by Kate Meader
He rolls his eyes at my amateur dramatics.
“Yeah, yeah, there I go making it all about me again.” I elbow him gently until his mouth curves slightly.
He rubs a hand over his face, then turns to me, his expression one of torment. “Dude, you’re my favorite person in the world after Gina. You have to know that.”
I’m immensely grateful because for a moment I felt very alone. “Thanks.”
“She’s stressed enough as it is. I wanted to marry her quickly anyway so we wouldn’t have this long, drawn-out planning drama. The wedding stuff is bad enough, and we’re trying to focus on the positive. Frankly, I don’t know what we would have done without Charlie taking charge. Not just the wedding, but she’s really been there for Gina.”
Good work, Maxie boy, you asshole. “And I haven’t been there for you.”
“I just didn’t want to deal with your take on it. Not yet. I know you were hurt by Becca. You pretend you’re impervious and you had a lucky escape, but it doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt. All this wedding stuff must be bringing it back for you, and I didn’t want to pile on. I know that makes me a bad brother, but when your girl gets pregnant, she’s not the only one who’s hormonal. I’m like a walking bag of fucking estrogen over here.”
The restroom door opens and out comes Gina.
James wraps her up in a hug. “You okay, babe?”
“Yeah, I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed.” Her soft, shiny eyes flick to mine. “Hi, Max.”
I tap my brother on the shoulder. “Step aside, James.”
He does so without question, and I take Gina in my arms. “I’m here to be your kid’s proper male role model because let’s face it, the father is going to be fucking useless. Congrats, GeeGee. Can’t wait to meet the little monkey.” Then I kiss her forehead and let my button-down oxford absorb the tears falling down her cheeks.
Best future brother-in-law ever.
“Making my girl cry,” James mutters, but he doesn’t step in to separate us. As if I’d let him.
Chapter 20
“People always tell me either A. you love him. B. you hate him. My usual answer? C. All of the above.”
—Anne Roiphe
Charlie
I’m already awake when it starts because every time I close my eyes, I see that dickweed, Max Henderson, grilled on my retinas. The buzzer is loud enough to piss off my neighbors and their pets, so I know I’ll have to do something about it.
Should I be glad that he didn’t even sleep on it? Or should I put this down to a drunken Max feeling a need to ream me out again?
I press the talk button on the intercom. “Who is it?”
“You know who it is.”
He doesn’t sound drunk. He sounds annoyed. And sexy.
Don’t need it. “Let’s do this tomorrow.”
He buzzes again.
“Max—”
“I know I screwed up, and I need to talk to you about it. I’m trying to be a grown-up, Charlie.”
Well, shit—how the hell am I supposed to say no to that? I press the entry button and open the door, then step back because I don’t want to look like Overeager Charlie.
By the time he gets here, he’s a little out of breath.
“Did you take the stairs?”
“Didn’t want to wait for the elevator.” He comes in and closes the door, his suit a little rumpled, his hair a little mussed. It gives him a human quality. Why does he have to look both handsome and human? So not fair.
I cross my arms over my Cubs tee, as if this can shield me from the heat rolling off him. I’m only wearing this and my underwear, and I feel extra-exposed. “Say what you have to say.”
“How about I tell you a story?”
“Does it have a happy ending?”
His smile is grim. “You know it doesn’t.”
I sit on the sofa, a cushion over my midsection, ready to protect myself from whatever he’s going to say. I expect it will be personal, and I think the idea of Max getting personal will devastate me.
“I met Becca in law school. We were friendly the first year, but we were both dating other people and while there was a spark there, neither of us acted on it. But then I broke up with my girlfriend, and Becca made a full-court press for me. I was flattered. I wasn’t quite fully formed as Mr. Cynic, you see. I was sort of gangly and a bit of a nerd and when I was a kid, I’d had a stammer. I worked hard to overcome it. I worked hard to make words the things that mattered. Sex was great, money could heal a million hurts, but words were what ruled the world for me. It was easy with her, and I liked how she pursued me. She was persuasive. A good lawyer in the making, and I wanted this woman who wanted me so badly. We were one of those soap opera super couples for the rest of law school. Not like Grant and Aubrey, who were in a league of their own, but good enough.”
He hauls in a quick breath and continues.
“I was in my first year at a big firm downtown, practicing family law. It was what I’d always wanted to do. Some people go into corporate or trusts but those areas weren’t, I suppose, personal enough for me. I wanted to work with people, not corporations. I wanted to have a real impact on their lives.”
I nod, because he seems to be waiting for me to acknowledge this. It’s important to him that I get it.
“Becca and I got engaged. We planned a wedding. We even hired a wedding planner.” A sad, knowing smile that slices through my heart. “To cut a long story short, a month before the wedding I told her I planned to donate my trust fund to a foundation my family had set up, and she went nuts. Said she hadn’t worked this hard to have me give up the prize. The trust fund was the prize.”
