by Nicci Harris
I basically skip over to them, then pull them both in for a hug.
"Jesus! Cassidy, you look stunning," Blesk coos.
Konnor's brows draw in. "Should you be bouncing like that in your condition?"
"Thank you," I hear Max say gruffly from over my shoulder. His fingers find my elbow, his touch shocking me with its authoritarian disposition. "No. She shouldn't be bouncing like that."
Konnor frowns at Max. "Max," he says, and that is apparently his greeting. "You fucking knocked up my sister. I should kick the crap out of you."
A pleased sigh breaks from Max. "And I thought this event was going to be boring."
"Remember where you are, Konnor," Blesk says softly.
"Right, that's enough testosterone-based bullshit," I hear a female voice say from behind me. I turn to see Blesk's best friend Elise approaching in a black fishtail gown, and my whole face lights up. I've only ever met her once, but she made an impression - the good kind. She is about my size - petite - and she has blue eyes and brown hair and mismatched nail polish.
Elise eyeballs Max. "I don't even know you, but you have trouble written all over your face." I nearly choke on a laugh. "And you." She points at Konnor. "This is a very important evening for you, so behave yourself appropriately." Then she is all smiles and weirdness when her eyes land on me. "Congratulations on the baby, Cassidy." She cuddles me hard. "Are you happy?"
We break our embrace, and I nod. Looking up at Max's weaved brows, I giggle. He is staring down at Elise like he has no idea how to handle her. Most people know him, so the fact that she doesn’t is hilarious. I doubt anyone would usually talk to him like that.
I glance back at her. "I am very happy."
She shrugs at Konnor. "Then why are you all cranky-pants about the baby? She's happy. And he" –she looks at Max again– "is kinda scary but hot. I think he's happy too; are you happy too?"
He clears his throat. "I need a drink."
I cover my giggle. "We are very happy."
Max reaches for a waiter and pulls a beer off the serving tray before draining half the bottle. "Cassidy makes me happy," he states before grinning at her, that charming dimple setting into his masculine face. His mien is dangerous and sexy and smooth all at once. My heart expands at the sight of him trying to be sociable when I know he hates small talk.
She leans against me, muttering, "He's kinda intimidating. In like, a hot way. A scary way. Is he trouble? You can tell me."
"He's a right menace," I whisper through a silly smile. I touch Max's arm. "This is Elise, Blesk's best friend and-" My eyes are suddenly locked on Jaxon as he appears through the crowd with a glass of water in his hand. I jump up and down, squealing a little. "There's Jaxon." He is Konnor's best-friend. They play rugby together, and by the way Jaxon is tilting his chin at Max, I suppose they know each other too. Jaxon is built like Max but shorter, so he looks quite stocky. He passes Konnor the glass of water before moving behind Elise. Wrapping his arms around her middle, he rests his head on top of hers.
I grin so hard my cheeks ache. "Hi. You two are so cute. When did this happen?"
Jaxon chuckles. "She finally wore me down."
"Wore you down?" Elise drawls. "You have been waiting for me outside of my dorm every day since we met in case somehow, between my room and the entrance to my female-only dormitory, I get hurt or trip or fall into someone's arms. He basically stalked me. I really should have just called the police."
I giggle.
Jaxon grins at me. "Little C, hear you're in the family way. Congrats. And ah" –he looks up at Max– "you too, mate. Congrats."
"Thank you," Max says, feigning a casual demeanour, his stance loose and easy, convincingly so. His jaw is set tight though; it’s a small thing, but I notice it. I know that all this baby talk is grating on him, making him feel like someone is right in the middle of our business, riffling through it, having a say on it. And I imagine that it feels like fingernails scratching inside his brain because my lover is a private man who shares with only his family and me - and even then, I have to sweet talk it out of him.
After downing the rest of his beer, Max places his hand on my lower back and leans towards me. His lips meet my ear. "I'm serious, little one. Stop fucking jumping around or I'll do something to limit your movement."
I twist my head to meet him, a smile playing with a corner of my lips. "Like what?"
