17. Max
I don’t want to hear another person tell me how sorry they are. Walking suits and blank faces. I’m only thirteen, I couldn’t possibly have an opinion. Nobody asked me. They didn’t say, hey Max, is there anything you would like to do to celebrate your parents?
No. The Warrens took care of it. They take care of everything.
I don’t want to move into their home and play house. I’m not their daughter. I never will be.
I stand up from the ugly metal chair, tired of staring into the abyss with this depleted look because I refuse to wear a mask. Not today. I won’t give them what they want. I’m not the strong girl with a brave face. I’m still alive and they’re gone. They are gone. I’m still here. As lifeless as them. Except today.
“Maxine. It’s not your turn yet. Please sit.”
No Colleen.
I take two steps away and she grabs my arm.
“Maxine. Please.”
No.
I look over my shoulder and my eyes meet hers. The minute I narrow them, they fill with liquid betrayal. The time bomb is in the single digits. I pull away, walking to the end of the aisle as I hold it together.
“Maxine,” she whispers in one final attempt. “Where are you going?”
No!
My fist swings. Straight up? It might only be in my mind. I don’t know. They swing again. Both of them this time. And I run. And I run and I run. Miles down the road and I keep running. I don’t care if they’re upset. I don’t! I just want my mom and dad. I want my mom and dad.
Spotting the big tree, I run to it. Then I climb. And I climb and I climb. My stupid dress pants get snagged. I shake it loose and keep climbing.
I wrap my arms around the trunk and scream.
I scream and I scream and I scream.
This isn’t fair! Why did they leave me?
“Whhhhhy!”
I can’t breathe. My chest hurts. I’m slipping. I’m slipping. I could let go. Fall to the ground and hit my head. It would all go away. What’s worse than living without the ones you love? Dying can’t be. I’ve already witnessed hell. I’ve been walking through it in a daze for days. When is an angel going to show up and save me?
The world around me is a submerged blur that finally goes silent. A low breeze rustles a few leaves, slowing my rapid breathing by association. Through the tears, I see his face. Colson Warren.
This is a sick joke. Insult to injury. Colson isn’t my angel.
He’s another vampire like the rest of the Warrens, waiting to suck what’s left of me down. They only pity me.
“What are you doing here?” I mumble with no intention of repeating myself.
“Keeping you company.” I rub the side of my hand across my lashes and my fingertips below my eye. Cole scales the tree, finding the closest stable branch.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“I don’t either.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
We agree...and yet…
I open my mouth and nothing comes out besides a weird lap of air. The second attempt allows me to draw a single-worded question. “Cole?”
“Max?” he replies, confidently.
“I’m not okay,” I admit.
“I know. That’s why I’m here.”
He takes my hand and just holds it. I flick my thumb over the small rough patch of skin along the underside of his knuckle. He’s the last person I expected to be holding hands with.
We sit in silence, holding hands and breathing. Exhaling pain...and rage...and heartwrench.
“We have been looking everywhere for you!” Cole’s mom yells from the bottom of the tree with her hands on the hips of her hideous black pencil skirt. Her shoulder-length hair is overdone with highlights and straightened flat. Only a small amount of bounce is left as she waves her finger.
“Sorry, Mom,” he apologizes. I pull my hand away from him without acknowledging it. “Please, come with. You can stay in my room,” he whispers. “I’ll sneak you in every night, as long as you need.”
Cole Warren is the only one who sees me. The only one who knew I’d be in this tree. My friends don’t get it. How could they? How does he? He has the perfect family.
“I don’t want to go.”
“Okay. Five more minutes,” he yells down to his mom.
“Colson, no.” She stomps her expensive heel to the grass. “Get down here now.”
He looks back and forth, uncertain. “Please, come with me.” I don’t move, flicking tiny pieces of bark from the tree with my fingernail.
“Oh, come on Colleen.” I look down to see Cole’s Grandpa next to his Mom. “Let the lovebirds have a few more minutes.”
She digs the ball of her shoe into the dirt and reluctantly agrees. “Fine. You have five minutes, Cole. Five,” she repeated with a full-handed gesture.
I glance down at him. “What’s a lovebird?” My lips turn upside down.
Like, yeah, it’s a bird, but is that an up in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g thing? Of course, it is. Do they think me and Cole are...Ew.
“Your new nickname.”
