The Wilson Mooney Box Set

by Gretchen de La O

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered. I looked over at his family sitting at the table eating, probably murmuring words of regret to each other.

  “They don’t mind if I kiss my girlfriend,” he continued before he set his plate down on the rocky hearth of the fireplace and pressed his hands to either side of my face. He kissed me, his lips warm, his taste unbelievable. I wanted to enjoy it; I ached to let go of the ghost haunting my thoughts, but I couldn’t. Now I worried about being a replacement. Who was this Mallory and how special was she to him?

  Max must have felt my distance. He pulled away, looking deep into my eyes. I watched him searching for the reason I’d become so cold. His jaw tensed, his lips helpless without words to speak. He was lost waiting to be found. I didn’t mean to be so cruel.

  “What’s going on, Wilson?” he asked. I could feel the words at my trachea, clawing to come out, while my heart squeezed every last fear from its chambers. I had to ask, I needed to know. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him to a ghost.

  “Mallory?” I whispered. Her name slashed brutally at the delicate lining of my throat. He heard it like daggers stabbing his heart. His face lost its warm hue and his ardent, green eyes became hollow, anemic. He stepped back from me, widening the gap I created with this haunting from his past. I could tell he hadn’t expected that name to surface between us. He turned and looked at his family before he snatched my hand and dragged me through the kitchen and out to the garage.

  When he pulled open the plain white garage door, the air chilled my skin. I felt like I was right back in the morgue that stored my dead grandparents; the chill sliced me to the bone. He pressed my body against his jet-black BMW Z4. His hands, on either side of me, rested against the roof of the car. His head hung, waiting or searching for an explanation I could understand. He bent closer and his damp hair tickled across my lips before he pushed away. I could tell he was struggling to find the right words; I didn’t say anything. I waited to learn what had caused this girl to create so much pain in his family.

  Max paced across the garage before stopping to answer my one-word question. He couldn’t look at me so I stared at his back, watching his head sink forward. His hands dropped to his sides.

  “Mallory was my girlfriend in college. She died a couple of months before the end of our sophomore year. Let me guess, Camille told you about her?” He turned and faced me, his expression stoic as he shook his head back and forth. His eyes strained to make contact with mine.

  “Max, I didn’t mean to dredge up your past. But I’m sorry, you have a dead girlfriend that you didn’t tell me about.” I moved back from him.

  “I wasn’t ready to talk about Mallory yet; it wasn’t Camille’s place to tell you about her.”

  “Yeah, but if your sister didn’t say anything, would you have told me?”

  “There hasn’t been a right time. And quite frankly, I didn’t want to lose any time with you talking about an ex-girlfriend of mine who died. But you’re right, Wilson; I should have shared that part about my life. You should know everything about me.”

  “No I shouldn’t. Not if it is going to cause this.” I flipped my hands in his direction indicating how busted he appeared. He didn’t move. I wanted to press against him, feel that he was going to be okay, but every time I stepped toward him he stepped away.

  “It was my sophomore year at Michigan. Mallory would come to my football games and always made sure she’d run into me at different places on campus. I always thought it was a coincidence; but slowly she and I became friends, and eventually, started dating. We had been together for a couple of months, maybe three tops, when I noticed she started obsessing over crazy things—like me spending too much time on homework, or at football practice.”

  Max stared down at the shiny, light gray cement floor of the garage, accessing the lost memories of him and Mallory together in his mind. He continued, “One day during spring break, she came unglued because I hadn’t taken her to meet my family. She accused me of keeping her away from them because she thought I was ashamed of her. The more I tried to explain my situation the more irrational she became. It finally reached a point where I couldn’t handle it anymore. I told her she needed help. Maybe it was my fault; I knew there was no way that I was equipped to help her. So a month before the end of school, I broke up with her. I thought I was giving her the space she needed to find help.” He wrung his hands together. His eyebrows crouched low against his eyes and the deep creases in his forehead revealed how painful her memory was. I watched as his whole demeanor shifted in an instant. His ears burned red and his shoulders rounded as everything about him became heavy. My mouth seared dry trying to swallow something, anything, to clear the ache.