He lowers his voice further, adding a luscious growl to it that forces the air from me. "Like put a ball up your pretty little arsehole so every time you jump, it bounces inside you."
My cheeks burn and I giggle nervously through the next sentence. "I kinda want to jump even more now."
We chat amongst ourselves, but Max seems to know a lot of other guests and they keep approaching us. He introduces me each time though, making me feel wonderful and at ease even with the constant flow of women wanting his attention and asking about our relationship with insincere interest.
"So Max Butcher does have a type then," one girl says, twisting her strawberry-blonde hair around her finger.
"My type is Cassidy Slater," Max replies, and I swoon.
At the sound of the announcer, we make our way over to our lavishly set circular tables. We eat three courses and talk, keeping things light even though the whole night is about something so heavy and personal, it's hard to concentrate. Thanks to Elise, there is never a dull moment or a lap in conversation.
Nearly everyone at our table appears to be keeping their beverage intake virginal, and I suppose it is out of respect for my recently reformed big brother. Max, though, has been enjoying his beers with enthusiasm.
Konnor has barely said a word, but he has been displaying that double dimpled smile all night. The one he often has around Blesk. I've been watching him intently, worrying about what this might be doing to him. Being here. I wonder if anyone knows who he is? If they do, they are all purposely leaving him alone.
Casually leaning back in his seat, Max drapes his arm across my chair, his fingers making little patterns on my neck and shoulder. Their course across my skin is claiming. Hot. Intense. They whisper a yearning. I feel a shiver rush through me. Turning, I catch him nailing me with a powerful stare. His touch no longer whispers but screams instead.
As my cheeks heat up, he brushes his knuckles down them. "You're blushing."
I glance across the table at Konnor but find him staring at his food, shuffling the pieces around, not conversing with anyone.
I twist to face my Max. "Want to make good on your promise? You wouldn't want me to mistake you for a gentleman again, now would you?"
"Fuck. Little one, you're a bad influence."
I giggle at that. "As if."
Over Max's shoulder, I am suddenly struck with the sight of Butch and a young lady, sitting a few tables away. Max turns to follow my gaze, his brows drawing in together when they land on his finely dressed father.
I place my hand on his thigh. "What's your dad doing here?"
Max stares at them, his eyes scrutinising the pair. Sliding out from the table, he begins to stride towards them. I quickly fall into step beside him, not wanting to be left behind. He entwines our fingers and I smile, thankful he didn’t tell me to go back to the table, thankful he didn't tell me this is none of my business.
"What's this I see?" Max laughs, eyeing Butch and his pretty guest.
Butch twists in his seat, doing a double take when he sees us. "Well, well." He stands and pats his son on the shoulder. "How is smiling at people working out for you?"
Max smirks, seemingly amused by the comment. "Fuck, Clay has a big mouth."
Butch just grins, and for a moment I see Max - older and more weathered, but the similarities are blatant. "He was impressed with your proposal, as was I." I blink at them, not sure exactly what's going on or why I somehow feel strange about it. Turning his attention to me, Butch's smile softens into a genuine curve that makes his chiselled masculine features somehow less so. "Cassidy, you look beauti
ful. How are you feeling?"
"Full. The duck was fricking amazeballs," I say and then catch the eyes of the brunette lady sitting beside Butch. She is circling the top of her whiskey glass with her finger and chewing on the inside of her lip. Smile lines beside her eyes and mouth denote both her age and her nature.
"Amazeballs?" Butch chuckles. "Did you hear that, Louise?" He turns to acknowledge her - Louise.
"I agree," she says, gazing brown eyes up at us. Her mien is gentle and humble. "Amazeballs."
I grin hard at her.
"This is Louise," Butch says. "Louise, this is my son, Max, and his far better half, Cassidy."
She nods, an almost demure and coy slant to her lips. "It's lovely to meet you both."
I wave awkwardly. "Hi."
"Where's Victoria?" Max teases. I shuffle uncomfortably and glance at the ground. I half expect crickets to sound but instead, Butch answers with little duress.
