that matches the recliner with a brunette with too much fucking hairspray puffing her hair up because she just came from the Jersey Shore in a time machine.
I feel nothing except rage.
Rage for the stupid bitch.
Rage for the piece of shit man.
Rage for every fucking time he told me he would never cheat on me.
How he fucking swore up and down, over and over, that he’d never be that guy.
Nothing is thought through. Nothing. Every action I make happens without question.
I grab the woman straddling my husband by the hair, threading my fingers through her overdone extensions. She falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes and I step over her, spitting in her face.
Stupid bitch! Everyone in this town knows the Warrens’. You can’t tell me you aren’t aware of whose house call you took.
Cole doesn’t move, other than to put his hands on his open thighs. I look down at the tattoo circling the finger on his left hand. The resentful glaze is stoned over in his cold blue eyes. His black moto hat is backward, covering his shaved brown hair. He knows how hot I find it when he spins it around and drinks me in. It’s as if he’s doing that now. Tormenting me with the little things that I’m drawn to while I’m furious with him.
I don’t know what to believe, if this was an act or if he’s a bitter asshole, making sure I’m as miserable as possible if I’m going to leave him. Is this an act? Is it all staged to hurt me? If it is, he wins. I’m bleeding internally from my heart, brain, and stomach. He makes me sick.
I can’t do this.
Cole clasps his hand around my wrist when I turn to leave. Jerking my arm up, my fuming grimace is met with a cunning smirk.
Asshole!
My ears ring and I smack his forearm till he lets go. The room has cleared out, both Cole’s idiot friends and the dancing skanks. I run up the steps and the music cuts out.
Don’t turn around.
Don’t look back.
Don’t cry.
What the fuck?
What the fuck!
“Max. Max!” He calls, following me into the living room.
There are toys all over the floor. Why am I the only one that can clean this shit up? “Where’s Riley, Cole?”
“At my mom’s. What are you doing?”
Cleaning the fucking mess, but…
“What am I doing? What the fuck were you doing!”
“I know you weren’t at Lauren’s. Timmy said—”
“Timmy!” Fucking Timmy. That shithead, eavesdropping...shithead. “What the hell does he know?”
“You went to some guy’s place for the weekend.” He stops me, taking the pink plush bear out of my hand and tossing it to the toy bin.
“It’s none of your business where I went.” I step into his personal space.
“You’re my wife.” He takes my jaw between his warm hands. “It’s my business.”
I force his hands off of me. “I left you.”
“Then why are you so pissed, Max, if you left me?” he tantalizes. I shove into his t-shirt-covered chest.
“Because this is our home! Our bed. Ours.”
I push past him, hustling back into the kitchen in an unstable frenzy. It’s not shark week, but I’m ready to feast on the lives of men.
He chases me, stopping in the wide doorway. “I didn’t have anyone in our bed, but you ran off to another man’s real fucking quick.”
“No, I didn’t,” I point. “I went to a friend’s for two days. We played paintball for Christ’s sake. That’s it. I didn’t do a damn thing other than forget that I have a million responsibilities and a husband who’s constantly breathing down my neck.”
“Paintball?” His brows near and I sink back, letting my tense shoulders loosen.
“Yes, Cole. I don’t want him. What’s wrong with you?” I pace back to my bag, unzipping the smallest compartment, and rooting around for nothing, but trying to make myself look like I know what I’m doing. I zip it back up and move on with the next section, repeating.
I know exactly what I’m looking for...something to do with my hands so I don’t strangle him.
“What’s wrong? You fucking walked out and I find out you went to some guy’s house. You’re my wife.”
I smack my hands to the side of my thighs. “So fuck the dollar whores. That’ll get me to come back.”
“I didn’t do a fucking thing with them. I knew you were coming home. They’re friends with Blake.”
Ugh, Blake. He’s the reason we have rules. A fuckboy that will never grow up. Women won’t flock to him forever.
“You wanted to make me jealous? Very mature.”
“It worked.”
“It’s petty and insane.”