“No, it’s not,” I protest.
“Oh, it is.”
“I won’t answer to it.”
“Lovebird,” he sings. “Hey, hey, hey lovebird. Lovey dovey lovebird. Smoochie smooch lovebird. Hey. Hey lovebird.”
“Shut up, Cole.”
“You answered.”
“Because you’re annoying.”
“I spy with my little eye...a smile.” He points.
I quickly roll my eyes and wipe the smirk from my lips. “Shut up before your mommy calls again.”
“You moved out of state two weeks ago. We need to come to a written agreement now,” Cole demands, slapping his hand down on our kitchen table. He paces behind his parents, grabbing the rim of his grungy hat and raising it before tugging it back over his shaved head.
“Cole. Relax,” Vince reminds his adult son.
“I’m not losing Riley because of her bullshit.” He’s loud and angry. It’s because he’s hurting...like I am. There’s nothing I can say to make the pain go away. None of this is okay. It’s fucked.
“I would never keep her from you.” There’s no convincing him. I have no choice, but to figure everything out right now. Where do we start? Every suggestion I make gets shot down, no matter how reasonable.
“It’s best if we have an agreement and we can have our lawyer draw it up for everyone’s protection,” Vince returns.
For Cole’s protection because everyone seems to think that I’m a terrible person now. I left him for some random man and it didn’t work out. It’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve heard yet, but Colleen would do anything to keep the Warren name minty fresh. How inconvenient it would be if her son owned up to his part.
“What do you want, Cole? You tell me.”
He stands frozen in time and abruptly bursts out. “Not this.” He throws his arms and walks to the door. He stares out the window, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His shoulders appear broader than usual in that white tee. He never wears white...or his boots in the house.
He sighs, shaking his head. Then he grabs the knob, letting the door slam as he walks out.
I get up, push my chair in, and follow him out. What am I going to say that I haven’t already said?
“Cole.” He doesn’t stop. “Cole!” He slams the door of his truck and turns the engine over. His window rolls down fully and he rests his arm along it. “Where are you going?”
“For a drive.” His tongue traces over his front teeth. “You want to come with?”
“Yeah,” I nod, not thinking twice. I should. I should think two times, three times, and four times over the action I’m making. I don’t...because this feels natural. Escaping with Cole is what I’ve been doing since I was thirteen years old. Running around to the passenger side, I climb in. “You finally fixed her?” I roll down my window and hang on.
“Needed a truck. A car wouldn’t last.” He peels out of the stoned driveway, slinging rocks beneath his tires.
“Yeah, because you would run bikes on the roof.” His laugh tangles into mine.
“Yeah, I would try that.” A sigh erases that moment. “You’re killing me.”
“I’m killing me, but what are we supposed to do?”
“Mom wants me to have full custody.”
“Cole, no,” I assert, dropping my hands to my thighs. “I’m not okay with that. I want more time with her.”
“It makes sense. This is her home. A stable place for the week and on the weekends, it’s better she be with you than with Mom at races.”
“I’m going to fight it. You know that, right?”
“I know. It’s going to get ugly, Max.”
“Is that what you want? Do you want to punish me for leaving?”
“No. I don’t, but Mom—”
“Why don’t you grow the fucking balls and tell your mom to back the fuck up?” I snap, hoping for once he’ll put a stop to her ruling his life. “You won’t. You wouldn’t when we were kids or teenagers, and she still has a say in your adulthood, but I’m looked at as the rebellious one because I challenge her order.” I stare out the window while a wash of regret invites me to rethink getting in the truck.
“I’m not going to disrespect my mother.” He steers with one hand, glancing over periodically.
“Instead, you’ll live like a coward and let me take the blame. I get to be the unfaithful partner, the bad parent, and the ungrateful adopted child. Like I asked for this life? If my parents didn’t die, I wouldn’t owe yours a damn thing. I probably wouldn’t have fallen in love with you. My life would be entirely different.”
He swings the truck into a dirt pull-off, turning back towards the house. “Do you regret marrying me?” He looks between me and the road, keeping that single hand steady on top of the wheel.
“No. Riley is the greatest human I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t have her without you.”
“What else do you want?”
I wish I knew.“I don’t know,” I reply, dreamily.
“I mean, do you want anything in the house? The property?”
