by Bella Jewel
“Do you want me to fill her cup? Or get a towel? Something warm for her tummy?”
I love Pippa.
“We’re okay, Pippa.”
She comes into the room, and gently strokes Immy’s hair. Pippa is a beautiful soul, and a really pretty girl. With her pretty big eyes and light blond hair, she would seem like your typical beauty, but she’s not. She’s tiny, and fragile, and quiet most of the time. I don’t think she truly knows how beautiful she is.
“What did the doctor say today?”
“He said to keep her hydrated; there’s not much else we can do.”
Her eyes get soft. “It’s time likes these having help would be good.”
“You’re telling me.”
We both fall silent. She knows about Max, she knows what he means to me, and she’s not once pushed for me to go and see him, even though he asked her about me the night he saved her life. She didn’t tell him a lot, but he knows I’m here and he hasn’t once tried to find me. I guess that answers everything for me—he doesn’t want to see me.
Or maybe he’s as terrified as I am of reliving a past we’ve both obviously tried to bury.
“Do you want me to sit with her a few hours, while you get some rest?” Pippa offers.
“No.” I offer a weak curl of my lips. “But thanks. Maybe tomorrow?”
She nods. “Night. Yell out if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Pippa. Goodnight.”
When she goes, I lay down with Imogen and tuck her against me, wrapping my arms around her. My eyes are heavy and sore, and the moment I feel her breathing even out, I let them close on a sigh.
Yes, it’s hard sometimes, but she makes all of it worth the effort.
~*~*~*~
“How’s Immy?” Mom croaks, smiling at my daughter who is watching television at her house the next day.
I let my eyes scan over my daughter, who has some color in her cheeks today. Thank God. “After she fell asleep last night, she seemed to pick up. I’m so thankful; she was so unwell.”
Mom nods and looks over to me, still smiling. Her eyes are dull, no longer the vibrant green they once were. She lost all her hair when she underwent chemotherapy, so she’s wearing a beautiful silk scarf around her head. She’s still beautiful—she’ll always be beautiful—she just looks exhausted. The doctors have given her a few months, but they said she could go downhill at anytime.
That thought is terrifying. The very idea that each day with her could possibly be the last makes my stomach turn with a desperate need to do everything I can to prevent losing her. I can’t do anything, though. That’s just the cold hard truth of the matter. I can’t change the inevitable. We’ve exhausted all our options, and in the end, Mom has had enough.
“How’re you feeling today?” I ask her.
Her smile wobbles. “Not so great, but I’m managing.”
“The nurse still comes by on time weekly?”
She nods. “Yes, she’s wonderful.”
I give her a pained smile, sometimes I feel like I’m not here enough for her. Between working at night and looking after Imogen, I’m finding it hard to spend every second with her, like I wish I could be. “If you need anything, Mom, you know you can call me?”
She reaches over, grasping my hand. “I know sweetheart, but Immy has been sick.”
“I know, but I’ll always find the time to help.”
“You’re here every day, while trying to work and take care of her. You’re doing enough.”
I squeeze her hand. “How is work?” she questions.
“It’s fine, Mom. It’s easy enough.”
“Tina loves having Immy around.” She smiles.
Tina is my older sister and a lifesaver when it comes to working the few day shifts I occasionally get. She takes Immy and it saves me money trying to find a carer for her, or putting her in care. Besides, it makes me feel better knowing Immy is with family, and not in a new town, with new people she’s afraid of. Though I’m sure she’d do fine in care, I guess it’s more me that it upsets.
“I’m so glad they get to spend time together,” I finally say.
Mom nods. “Yes, it’s wonderful. We missed so much of her life.”
My smile wobbles, and Mom squeezes my hand again. “Have you seen Max?”
I shake my head. “No, and I really don’t want to right now.”
Her eyes grow sad. “You don’t think Immy deserves to know him?”
“I don’t know right now. He is a fighter, Mom. I’m not sure that he’s a good man and the last thing I want to do is introduce Immy to her dad, let her fall in love with him, and then have her heart broken if it goes wrong. I have to be very careful how I play this.”
Her eyes flash and she nods sadly. “You’re right about that, it’s best to take it slow because he has changed. A good deal.”
“You’ve seen him?”
“Once or twice around town. I haven’t spoken to him.”
My heart aches at the thought of seeing Max again. Seeing the face I loved so dearly. I still love him. I think I’ll always love him. He’s the kind of man you can’t just forget. He changed my life in so many ways—he gave me a daughter, and he was everything I could have ever wanted and more. Then he broke my heart.
“It’s probably for the best.”
Before she can answer, a knock sounds out at the door. She looks to me, narrows her eyes, and then stands and walks over, staring through the peephole. She makes a gasping sound, and then turns. “It’s as if he heard us speaking about him.”
My spine goes straight and I whisper, “He’s out there?”
She nods. I turn to Immy, who is still watching television. I can’t get her out without going through the front door, but I’m not ready to see Max. Not yet. I stand quickly, knocking over a chair. I rush over and grab Immy. She protests, but I quickly whisper, “Mommy has candy in the room! You want to share?”
