All Maxed Out

by Brandi Evans

  Since I'd been a kid, I'd used jujitsu to work through my emotions, and after hearing Max's confession, I'd needed to work off energy more than ever.

  "Bree, focus!" Scott shouted.

  "Fuck!" But I wasn't shouting at him. Frustration burned hot and manic in my chest. Screaming was like pressing the release valve on a pressure cooker. "Fuuuuck!"

  I beat my hands against the mat, tears scorching my cheeks as I tried desperately to shake the images of Max—blood on his hands—out of my head. I couldn't face him in my mind any more than I could in person. Everything was still so fucking raw, and I couldn't deal. I just couldn't deal yet.

  "Hey, hey, Bree, it's okay."

  Gone was Scott's gruff teacher voice, replaced by soft concern. The gentleness almost seemed out of place on the big man, and it jarred me out of my mounting fit.

  "It's okay," he continued. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

  I watched him through watery eyes. In just a tank top and shorts, he was so much more imposing than he ever was in his suits. His biceps were thick and defined, his thighs massive and hard. He was a lethal weapon that had somehow been disguised as a flesh-and-blood person.

  "I'm okay," I lied. "I'm okay. I was just… letting off some steam."

  He didn't look convinced. "You sure?"

  No, but I managed a nod.

  He scooted beside me on the mat. Hunched forward, legs bent and hugged into his mighty chest, he was quiet a long moment.

  Through the gym speakers—a gym Max owned on the Isle of Wight—Linkin Park and Kiiara sang about letting go and being set free. Talk about apropos, both for Max and for me. But how did I let go of news like this? How did I get past it? What happened to us if I couldn't?

  God.

  "I know it's not my place," Scott began hesitantly, "and it already feels hella weird sparring with my boss's girlfriend, but if you want to talk, I'm happy to listen. I am more than just muscle, ya know? At least, that's what my husband tells me, but I think he just says that because he knows I could kick his ass."

  I chuckled, which I figured was Scott's goal.

  Still, his offer was sweet. He was sweet, despite the fact he'd seriously just kicked my ass, but I couldn't take him up on his offer. He might be Max's head of security, but he didn't know the secret weighing heavily on me. No one knew, save for me, Garrett, Karen, and Max. So, no, I couldn't talk about it.

  "I appreciate the offer, but it's too soon to talk." It was mostly the truth. "My mind's too chaotic. I need to burn off all the emotion swirling in my head. Only then do I stand of chance of thinking straight."

  "Fair enough, but if you change your mind, just know I'm here."

  "Thanks, I—"

  Wait. Scott had said husband earlier. Max's executive assistant, Todd, had a husband named Scott. No. No. Couldn't be.

  Could it?

  I had to ask. "Please, feel free to tell me that this is none of my business, but Todd's husband is named Scott. Are you—"

  "Todd's Scott?"

  I nodded.

  "Guilty as charged." His smile could have lit Time Square.

  I had a thousand questions, and Scott was more than happy to answer them. I'd learned he and Todd had "met" when Todd was having some issues with a stalker ex. Max had arranged for security to stake out Todd's place. Scott and Todd had hit it off, and they'd been inseparable ever since. He told me about their son and the homer he'd scored at his last baseball game. He even talked about how they were in the process of trying to adopt another child. The conversation flowed smoothly and accomplished what nearly thirty minutes on the mat hadn't been able to do.

  When we had gotten back to grappling, though, we'd sparred for nearly forty minutes before I'd admitted defeat and called it quits. Scott had, of course, wiped the floor with me. He was bigger and more skilled in hand-to-hand fighting, not that I expected anything less from Max's head of security. Still, I'd held my own. I'd even managed to get him in a choke once, and he'd tapped out, although I had no doubt he would have been able to get free if he'd wanted. He just would have hurt me in the process, and I was pretty sure "not wanting to hurt his employer's significant other" had been the real reason for his submission.

  When we returned to the beach house, Karen met me at the door, her baggy cream-colored shirt and black leggings splattered with paint. She wrapped me in a fierce hug, and I clung to her. How someone so delicate could hold me with such force, I'd never know.