My vision falls to the dirty ribbed floor mat and I shake my head. “No. I don’t want anything besides my time with my little girl.”
We drive in silence for a while. I’m not anxious or sad. I’m comfortable being a complete disaster next to him, knowing that we’re going our separate ways. This is where I begin. No matter how lost and confused I am, unsure of what I’m looking for in this life, I know that Cole will always be a part of it. He will always be Riley’s father. He’ll always hold a piece that builds my puzzle. I will always love him and he deserves happiness as much as I do.
“I’m sorry, Max.”
“Me too.”
“I…” He sighs, pulling back into the driveway.
“If you wanted to, you could tell your parents to go home and let us handle it.” Vince stands in the doorway with his hands crossed over his chest. He looks like a statue, watching out of the window.
Cole lifts his arms, shrugging as to say there is nothing he can do. He cuts the engine, parking his truck at his house.
“Well, then I think we’re done for today. I’d like to get a lawyer if this is the route we have to go.” I get out before he replies, not that he would have had much to say. Vince backs up and I walk past him, ignoring Colleen’s high-pitched tone. I gather the few items I had left at the table, toss them onto a cardboard box of things I’m taking, and walk back out of the door. Cole is still sitting in the driver’s seat with his fists wrapped around the steering wheel. He doesn’t want to face his mother any more than I wanted to hear her. I hop in my truck and start it up. Without looking back, I leave...again. It hurts, but at least I’m not in tears. I’m going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.
“Where do you want this box?”
Ryke walks through the front door of my apartment with a box of photographs that I picked up at Cole’s. I’m so stressed out, not knowing what’s going to happen with custody, that I forgot about that night texting with Ryke. How did I let a few weeks go by without having a conversation about that? Oh, yeah...I’ve been preoccupied. Signing the lease on the apartment in North Carolina was the only choice that made financial sense, especially with it being so close to the club. Even if I only work for Ryke for a year or two, I’ll be able to afford a lawyer with that income on top of my clients.
Between making the apartment livable and traveling to see Ri, my discussions with Ryke always skim over that night from two weeks ago. He might regret entangling pleasure with work and I’m not in a place to rock the boat. If he brings it up, I’ll admit it was a poor choice, but I’m keeping my lips zipped otherwise. It never happened.
“Anywhere out of the way till I have time to hang them. I have to get some sticky velcro things that don’t damage the walls.”
This place will do. The area is decent and the building is fairly new. It reminds me of Ryke’s boring house, though. Plain gray walls without a homey feeling, hence the picture frames.
He stands awkwardly in the living room, swinging his hands apart and back together, then rubbing them over his black straight-leg jeans.
“You want to sit? I can’t guarantee this bargain sofa is as comfortable as yours, but make yourself at home.” Secondhand and do-it-yourself projects are my way of life.
“How are you feeling?” He doesn’t sit, instead, he leans against the back, watching me shuffle items around.
“Overwhelmed, but I can sleep alone without crying, so…” I shrug.
“I’m always here when you need help.”
I smile at him, then turn away.
“You are handy in the kitchen.” My eyes inquire with one look. “Is Chef Ryke up for a challenge?”
“What are we making?” He straightens, walking into my little U-shaped kitchen. The open window-like bar is nice, being able to see into the living room. It gives it a bigger feel too. It’s weird getting comfortable with such a small space after owning a home for years. That’s a whole other weight that sits on my chest. I wanted that home to build a family within. Finding the memories in a space I created like the house I spent thirteen long, beautiful years in...I’m grieving more than losing Cole.
Uh yeah, food. I have a few solid staples.
“Um...let’s see.” I bend down, opening a cabinet drawer, then two more. “Pasta and tomato sauce.” Rising, I hold the two items in my hands.
“Tell me you have ground meat in the fridge and we have something.”
Sitting them on the counter, I twist and I’m already at the refrigerator. “Of course.”
“Spaghetti it is.” His gentle gaze sweeps over me. “Call me crazy, but I think you could have come up with that yourself.”
“With my cooking comes my moves and grooves.” I give a little twist as a preview. “It’s a lot to handle.”
“That’s true. The last time I walked in on a kitchen session of yours I almost died from heart failure. It was terrifying.”