"She doesn’t come to this event."
Before anyone can reply, the clapping of other guests draws our attention to the front. As the presenter takes the stage, the crowd quells their conversations.
The presenter taps on the microphone.
Butch sits back down. "We will talk after. Sit with us. My other guests left early." He motions to a few empty chairs. I glance over at Konnor as we sit, still worried about what this all means or doesn’t mean to him. Maybe it's just too much to absorb. It feels that way to me. They literally created this charity in memory of him. He is silently and helplessly a part of it, and no one even knows. When the presenter begins to speak, I stare at the stage.
After introducing and thanking the main organisers, he then begins to thank the donors. "I'd like to pay a special tribute to Luca Butcher," he says.
My eyes widen and I turn to stare at Butch, who is casual and unaffected by the attention. Maybe even a little displeased by it?
"He has been attending this charity since its inception and to date-" he looks at a piece of paper- "has donated over five hundred thousand dollars."
The room erupts in applause. Once it quiets again, other donors are thanked. After a few minutes, the screen behind the presenter lights up with the image of a beautiful young women - Konnor's biological mother. An acute ache moves through my chest and I find Konnor again. He is blinking at the screen, mouth parted, breathing heavily with emotion. Blesk has her hand on his shoulder.
The man on stage continues to talk, sharing Madeline's story - Konnor's story. He details the night Konnor was taken from his bed. The nightmare Madeline endured trying to find him. He tells us about her single mindedness, giving up everything else in her life to become solely a mother searching for her little boy. He tells us about her sudden illness.
Her death.
My lower lip quivers.
I can feel Max studying me. I can always feel him; our connection is that profound. He hangs his arm over my seat again, sliding the entire chair closer to him until I am pressed snugly against his body.
The presenter continues to talk. He tells us about the light at the end of this dastardly tale. They found the boy. Alive and, for the most part, well. He was given a new life and a new beginning. I know this better than most because it was with us. With me. The presenter clears his throat, pauses, and then looks straight at Konnor.
I smother my outward gasp.
"We have a very special guest with us today," he says, his voice hesitant. "I only just realised this myself, and I have been wrestling with what to do about it. I wanted to leave him his anonymity. But I also wanted more than anything to shake his hand. To pat him on the back. To share my deepest respects and admiration. Madeline's boy is here today."
A high-pitched crack breaks the quiet beside me. Glancing over, I see Butch holding a shattered glass in his fist, blood leaking out from between his fingers. No one outside of our table has noticed. He quickly grabs a white cloth napkin, wraps it around his hand, and excuses himself. I'm sure he forgets his own strength, just like Max does on occasion.
My gaze is pulled back to Konnor, who is struggling to keep his composure while everyone looks at him in awe. He breathes in deeply and then slowly stands. When everyone applauds him, I can no longer hold back my tears of joy. For the first time in his life, he's close to having a relationship with her. He's right there, standing opposite her image, being referred to as her son. As the clapping continues, the genuine nature of the applause becomes apparent and Konnor's face transforms from tight with discomfort to soft with emotion.
I wipe at my tears, rolling my eyes when I notice the smudge of black mascara on the side of my finger. "He's so brave."
Konnor's eyes find mine for a moment and his well up too.
He mouths, "I love you."
And my throat tightens further. "I love you too."
Cassidy
* * *
I hit shuffle on my after-dinner mix, letting the mellow tunes hum through the car. We cruise down the empty, dimly lit coastal road with the river to our right and the hills to our left. I lower the rear passenger window to feel the crisp night-time breeze stroke my face, to smell the fresh ocean air. I close my eyes and inhale it, thinking about tonight. About Konnor's closure. About the glistening of his eyes. I'm glad I went.
