“Maggie?”
Caught completely off guard, I said the only thing I was thinking. “Where the fuck have you been?”
***
PART TWO
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MAGGIE
“What are you doing here, Drew?”
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Well, this was going well. NOT! After stepping off the plane which was delayed then delayed again when we spent time circling over Sydney because of the damn airport curfew, I was tired, grumpy and keen for a shower, not a showdown. On the way home, I’d been planning and dreaming about standing under the scalding water, letting it work its magic on my sore, tight muscles.
Rubbing the ache that was building at my temples, I ignored the filthy looks Drew was sending in my direction and instead stuck to my plan. Taking a glass from the cupboard, I turned on the tap and filled it with water before taking a long drink. I needed a second to try and find some kind of order to my muddled brain before I went head to head with Drew. The only thing on my side right now was he looked how I felt. Dishevelled and like he’d been dragged behind a truck for the last four blocks then dumped face-first in a mud puddle.
When the glass was empty, I rinsed it, sat it back on the drainer before taking a deep breath and turning to face Drew. Although I knew this conversation would happen, I hadn’t been counting on it so soon. All I could hope was I’d be able to get out what I needed to.
Trying again, I started. “Hi, Drew.”
“Hi Drew? Seriously, Maggie? That’s what you’re going with? Hi Drew?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“How about you tell me where you ran off to for starters?”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“Why does it even matter where I’ve been?”
“Because… I go to work and when I come home there’s no sign of you and your suitcase is gone. So, I check the safe. And guess what? Your passport is missing too!”
“So what? Look, I took a trip.” I knew I was being a bitch. I just couldn’t stop myself. Why he was acting like this I had no idea but it was bugging the hell out of me. Who cares where I went? He sure as shit didn’t.
“Maggie…” His tone was full of warning.
“What, Drew? What do you want from me? We both know you don’t want ME, so why don’t you save us both some time and tell me, what you do want.”
“Where were you?”
“Does it even matter?”
“Of course it fucking matters!”
I could’ve fought on. Argued and made him even angrier. I could’ve left him wondering like he’d done to me so many times with his late nights and ‘work trips’ that popped up without notice that I was now second guessing. It wasn’t worth the fight. I was tired. And I wasn’t in the mood. “I went to Africa,” I answered honestly.
“Africa? You went all the way to Africa? Who with?” Drew’s eyes narrowed as he stared at me with what I could only describe as a combination of disbelief and shock.
“Yes. I went all the way to Africa by myself.”
“Sure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Well then, if that’s all. I’ve had a long flight. I’m going to go upstairs, have a shower and crawl into bed,” I declared determinedly. Without waiting for a response, I headed down the hallway.
Behind me, I heard the scrape of the chair on the tiled floor, before Drew’s deep, gravelly voice followed me. “You could’ve had the decency to at least tell me where you were going.”
Decency? Decency? The word falling from Drew’s lips was like pushing all my buttons at once. Like they were the nuclear launch button and he’d just smashed with his fist. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I’d tried to be polite. I’d tried to not let my emotions drive me. But right now, I was seconds away from turning around and slapping Drew’s face so hard he was seeing stars. Or at least seeing how stupid and pathetic he was being.
“Why do I have to?”
“Because I’m your husband.”
Oh no he didn’t. “Technicality.”
“Technicality?” he repeated dumbly.
“Remember, Drew, you’re the one who asked for a divorce. Not me. Us being married, you being my husband, it’s all just a mere technicality now. A matter of paperwork. Which means, I don’t have to tell you shit.”
Taking all my anger out on the steps, I stomped upstairs and threw open our bedroom door. The sight before me did little to calm my already-boiling blood. Our once clean, tidy and organised bedroom looked like a frat boys’ dorm. The bed was unmade and dirty clothes covered the floor, the chair in the corner, and hung off the dresser. There was a foul odour seeping into my pores as I stood in the doorway that was making me want to run as far and as fast as I could. It stunk like smelly gym socks and wet jocks had been trapped in a warm, dark hole festering for weeks. The curtains were drawn, keeping the whole room plunged in darkness, and beside the bed, on the once clear table, was a stack of dirty glasses and empty bags of chips.
“Fucking gross!” Holding my hand over my nose, I stepped over the wet towel and slipped into the ensuite, leaving as fast as I came. If I thought the bedroom was bad, it had nothing on the ensuite. Why the whole room reeked of urine I didn’t know and, right now, I didn’t particularly care. Careful not to touch anything, I left as quickly as I could and went back down the stairs.
Grabbing my suitcase, I lugged it up three steps, before I couldn’t stop myself from saying something. How could I not? This place, my home, was trashed. And if we were going to have to sell it, then having it smell like feet and arse wouldn’t help.
“You need to do something about that…that room and bathroom. And I suggest you get off your arse and do it now.”
I didn’t wait for Drew’s response, I just headed upstairs to the spare bedroom. There was no way I was sleeping in that filth, and I was too tired to deal with any more shit today. Everything would still be a shit show when I woke up.