“I’m insane about you.” He leaves the doorway, taking my suitcase. “That guy would never sacrifice what I would for you.” Cole walks off mid-argument with my stuff. I tug at the handle and then on his arm, chasing him through the living room. I’m an ankle-biter and this is stupid.
He tosses the case on the bed and unzips it, taking out a folded pair of jeans and walking to my dresser. “God, Cole!” I cut him off. “None of this is about another man. When will you get it?” What’s he doing? Ugh.
I shake my head, the ugly wrinkles taking over my vacant eyes. He tries to walk around and I stop him again. “I’ve been telling you for years things need to change and they still haven’t.” Cole stops searching for ways to dodge me. A worrisome flicker rises to meet my glare. “I told you I needed time to clear my head. Don’t act like I have a man on the side. It’s never a problem when I hang out with Andy.”
Why am I defending it? I left him...damn it.
I...left.
I’m angry with him for acting single when I told him I was done...because it hurts...because...I don’t want this to end.
His jaw stiffens as he rolls his eyes up. “Andy’s been obsessed with Amber as long as I’ve been with you.” Passing me, he pulls the ivory dresser drawer open. “I don’t know why,” he groans. It’s no secret how he feels about my best friend, probably since she’s the one who always tells me to leave him. “But he wouldn’t so much as flirt with you and that’s why I don’t care that you hang out.” He turns to me.
“Oh and here I thought you trusted me to choose my friends.”
“Why didn’t you stay at Lauren’s? Even Amber’s would have been better.”
“First off,” I swing a finger up. “I would not stay at Lauren’s house. She has enough going on and it’s not the point. I stayed at a friend’s and you’re changing the subject. You know, I don’t know why I’m even fighting with you. I can’t do this anymore, especially if we don’t have trust.“ Walking around him and taking the jeans back out of the dresser, I return to the bed with him on my heels.
He dips down, inches from my face. “Do what?”
Shaking my head, I don’t know if he’s seriously not heard anything or is desperate to keep me talking. “This hot and cold, I want to do whatever you need me to do one week and the next week it’s all Max, you suck.”
“You’re always enough for me. It’s...the fucking stress, Max.” He pushes my belongings out of the way, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of me. “I don’t mean to take it out on you.” His fingers stroke my skin, taking my hands with his. “You’re the best part of my day.”
“Could have fooled me.” I swallow. “I want to feel again...not be so damn numb all the time.”
“Babe, I’m sorry. I mean it. I’m sorry and I don’t want you to leave. Look, Ri is with Mom. Let me make it up to you. Please, let me take you on a date.”
“Are you high? You just had a dirty twat grinding on your thigh. I’m supposed to forget that like it didn’t just happen?” He holds onto me as I try to pull away.
“That was stupid.” His full lips meet the top of my hand. “I fucked up. I was pissed and Blake said—”
“I fucking knew this was Blake’s brilliant idea.”
Cole roughly grabs my jaw, demanding my attention. “I swear nothing happened.”
“That bitch had her titties out, Cole! Are you telling me you didn’t touch them?”
“I swear. I kept my hands to myself like at the club. I followed our club rules.” The Big Red is a few miles out of town. I’ve never put Cole on a leash. We have rules and open communication. It’s not open enough to figure out why we want to strangle each other half of the year, but maybe that’s the problem...we’re brutally, disgustingly honest with one another. He’s not afraid to hurt me and I’m not afraid to hurt him.
“Why did the rules matter if you thought I was with another man?”
“Because I fucking love you. Isn’t that obvious, Max? You’ve been the only woman I had my eye on since I was thirteen years old. I’m an idiot. I’m an asshole. But I wouldn’t break your trust. Seventeen years baby. I’m not gonna start lying now...If I did that, I’d never get you back.”
Seven years of marriage, fourteen years together, and seventeen years that we shared the same roof. At thirty years old, I thought I’d be sipping wine on a vineyard with girlfriends and then go home to a kiss on the cheek and casual conversation about the weather on the patio while the kids play on the swing set. I thought that’s what adulthood would be, but I still feel sixteen. We fight like we’re sixteen and we fuck with the motivation we had at sixteen.
“Get me back?”