I clutch my chest, horrified. “That’s—holy shit, that’s awful! I know I make fun of your wealth, but…”
“It’s fine. I get a kick out of it because it’s so divorced from what I am. Yeah, my family comes from money and some people might say we’re richer than we deserve, but I work for every penny I earn now. Sure it’s filthy lucre, earned on the backs of misery, but it’s earned.”
“Max,” I start, feeling like crap that I’ve spent so much time denigrating his career choice instead of searching for the man beneath.
“It’s okay,” he says, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. As if my reaction is just like everyone else’s. “What I’m trying to say in my roundabout way is that I’m sensitive to women I feel are looking for material gain through me or my family. I see that James loves Gina and she loves him, but I still want to protect him. I see that you care about them, but I want to protect my family. I want—I want to protect myself.”
This last sentence sounds like it’s torn from a deep, walled place, and my heart aches for him. My arms ache to hold him. My body aches to comfort him.
“I just needed you to hear where I was coming from and why I overreacted.”
“But there’s more to it, isn’t there? There’s also the fact that James didn’t tell you and someone outside the family knew.”
“Yeah, that hurts like a mother. But that’s on me. That’s the dynamic I’ve created with my brother, one where he won’t even share this amazing news with me for fear of my reaction.”
Families, so complicated. I can’t for a second judge. “Does he know about Becca?”
“Yes, but we don’t talk about it. I don’t talk about it. It was easier for me to cope by plunging myself into work, developing routines and mechanisms to keep me from thinking about how I could have misjudged her. I’m not used to getting it so wrong, though I see the signs now. We weren’t all that compatible, really, had different ways of looking at things. At the world.”
Like Max and I. But every moment we spend together, I feel the chasm narrowing. Bit by bit, I see the real Max Henderson shining through. The guy who wants t
o help people.
The guy I’m falling in love with.
I stand and approach him, my heart in my throat because I want to tell him he’s worthy of great love, but from me? It’s too soon. He knows nothing about me. Who I was, that girl not good enough for an important man.
But in this moment, I can pretend I’m exactly what Max Henderson needs. Someone who doesn’t give a fig about his money or his job or his perfect jaw.
All right, I care about the jaw. I mean, have you seen the jaw?
I lean up on tiptoes to swipe my lips across it. He snatches a breath. “I-I didn’t come over to get my rocks off. I came over to apologize.”
“What if you could have your rocks and your apology, too?”
“Not really in the mood.”
I kiss his neck, just above his shirt collar, right over the beating pulse I find there. Then I run my tongue over it. “Oh. That must be a first for you. Anything I can do?”
His throat erupts with a rusty moan. “I don’t want to look like I’m feeding you a sob story and using you.”
“Or maybe you don’t want it to look like I’m using you.”
“I don’t think that. Much.” He sounds a little ticked off, but I’m glad to distract him from his hurting heart.
“Thought this was what you wanted. No complications, no strings, no clinging, no expectations.”
He cocks his head. “That’s what I said.”
“But that’s not what you meant. Or it’s changed.”
His eyes harden, turn dark with intent. “Are you dating anyone else right now?” No more humor now, this is a question that demands a response.
“Or anyone?” Because we’re not dating, are we? No, it’s more than that. It’s something that catches my heart in a way that’s dangerous. “No. It doesn’t seem fair to any potential relationship while I’m with you.”
“I don’t want to think of you with anyone else. Not now. Not ever.”
“Careful, Max,” I say, my heart doing cartwheels in my chest. “That’s pretty close to a declaration.”
He smiles, as if I’ve said the most perfect thing. “I declare, Charlie Love, that you’re all I think of, day in, day out. You’re the woman who fills my dreams and makes it really fucking hard to concentrate on my work. When I’m neck-deep in a client’s misery, the thought of you makes me smile and gives me hope. For people, but mostly for myself. Maybe I’m not going to die alone after all.”
Yet again, he’s outdone himself and this time, I’ve felt it, down to my soul. I see you, Max Henderson. All of you.
I take a few steps back and hold out my hand. “Come to bed, Max.”
His hand in mine is the hot fudge sauce on my sundae, the relish on my dog, the topper on my Christmas tree. His hand in mine is all I need.
* * *
—
There’s a cynical, slick, gives-good-lovin’ playboy in my bed—and I’m not afraid.
I have Max Henderson’s number now. He’ll never admit it but he came close to expressing true fear last night. He wants to believe that happiness in love is attainable. I’m not saying I’m the one but—
Oh, hell, who am I kidding? I want to be the one. I don’t want to be just a life lesson for him, the woman who helped him get over a hump while he uses this newfound wisdom on some other lucky bitch. With him laying his insecurities out there, the last piece of the puzzle locked into place: I’m in love with this man. Deeply and for better or worse, irrevocably.
I wish I’d told him more about myself, my past, my faults before I fell so hard.
Now, I’m watching him—sleep-stalking, if you will—and wondering if we have a chance.
His eyelids flutter open and unholy blue eyes come into focus, then grow hazy with desire on seeing me.
“Damn, you look good, Charles.”
I giggle like a schoolgirl. “Spoken like a guy who wants a little something in the morning.”