  When we finally drew apart, she tucked her arm through mine and ushered me into the study. The shades were slanted, bathing the room in quasi-shadow. There was no view of the ocean from here, just the sprawling field and forest beyond.

  I'd half expected Max and Garrett to be waiting for me, but the room was thankfully empty. "I told our boys to leave," she said as if reading my mind. "I told them you and I needed to talk, woman to woman. If anyone knows what you're going through, darling, it's me."

  Feeling teary, I turned from the window and hugged her again. "Thank you."

  She chuckled, but when she pulled back, unshed tears illuminated her eyes.

  She motioned to the bar. "You need a drink." It wasn't a question, nor was it a bad idea.

  "Sounds heavenly. Do you happen to have any Irish Cream?"

  "No, but I see what you're going for. Just sit tight, darling. I've got just the thing."

  Twenty-five minutes later, I sat my empty coffee mug on the table. The warm hum of the Irish whiskey had worked magic on my anxious body and mind. I wasn't drunk—just super relaxed.

  "Oh yeah, that was exactly what I needed," I said on a long sigh.

  Karen gave my knee a tap. "I'm glad, darling. Sometimes, a little alcohol's exactly what a girl needs to get her head on straight."

  A smile pulled at the corners of my lips. "That's pretty much the exact opposite of what my mama always said."

  "Good thing I'm not your mama, huh?"

  A good thing. My thoughts shifted to the scene in her bedroom two nights before. Definitely wouldn't do that with my mama.

  "How'd you get over it?" I finally asked. I'd avoided the topic while the alcohol had been doing its magic, but I couldn't keep avoiding. I had to figure this out. Talk about scared.

  "I nearly didn't." She took another sip of her Chardonnay. "Their secret almost undid us. At one point, I'd walked out on Garrett."

  "You… walked out?"

  Tucking my legs beneath me, I turned toward her. A world without Karen and Garrett happily married wasn't a world I wanted to envision. They were beautiful together, homogenous, and for a long time, everything Max had told me he'd wanted in a relationship.

  She nodded. "I was a complete wreck. I'm an artist, so I'm passionate and volatile by nature. Sensitive and empathetic, too, so what Garrett had done with Max plunged my world into upheaval. I couldn't deal. I'd moved out of our place and back in with my mum."

  "What made you decide to come back?"

  "Honestly, I don't think it was a decision. At least, not a conscious one. I came back to what had been our house to pick up the rest of my things…"

  Chapter 11

  Karen, nineteen years earlier…

  Oh, god. I couldn't do this.

  I squeezed my hands around the steering wheel until my forearms burned. Garrett stood on the porch, four cardboard boxes stacked with precision beside him, the last of my things. The neat stacks stood in contrast to the disheveled man beside them. He looked as if he'd go down if he got tackled by a kitten.

  He was a big man, well over six feet tall, and his dark hair and muscled frame had always given him a larger-than-life presence. So why did he seem so small now?

  My Garrett. That was how my heart still saw him, even though his confession weighed heavily on my thoughts.

  This was why I hadn't wanted to come. He was my heart and my heartbreak. He was everything I desired but feared. He was impossible and perfect. And I missed him so much. God, I missed him.

  Even now, with my mind a jumbled me
ss from his secret, I wanted him; it was also why I couldn't stay.

  With every irregular beat of my breaking heart, I wanted to run to him. Wanted to run my fingers through his shoulder-length black hair and press my lips to his until the pain on his face melted away, until the despair in those chocolate eyes was gone.

  Something like a sob started building in my chest. I wanted to throw my car into drive and speed away, so I surprised myself by opening the door and stepping out—except the bones in my legs had been replaced by gelatin.

  I went down. Hard. I flung my hands out to catch myself, but it wasn't enough to save my knee. It slammed into the gravel drive. A cry leaped between my lips, the sound strangled and wet. I'd worn a skirt, so there'd been no barrier between gravel and flesh, and the gravel won.

  "My god, Karen." Garrett knelt at my side almost before his voice reached me. His hands were gentle as he eased me into a sitting position. "Are you okay?"

