by Abby Brooks
The old man mutters and grabs a ring of keys off a hook by the door before waddling his way out into the hallway. We follow him as he walks, muttering a ceaseless string of obscenities. Chelsea catches my eye and purses her brow while Charlie just chuckles at my side.
“He always like this?” I whisper.
Charlie nods. “He’s usually worse.”
When we get inside the apartment, it’s evident that Charlie’s mom is gone for good. The place is disgusting. Piles of stuff on every imaginable surface, the floor sticky and covered in bits and pieces of food and trash. But the furniture is gone. And the closets are empty. I watch Charlie wander through the place, trying to gauge his reaction and failing miserably. The boy is tough. I’ll give him that.
“Well. That’s that, I guess,” says the old man with a shake of his head and a wipe of his nose on the back of his hand. “Don’t look like she’s planning on being back.” His eyes settle on Charlie and bounce to me. It looks like he’s about to ask a question, but I silence him by stepping forward.
“Thank you so much for letting us in.” I hand him one of my business cards and he looks at me differently after reading it, now that he knows I’m a cop. “You give me a call if you hear anything.”
And with that, we are very much done here. I guide Chelsea and Charlie out of the place with the full and complete intention of never coming back.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There’s something so very final in seeing Charlie’s empty bedroom. I think we all feel it, even the crazy old man with the keys. We leave the place and I can’t help but watch the boy and wonder what’s going on in his head and heart. Kids are supposed to be so resilient, and given the shape of that apartment, he’s probably used to dealing with heavier stuff than I even know how to imagine. But, resilient or not, this has to be hard on him.
I expect another awkwardly silent car ride back to Max’s house and am shocked when Charlie pipes up from the back seat.
“Kinda feels good to know she’s gone,” he says. “Does that make me a bad person? That I don’t want my mom to come back?”
I don’t have an answer for him, but thankfully, Max does.
“Of course it doesn’t. Didn’t you tell me the other day that you used her as an example of how not to be?”
“Yeah.” Charlie’s voice is hesitant.
“Seems like that might be the kind of person who would be hard to miss once she’s gone.”
“She wasn’t very nice. Yelled a lot. Slept all the time. I don’t think she liked me. I tried to be quiet. But like, sometimes when I got real hungry, I’d try to get some food, but I’d always drop stuff or make a mess and she’d get so mad.” He pauses, furrowing his brows. “But I don’t think it’s supposed to be like that, is it? It’s not like that on TV. Or if it is, it’s usually because the mom is a bad guy.”
I’ve never heard that many words come out of his mouth at once. I mean, I don’t think I’ve heard that many words come out of his mouth in the entire time we’ve spent together over the last couple days. That alone is shocking. But when you add the content of what he actually said into the equation? I’m so out of my depth I don’t know what to do.
“You think your mom is bad?” Max asks.
Charlie nods. “Yeah. She sure ain’t good, I know that. But I think it’s worse. I think she breaks the law a lot.”
I catch Max’s eyes for just a fraction of a second. He takes a breath and lets it out through his nose.
“You’re a smart kid. I’m sure you’re seeing things the way they are.”
“She always said my dad was a loser. But if my mom is bad, and my dad is bad, does that mean I’m bad, too?”
“Nope,” says Max, not missing a beat. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. One that only a very few people know about me.” He pulls the car into his driveway, kills the engine, and spins in his seat to face Charlie. “My dad was a bad man. A criminal. He broke lots of laws and made every bad decision out there. For a long time, I was afraid that meant I was a bad person, too. That I was just going to wake up one day and lose control of myself and start hurting people. But you know what? I’m not a bad guy. Like you, I decided to use his life as an example of how not to be.”
“So you think I’m going to be okay?”
“Charlie. I know you’re going to be okay.”
We climb out of the car and head into the house. I clean up the breakfast dishes while Max gets the Xbox hooked up for Charlie. So much has happened, I don’t even know how to process it all. When I think back to the gruff, asshole cop who pulled me over all those months ago, the guy who stood on the front steps of the police station and told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t a family man, I can’t even begin to marry him with the guy in the other room. The guy who is sweeping in and putting a little boy back together piece by piece. The guy who hasn’t let me go home yet because of a silly little dead mouse on my front porch.
A guy who hasn’t slept in days, yet still manages to smile. Still managed to take us out yesterday for more fun than I think Charlie has ever had in his whole life. I always thought my family was made up of good people. Watching the way Max has handled these past few days has changed the way I see … everything. My family is polite. Max is good. There’s a very distinct difference.
Would my dad be working so hard if he were in Max’s situation? No. He wouldn’t. Charlie would be at the police station. I would be at home, jumping out of my skin at every little bump in the night, and my dad would have very politely offered us the all the best on his way out the door.
The respect I have for Max has grown exponentially over the last few days, and, if I’m honest, I’m worried about him. I know he hasn’t slept. And I know he has to work tomorrow. Which worries him because he’ll have to leave Charlie and me alone and that means he won’t sleep much tonight, either. And to top all the worry off, I keep wondering how he’s handling all this. After all, he is the guy who swore he wouldn’t do family, and here we are, an awkward little family for the foreseeable future. Is he okay sharing his home with us? Like really and truly okay?
