Crazy Good

by Rachel Robinson

  Goose greets me when I push through the door. I pick up my fuzzy dog and retreat to my room. I glance at the cards on my table. The week after Maverick sent a bunch of flowers, he had cards sent. Each one was valid for a long weekend away with him. I was so excited when I got those cards. Fate had other ideas. Fate is a bitch.

  “Call him,” Gretchen says from my doorway.

  I kick off my shoes, shaking my head. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m not sure what we are anymore.”

  “Even more reason to call him.”

  I shrug my shoulders. It would be the polite thing to do. Somehow I know he won’t answer anyway. I pick up my phone and pull up my speed dial. I hit number one, because I refuse to remove him from that spot, and tap his name. It rings once, and then again.

  Phillipe’s voice says, “Maverick’s phone.” I scrunch up my brows and look at the phone. I definitely dialed Maverick and not Morganna.

  “Windsor? Hello, Windsor?” Phillipe prompts.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Why do you have his phone?” I ask.

  “I’m fielding calls for both Mr. Hart and Morganna now. Do you want to leave a message?”

  I shake my head. “Yeah, tell him Windsor called and that I want to…,” I stutter. “Just tell him Windsor called.” I can’t force myself to utter the generic condolences. Phillipe voices noise of approval and I imagine him scribbling my name down on his pad of power. “That was so damn weird,” I tell Gretchen.

  Gretchen sighs. “Go to his house to talk to him in person. He’s not giving you much of a choice.”

  I widen my eyes, already shaking my head no. “No way in hell.” Gretchen doesn’t say another word. She leaves my room, clicking the door closed.

  Feeling sorry for Maverick and myself, I fall asleep crying, Goose licking my face the entire time. I wake several hours later to a pitch black room and my phone buzzing next to me.

  Maverick’s handsome face is on the screen, signaling his call. I hit the green answer button quickly and pull the phone to my ear. I hear Maverick breathing on the other end and it surprises me. I guess I expected Phillipe to pass along a message.

  “Hello,” I croak out. Maverick sighs long, and hard. “Are you there?”

  “Yeah. I got a message you called today,” he slurs. “And I just wanted to call you back to tell you…I got your message.”

  Maverick is completely shit faced. I’ve never heard him like this. While it warms me everywhere just hearing his voice, I know he probably won’t even remember talking to me or calling me in the morning. “Are you okay, Maverick?” I realize how freaking stupid the question is the second I speak it.

  “No,” he whispers simply.

  “Do you want me to come over? I figured you wanted space…you haven’t reached out since…you know,” I say. I palm my forehead. I sound like an idiot.

  I hear liquid splashing and then he coughs. “I called to tell you not to call anymore.”

  “Okay. That’s counterproductive; you could have just ignored the message, like you’ve ignored me for the past few weeks. I’m not stupid. I’d understand what that meant. I know you’re hurting Maverick. I forgive you for lying about your wife. I wanted you to know that. Morganna explained everything. I forgive you and I miss you,” I say, pushing Goose off my face for the thousandth time since I answered the phone. Maverick laughs bitterly. I sit straight up in bed—dread filling my stomach.

  “You forgive me?” he rasps, coughing once again. He is absolutely sloshing drunk. “Well, I don’t forgive you.”

  “What?” I yell. “I know you’re drunk, Maverick. I can smell it through the freaking phone. You aren’t making any sense.” He cuts me off with another laugh.

  “You killed him,” he says. I hear him take a pull from a bottle. “I don’t forgive you, Windsor. Don’t leave messages anymore.” As he says the last sentence he sounds stone cold sober.

  The line goes dead.

  I stare at the phone screen for several long seconds before putting it down and pulling Goose into my lap again. I’d like to think he’s just drunk and talking crazy, but deep down I truly believe he thinks his accusations are truth. Who am I to tell him he’s wrong. I fall asleep for the second time in one day with tears streaming down my face.