“Am I so transparent?”
I sneak a peek under the comforter. “Incredibly.”
In two seconds, I find myself wrapped in Max, his hard not-so-little something pushing against my butt, but it’s the way he holds me that tells me this is right. This is us.
“You sleep okay?” I ask.
“Heartfelt confessions followed by amazing sex? I’d say that’s a recipe for a good night’s rest.” He’s placed his arm around my body so his palm covers my breast over my Cubs tee. The comfort of it lulls me into a safe space.
“But there’s more,” he murmurs against my ear.
“Really?”
“I didn’t apologize to you. Properly. For what I implied about you getting close to Gina. How you might be using me, her, or my family.”
I stiffen. He notices. Turns me over and holds my face.
“I was a jerk. I can’t promise that I won’t be sometimes in the future but I expect to be called out on it. Forgive me.”
“Yeah, you were a jerk. But what you said—or didn’t say—about my ex? Maybe I should explain that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” I turn back to our former positions, my back to his chest. It’s easier this way. “You know Jeremy has political aspirations and I knew that, too, so I didn’t really think our relationship had legs. I’m not a pediatric neurosurgeon or international human rights lawyer. I’m not really wife material for a man in his position.”
“Charlie,” he starts.
“Let me finish. What I’m saying is that I didn’t go in with expectations of that nature. But he seemed fascinated with my backstory, my foster parents, the Cubs connection. I know now that he was crafting the optics for that future run. On the con side was my froufrou job and lack of a master’s degree. On the pro, I had this working-class Chicago connection, I was a product of the foster care system that worked, a good little citizen. Our children would be blond and beautiful, and my job wasn’t so important I’d need to keep it.”
I can tell he’s feeling uneasy about this, especially as he’s made snide comments about my career. But then we’ve both given as good as we’ve gotten. Our jobs define us and speak to who we are, yet I’m hopeful—so hopeful—we can find common ground. That we’re more than just our 9-to-5.
“He met Donna and Sully?”
“Yeah. Not at a poker game with Entenmann’s but at a special dinner with Donna doing her darnedest not to poison anyone and Jeremy checking off all the boxes in his head. Coming from money, he needed someone to balance his fat-cat credentials.”
“Jesus. He said that?”
“Not in so many words. But I figured it out when he—he ran a background check on me. Found out that I had a juvenile record. He couldn’t get it unsealed so he asked me about it, and I was honest. I wanted him to know everything.”
He squeezes me tighter. “Shit, that’s why you went nuts when I told you I’d looked into you.”
“I guess. To have someone check on me like that, especially someone with your kind of resources, was upsetting.”
“I’m sorry, Charlie. Truly.” He kisses my shoulder. “You wanted him to know everything. So what’s everything?”
I twist to face him. Beautiful, perfect Max who needs to hear what baggage I bring if we’re to stand a chance.
“I did some stuff I’m not proud of. Stole a car, got caught with weed, resisted arrest. I had some anger issues after my mom died. When I was fourteen, I was a fucking mess, and Sully and Donna saved me. Jeremy was prepared to accept my background as long as it was a tale of pulling-up-by-bootstraps and orphan-needs-a-home. I poured it all out for my boyfriend, and he said he’d have to think about where this left us. He wanted time to figure out if I was the person he thought I was.”
Tears leak down my face, but Max is there, scoo
ping them up with his thumbs. “Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.” He kisses my lips, rubs nose to nose, gives me the space I need to mourn.
“I dumped him on the spot. If he has to take time to decide if the crimes of a fourteen-year-old kid are a barrier to his happiness then he’s not the man for me. I realized then that he was looking for something to complement him, not complete him.”
“What an asshole,” Max says with feeling.
This makes me laugh. Jeremy is an asshole, and while I know this, it never hurts to hear confirmation.
“I’m guessing he didn’t like it when you asked for what you wanted in bed.”
“I suspect he’d been having doubts about whether I was passive enough to make a good little wifey. My criminal past sealed it for him.”
“You don’t have a criminal past. You were a fucked-up kid who’d lost her mom and made a few bad choices. Did you hurt anyone?”
“I could have.”
“Did you?”
“Only myself. Sully and Donna despaired of me so much that it’s a wonder they didn’t throw me back into the sea.”
“They saw a hurt little girl who needed to be held and loved.” He strokes his thumb along my cheekbone. “Thanks for sharing this with me. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate that you did.”
“I just want there to be no confusion. I’m using you, Henderson, but purely for your body, not your connections.”
“Liar.”
“Okay, it’s for your connections, too.”
He smiles, but there’s a lot unsaid in that smile. All this time, I’ve been trying to keep him at arm’s length because making sure he doesn’t feel pressured is the way to keep the good times going. I’ve joked about using him. I’ve made it clear I’m not one of those clingy females. Max need never worry I’ll turn into a weepy stalker when one of us decides this has run its course.
Something changed between us last night and now he’s looking at me—into me—like he has something to say. Something important.
“Charlie Love, I’m…a little bit crazy about you.”