  “You don’t have to say anything else. Really, Max, I am so sorry I mentioned her.” I took a step at him but he didn’t move; so I took another and another until I was right in front of him, angling my head to make eye contact with him. His broken spirit and fragmented thoughts consumed him—entirely.

  He looked at me before his eyes became lost in his story again. “She called me from her dorm room. She tried to apologize for being so insecure. I didn’t want to hear her pleas for me to take her back; it was too hard. I thought if she believed I was done she would find a way to get better. She ended the call by saying if I didn’t want her—nobody would. Her roommate found her later that day.” He sighed deeply. Blame for her death overwhelmed him.

  “You know it wasn’t your fault. I am so sorry you’ve lived with that,” I whispered. “There was nothing you could have done,” I continued.

  “I used to tell myself that every day, Wilson, but it never took away the guilt and pain of losing someone that way. I couldn’t stop her. I didn’t want to be bothered.” He looked deep into my eyes. He was hurting and it was because I’d ripped open his wound.

  What should I say? What could possibly fix the damage I’ve created by mentioning her name? I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him tight against my body. I wished I could’ve taken back the last half hour; I wouldn’t have mentioned Dead Mallory at all.

  “Max, I am so sorry,” I breathed into his chest. I could feel his heart pounding through his shirt.

  “It has taken me a long time to get to the place where I am at now. I really am sorry I didn’t talk to you about her sooner, before my sister decided to bring her up. Camille’s never met her; nobody in my family ever had a chance to meet her. They judged her on the words and descriptions I’d given them and how her suicide put me in a very dark place. So, if they were harsh, it was because of me. They didn’t know her. Not like I did.” I felt his breath waft across my scalp as his words tangled in my hair. He teetered on the edge of a guilt that was unbearable. I couldn’t let him lose his balance.

  “Maybe, in a weird way, your sister was trying to protect you by telling me about Mallory. Maybe it was her way of seeing if I was all in; if I was serious about you and me.” I looked at him, trying to see if he had already gone to the place where I wouldn’t be able to get him back.

  “So are you?” he asked low.

  “Am I what?” I asked.

  “All in?” he continued. I knew what he was talking about.

  “I am totally—completely—into you.” I stood on tip-toe and pushed him against his car. Our lips met and every remnant of damage dissolved in the flavor of our kiss.

  My butterflies went spastic with the taste of him and I knew at that point we were all in—both of us.

  It didn’t take long to warm up to a comfortable heat and we began to defrost the chill that had come between us while standing in the bitter cold garage; it made for a perfect fusion of raging hot and subtle cold.

  Dragging his hands across my back, Max pressed me so tightly against his chest I felt our arms create a cocoon and our bodies melt together. I loved feeling him breathe, tasting his words, living at home in his thoughts, and feeling the vibration of his heart as it soothed me.

  The spring on the garage door into
the kitchen stretched and hummed a note when Max and I came back into the house. Nancy must’ve heard it because, before the door closed behind us, she was in the kitchen.

  “Oh, there you are. I went into the other room and noticed that your sandwiches were there but you guys were gone. Everything okay?” she asked as her eyes danced from Max to me.

  “Yeah, Mom, everything’s fine,” Max nodded. Nancy’s eyes grew as she cocked her head. That must have been her nonverbal cue to him not to lie. He widened his eyes in answer to the look on her face.

  “Mom, really, I’m fine—we’re fine.” He grabbed my hand and pushed his other between us. Letting go of me, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her worries into oblivion.

  She clung to him. The top of her head fit perfectly under his chin and her delicate hands rubbed circles across his back.

  “I don’t want Camille’s thoughtless comment to ruin Wilson’s birthday,” she said.

  “Little late on that one, mom,” Max snapped as he pulled away.