The sound of a base guitar fills the Chrysler. Hypnotic, sad, and passionate, "Nothing's Gonna Hurt You, Baby" by Cigarettes After Sex, rolls from the speakers, and my heart expands. This song can pluck you from the earth. Defy gravity. Lift you into the clouds so that you can view yourself from above. It is state altering. The lyrics start and I flush a little. This song reminds me of Max. A smile hits my lips and I turn to find him grinning at me, his hair messy, his top buttons open, his legs spread casually in his black satin-lined trousers.
Twisting towards me, he slides his hand across my red dress, fingers grazing the floral embroidery. He stops at my neck, circling the arch with his warm palm. "This is an interesting song." His thumb follows the roll of my throat down and then up.
The title is the basis of the song's story, so Max probably suspects that it reminds me of his promise to never let anyone hurt me again, but he'd be wrong. Nothing is going to hurt him. A month ago, when I heard this song for the first time, it filled me with this urge to protect him - protect that rare fragile gentleness he hides from everyone other than me. Protect that fiercely guarded heart with my life.
I try to stay strong beneath his burrowing stare. "It reminds me of this guy I like."
"Do I need to kill him or is that guy me?"
I giggle. "You don't know him."
His brows draw a straight line above his serious expression. "Not funny, little one."
Leaning in close, I kiss his stern face until it softens. Pulling back, I find him now contemplative with a thought but hesitant to share it.
He finally says, "I'm going to work for Clay at the council. How do you feel about that?"
Blinking at him, I say, "What does that mean?"
"I'll be using my degree. It'll be nine to five."
I nod, unsure why he's looking at me as if he's waiting for approval. "But you'll hate working in an office." I glance around the back carriage. No. No. "You'll hate it. Why can't you play rugby?"
His face pulls in tight, teeth locking, eyes defensive. "I thought you'd be happy."
"You can go pro, Max," I say. "You can-"
"Leave my brothers. The District!" he snaps. Sighing with strained breath, he bites down his anger. "Sorry. But that's never going to happen."
I understand family loyalty. Frick, my whole life has revolved around Konnor, but I want more for Max. He's so talented. "But they have their own lives-"
Max clears his throat. "On weekends."
The words have no context and I'm left staring wide eyed at his angry expression - an expression that is smothering a kind of uneasiness. "What?"
"You said the fairy-tale would be nine to five and rugby on the weekends. I can give you that now."
Still confuse
d, I say, "What?"
He leans back in his seat. Closed off, he looks out of the window with anger snapping at the heels of casual dismissal. "Forget it." I imagine in any other situation, he would have left me to punch the bag already in an attempt to release his anger.
"No." I straighten. "Wait. . . are you trying to give me the fairy-tale?"
"Apparently not," he mutters tersely as if the whole conversation has left acid in his mouth.
I'm taken aback, feeling my level of agitation rise as he shuts me out. The space he's put between us sends a shiver up my spine. No! I'm not letting him block me out like this. No way.
"I'm so sorry that I want the best for you, Max Butcher! But you won't be happy in an office! It'll drive you crazy. Why can’t you have what you want? Rugby? I could come see-"
He growls. "I have what I want sitting next to me being a pain in the fucking arse!"
A wave of happiness hits me, crashing into my heart and splashing up my body. I beam. I'm the pain in the arse. . . that's me. He wants me. Twisting forward in my seat, I glance at Carter in the rear-view mirror, but he's pretending to hear nothing, just staring at the road.
I unbuckle my seat belt, kick off my heels, and hike my red dress up my thighs before swinging my leg over Max's lap to straddle him. I pretend to pin him beneath me. "Listen to me, Max Butcher, I love you, you menace." I kiss his tight lips. When he doesn't respond, I lick the defiant flesh of his lower lip, coaxing him. He lets out a pained groan. Loosens. I lean back on his thighs and match him stare for stare. Match him intensity for intensity. "If it's what you want, then I'm your girl."
Two big hands slide up my thighs to my waist and back, massaging with a possessiveness I only understand because I feel the same way when I touch him. "You’re my girl either way."
I smile at that. "Yes."
The feel of his touch over the soft sheer material of my dress sends tingles throughout my body. Awakening every cell to him. To us.