Our relationship is new. Wonderful, but new. He just told me he loved me for the first time the other day. Can we survive something this intense? My stomach falls to my feet. We have to survive this, because I don’t want to go back to surviving without him. I need him. Not because I can’t be without him, but because I don’t want to be. Sure, if our relationship caves under this pressure, I’d go on with my life and keep putting one foot in front of the other like I always have. But it’d be like living in the dark, all the while craving the sun, remembering its warmth.
Heavy thoughts for a heavy day, I guess.
Max wanders into the kitchen as I finish the dishes. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his shoulders are rounded forward. It’s not a posture I’m used to seeing on my strong, proud man. I don’t like it.
“Can we talk?” he asks, his eyes on the floor.
“Sure.” I take a seat at the kitchen table. Perch uneasily at the edge of the thing, hands clasped in my lap. Back straight. Heart still. Breath held.
“It’s been a hard couple days,” he says as he takes a seat next to me. Elbows on knees. Eyes on floor.
“Isn’t that the truth.” My mouth is working on autopilot.
“It’s a lot to adjust to, you know?”
I just nod, terrified to hear that he has used up all his good and is moving on to polite.
He looks up. His eyes settle on mine and I see through to his soul and damn if this man doesn’t move me with the power of who he is. My breath quickens.
“I love you, Chelsea. I don’t say that lightly. I mean it from the bottom of my heart with everything I know is true about me. And I know that I things are going to be weird, what with Charlie here, and our relationship being kind of new, but…”
He pauses and I’m so confused I don’t know what to say. I thought he was going to break up with me, but now I’m not so sure.
“I want you to move in,” he says and takes my hands in his. “Not just until we figure out what’s going on at your house and not just until we figure out what’s going on with Charlie. I want to share my bed with you and I never want to worry whether or not you’re safe. I want to know you’re safe. Because you’re here. With me.”
My heart surges with happiness while my brain goes to work dampening everything. I want to jump up and say yes, over and over again, yes, but the demon-bitch in my head is busy reminding me all the reasons to say no.
He hasn’t slept and isn’t thinking clearly.
He doesn’t really want you. He just feels obligated.
He wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t for all the crazy happening lately.
You’ll move in and he’ll realize that you’re not enough.
You’re not enough for him.
You’re never going to be good enough.
My mouth opens and closes while the bitch goes on her tirade. I can’t get a word out.
“I know it’s fast. I know you probably think it’s stupid. Probably even think it has more to do with the situation and less to do with me actually wanting to live with you.”
I find my voice. “That thought did cross my mind.”
Max nods. “I figured. And I’d be lying if I told you that this weekend hasn’t sped up the decision making process. But believe me when I say, I want you here because I love you and don’t want to be without you. Not because of some jerk hanging around outside your house. He just helped me to see how much I want you a little sooner than I might have otherwise.”
“It’s a big step,” I say, still busy listening to my head rather than my heart.
“I know. But don’t you think it’s an inevitable step? I mean, when I pay close attention to how I really feel about you, I know there’s no other person out there who’s going to match me the way you do. I mean, really. If you say no, we’re just delaying the inevitable because we’re going to live together eventually.” Max smiles, those bullet blue eyes lighting my heart on fire.
As much as I want to say yes, I can’t quite bring myself to say it. Not while I’m still sure he’s more motivated by his desire to protect me than an actual desire to live with me. But as much as I think I should say no, I can’t bring myself to say that either.
I’m literally silenced by indecision.
Max’s brow furrows. “You should say something.”
“I know.”
“But you aren’t.”
“I know that, too.”
“Why?”
I take a breath. Hold it for a second. How honest should I be?
One look at Max, this man I love and respect so much gives me my answer. Totally honest.
“Because I’m afraid to say yes and find out that you only want me here because of what’s happening. That when it all dies down, you’ll be sorry you asked me. That I won’t be enough for you or that I’ll be too much. I’m afraid to say yes and ruin what we have and I’m afraid to say no and ruin what we have.”
“Oh my sweet girl. You are everything to me. The perfect amount of everything. Stop worrying so much and just say you’ll move in with me. I love you so much and want to wake up to your smiling face every day.”
I open my mouth to say no. To tell him it’s too soon. Imagine my surprise when I say yes.
“Okay.” I nod, happiness filling every ounce of my body. “Yeah. I’ll move in with you.”
Max stands and pulls me into his arms. “You will?”
“Yeah.” I nod now, more and more certain that this is the right decision. Max kisses me and for just a moment I let myself forget about all the craziness of the weekend and just let myself be happy in the one place I feel best, wrapped up in his arms, my body pressed to his.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Later that day, the three of us drive over to my house so I can get my car and a few more of my things. Max walks me up to the door and checks the lock and front windows for any signs of tampering before I let us in. He peers through the front door while I peek out from around his shoulder. It’s amazing how ominous the house feels, given how safe I felt here just last week. Oh, how quickly things can change.