“Says the man who ghostly hovers and rolls his neck to hyper pop as if it’s a song you don’t expect to see hips swaying to.” I love reminding him that he pays the bills for doing nothing other than standing and looking hot. Women, we can do better as a collective. You’re not even making this man use triggering words like good girl and mine. Wait...I get it. We want him to simply shut up and look pretty. Okay, feminism. I see you. Ugh, I miss Amber, Lauren, and Melody already. They would get a kick out of that thought.
“Are you offering an unfair trade? Your dance lesson for my balls?”
“Come again?” He nearly gives me whiplash.
“Meatballs...and spaghetti.”
“Um, dance advice. Not a lesson,” I correct him. “For balls. Meatballs. And spaghetti.”
“Noted. Unfair was an understatement,” he answers with little enthusiasm.
“I’m giving you the secret sauce and you’re not telling me your family’s treasured recipe. I think I’m the one at a loss.” He stares through me as if I’m not holding my hand out for him to take. “Come closer.”
His jet hair falls across his face and he shakes his head horizontally. “I’m not ready for Drake.”
Ryke reads my glare and offers his hand. “I have something else in mind.” I pick up my phone from the counter with my free hand, tapping on the search bar. His fingers weave through mine, delicately. It catches something inside of my stomach, shocking me. I glance to his eyes. They’re wrapped in my skin...my knuckles, my fingers. He’s as deeply laced in the sight of his touch in mine as the pit in my gut.
I look away before he finds me, clicking on the song I want to play.
“Ah, noo.” His mind shifts. “The Mr. Strait?” Between rhythmic symbol tap and country strings, Ryke instantly knows I picked the song Baby Your Baby by George Strait. “My mom loves him. Played his music all the time when I was a kid.” Another pebble. No matter how tiny they are, they add up. Every time he invites me to learn a new fact about him, it’s like I’m accomplishing a trivial gold nugget leading me to the honeypot.
“Did you dance then?”
“When I was a kid?” He bares his teeth, cringing. “Yeah.” He lets go of my hand, running his fingers through the thick chunks of hair framing his face, brushing them to one side.
“Why’d you stop? Your rhythm that bad?”
Something of deep thought has his eyes falling to the floor. “Judgement.”
I can’t hide the smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. “You don’t worry about anyone’s opinion now, do you?” My eyes draw wide. “I’ve seen the negative comments online and well, honestly Ryke, you don’t seem like you give a fuck. You have this…”
“Aura.” He nods. “Indigo and gold.”
“Yeah, whatever you want to call it.” An awkward laugh shakes out of my throat. “You always seem to know who you are.” There’s a vulnerability within his hooded eyes I’ve never noticed before. A softness. Something almost...timid. “Anyway, I’m saying that you need to let loose.” I tug the band out of my hair and slide it over my wrist. Quickly drawing my hair back into a high pony, I twist the band and pull it tight, ignoring the loose strands I missed. “Hand.” The warmth of his skin meets my palms. His fingers intertwine in mine.
I spin, dipping under his arm. The corner of his mouth tugs up and his gaze follows my swaying hips. Pulling my hand from his, I grab his hips, tugging them side to side.
“I think you got it. This. This is perfect.”
“Now I can shake it in my kitchen at six in the morning.”
“I’ll send you my favorite playlist.”
“No worries. You’re going to be there. I can’t move like this without your guidance.”
I step back, fisting my hands to my hips. He looks past my glare, pointing to the counter. “For now, I’m going to stick with the cooking. Where are your mixing bowls?”
After an eye-rolling protest, I turn to the cabinet to the left of the sink, pulling out a bright floral medium-sized bowl. He tucks his chin, widening his eyes as I sit it on the counter in front of him.
“We’re gonna have to fix this, peach.” He shakes his head. “Damn, really?” His smile pulls tight.
“It’s a nice stoneware bowl.” I scowl.
“You only brought one mixing bowl with...and that one had to be the most outrageous?”
“Would you prefer the ugly white ones with the black stripe across the top?”
“Or glass.”
I meet his low grumble with a quip of my own. “How are you so creative and so bland?”
“Bland?” He’s taken back. “Harsh. I’m spicy.”
“And I’m...juicy!”
“Like a peach.”
My cheeks hurt. It’s been a hot minute since I smiled to the point of pain...and I want to thank him, but I don’t. I open the fridge, reaching for the ground beef.
Oh, God.He’s going to shit on my skillet too.