“Oh yeah!” She smiles.
“Go into my room,” Mom whispers. “I’ll get rid of him.”
I rush Immy into Mom’s room, which isn’t far away. I grabbed my purse on the way and I’m digging out candy as I go. I shut the door quietly, and hand Immy a packet of candy. She starts busily opening it, and I walk over to the door, my heart is pounding so much I can feel it in my head. Boom. Boom. Boom.
“Max,” I hear mom say.
I really have to keep Immy quiet; the walls are like paper in this house.
“Heather,” he says, his voice low and thick.
My heart leaps into my throat and I fight the tears that burst into my eyes at the sound of his voice. It’s changed so much, yet it’s still the same. It seems thicker, gruffer, and deadlier.
“It’s been a long time.”
“You’re unwell,” he says. It’s not a question, but a fact. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry about Jason; I heard he passed a while back.”
Mom is silent for a while, and then says, “Yes, he did, and thank you for your kind words. I’m not well, no. I’m dying.”
More silence.
“Jesus, fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She sighs. “I wouldn’t expect you to, Max. Now why are you here?”
“Is she still in town?”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat, and try to fight the tears.
“Yes, she is, but she doesn’t want to see you, and I think it’s best for everyone if it stays that way.”
“I just want to see that she’s okay. I’m not going to bother her. Tell me where she is . . . so I can just . . . see her.”
A tear bubbles forth and I swipe it away quickly.
“I can’t do that, Max. You know I can’t.”
He mutters a silent curse. “Is she okay? At least tell me she’s okay. It’s all I want to know.”
He just wants to see if I’m okay. He doesn’t want to see me, or talk to me, just check to make sure he didn’t break me for good. That hurts. It hurts more than I’d ever thought it would. Since h
e found out I was back, Max hasn’t come after me, so I don’t know what I truly thought would happen, but I guess I thought he’d want more than to just see if I’m surviving.
“She’s doing well, Max. She’s managed to pick herself up and move on.”
Oh God, she knows that’s not true, but I know why she’s saying it and I’m grateful for her lie.
Max is silent.
“I’m glad,” he says, his voice sounding raspier.
He sounds hurt. My heart burns.
“If she wants to see you, Max, she will but I ask you . . . please don’t push this.”
“I get it,” he mutters. “I won’t push, but . . . tell her I came by, will you? I’d like to talk to her, to finish this properly. The fact is we’re still married, and eventually we have to work out where to go from there.”
“I’m sure being married hasn’t stopped you from having relationships in the past five years, Maximus,” Mom says, her voice a little icy. “Therefore, a divorce can be given over the mail. She will see you if she wants to see you.”
“The relationships I’ve had since then are my business. As for the divorce over the mail, we both know it’s not that easy. I’m still living in a house with her fucking things in it,” he snaps.
I flinch.
He’s had relationships? The very idea of Max with another woman hurts so much a strangled gasp leaves my throat. Of course I expected he’d move on . . . but thinking of it hurts more than I ever could have imagined. Not to mention he still lives in our old home. I’ve wanted to drive past it so many times, but haven’t been able to bring myself to do it, scared of the painful memories. Knowing he’s still there makes it so much worse.
“I’ll let her know, but I won’t push my daughter, Max, and neither will you.”
He makes a frustrated, sighing sound. “I’m not here to argue. If you see her, tell her I want to talk to her, but I won’t pressure her to do that. I’ll leave you to it.”
My mom says nothing more; she just closes the door with a soft click. I look over to Immy, who is digging through the candy packet and lining them up on mom’s bed. She’s oblivious, thank God. I need her to be, because the tears running down my face can’t be controlled. Mom appears in the doorway a second later, takes one look at me, and wraps me in her arms.
“Hush, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”
I make a strangled sound, because I don’t believe that.
Not even for a second.
CHAPTER THREE
THEN – COLLEGE – MAX
Sweat runs down my face as I jog towards the locker room to get changed before heading home. There’s a bonfire on tonight, and I’m supposed to be taking fucking Demi, even though she’s more than made it clear I’m a play-thing that she’ll use only when she needs a popularity boost. Our little break up lasted about four hours before she came crawling back, we got drunk and fucked.
I honestly don’t know why I put up with her. I guess for the same reasons she puts up with me. When you’re in the popularity chain, and you’re at the top, you do what you can to stay there. Not to mention when you’re a football star, people pay attention to where you stand in the popularity ranking. Demi is the reason I stay there—well that, and I’m a fucking great guy. Obviously.
“Yo, brother,” Reese greets me as I step into the locker room. “You ready for tonight?”
I pull off my shirt and dump the sweaty material in a basket, then nod and grin. “Fuck yeah. Should be awesome.”
“We’re loaded with beer. You taking your truck?”
“Yeah, man.”
“You going to swing by and get me?”
I nod.
“What about D?”
“She’s coming,” I grunt, dropping my pants and wrapping a towel around my waist.
“Heard Maci talking about the fight you two had earlier this morning.”
“Fight?” I grunt. “The bitch got angry because my dick wouldn’t stay hard for her.”
