by Alexa Martin
I nod my head and wrap my arms around his neck. “I’m okay with that.”
Before I can even try to hide the smile threatening to consume my entire face, his mouth is on mine and his hands are on my thighs. He lifts me up and pushes my back against the cool subway tiles. My legs wrap around him and my ankles lock behind his back just as he thrusts inside of me.
I cling to him for dear life as he pushes in and out of me. His thighs are shaking beneath me, from either strain or need. I don’t know and I don’t care. All I care about is the tingling in my core that’s transforming into full-blown throbs.
I pull his mouth to mine, parting my lips and using my tongue to taste him as desperately as he’s pounding into me.
He squats down lower and it changes everything. Every stroke hits the elusive spot that so many men spend a lifetime chasing. Each time he enters me, electricity charges through my veins. I throw my head back against the tile, but I barely even register the headache I’m sure will require Advil later. All of my energy is going into holding on to him even though my limbs are trembling as my need grows more and more.
“Touch yourself,” Maxwell’s strained voice says over the drumming in my ears. “I won’t drop you.”
Slowly and carefully, I remove one hand from his neck. I know I don’t weigh a ton, but I’m still nervous to let go; I mean, how long can he really hold on? But as I move my hand between my legs, his rhythm doesn’t so much as falter.
“That’s it,” he says as my hand starts moving between my legs. “Jesus. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I don’t know if it’s his words, my hand, his dick, or all of the above, but an explosion goes off inside of me. My core grips onto him and his mouth comes to mine, swallowing my moans, and he slams into me one final time.
“That was . . . I don’t even know what that was,” I say when my breathing has returned to normal and my body has stopped shaking enough for me to stand without the wall supporting me.
“That was me and you.” He grabs the loofah off the floor and pours body wash on it, lathering it up. Once he’s satisfied with the bubbles, he turns me around and starts washing my back. The water has cooled significantly, but we take our time cleaning one another.
Maxwell turns off the water and steps out of the shower before me, haphazardly wrapping a towel around his hips. Then he grabs another towel and takes special care in drying me off, paying close attention to my ass and chest as he does. Then I return the favor and slowly dry him off, taking special care of his still-impressive member and tight ass.
He throws on a pair of very small, very amazing boxer briefs while I twist my hair into a towel and dig into my suitcase.
“There’s a coffee shop a couple of blocks over.” I toss my clothes over my shoulder until I find my fleece-lined leggings and the long-sleeved tee I’m looking for. “Wanna walk and go grab some?”
“Sounds good to me,” he says as he shimmies into his jeans. “I’ll go turn the coffee machine off downstairs then.”
He was going to make me coffee. I bite back my smile. The perk about never having had a serious boyfriend is it makes every single thing Maxwell does for me seem extraordinary, even the little things . . . maybe especially the little things.
I’m running a comb through my hair so it won’t turn into a complete rat’s nest later, when I hear Maxwell call my name.
“Brynn, your phone is blowing up down here,” he says from downstairs.
Crap.
My phone. This is how I know I’m into Maxwell; I never forget about my phone.
“Hold on! Here I come!” I abandon the comb and just twist my wet hair into a bun as I hit the stairs.
“Thanks.” I roll onto my toes and kiss Maxwell as I grab my phone.
“Not a problem,” he says, but he looks concerned. “Everything okay?”
I look at the screen, and knots form in my stomach. Nearly thirty missed calls and almost as many voicemails in the last hour, all from Poppy and a number I don’t know.
“I’m not really sure.” I don’t look at him as I check my voicemails, but before the latest one begins to play, my phone starts to vibrate in my hand, the same 303 number flashing on the screen.
Dread fills me as I swipe to answer and bring it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hi, is this Brynn Sterling?” a friendly voice on the other end asks.
She sounds like she could be a telemarketer. She’s probably a telemarketer. I try to convince myself despite my heart telling me it’s not true. Instinctively, I reach for Maxwell. He doesn’t hesitate before gripping my hand.
“This is. May I ask who’s speaking?”
“Hi, my name is Deanna. I’m a nurse at Saint Joseph Hospital and I’m calling about your dad.”
My stomach falls to my feet and the room swims in front of me. It’s my worst fear come to life.
“What . . . how? Is he okay?” I’m staring at Maxwell, but I don’t see him. It’s like I’m in a bad movie and everything around me is a blur.
“He had a heart attack,” she says. I can’t read her tone. Is she being so calm to keep me calm because it’s actually really bad? Or is she so calm because everything is okay? “Do you know a Poppy Patterson?”
“Yes. Why?” I’m sure one day I’ll feel bad about how short I am with her, but that day is not today. I need her to not ask questions and just tell me what is going on.
“She’s at the hospital. She was with him when it happened. She did CPR and called nine-one-one. She’s also the person who gave us your name and number. So your dad isn’t alone, but I think it would be good if you came in and did so quickly. We need to decide the next step.”
I try to answer.
My mouth is moving.
But the words don’t come. They are being pushed away by an onslaught of tears that I’m refusing to let fall. The harder I try to talk, the louder the gasping becomes. Each breath feels as though I’m inhaling nails. It’s like every emotion has wrapped around my throat. I don’t even notice when the phone is no longer in my hands and Deanna’s voice isn’t grating in my ear.
