“Miss, can you sign here, please?” He stretches his electronic signature pad out to me. I scrawl my signature on the line before taking the cardboard box out of his hands. It’s tall and wide, but very flat. I’m tempted to shake it to get an idea of the contents, but bright red stickers warn that the package is fragile. The man wishes me a good night and disappears down the stairs.
I close the door watching the peculiar package in my hand. I jog my memory, trying to recall if I’d recently ordered anything from Amazon. Nothing comes to mind. Still, I go ahead and tear open one end of the box. When I slip my fingers inside, I feel a wooden frame and a cool sheet of glass. I tip the package over and a glossy framed poster slides out.
“What the…?”
I pick up the large frame, holding it out in front of me to read it.
An image of Marilyn Monroe wearing a red corset, in full vixen mode, is the first thing I see. It’s a poster for the classic film, Don’t Bother to Knock. I laugh to myself, immediately sure of who it’s from. When I notice a small pink slip of paper fluttering to the floor, I bend to scoop it up.
I saw this poster and couldn’t resist. Your Aunt Marilyn has nothin’ on you, Doll Face. – M.
A grin stretches across my lips. I’m impressed. He managed to pay homage to all the times that he walked in on me without knocking while also making reference to my notional relation to Marilyn Monroe.
“Good one, Masters,” I mutter under my breath.
I’ve got to contact him to thank him for the gift. Just a brief, friendly Facebook message. It was really thoughtful of him. And a little part of me kind of hopes that it means something more than just a casual present for an old friend
Smiling to myself, I make my way back to the living room where my phone is still spouting Dustin’s month-old messages. I hear him ranting away as I approach. “…I can’t believe you’re still pissed that I slept with your roommate. She meant nothing to me. Would you get over it, Faith? What? You think that your football player fiancée is any better than I am? I’ve got news for you.”
The next words out of Dustin’s mouth are like a spike through my heart.
“He’s married, Faith. Your charming new fiancé is already married!”
My steps falter mid-stride, the smile frozen on my face. Dustin’s words echo in my brain.
“He’s married, Faith. Your charming new fiancé is already married!”
Blood rushes away from my head and I brace the wall to support my weak knees.
He can’t be right. Maxwell can’t be married. Maxwell doesn’t even do relationships. Maxwell won’t even consider having a girlfriend, let alone a wife.
“I know you, Faith,” Dustin spews. “You’re probably sitting there, in denial, doubting that your sweet little Maxwell would betray you like that. But that’s where you’re wrong. The truth is, all men cheat. The sooner that you can accept that, the sooner you’ll stop getting your heart broken.”
Of course, my heart is raging in my chest now. My fingers are numb. My eyes burn. I can’t believe that this is happening.
Dustin’s voice softens, taking on a sympathetic, if not patronizing tone. “I’m going to send you his marriage certificate, okay? So you can have some closure. So you can know that I’m not lying to you. I have a buddy from the LAPD looking into it. The fax is coming through the machine as we speak…”
“The fax?” Who the hell uses fax machines any more?
“Hold on.” He puts a hand over the receiver and I hear his muffled voice asking someone to snatch the pile of papers sitting in the fax machine. Dustin mumbles quietly to himself the way he always does as he reads through papers. Then, I hear him gasp.
Anxiety clenches my insides. “What is it, Dustin? What do those papers say?”
He’s wheezing through the line but he doesn’t say a word. I hear him stealing puffs from his inhaler.
Now, I’m freaking out. I just want answers. “Dustin – tell me what’s going on,” I mumble, anxious with impatience.
“What the – How the hell – I – I have to go, Faith. I –”
That’s when the line goes dead.
Chapter 37
Maxwell
I’m restless. My feet shuffle across the hotel floor from window to wall, a sportscaster runs his mouth on the TV playing in the background. One of the biggest meetings of my career is about to take place but all I can think about is her. She's all I ever think about these days.
I thought that when I left Faith behind in Reyfield, I'd magically leave my feelings for her behind as well, but no. Those motherfuckers are haunting me. The past ten days have been torture without her. I see her face on my ceiling at night as I lie awake and stare into the darkness. I hear her moans as I drift off into sleep. I smell her scent in my sheets. I've been trying to get her out of my head but I can't and now, minutes before my potentially life-changing meeting with New England team management, she’s still dancing around in my mind.
I’ve got to get my head on straight. I’ve got to focus. I’ve already blown my meetings with two other teams. I think that I subconsciously sabotaged them because those teams are on the west coast. That’s too far away from her. I want to be closer.
My attention snaps to the television when I hear the sportscaster say my name. They’re playing a video of Tiffany Murphy strutting out of a nightclub with her posse of vapid-looking socialite friends.
“Tiffany!” a paparazzo yells to get her attention. “Did you hear that Maxwell Masters got dropped from the Boomerangs? How do you feel about that?”