“Fucking burn!” Reese laughs. “I couldn’t stay hard for her, no matter how hot her tits are. She’s too much of a mouthy bitch.”
I snort. “You’re telling me. She can have my dick in her mouth and she’s still mumbling about something. She’s a fucking handful, that’s for damned sure.”
Reese shakes his head. “Fuck that. You need to find a good chick.”
I shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”
We shower and throw our things into our bags, then separate at the parking lot. I’m about to jump into my truck when I notice Belle standing next to a tiny, beat-up car, staring under the hood. She stomps a few times, and then runs her hands through her hair. It’s fucking adorable. Unable to help myself, I throw my bag into my truck and then walk over, stopping behind her.
“Got a problem, Blue Belle?”
She jumps, screams and topples forward. I wrap an arm around her waist, hauling her backwards and stopping her from falling beneath her hood. She stiffens in my arms, and I grin. Yep, cute.
“Car not working?” I say into her ear.
She twists out of my arms and turns, looking up at me. Fuck those eyes, they’re incredible, so fucking beautiful. I study her face, and find myself fascinated with the strawberry-blond hair that’s trailing down her shoulders. It’s long, and thick, and fucking sweet. She’s wearing a different pair of glasses; these are slim-line, and surprisingly look good on her. It gives her the naughty librarian look.
Who doesn’t want a naughty librarian?
She’s got a white dress with big black polka dots on it. Definitely not what you’d see most girls in, but it hugs her breasts before flaring out at her tiny waist, and that alone makes it look fucking good on her.
“I, ah, my car . . .”
Stammering again. My grin gets bigger. Her cheeks get pinker.
“Do I make you nervous, Blue Belle?”
She bites her bottom lip. Fuck.
“No.” She manages to speak without stammering. “I just . . . I don’t usually talk to people like you.”
“People like me?” I say, pressing a hand to my chest. “Should I be offended by that comment?”
She smiles shyly. “I don’t mean it in a nasty way, but surely you can see we’re on a whole different wavelength.”
I shrug. “I try not to pay attention to those things.”
She grunts. “You’re Maximus Jacobson. Of course you pay attention to those things.”
“Am I meant to know what that means?” I ask, reaching over and putting my hand on the opened hood, making my arm flex right near her cheek.
“It means,” she says, fidgeting, “that you know exactly what you are, who you are, and where you’re going. You are destined for big things. People like me? We’re happy to remain in the shadows.”
“You shouldn’t be in the shadows.”
Her eyes flash. “And you know that after one simple conversation?”
I grin. “Fuck yeah I do.”
She shakes her head and turns, staring at the car again.
“You need a ride?”
She sighs. “I’ll catch a bus. There are some that go by in the next few hours.”
“That’ll make it dark, and that’s dangerous. Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.”
She turns and studies me, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
I smirk and reach around her, slamming the hood closed. Then I take her hand, tugging her towards my truck. “I won’t kill you, I swear it.”
She snorts. “Because that makes me feel so much better.”
“What other option have you got?”
She ponders that and then tugs her hand from mine. “Let me just lock my car.”
I wait as she does that, and then both of us walk to my truck. I open the door for her and she eyes me skeptically before climbing inside. I jump in the driver’s seat and turn to her. “Where do you live?”
She rattles off an address, and then stares out the window as we pull out of the parkin
g lot. Her window is cracked slightly, letting some breeze in. Every now and then, the smell of vanilla and strawberries washes past me, and it takes everything inside for me not to grab her and kiss her. I bet she tastes just like that.
I need a distraction.
“What are you studying?” I ask her.
“I’m not sure of a major just yet, but I want to get into journalism.”
“Impressive.” I nod.
She shrugs. “It’s more of a pipe dream right now.”
“Hey, at least you’re dreaming.”
She turns and studies me. “What about you, football star? Is that all you ever wanted to be?”
I nod. “Yeah, I guess I had a talent for it and just went with it. Cliché as it is. My dad owns a chain of clubs that he always wanted me to take over, but that shit just isn’t what I want.”
She nods, as if understanding. “I get that.”
We both fall silent, and I glance at her to see her staring out the window again. Fuck she’s beautiful, in the most innocent, geeky, fresh kind of way.
“Are you going to the bonfire tonight?”
She shakes her head. “No, that isn’t really my thing.”
“Have you ever been to one?”
She falls silent.
I guess that’s a no.
“Then how do you know it isn’t your thing?” I prompt.
“I don’t know. The idea of drunk people having sex and throwing up doesn’t sound all that fun.”
I laugh. “It’s not like that.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Surely you’ve got friends that are going.”
“My best friend has been begging me to go,” she admits.
“You should.”
Her cheeks go pink again. “Maybe,” she mumbles.
“Let me know if you want to. I’ll come by and give you a ride.”
She jerks and looks over to me with big eyes. “Why?”
I grin and focus on the road. “I’m taking everyone. I don’t drink.”
Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “You don’t drink?”
“You sound surprised by that?”
“Well . . .” She hesitates. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“It’s not that I have a problem, I just hate the feeling of being drunk and out of control.”