“I know you’ve had enough. One of these days, you’re going to walk out that door and never come back.” His thumb swipes up and down my ring finger. He flips my hand over, touching the tiny heart along the first digit where someone would wear a ring. I don’t regret it...marrying him or the permanent reminder on my skin of our life together. I never will.
“Those women—I don’t care if they’re nice people or not—I will bury them in the backyard if they step foot in my house again...but Cole...thank you for following the rules.”
My eyes soften and a curve takes the corner of his mouth. “Does that mean you’ll go on a date with me?”
“I don’t forgive you.”
His bottom lip protrudes, pouting as he looks up at me. He sucks at his plump skin, his slumped shoulders straightening. “I regret everything I said the other night. I mean it. Give me a chance to make it right.”
I’ve heard this before.
“I just want to get a shower. I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to fight anymore.”
Forgiving Cole for the dancers in the house isn’t as hard as it should be. He followed almost all the rules; never go alone — Dustin and ugh, Blake were here — never touch unless the other approves, and the mouth is always off-limits. He broke the first rule, though. The partner must always give the green light...but I told him I was leaving him. How do the rules work now? Should I be this upset? I planned to come home and separate from Cole. I had every intention of taking the first step toward a divorce. Leaving him...seeing him with someone else...I hate it.
This sucks.
I don’t know what I want anymore.
I don’t think I ever did.
Sixteen was easier. Tack on another decade with the same unresolved heartache.
It wasn’t sunshine at the time either. Life.
Cole was the glue that held my broken pieces together.
Humming 250cc four-stroke motorcycles zip past on the dirt track. Cole launches thirty-five feet on a triple jump.
“He’s killing it today.” Carly, Cole’s older sister, walks around the corner of stainless steel bleachers where I sit on the first set of steps. Her low-rise jeans are from that store in the mall that you can smell three pop-ups before you get to it and a half-dressed guy stands at the entrance smiling. Her polo is layered with a frilly cami poking out from both ends. Meanwhile, I’m wearing an outfit from three seasons ago because I refused to let Colleen buy me new clothes. The Warrens have been amazing the last three years, but when the rest of the world has moved on, the scars are still fresh to me. In a crowded room, I’m still alone.
I clear my throat. “Andy’s giving him a run for his money, too.” I smile as she sits down beside me.
“How’s my old room treating you?”
“It’s great,” I nod with another smile, tighter, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. The guest room was fine, but Colleen insisted I move into Carly’s room when she left for college a year and a half ago. I miss my room in my house. I saw the for sale sign on it again last week and spent two hours in the big Oak tree. Cole quickly found me. He always knows where to find me when I disappear. “How’s college life?”
“The classes are a lot, but I’m managing. Felt a little homesick and it seemed like a good time to visit.” She brushes her hair behind her dangling earring. “Mom’s making a huge batch of Brunswick stew so I can at least take a taste of home back to Colombia.”
“How long is your break?” Aren’t university students more excited to spend their spring break in Cancun or something? That’s where I’d be. Maybe I’d even get on Spring Break with Paramore.
“A week, but I’ll only be here for two days. The guest room is fine, Max. My old room is yours now.” I’ve heard that enough times. The stupid guidance counselor and the shrink I’ve been forced to see tell me the same thing. It still doesn’t make me feel like it’s mine. “So, are you and Cole dating?”
“No,” I abruptly snap. “No,” I repeat, calmly. “We’re just friends.”
“You want to date him, right?” She thinks she knows everything. “Don’t disagree. I saw the way you were looking at him.” The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“Maybe I was looking at Andy that way.”
An outburst, high-pitched laugh proves I’m not fooling her. If I had a biological sister, I’d bet any money we would have the same relationship I do with Carly. Always in my business, but with the best intentions.
“Okay, I wasn’t, but I can’t date Cole.”
“Why not?” A cheeky response for a pretty obvious answer.
“We live together. Your parents would not be okay with it at all.”