  Nancy held her hands out to me then, and I meandered over to her. She placed her arms across my shoulders.

  “Well, I’m serious. It’s your day, Wilson.” Nancy tucked my hair behind my shoulders. I could see where Max inherited his gorgeous, green eyes. I was mesmerized by her. She was able to convince us to sit at the butcher block-style island and finish our lunch.

  “No worries,” I mumbled. How was I supposed to react to the situation? I hated confrontation—so if there was any way to avoid it, I would.

  It wasn’t long before we inhaled our lunch and Nancy was working to make everything perfect again.

  “So, Maxi, what are your plans for tonight?” Nancy asked as she plunged her hands under the running faucet.

  My breath broke from my lungs, refusing to return. I gasped for a small morsel of air. Suddenly, visions of us together in his sun-saturated bedroom crammed my head—the soft silk of what I wore, how it felt as he kissed me and caressed my skin. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. I glanced over at him, our eyes met, and a crooked smile that nourished his eyes and pulled at my heart rose across his face.

  “Ahh, Ma, nothing much; maybe we’ll have a little dinner before calling it a night. Wilson and I are pretty tired.” Max looked over at me for validation. I just gave a slight smile before I dropped my eyes to my empty plate.

  “Oh, Maxi, now it isn’t every day Wilson’s here. And for her birthday, no less. Don’t you want to do something special for her? Maybe take her down to the shops on South Galena Street?” Nancy pulled a black and white checkered microfiber towel from the brass hook next to the sink to dry her hands.

  “Ma, come on.”

  “Well, honey, just because you don’t like to shop doesn’t mean Wilson feels the same way. She might really enjoy going downtown. Besides, the Twelve Days of Aspen is in full swing and it looks absolutely stunning down there with all the lights,” Nancy pushed as her attempt to bring us all back to normal was plastered across her face.

  What she didn’t know was, I was never one to go shopping; I knew when to call a spade a spade. Nothing was going to change the fact that I didn’t have the unlimited supply of funds that most girls at my school had. Ninety-nine percent of the students at Wesley had their daddy’s credit cards or access to an allowance that eclipsed my grandfather’s pension and social security. And without fail, someone would always try and make me out to be their charity case for the year.

  Max just shook his head, smiling.

  “Well if you don’t take her, then I will. Right, Wilson?” Nancy pushed her hand between my elbow and hip and locked her arm with mine.

  “Oh, Nancy…” I tried to answer her before Max interrupted me.

  “Alright, Ma, geez, twist my arm. Maybe after dinner we’ll cruise downtown.”

  “And that’s how I get my way,” Nancy whispered into my ear before she let go of my arm and walked out of the kitchen, adding, “My work here is done. Happy Birthday, Wilson.”

  Max wrapped his arms around my waist, brought his nose to the back of my neck and whispered, “She’s impossible.”

  “I heard that,” Nancy sang.

  Max giggled, tickling the back of my neck. Chills hurried through my body, searching for the butterflies Max cultivated.

  “I knew you would,” Max hollered as he looked up at the ceiling.

  “Growing up with her must’ve been amazing.” I turned around to him.

  “We had our moments,” Max said before he stepped back from me and ran his hands down to mine. He held my hand as he pushed under my chin. My head rose, our eyes met, and I watched his expression constrict. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away about…” Max swallowed. I noticed her name caught on the pain that swelled in his chest. “…Mallory,” he managed.

  “Don’t apologize. I can see why it was so hard to bring her up,” I whispered.

  His eyes glossed with the memories of Mallory. There was nothing anyone could do to change the way I’d found out about this thing that was so personal and still so raw to him. Maybe Camille telling me was the only way it was going to come out. Who knew if he was ever really planning on telling me about Mallory?

  “I just want to keep you—” he started to say.

  “Safe?” I interrupted him, “You can’t keep me safe from anything if I don’t feel in danger.”

  “I was going to say ‘to myself’.” He grabbed at the belt loops of my jeans and pulled me closer. A smile slinked across his face.