  It will be the last time I let myself cry over Thomas Maverick Hart. Tomorrow I plan to move on with my life, knowing I made another mistake. This time though? I’ll learn from it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Maverick

  Two months later

  “Get your fucking ass out of this bed, out of this room, and out of this house. Go to work, Maverick,” Morganna screeches. I crack one eye. She’s dressed, her blue tooth already installed in one ear. She yanks the blankets down, unwrapping me from my warm cocoon. I stretch my arm to my nightstand to grab the beeping alarm clock. A whiskey bottle and a full glass fall off and spill all over the hardwood.

  “Shit,” I murmur, slumping over the bed to pick up the bottle. “I’m up. I’m up. What day is it?” I ask, clutching my aching head, but masking it by rubbing my hand through my hair. I put the bottle to my lips and tip it up to drink the remainder.

  “It’s Saturday. But you need to go in to workout. You are a fucking disgraceful slob. I have four meetings today and I can’t babysit you,” Morg says, bending over with a towel in her hand to mop up my mess. “I’ve let you wallow long enough. Stone is rolling in his fucking grave right now.” She looks up to the ceiling and crosses her chest.

  “You’re not Catholic, Morganna,” I say.

  “I’ll turn myself into fucking Ghandi, Buddha, Lord our Savior if it means you’ll flip the switch. Don’t think I won’t! What if you lose your job?” she seethes. I know I only have a certain amount of time before she gets really mad. I thought it would be longer, though. I’m not ready to give up the bottle. It’s the only thing that dulls the pain. She snatches the bottle out of my hand and throws it on the ground. It shatters. I’m impressed she has enough strength to break it.

  “Nice. That’s thick glass,” I admit. Her chest is rising and falling like a dragon. She still hurts. She’s still broken. She hides it better than I can. I hold my hands up. “I’m sorry. Fine. I’ll go in to work,” I say. I have zero plans to go in to work. I want to appease Morganna so she’ll get off my nuts. I want to drink. I want to drink all fucking day. Until I can’t see straight and I’m not sure if I live in reality or a dream.

  “Liar,” she says. “I know you’re lying which is why I told her to come over later. Maybe she can talk some sense into you.” She can’t be serious. She sees the shock written on my face and nods, a calculating smile on her lips.

  “Why the fuck would you do that?” I stand up and start pacing. I haven’t seen or spoken to Windsor since a hazy, drunken phone conversation the night after Stone’s funeral. At least something I did was successful. I pushed her away completely. Not so much as an e-mail in how long has it been? I wrinkle my brow.

  Morganna reads my thoughts. “It’s been two months you idiot and surprise, surprise—Windsor is dating. She’s dating, Maverick. You are going to lose her for good if you don’t pull yourself out of this,” she waves around the room grimacing.

  My stomach sinks. I sit down on a chair, putting my head in my hands. I remember Windsor’s small hand brushing the top of this very same chair and my heart starts pounding.

  “I thought maybe you’d like to know that. I’ve tried to tell you a million times that life goes on, Mav. The sun keeps rising and setting no matter how you feel or what’s going on inside of your head. You’ll never get these two months back. They’re gone. I’m a miserable piece of shit without him. I know not to waste my life because of it, though. This is it. This is all you get. She’ll be here at four.”

  My pulse is all over the place and I feel like I’m suffocating. “At four?” I ask, my voice trembling. I can’t see Windsor. Better put, I can’t let Windsor see me like this. I’m already trying to come up with something to
deter her.

  Morganna clacks up to me, hands perched on her hips, and says, “Don’t mess it up. You wouldn’t believe how much convincing I had to do to get her to agree—everything except my first-born. I did this for you, because if you push her away any longer, you’re going to lose her to some fucking accountant with bad hair who gets hives at the mention of skydiving. Is that what you want for her life? You spew all this bullshit about not loving her and not giving a shit about what she does. You’ve concocted this wild notion that she has something to do with why Stone is gone. It’s all in your head. You love her and that’s changed you. It changed you for the better, for your information. Take what is yours, you stubborn asshole.”

  Fuck. She’s right. Morganna is right. I know it with every fiber of my being. But I’m not finished punishing myself. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.

  I try to clean the house a little, but it’s useless. Two months of being so drunk I can’t remember how to use a dishwasher has taken its toll. Morganna gave up cleaning after a few weeks, telling me that I was depressing her even more than she already was. I thought about asking Tawny to come clean, but didn’t because I didn’t want to end up with an STD in a drunken stupor. I don’t remember my nights. Which is just how I want it.