DREW
I hadn’t meant for Maggie to come home while my shit was everywhere. The problem was, I wasn’t expecting her. I had no idea where she’d disappeared to or even if she was coming back. As I tried to stuff even more sweat-stained clothes into the already-overflowing basket, I fumed at myself. This wasn’t Maggie’s fault. None of it was. In truth, it was my fault. All of it. I’d fucked up. I just had no idea how to undo the mess I was now drowning in.
After tossing a load in the machine, I finished cleaning out the rubbish and dirty plates, embarrassed by how much of a slob I’d become. It wasn’t me. I don’t know what had happened. How I’d fallen so far. Dropping to my knees, I stared under the sink trying to figure out which bottle to use. Maggie had more cleaning products than the local supermarket, and I had no idea which one to use where. Armed with cloths, paper towels and an armful of chemicals, I started in the bathroom.
It took three hours, four loads of washing and a waste paper basket full of crap but it was done. All I could hope was the windows I’d left open would let enough of the breeze in and the toxic, bleach smell out.
Cracking open the spare bedroom door, I breathed out a sigh of relief when my eyes landed on the bed. Maggie was home. And she looked just like she always had. Her hair was fanned out across the pillow. Soft snores slipping out from between her parted lips. And in true Maggie style, she had one of her legs, a long, lean leg tucked on top of the blanket. It was one of the quirks I most loved about her. Her complete inability to keep a steady body temperature.
Leaving her to sleep, I closed the door and headed out. If Maggie was pitching a shit-fit at the state of the bedroom, then finding out we were out of milk for her coffee and chocolate ice-cream would be a whole other level of hell. I’d pissed her off enough; I’d do anything to avoid making it any worse.
The moment I stepped inside the grocery store, I knew why I avoided this place like the plague. Aisles
and aisles filled with crap and kids. I was stunned by the kids running around like terrors on wheels as they were let loose. Either they were high on sugar or freedom or maybe both. Spying sweat-pants-clad mothers pushing overflowing trolleys, I got in, got my shit and got out as quick as I could. Spending even a second more than I needed to inside the fluorescent lit version of a torture chamber seemed like my own version of hell.
When Maggie reappeared looking refreshed and rested, I stirred the pot on the stove keeping my big mouth shut. I wasn’t sure Maggie even wanted to see me let alone hear what I had to say. Not that I could blame her. Not really.
She grabbed a can of lemonade from the fridge and I heard the small gasp when she closed the door. I would’ve bet it was the fresh vegetables filling the crisper and her favourites lining the shelves. When she slipped onto the stool at the bench, I felt the sweat break out on my brow.
The truth was, I was shitting myself. I was so tired of having the conversations and this one may prove to be the hardest of all of them.
“Smells good,” Maggie said with a smile.
I rarely cooked. Actually, that’s not true, I never cooked. Not because I didn’t know how to or thought it was women’s work. It was more I didn’t cook because I was never there. Something I now regretted.
“It’s nothing special.”
“Well, I’m starving.”
“I’ll put the pasta on then.” After digging out a saucepan noisily, I set the water to boil. While I waited, I took a wine glass from the cupboard and opened a bottle, pouring Maggie a healthy chug before popping the cap off a beer for me.
While I fussed, trying to keep my hands busy while my mind searched for the right words to start this, Maggie beat me to it.
“What happens next?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, obviously we need to figure out this living situation.”
“Living situation?”
“We can’t live together while we sell the house. I don’t want to feel like I’m walking on egg shells in my own home and you shouldn’t have to either. If you want to stay here, I’ll look for an apartment. I just need a little time.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I think it’s best. But if you want me out earlier, I could probably crash with Kristie for a couple of weeks. Or maybe Mum.”
“You’re not going to stay with your mother.”
I knew what Maggie was offering but I don’t think she did. She loved her mother. Eloise was a lovely lady but I doubt there could be anything worse than living with her. She was kind and generous and overbearing and intrusive. I knew if Maggie moved in, it would only be hours before they drove each other to the edge of sanity.
Adding pasta to the bubbling pot, I stirred the sauce and switched the oven on. Inside, ready to go was Maggie’s favourite cheesy garlic bread. It was the one she loved but never treated herself to. Something about carbs and calories and garlic breath. Grabbing plates, silverware and napkins, I set them on the counter trying to not be offended by the surprise on Maggie’s face.
When she got up and walked away without a word, I wondered if she was coming back. Ten minutes passed and there was no sign of her. Grabbing the parmesan from the fridge, I grated a pile before filling the sink with water. Cooking wasn’t so bad. Cleaning up, on the other hand, was a bitch. And being the gourmet chef I wasn’t, I’d used every spoon, measuring cup and knife I could get my hands on.
Draining the pasta, I tossed through the rich sauce as my stomach rumbled at the smell. Plating up, I double checked everything was as it should be before I called out to Maggie.
“Food’s ready, Mags.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Her voice echoed down the stairs only seconds before I heard footsteps.