  "I don't know." I felt numb. He was so close, his concern for me so palpable. I wanted so badly to touch him.

  "Your knee. Christ, it's bleeding badly. I need to get you inside and get you cleaned up."

  He didn't wait for my response. He simply swung me into his arms and headed into the kitchen. He put me gently on the counter and positioned my legs so my injured knee was over the sink. With a softer touch than a man of his stature and appearance should be capable of, he eased the hem of my skirt to mid-thigh.

  "I need to wash it," he said. "It'll probably hurt."

  "I already hurt." But I wasn't talking about my knee.

  He flinched as if my pain caused him pain. "I'll be as gentle as I can. I promise."

  And I knew he would. He had a gentle touch that always managed to surprise me. He did gentle as well as rough with the same gumption. He wielded a whip with the same finesse as he was tending to my wound. He was kind and fierce, but what he'd never been was cruel.

  He'd never been cruel.

  Never been cruel.

  Could that be said of most killers?

  His dark hair fell forward as he tended my wound and created a curtain between us, but I didn't want a barrier when I asked what I needed to ask.

  Hand trembling, I tucked the offending section of hair behind his ear.

  His head snapped up. Questions littered his eyes, and his hands on my leg went still, where he'd just applied a bandage. He gripped me tightly—but not too tightly. I could practically see the conflict raging inside him. He wanted to grab me close, but he was afraid, which was okay. I was scared, also. Not of him. Never of him.

  "Why'd you do it?" I asked.

  I'd already asked, but I'd been too much of a basket case to "hear" his answer before. Now, I wanted to hear him—really listen to him. I wanted to examine him, wanted to watch his expression as he said each word.

  "Max needed help, so I helped."

  "To murder someone?"

  "Murder something. Max's father wasn't a person. He was a monster. He beat Max all the time. I could see the bruises, and it was torture. I told my mum, but she'd said it wasn't any of our business. Everyone knew Alfred Penn was a mean son-of-a-bitch, but no one wanted to risk being in his crosshairs."

  Max's father had been a monster. I'd heard the stories. More than that, I'd seen the emotional scars left on Max. "But were those crimes enough to sentence him to death?"

  Garrett didn't hesitate. "No. For that, he deserved to rot in prison for a long, long time. But for what he did to Mrs. Penn, for what he was planning on doing to her? Without a fucking doubt, yes."

  "Because he'd beaten her, too?"

  He shook his head. "He'd nearly killed her, and he'd gotten away with it. He always got away with it. That was bad enough, but that night—"

  He cursed under his breath and stalked to the other side of the kitchen. I'd stopped being able to listen when he'd gotten this far last time.

  "Max and I had been hanging out in the garden. He was in a bad place. He was down about what had happened to his mum, and then, we saw the asshole leading Amelia into the woods behind the property. We followed them to a spot under a tree where the fucker had already dug a fire pit big enough to fit a body."

  My hands flew to my mouth. "He was planning on, on, on—" I couldn't finish the thought. It was too terrible.

  Garrett turned back to me. Resolute—it was the best word I could come up with to describe his stance and the hard set of his jaw.

  "We stopped him, and then we killed him and tossed him into the hole he'd dug himself. We saved a life that night, but we'd ended one, too. Maybe it wasn't the best course of action, but I don't regret it, Karen. And I'd kill again if it meant keeping you safe. If I had to rip someone apart with my bare hands to keep you from harm, I'd do it—without hesitation. That said, I have no desire to take another life. I killed someone, but I'm not a murderer."

  I believed him. The honesty in his eyes had never shown brighter than it did now. He'd committed murder, but he was right. He wasn't a killer.

  The eyes pleading with me weren't the eyes of a killer. They were the eyes of the man I loved, the man who'd always been honest with me about who he was, who'd always been faithful in the ways he'd promised. He'd followed through with every promise, every commitment he'd ever made to me, but I'd run at the first real test of that commitment.

  Tears fell again, which surprised me. I wasn't sure how I still had tears left.

  Needing to touch him, I pushed from the counter. He was there almost before my feet hit the ground.

  "Damn it, Karen. You're hurt. If you need to get out of here, at least let me carry you."