Cameras flash as Tiffany bats her eyes at the reporter. “It really sucks that Maxi got dropped. It’s awful,” she breathes wistfully making her best pouty face.
“So no hard feelings between you and Maxwell?” someone in the crowd asks.
She narrows her eyes as if it’s a ridiculous question. “Of course not,” she giggles. “We had fun together. But I can’t focus on him at this point because I’m dating Ross Simon from the Rangers now,” she announces swinging her long blonde hair over her shoulder dramatically. “And my baby has a jealous streak.” She looks straight into the camera lens and does a cutesy fist pump. “Go Rangers!” All her friends giggle, angling for the cameras.
The video cuts back to the panel of sportscasters sitting behind the sports desk. I shake my head in disbelief when the table of men, all in their fifties, begin commenting on the little airhead and her comments about me.
How is this sports news?
I grab the remote from the dresser and flip off the TV, even more restless than I was before. There’s no way I’m not gonna fuck up this meeting. Unless I hear Faith’s voice.
I should call her.
I shove my hand into the pocket of my trousers to retrieve my brand new phone all while trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to say to her. It’s been two weeks since I left Reyfield and I haven’t contacted her like I promised I would. Yes – I did send her that poster of Marilyn Monroe but that was weak. It was my way of letting her know that I’m thinking about her all while avoiding the conversation that we so desperately need to have. Maybe it’s time to have that damn conversation. As my hand glides out of my pocket, a small blue square of plastic lands on the floor. I bend to pick it up.
A memory card.
How'd that get there? I think back to the last time I wore this suit. It was when I was in Vegas with Faith. I smile at the memory of that crazy girl dragging me through the crowded casino and trying to convince me to drink my troubles away.
My heart beats with anticipation as I realize that it’s her memory card. I remember picking it up off the floor and shoving it into my pocket as I wheeled our luggage out of our Las Vegas suite. I had planned on handing it to her once we got to the car but then I forgot. Now, here it is and there are probably hundreds of pictures of her on it.
I fall onto the bed and pop the card into my phone. I open my photo app and the first picture that loads up is a shot of me and Faith. I don
’t remember when we took this photo. She's the one holding the camera as she sits in my lap at the bar with that gorgeous, wild grin on her face. Her blonde hair is a mess, her lipstick is smudged and she looks hella drunk if I'm being honest. But I'm sitting there with my arms around her waist, eyes hooked on her, completely captivated by the wild creature in my arms.
I've never seen that expression on my face before.
I look smitten, enthralled. Fuck - I look in love.
If I were an honest man I'd admit that I've been in love with her since the moment I laid eyes on her. But I'm not honest. I’m a coward so I'll tell you that the sex was great and that her long legs were sexy as hell. I'll say that she's just a pretty girl that I had a crazy adventure with but that it’s over now.
I take a deep breath and continue slowly thumbing through the pictures, smiling to myself at the memories that I have no actual memory of. Then, I land on a video. In the blurry little thumbnail, her head is thrown back, her lips curved with glee, her catlike eyes squinting, her hair a wild mess.
That smile...I'd jump through hoops to see that smile again. I'd walk across burning coals to hear her laugh.
I get comfortable against a pillow, not caring that I’ll wrinkle my suit, and hit 'play' on the video. The footage is grainy and the cameraman's hand unsteady but I can make out Faith and me facing each other in front of a gaudy, kitschy alter with a flashing neon arch. Elvis stands on a podium grinning down on us.
My chest begins to tighten immediately. “Uh-oh…”
Faith turns to the camera, her flowy white dress swirling with the movement. "Are you getting this?" she asks, looking far less than sober.
"Sure thing," the cameraman slurs.
Elvis clears his throat and adjusts his gold lamé jacket. "Maxwell Masters, star fucking quarterback of the Los Angeles Boomerangs – awesome season, man. That game against the Rams…World Class!“
The camera pans to my face as I wink and give the man a pair of thumbs-up. “Thank you very much!” I say, doing my best Elvis impression. Faith titters, swaying unstably as she covers her lips with her fingers.
Elvis continues. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
I'm grinning like an idiot as I rock back and forth on my heels. I’ve never seen a more inebriated-looking face in my life. "Hell yeah, man! I do!"
Then Elvis says, "Faith Monroe, niece of my dearly departed friend, Marilyn, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
She's practically jumping in place. "I do!"
Elvis nods in satisfaction. "By the power vested in me by the State of Las Vegas and the Hunka Hunka Burning Love Wedding Chapel, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He turns to me. “You lucky bastard, this hot chick is your wife. Kiss her!”
Faith and I grab hold of each other, our mouths colliding sloppily. I tilt her so far bar that her leg flies up in the air and I stumble on top of her, a drunk wretched mess. Now we're on the floor literally rolling with laughter.
I look up at the camera. "I love the fuck out of this chick!" I announce.