When she appeared with her handbag and a backpack slung over her shoulder my heart sank. This was really happening. Maggie was leaving. And I had to stop her. Sitting her bags near the door, she found her seat and sat down quietly, taking a bite.
A soft moan escaped her lips and her pink tongue darted out, licking the sauce from the corner of her mouth. Forcing the memory from my mind of what that mouth could do and how amazing those lips felt wrapped around me, I turned towards the oven, adjusted the growing bulge in my jeans, before grabbing the bread from the oven.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Gulping, my mind went straight to the gutter. Or, more likely, it was already well and truly entrenched there. She was talking about the garlic bread. Of course, she was. “Yeah. I thought it would be nice.”
I sat the chopping board with the bread on the bench before sliding onto the stool next to her. Even over the scent of pasta and bread, I caught a whiff of Maggie’s perfume. It was the one I’d bought her for Christmas. My favourite.
Silently, we sat side by side eating. Me offering her more wine and Maggie passing slices of bread as it oozed with stringy cheese. Even I was impressed with my efforts. This was fucking delicious. I should cook more often.
Wiping her bowl with the last of her bread, Maggie pushed her plate away and drained her glass. “Thanks, Drew. That was really good.”
“You’re welcome.”
The polite, aloofness was pissing me off. We were acting like strangers. Not people who’d known each other for years and loved each other for just as long. I’d seen Maggie at her worst and she’d seen me in a sad, sorry state. I’d held her hair when she’d been sick and she’d cleaned up after food poisoning had made a mess of not only me but the bathroom as well.
Standing up, Maggie cleaned up her mess, stacking the dishwasher before grabbing the sponge and wiping down the counter. Maggie was operating on autopilot. When she was done, she checked her watch.
“I better go.”
My pasta threatened to make a reappearance.
Maggie hefted the backpack over her shoulder, slumping under the weight. I wondered how much she’d stuffed in there. Following her like a lost puppy, I watched her scoop up her keys and phone from the hall table and dig through her handbag, before slipping her sunglasses on her head.
“I’ll give you a call. I’ll need to come back and grab my stuff for work next week, but I’ll let you know before I show up. I still have my key, so if you’d prefer not to be here…”
“Maggie!”
She didn’t look at me. She didn’t even acknowledge my interruption. Instead, she pressed on. Her speech sounding rehearsed and stilted.
“If you’d prefer not to be here, then I’d understand.”
“Maggie!”
“Yes?”
Again, she wouldn’t meet my gaze. In her hand, she fidgeted with her keys, keeping all her focus on them. That was fine. I didn’t care if she couldn’t look at me. Well, I did care, but right now that wasn’t my biggest problem. The biggest problem I had right now was stopping her from walking out that door and out of my life.
“Stay.”
“Huh?” Her head snapped up so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash.
“Don’t go.”
“Drew.”
“Maggie, don’t go. Please.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make this any harder than it already is.” For the first time, Maggie looked at me. Her big, beautiful Bambi eyes were filled with unshed tears, and I felt like the biggest jackass in the world. If she walked out the door, it would be my own fault. But fuck me, if I didn’t want her to. I had to fight. I had to make her stay.
Reaching out, I wrapped my hand around hers, steadying her restless fingers. The moment my skin touched hers, I felt a familiar warmth flood through my body. One I missed. One I craved. With my other hand, I risked it all. Put my balls on the line. I had everything to lose and looking like a pathetic sap wasn’t something I was about to shy away from. All or nothing. “Stay. Don’t go. Let’s work this out. Stay with me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MAGGIE
My head was spinning. Surely what
I thought I was hearing, I wasn’t, because if I was, I was more than a little confused. I was fucking stunned. This was a complete backflip.
“What?”
“I want you to stay.”
“Why?”
I could tell he wasn’t expecting my response. I wasn’t expecting my response. For as long as we’d been together, I’d been the pushover who made sure I gave Drew everything he could possibly ever want. Time and time again I’d sacrificed my own happiness and gone without to give him everything. And in the end, I’d been left with nothing. At least that’s what it felt like.
“What do you mean why?”
Dropping my bag on the floor, it landed with a thud. It was bloody heavy. I could barely remember what I’d stuffed in there, all I knew was it had been pinching my shoulder and I’d barely carried it ten metres. Running my hand through my hair, I heaved out a sigh.
“Because I don’t want you to go. Because you belong here. With me.”
“Drew, you’re doing my head in here.”
“I know. And I don’t mean to.”
“I know you don’t. But you need to figure out what the hell you want. Because what you’re doing here, right now, it’s not fair. It’s not fair on me and it’s not fair on you. Two weeks ago, you were asking me for a divorce and now, now you’re almost begging me to stay.”
“There’s no almost about it, Mags. I am begging you to stay.”
Dropping his head, Drew buried his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. When he looked up again, I almost caved. The sadness in his eyes wasn’t something I’d seen in a long time. Not since his grandmother had passed away a few years earlier.
“I know what I said and I’m sorry. I should never have asked for that. It’s not what I want. It’s not what I’ve ever wanted.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
Broken Dreams Boxset Page 15