  Steve walks in when I have a broom in my hand cleaning up some mess of unknown origin. “Hey dude, you coming in to work today? Morg said you wanted to work out for a little bit,” he says stretching his arms over his head. Everyone pussyfoots around me, like I’m some baby that has to be watched very carefully and their words finely monitored. It drives me crazy.

  “She’s coming over here this afternoon and I don’t know how to stop her,” I say. Steve knows who she is. Everyone does. He winces a little. He feels sorry for me, obviously. “Don’t look at me like that, fucker. She’s dating,” I admit.

  “So what? You don’t have to let her in. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You don’t want her here, right?” Steve asks.

  I do and I don’t. Actually I don’t. Seeing blue eyes will only fuck with my mind.

  “Why are you so hung up on a chick? Dude, I’ve been telling everyone this for years. No one ever wants to listen. You can’t trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn’t die. Forget her, man. Go back to your fan club. Those girls won’t fuck you over. They’ll just fuck you senseless. We miss you on the dark side.”

  I could do that. Maybe it would make me feel better. I wouldn’t be drinking by myself every night and slipping into oblivion.

  I smile at Steve. Not because I agree with him. Not fully, anyway, but because he gave me a brilliant idea. “Call as many tens as you can. Maybe get some of the guys over here. We’re going to have a fucking party. It starts at three. Make sure everyone is here on time, fucker. You hear me?” I ask. Steve grins, nods, and pulls out his cell phone, dialing numbers like a madman. “A pool party,” I add. I need the perfect scene.

  I continue cleaning, and drinking straight liquor until I’m making more of a mess than cleaning. As I’m showering, I catch sight of Windsor’s pink, empty bottle of shampoo in my shower. I can’t throw the fucking thing away. I used it until it was gone. I didn’t want to think about her, but smelling her kept me from doing something really stupid. It was a reminder that good does exist in this world, even if I don’t deserve it.

  Deep down I know she’s not the reason Stone is gone. It’s just the easiest thing for me to assume when I can’t come up with better reasons for his death. The bottle reminds me of the best night of my life. A piece of plastic is the only thing I have left of the woman I love.

  I swat it, making it bounce in the wet room. I don’t pick it up. I dress in a pair of shorts, not even bothering to put a shirt on. Looking at myself in the mirror is hard. The shell of a person staring back at me is unrecognizable. I’m a good twenty pounds lighter than I was when I saw Windsor last. My face is gaunt and the bags under my eyes are sunken from drunken sleep. It’s not real sleep, you know? Passing out doesn’t count. The REM state of sleep isn’t reached. Fuck. I look horrible.

  I rub the tattoo over my chest. I don’t regret it. I’m actually proud of it. It proves that there was a time in my life that I wasn’t this fucked up. It was a very short-lived period, but it was real. Windsor is real. She just isn’t mine anymore. My heart aches. Morganna’s words replay in my head. You’re going to lose her forever. She’s dating, Maverick. Although I panic at the thought, honestly I’m fucking relieved she’s moving on. I second-guess the “scene” I’m setting up for her to witness. I may not even need to go through the trouble. She could be over our relationship already. I swallow down the emotion. It’s too much, too soon.

  I walk into the living room and see all of the half-dressed women. Well, if Windsor’s not over it, she will be very shortly. Steve made sure of it. Hot women litter my house like they’ve always been here. A few of them are lounging on my leather couch. I grimace, remembering performing Windsor’s song and her sitting in the same spot. It’s strange to see all these people in my house. A cute blonde in the corner smiles and wiggles her fingers at me. I smile. I mouth back “hi” and pour myself a glass of whiskey.

  Steve walks over. “Morganna is pissed. She found out. Just thought you should know. I tried to keep it from her, but it’s like she lives in my fucking head. She told me this was your last chance.”

  All I need is one more chance. I will blow the remnants of my heart into dust.