My breathing is coming faster, but not deeper. I bend over, grabbing on to the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me on my feet. But even that is failing me. My body is quaking and my grip is slipping and I realize that I don’t care. I let go and don’t try to stop myself from hitting the ground. Maybe the hurt from anything else will distract from the excruciating pain seeping into every corner of my being.
But the floor doesn’t come.
Maxwell’s arms wrap around me and he lifts me into him.
I know he’s trying to help because he cares about me. And maybe that’s what undoes me? Comfort that’s not coming from the only man who has always been there for me feels like a betrayal.
“Don’t touch me!” I thrash, shoving at his chest.
He doesn’t let me go—if anything, he holds me tighter as he walks into the living room. “Everything is going to be okay,” he whispers over my weak attempts at deep breaths and then sets me on the couch against the back wall.
Everything is going to be okay? Is he insane? I mean, how fucking dare he. I stand up and shove him away from me. “My dad’s in the fucking hospital, Maxwell! How could you say that? Everything is so far from being okay that I don’t even know . . .” My eyes slam shut and my head falls back. My hands are wet from my hair that I’ve yanked out of the elastic band I put in five minutes ago when everything in my life made sense. “She said it’s—” My voice cracks as it starts to hit . . . really hit. “Oh my god. What if he doesn’t make it? What will I do if I don’t have my dad?”
My body fails me and I fall into Maxwell. He wraps me tight as sobs rip straight from the depths of my soul, and he holds on tight until I’ve cried for so long that even though my body is still wailing, my tears have dried up. And then he carries me
to my car and straps me into the passenger seat.
“I’ll be right back,” he says but I don’t respond.
I’m numb. Completely numb to this fucked-up world around me where good people—no, the best people—can end up in the hospital and the dregs of the earth will live unharmed until they’re a hundred.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back onto the headrest. I don’t want to see the house of my dreams. I don’t want to see this beautiful, sunny day to remind me that it doesn’t matter if my world falls apart or not, the world will go on with or without me.
With or without my dad.
Thirty-six
“Brynn,” somebody says.
My head is pounding and my mouth is so dry that my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth. I don’t even know the last time I got this drunk. Years of watching people get sloppy drunk takes away the appeal.
“Brynn,” the voice says again. “We’re here.”
I try to open my eyes but they are so sore that I can’t. “Ughhh,” I groan, and rub my eyes. “Why do my freaking eyes hurt?”
“Brynn, babe,” another, feminine voice says. “You gotta get up.”
Then everything hits me. Maxwell. The shower. The phone calls. My dad.
My dad.
I shoot up, but quickly realize I’m still in the car when my seat belt locks up and sends me back into my seat. My hands are shaking so hard that I can’t unbuckle myself.
“Here,” Maxwell says, and I realize he was the person trying to wake me up at first. “Let me get that.”
“Thank you.” I exhale deeply, trying my hardest to not fall apart at the seams again. The seat belt unbuckles, but I’m stuck to my seat. There is this war going on in my head. I know I need to see him. He’s my dad and I love him and I want to be there for him and, god forbid the worst happens, I’d never forgive myself if he was alone. But the other part of me—the batshit crazy side—is terrified to see him. All of those Crossing Over shows I used to watch run through my mind, and I wonder if he’s only hanging on until I get there. What if me staying away is keeping him alive? And I know, medically and logically, that’s not possible, but . . . what if it is?
“Come on.” A pair of warm, soft hands grab mine. “Let’s go see him.”
I look over and see Poppy’s kind, worried eyes staring back at me. I open my mouth to say something. Ask something. But I don’t know what to say, so I close it and square my shoulders instead. The world might be crumbling around me, but if my dad deserves anything, he deserves me to keep myself together and be the best advocate for him that I can.
“I’ll text you the room number,” Poppy says to Maxwell before looping her arm through mine.
The entire walk to his room is a blur. I watch Poppy push the elevator buttons. I register the vibrations as it lifts us to the floor where he is. I see the words “Intensive Care Unit” above the door. And when I hug Poppy and thank her for being there for my dad when it meant the most, I note her tears as they seep through my shirt. But I don’t feel anything.
Not until the nurse pulls back the curtain to my dad’s room and I see that he’s not alone.
Then I feel something.
But it’s not sadness or sorrow or any of the other things I’ve been preparing for.
No. It’s rage.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask my mom.
“Brynn.” She unfolds herself from the chair across the room. “The hospital called and told me what happened. I’m listed as next of kin. They asked if I could come, in case any decisions needed to be made.”
I almost don’t hear her over the blood roaring between my ears.
“What do you mean?” My hands are bunched into fists at my side. I’ve never been in a real fight and I’d like my first one not to be with my mom, but if she doesn’t wipe that faux concerned look off her face, I’m not above doing it for her. “Why would you be next of kin?”
Her eyebrows draw together, and if she hadn’t indulged in too much Botox, I know she’d have the same concerned lines on her forehead as me. The last time I saw her, I was a child. Seeing her as an adult is a complete mind fuck. And my mind is already too scrambled to deal with her added bullshit.