“Tell you what,” says Max. “You go on in, I’m going to take Charlie around the outside here and show him some of the things I look for when I’m trying to keep the things most important to me safe.” Max drops a wink my way and it does wonders to my anxiety levels. If he’s joking around, he’s not stressed and if he’s not stressed, then he’s not really all that concerned about something bad happening to us while we’re here.
I admit. My imagination has been running a little wild. I’ve spent more time wondering about the meaning of the dead mouse than I should. I assume that the guy who has been watching my house is the guy who left it. Which means that I’ve spent time actually thinking about him breaking that poor little thing’s neck. Of course, the thump of its body against my door could mean that he threw it. So maybe it was the impact that broke its neck. Either way, the scenario is horrifying.
While I’m here, I’m going to have to clean out the fridge, but that can wait until we’re about ready to leave. First things first. Time to get my clothes and toiletries packed. I head upstairs, flipping on lights as I go. I guess part of me is still a little girl, frightened of the boogieman hiding in the dark.
I love this house. I’m proud of this house. I bought it when so many of my friends were renting apartments, too financially strapped by college and bad decisions to qualify for a home loan. Not me. I managed to not only qualify, but get a damn good interest rate and have been paying more than the minimum payment since I moved in. It’s clean. It’s well-cared for. And it’s worth more than I owe.
And yet, despite all that, I’m not going to miss living here one bit. All the long nights spent at the computer. Lonely. Nothing to focus on but work, work, and work some more. I’m really tired of being that person. I’m ready to relax a little, breathe a bit. I honestly can’t wait to curl up with Max at the end of a long day and just exist with him.
My first stop is the bathroom, where I grab my shampoo and conditioner and all the yummy smelling lotions and creams that I love so much. Nothing like spending a few days in a bathroom stocked by a man to appreciate all the wonderful parts about being a woman. After that, I head into my bedroom and pull open my drawers. Start pulling out all my sexy lingerie, hand-picked for my evenings with Max. Hands full, I spin so I can start stacking things on my bed before organizing them into the bags we brought.
There’s something on my pillow. A piece of paper, neatly folded and wholly out of place. My blood runs cold, and my palms go sweaty and I whirl, suddenly certain someone is behind me. All the feelings of safety bleed from the room, the corners and shadows threatening hidden secrets and looming disaster.
I should leave. Just spin on my heel and head outside to find Max and Charlie. Forget the shit on my bed and get out to safety. But, I don’t do that. Oh, no. I’m busy ignoring every instinct I have, curiosity about the piece of paper on my pillow somehow overwhelming my sense of danger.
I pick it up, barely able to touch it. Pinching it between my thumb and forefinger like it might be covered in poison. When I read the words scrawled on the page, I realize that yes, this note is poison indeed.
How can I love you this much when I hate you more than anything? You are everything. The sun and the sky and the bitch I can’t wait to watch die. My hands. My hands. Yours. I will show you how much you mean to me with these hands at your throat.
There’s movement behind me and I whirl in time to see a small man close the door, the sound of the latch clicking into place thundering in my head. I drop the paper and it flutters to the ground, seesawing peacefully. The guys steps forward, a disgusting smile slithering across his face.
Here’s the thing. Does he really think I’m just going to stand here, all quiet and trembling while he advances on me? I took on a mother fucking linebacker for f
uck’s sake.
I am not the kind of woman who curls up and cries on the bathroom floor.
With a shriek that rips through my throat, burning my esophagus, I launch myself at the guy. I am teeth and claws and fists that pummel and knees that thrust into his balls. I am sound and fury. A whirlwind of retribution.
He covers his face with his hands and backs up, hunching in on himself while I call for Max, who throws open the front door and bounds up the stairs. It’s only a matter of seconds before the bedroom door bounces off the man who would be my assailant.
“Chelsea!” Max is panicked. His voice a megaphone. An explosion of power.
I stumble back and the small man falls to the floor. Max shoves the door into him, somehow scooting the man across the carpet while I shove myself into the farthest possible corner. The rest is almost anticlimactic. Max pins the guy who has gone limp. Totally compliant. Utterly non-threatening.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, his eyes like weapons raking over my body and face.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I think he’s more hurt than I am.”
Max smiles. “That’s my girl.”
He calls the police and my house becomes a circus of swirling lights and cameramen and reporters yelling questions our way from behind police tape. The man is more than happy to talk. More than happy to explain why he spent months following me.
He loves me and he hates me. Fell in love with the idea of me while watching my TV interviews, but came to hate me when Sloan Anderson got charged for assault. I ruined his favorite player. His love and his hate twisted into an obsession in his crazy little mind. I’m not the first person he’s fixated on. A quick check of his records shows more than one restraining order from more than one woman.
This time though, with Max standing strong beside me, this guy is going to jail. Chalk another win up for me, I guess. Chelsea London, champion of women everywhere, taking sexual predators off the street, one swift knee to the balls at a time.