“Don’t tell them.” Her brows raise. “I told them I’m going back early to prep for my next class load when I’m actually flying to Florida.” She scratches her long painted nails against her neck, side-eyeing me as Cole approaches. He kills the motor and swings his leg over the bike. His black t-shirt clings to his chest with a brief gust of wind. My gaze drifts down his black and red riding pants till I hit his boots, blinking back up as he loosens the strap from the D ring under his chin, removing his helmet. He tousles his matted shaggy hair, then pulls the corner of his shirt up, wiping the sweat from his forehead. I pinch my gaped lips closed, swallowing back the look that I would hate for Carly to notice. I’m not giving her the satisfaction of being right. I do not want to be Cole’s girlfriend.
“The pain in the ass is home,” he calls to Carly.
“You never left,” I fire back before she could get a word in.
“Was your favorite color always sassy-pant purple or was it punk pink?”
“It’s cooler-than-your-brother coral, FYI”
“So punk pink.” His tongues his canine tooth, nodding arrogantly.
“Would you two like me to leave or is a private room better for this colorful conversation?” She bobs her head side to side, not catching my eyes rolling around as she stands, walking between the metal barriers and over to Cole.
He pulls her in, hugging her around her shoulders with one arm before rubbing her head with a balled-up, glove-covered fist. “Excuse you, this is freshly colored hair. I’m going to head to the house. Wanted to stop in and say hi before Mom ties me down for the next twelve hours.”
I get up, missing something she said to him. She winks, waving as the breeze takes her shoulder-length dark strands. Cole glances up at me and turns to his bike.
“You wanna take it for a rip?”
In my torn jeans and Etnies. Not ideal.
“My feet don’t reach the ground.”
“I’ll help you balance till you get it going.” He holds his helmet out.
“And when I need to stop?”
“I’ll have your back. Don’t be a scaredy cat.”
“If I get hurt…” I take the helmet, pull it over my head, and push the hair out of my face several times till I finally get it all tucked away. His finger grazes my chin as he takes the strap, pulling it tight.
“You’ll tattle on me. Tell Mom I was a big meanie.”
“Colleen would take your side.”
“I know.” He taps the top of my helmet head, flashing me a cocky grin.
“Spoiled brat.”
“If you’re done pussy-footing around, get on the bike.”
He holds onto the black and blue YZ250F. Pressing into the seat, I swing my leg over till my toes skim the ground and grab the handles.
“You know how to drive a manual.” Vince, Cole’s dad, insisted I learn with Cole. Good thing he’s a patient man because the curve between teaching Cole and teaching me, flexes deep. “This is the same. Clutch.” He taps the clutch along the left handle. “Two fingers, that’s all you need, and don’t forget your break.” He squeezes the opposite side. “Ready?”
I nod, tapping the shifter with my foot to put the bike in neutral. Cole has one hand on the seat, letting go as I hit the throttle.
Oh shit. Oh no, oh no. Too fast, too fast.
“Let go of the throttle!” He yells, running after me as I swerve with the bike’s launch. The bike jerks, weight slamming into my back and thigh, pushing me forward. It’s Cole jumping on the back of the bike. He holds in the clutch and break, bringing us to a stop. “What in the hell is wrong with you?”
“I told you I was too short.”
His thighs inclose mine. His chest pulls away from my back, leaving me with only my body heat, which is overwhelming on its own, but I’m not sure if it’s from how shot my nerves are after that experience or if he’s doing it to me.
“That had nothing to do with being too short, whiskey throttle.”
Andy pulls up in all-black gear on his green KX250, laughing hysterically. Ass. I’ve been watching these guys ride all winter. I know what bikes they run, what their weaknesses are, and how many times they wrecked this week. Colleen didn’t want me to be on a bike and up until today, Cole didn’t rock the boat.
“She needs to start with some training wheels.”
“And you need a brow wax,” I bark back, swinging my leg up while I struggle to balance on my toes.
“If you can ride this track without a get-off, I’ll wax them till I’m a naked molerat.”
He leans out, exchanging a stupid handshake with Cole.
“If I do it, you wax it and teach me your secret handshake,” I counter.
“It’s not really a secret, Max.”
“When only two people know it, it’s a secret.”
What Colleen doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I’m not stopping till I win.
“Deal.”