“Frank never told you?” There’s a glint in her eye that makes my stomach turn. “We’re still married.”
“You’re so full of shit.” My lip curls in disgust. I cannot believe I share DNA with this horrid fucking woman. I start to walk toward her and I must look as crazy as I feel, because she takes a step back as I approach. “I don’t know what your endgame is here. Dad’s going to be fine and you aren’t getting a fucking thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brynn,” she says. “I was at home when they called. I know how much you love your dad and he’s been good to me. I’d never wish harm on him. I know you probably don’t believe this, but I love you. I think about you every day.”
For a split second, I almost believe her.
Then I think about the picture hanging on my dad’s wall. My mom, this woman in front of me, she’s a liar and she doesn’t care who she takes down in her path.
I pick her designer bag off the floor and fight back a new wave of anger that my dad’s been sending her money, and she has a purse that cost more than my monthly mortgage. “You’re right, I don’t believe a single thing you say.” I loop the strap over my shoulder and gesture to the hallway.
The nurse who showed me into my dad’s room is typing on one of the computers at the nurses’ station. “Excuse me, ma’am.” I get her attention. I know she told me her name, and while I’m normally great at remembering them, I have no idea what it is. “This woman is not to be alone with my father.”
I don’t turn to look at my mom, but I hear her quick inhale of breath and I can imagine what she looks like. The nurse in front of me, however, looks like I’ve put her in a terribly uncomfortable situation. Well, join the club, lady.
“I’m sorry, Miss Sterling,” she says to me, but her eyes flicker between me and my mom. “But Mrs. Sterling is on your father’s insurance and listed as his wife. We can’t ban her.”
If it wasn’t for the woman a little bit younger than me with a baby bump and a tearstained face passing us, I might’ve lost my cool. But I keep it together. Getting kicked out for attacking my mom won’t do anyone any good. So instead, I take a deep breath and make a mental note to schedule an emergency session with a therapist.
“It’s okay,” my mom, forever the actress, says to the nurse. “I’ll let my daughter have some alone time with her dad and be back later.”
“I’ll walk you out then,” I say through gritted teeth.
It takes exactly thirty-seven steps to reach the hallway.
“You are unbelievable!” I shout, unable to hold back any longer. “I haven’t so much as gotten a Christmas text from you in fifteen years and you want to show up now? Now with this bullshit? What is wrong with you?”
“Well what did you suppose I would do when the hospital called me and told me they couldn’t get in touch with you? Huh? Do you propose I just let him lie there all alone while you’re off doing god knows what?” She steps forward and wraps her bony, manicured finger around her purse strap, pulling it off my shoulder. “Not everything is about you, Brynn. You’d do well to learn that.”
“How could it be when literally everything is about you?” I’m still yelling and I know I need to stop, but she’s brought forth a lifetime of resentment and anger, and I’m not sure I can push it back down.
“You have no idea what happened all of those years ago, and don’t you dare start acting like you do.” She snarls, and looking at her face is like looking in a mirror. And for some reason, the resentment I feel is reflecting back at me.
“How could I know? You left and never looked back! I was fifteen and you abandoned me!” I’m only a few i
nches taller than her, but it might as well be twenty with how I’m towering over her.
Her face turns bright red, and I know I’ve hit the hot button. “You never loved me like you loved your father,” she screams in my face. “You abandoned me first!”
She couldn’t have struck me harder if she physically slapped me.
I rake my chewed-down fingernails over my face and cover my mouth with both hands, trying to come up with words . . . any words at all. But only three come to mind. “Are you insane?!”
“No, you—” she starts but is immediately cut off.
“What in the world is going on?” Poppy appears between me and my mom.
Maxwell doesn’t have to say anything for me to know he’s here. The look on my mom’s pathetic face says it all.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to get security up here?” Maxwell whispers into my ear, his strong, confident hands on my hips the exact balm I needed to deal with my mom. “Who is this woman?” he asks when I relax against him.
I spin to face him. “Seriously?” He can’t be serious. There’s no mistaking Holly Sara Sterling for anybody other than my mom.
“Seriously.” He raises a single eyebrow like I’m the confusing one here. “I’ve never seen this woman before. Am I supposed to know her?”
I step to the side and gesture to my mom, who’s still staring at Maxwell with her jaw on the floor. “Maxwell, Poppy, this is Holly Sterling, my mom. Now”—I don’t wait for their mouths to close before moving on—“will one of you call Vonnie? I need a lawyer.”
“Oh cheese and crackers.” Poppy pulls her phone out of her purse. “Of all the times for this to happen, it happens when I can’t drink. Selfish,” she mutters before lifting her phone to her ear. “Vonnie? Hey, I’m at Saint Joe’s—no, I’m fine. It’s Mr. Sterling . . . I know. I’ll tell you later. Wait, no, that’s not why I’m calling. Brynn’s mom is here and Brynn needs a lawyer—yeah. Super crazy. Bring Eloise. From the sound of their yelling, she’s gonna need a cavalry.”