  “Yeah, right; I bet those words were just waiting to roll off your tongue,” I teased as he leaned and swayed into me.

  “Don’t believe me? Taste then.” He kissed me; our tongues tangled in truth as my stomach twisted with excitement. His hands pressed at the curve of my lower back, his palms scorched through my cashmere sweater. He slipped his fingertips between the waist of my jeans and my skin. Believe me, it didn’t take long to notice how much he wanted me all to himself.

  For a moment, nobody hampered our time or interrupted our exploration. Time stood on our side and I could feel how much we sought each other as every desire fluctuated between us.

  But then Camille came through the door. “Oh, sorry didn’t know I was interrupting you.” She froze before taking a couple steps back and turning toward the dining room.

  I pushed away from Max, swirling embarrassment surging my entire body. Oh. God! Did she just see where my hands were? I lowered my head and totally avoided looking at her. My cheeks burned as the muscles in my face tightened to broadcast my humiliation. SHIT—I don’t want to be that type of girl. I didn’t want his family to think I was easy. I pushed my fingers up and through my hair, and tucked it behind my ears.

  Max let go of me and called to his sister, “Camille! Hey, come here.” He sped to stop her from leaving the room.

  “No, I’ll come back later.”

  “Hey, now wait.” Max caught her.

  “Dad wanted you and Wilson to come play a game of pool. I’ll just tell him you’re busy. It will give him an excuse to brag about how scared you are of getting your butt kicked by him—yet again.” Camille plastered a smirk on her face.

  Max looked over at me. His face grew red. I could tell this must be an ongoing dig between him and his family. I shrugged my shoulders and gave him a ‘go kick some ass’ nod. He flashed a perfect grin.

  Max turned back to his sister and growled, “Tell Dad—game on.” And with that, Camille’s choice to tell me about Mallory became something of the past between them. Camille turned and sped out to the great room. Max came over to me, wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and squeezed me tightly against his body.

  “You ready to kick some butt? I’m relying on you to help me get over my losing streak with my dad and Camille.” Max grabbed my hand. Watching my reaction, he pulled me out of the kitchen and sped through the dining room backwards. I felt the muscles across my back tighten and knot at the thought of going up against any one of the Goldsteins in pool. I hope Max isn
’t serious about winning with me as his partner.

  “Who was your partner before?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Cal, but you’re almost guaranteed to be better than him. He totally sucks,” he snickered as he leaned toward me.

  “So you’re saying I’m just a little better than sucky?” I pouted.

  “No, just inexperienced, that’s all.” His eyes twinkled and a smile broke bright across his face. God, he is so sexy.

  “Like inexperience is a good thing, huh? Just wait, maybe I’m better than you think.” I punched at his stomach as I felt the innuendos of our conversation fall into a pattern that meant so much more to me than a pool game.

  Max stopped walking and I ran into him. My butterflies dropped really low in my gut.

  “It is a great thing because I can’t wait to feel your inexperience. Besides, I get to be partners with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. So no matter what the outcome, I’ll win,” he growled in a sexy, low voice as he slid his hands around my back and swayed his body close to mine.

  “Oh, so you’re sure you’ll get to score?” I teased.

  “Well, if history repeats itself and I can get further than the last time we played pool, I think I’ll score—big time,” he said.

  I cherished the way he enticed me. The way his words tickled and tangled with mine, and how we both knew what we said revealed so many facets to the diamond buried in our mountain of discovery.

  Max snatched my hand and pulled me into the great room. Frank and Camille were already there, choosing their pool sticks. I watched as the sunlight poured from the skylights and danced across the space in between their smiles, and my familiar ache to belong.

  “Okay, you guys, you ready to lose? I can feel it in my bones. This time I’m coming out on top,” Max challenged as he clasped his hands and glanced at me with a naughty smile before he rubbed them feverishly back and forth, declaring, “I have a new partner and I’ve come up with a whole new strategy; so prepare to go down!”