Faith grabs me by the collar and hungrily pulls me back into the kiss. The camera pans back to Elvis. He looks straight into the lens and swings his hips, his fingers forming smoking guns as his trademark lopsided grin curls his lips. "Thank you very much!" He drawls in his thick Southern accent. And then the screen goes black.
Holy shit. What the hell did I just watch?
Chapter 38
Maxwell
I’m greeted with a frown and a laser-sharp pair of brown eyes when Faith’s door swings open. “So, you’re Maxwell…”
Ah, crap. This is the last thing I prepared for today. I’m way too nervous about seeing Faith – my wife, my fucking wife.
“I am Maxwell,” I say pushing a smile to my lips.
The fiery, petite woman in the door has a hand set firmly on her hip and the other grips the door as she blocks the entrance. She scowls at me. So does the cute little baby strapped to her chest.
Still, I keep on smiling. “You must be Grace,” I say warmly as I extend a hand.
“Yup, I’m Grace,” she says, eyes narrowed on mine. She doesn’t accept my hand. She doesn’t budge an inch. So I awkwardly turn my attention to the baby. “And you must be Sebastian.” His bottom lip immediately starts quivering. I quickly retreat.
“He doesn’t like strangers,” his mother informs me in a dry tone.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “Do you think I could maybe come inside?” I ask politely after an awkward pause. “It’s kind of cold out here in the hallway –” I gesture toward the bouquet of hydrangeas in my hand, “—and I should probably get these into some water.”
Yes, I brought flowers. Because I came to see my wife. My fucking wife. I’m freaking out a bit here.
Grace gives me a hard look and pauses a moment before stepping out of the way. She makes a sweeping motion with her hand. If it’s meant to be welcoming, I can assure you that it’s not.
“So, it’s really nice to meet you, Grace. Your sister speaks about you all the time.”
She arches an eyebrow. “All the time?” she says skeptically. “From what I hear, you’ve made yourself pretty scarce since you left her on New Year’s Eve.”
I push a hard breath. She’s not going to make this easy for me. Faith had mentioned that her big sister was protective but I wasn’t expecting a Carrie-Underwood-sized guard dog. “Grace, I know that this looks bad, but it’s…complicated. I wasn’t expecting your sister to storm into my life when she did. I wasn’t expecting that I’d ever meet anyone who makes me feel the way she does. I won’t make excuses. I know that I handled the situation poorly. But I’m here to do the right thing.” I finish my bumbling explanation with a rough exhale.
I see Grace’s eyes catch on something just past my shoulder and she smiles a melancholy smile. I look back to see Faith standing in the doorway to the bedroom. My stomach clenches at the sight of her. She’s wearing a gray cardigan over a collared blouse with tiny, little flowers on it. Her black pants are wide-legged, hiding her feminine shape, and her golden hair is pulled into a conservative bun at the nape of her neck. The exuberance that I’ve come to expect from her is gone. There’s no twinkle in her eye.
The annulment was her idea. She contacted that lawyer of hers and had him draw up the papers. She set up an appointment for us to meet with him to sign them. I hate this. I hate every minute of it. And from the look on her face, I can tell that she hates it, too.
She swallows hard as she looks at me. “Hi Maxwell.”
I move toward her. “Hi.” My hands twitch to feel her skin under my fingers. I want to taste her lips.
She’s my wife, after all…
“I got you flowers.” I stretch the bouquet out to her.
She nods softly as she takes them. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.”
“Least I could do.” We stand there quietly staring at each other for a short moment. “And I got you some hair products, too.” I hand her the pink Vital Life Sciences gift bag in my other hand.
She titters softly as she peers into the bag. “You got me hair products? Really?”
I shrug. “Promised I would.”
The amusement slowly fades from her face, joylessness replacing it. “I’ll go put the flowers in water.” Her kitten heels click softly as she carries the bouquet into the kitchen.
“Yeah…” I say, my jaw twitching as sadness fills my chest.
I’d never imagined having a wife. Not once. But now that I know that I married Faith Monroe, I don’t want to go back to the life I had before her. Still, I can’t be selfish. She wants an annulment. I’ve complicated her life enough as it is. The leas
t I can do is cooperate in dissolving this marriage.
Grace wordlessly pulls on a weird-looking parka that covers her whole body while allowing her son’s little baldhead to poke out in the middle of her chest. She watches me as she puts on his knitted hat. She glances over my shoulder to where Faith is at the sink filling a vase with water.
“I’m sorry I flipped out on you,” she says to me quietly. “It was wrong of me to do that. I don’t even know you. It was unfair of me to judge.”
I nod, silently accepting her apology.
“It’s just that, my husband and I are separated. And I’ll tell you this – it’s the most difficult, heart-breaking thing I’ve ever been through. I just don’t want my sister to have to experience all the pain I wake up with every morning.” She sighs. “I don’t understand how the two of you could be so reckless. Marriage is a sacred contract. It matters. It’s not something you play around with. People get hurt when marriages fall apart.”
Dirty Player (The Dirty Suburbs Book 2) Page 18