  “Is she my mother?” I bite out. “I just invited some friends over to party.” I take a sip of my strong drink. I think of Stone. How he would always pass me cups of water or diet soda so no one would know I wasn’t drinking. I cough. “I just want to get this over with.”

  “I blamed you. I didn’t want her wrath. You understand,” Steve explains. I narrow my eyes at him. He backs up a step, holding his hands up.

  “Why?” I ask, setting my cup down on the counter. “Why do you care if she descends upon you like a smiting warlord? It shouldn’t matter,” I accuse. I see the look in his eye. “Unless you want her,” I whisper. Steve shakes his head. “Do you want Morganna, Steve?”

  “No. Jesus, of course not. I just don’t want to be on her bad side. What’s your problem, dude,” Steve responds.

  I’m angry for no good reason now. That’s what drinking in the company of people does. I’m a mean drunk. I show no mercy. The bad part is, I’m completely aware it’s happening and I can’t stop it.

  “Good. Don’t even think about touching her. I’ll kill you,” I say. Steve walks away, shaking his head. Like I’m the crazy one? The fucking nerve of some people.

  The doorbell rings and I know it can only be one person. Everyone coming to a party just walks in. This isn’t someone who’s been invited. Not by me, at least. Windsor. My heart leaps up into my fucking throat. I haven’t seen her for months—six months? I never saw her at the funeral. Not that I would have acknowledged her anyway.

  I look at Steve and he angrily raises his glass in my direction. No fucking help from him.

  Swaying on my feet, I walk to the front door and open it just enough to see her without exposing the contents of my house. Windsor and her scared blue eyes focus on my face. She looks so damn beautiful that I catch my breath. My memory of her faded over time, and it didn’t serve her right. She is the most gorgeous person I’ll ever see. Inside and out. I know it. Which is why I have to let her go.

  “Hi,” she says, her gaze traveling down my chest and back up to my face. She’s seeing the miserable exterior of a deconstructed man. I’m hideous.

  I can’t bring myself to do it. Not yet. I want to pretend for a second that she’s still mine. Before everything in my life was taken away. “Hey,” I reply, trying and failing to smile. A tiny half smile lights her face a second before a small bark pierces the air. I look to her car.

  “Goose is pretty upset I didn’t bring him,” she explains, looking over to her car with an adoring face. She loves the dog. I take a deep b
reath. The life I could have had is right in front of me and I can’t take it. “How are you Maverick?” she asks. She knows I’m not good. She’s just going through the pleasantries I’d expect from a stranger.

  I lie. “I’m doing better. On the road to a full recovery,” I say, mispronouncing the last word in a slur. Fuck.

  Her pursed lips raise in a fake smile as she nods, eyebrows raised. “Good. I’m so glad. I’ve been worried about you,” she says, her gaze darting behind my head. I close the door a little more, feeling sick about the scene behind me. What was I thinking? I wasn’t.

  “Morganna said you wanted me to stop by. I’m not sure how much of her pleas is fact or fiction, but I’m here for you in you need a friend, Mav. I know you don’t want a relationship with me anymore,” she whispers, biting her lip. “Maybe a friendship would work out better? I’d like to try because…” her words trail off.

  “Because why?” I ask, my heart hammering like a God damned drum in my ears. She shakes her head. My anger grows. Still, even in proposed friendship she can’t speak what’s in her heart or her mind. I can’t take it anymore. My hand, the one holding the door, shakes. I’m losing control. “Why?” I demand, louder this time.

  “Because I freaking love you, Maverick! And I know words are just words, but I'm so sorry about everything and I love you. You don’t love me anymore and I understand that, but you have to be in my life. Maybe I can help you…or make you feel better. Be my friend," Windsor says, her face red and bottom lip trembling.

  I nod. She did it. She fucking finally did it.

  Too little, too late. “Blow me,” I say, a sarcastic grin spreading across my face.

  Her perfect bottom lip drops in shock. I take in a deep breath. This is it.

  "Those were the only three fucking words I wanted to hear from you," I slur, and it’s unfortunate because it’d be more poignant if I were sober. "And you say them now? That's shit and you fucking know it. So, you want to make me feel better? Blow me, Windsor Forbes. Get down on your perfect knees and blow me.”