  I shook my head, my words watery. "I'm not trying to leave. I was trying to get to you."

  "You were what?" The hope that sparked in his eyes had my tears falling faster, hotter.

  I traced my index finger along his jaw and pressed my lips to his. He responded with all the fervor I'd come to expect and desire.

  He practically devoured me whole.

  He fastened his arms around me and lifted me back onto the counter. I wrapped my legs around his middle, buried both hands into his wild mane of black hair, and clung to him. Just clung. I wanted him, all of him, and I wanted him now. Body and soul, past and present, the future and beyond.

  He pulled back as if my lips suddenly burned him, but he didn't move far. With my arms locked around him, he would have dumped me on the floor.

  "Garrett?" I touched his cheek. "What's wrong?"

  He didn't answer. Hands fisted on the edge of the counter, breath puffing out in unsteady spurts, he stared at me.

  Suddenly terrified, I tried like hell to pull him back to me. Had my walking out been too much of a betrayal? Was he having second thoughts about taking me back?

  "What is this?" he finally asked.

  "What is what?"

  "This." He motioned back and forth between us. "Don't get me wrong, when it comes to you, I'm not too proud to take a pity fuck or a goodbye fuck or whatever. But if this isn't that—" His deep voice cracked. "I need to know, Karen. If this isn't what I want, I have to know before…"

  Understanding bloomed in my heart, and I took his mouth in a soft, gentle kiss. "I love you, Garrett Lanyon. I've loved you from the moment we met, and I'll keep loving you until the day I die."

  Chapter 12

  Bree

  The beats of Karen's story echoed so many of mine. Circumstances aside, Max had killed his father; I was struggling with that. No point denying it. I still loved him, though; I was struggling with that, as well. We'd spoken of cognitive dissonance in that garden. Fuck, the concept was positively prophetic now.

  "Does it still bother you?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "Not sure what this says about me, but I'm glad Max's dad is no longer breathing. I'm just sorry Garrett had to play a part in it. Max, too. The bastard should be rotting in prison for what he did to Amelia, but the system failed. Garrett and Max acted out of what they'd believed was self-defense. They'd been defending Amelia.
"

  She made it sound so simple when nothing about my life seemed simple anymore.

  I looked at my right hand. The ring Max had given me sparkled like a beacon. I loved him; I knew that bone-deep. Picturing a future without him physically pained me, but the brutal way he'd killed his father made my stomach churn. Would I ever be able to reconcile the person who could do that with the man who'd sat at my bedside and nursed me back to health?

  I placed a hand to my stomach and swallowed my growing nausea. "How long did it take before the idea of it stopped making your stomach roll?"

  She shrugged. "I can't give you an exact time. One day, I just stopped noticing it."

  "And if it doesn't ever stop?"

  But before she could answer, the shhhkkk of tires on asphalt drew our attention, and I glanced toward the windows. Our boys were back.

  Eyebrows knitting, Karen went to the window on the far left. "I told them to give us two hours."

  I joined her. I had to squint against the sun, hovering a few feet above the horizon. "Do you think something's wrong? Maybe they got news about Théo?"

  "Come on, let's go find—"

  The window exploded in a million points of glimmering light and lethality. I yanked my hands up to shield my face. I didn't know if I tripped or if Karen fell on top of me, but we slammed into the ground in a tangle of limbs. The force of the impact and of her landing on me knocked the air from my lungs.

  I gasped, lungs straining, abdomen and diaphragm trying desperately to move air. Nothing. I couldn't breathe.

  Air.

  Air.

  Dread rushed in to fill the void the expelled air had left, and the first hot rushes of a panic attack bit into me like a million fire ants. Shadows danced at the edges of my vision. I was blacking out. I was gonna pass out if—

  No! I was stronger than this.

  Summoning all my strength, I pushed Karen off me and managed to draw in a single, shallow breath, then another.

  I could hear frantic shouting off in the distance. I could tell that much, but I couldn't make out who all was speaking or what was being said. My pulse was pounding too quickly, blood rushing too fast. There was a cacophony of noise between my ears.