Had To Make You Mine

by Kat Long

  “Hey baby. About time you got here. I’ve been waiting all afternoon,” the voice purred. Not just any voice, her voice. The owner of that disgusting perfume, Nicole.

  She was wearing slinky, red lingerie, putting her tits on display. Her bleach-blonde hair hung across her shoulders, and she toyed with the string holding the lingerie together.

  She was faker than I remembered. Her skin was so tan it looked orange. How was I ever with someone like her?

  My thoughts were all over the place as Nicole strutted over in heels so high she could almost look me in the eye. I held both my hands out, keeping her from coming closer, but she reached out and ran one red, manicured fingernail up my shirt.

  “What the hell are you doing here, dressed like that?”

  “How else would I greet my fiancé? I’ve missed you, Max. Come here and let me remind you what you’ve been missing,” she said, reaching out to touch me again.

  She leaned closer, all silicone and collagen, and I barfed in my mouth a little, the bad airport food bubbling dangerously in my stomach.

  “What do you think? Like my outfit? I know red’s your favorite color. Put the phone down and let me do that thing you love with my tongue.”

  I shivered in disgust and stepped back.

  Fuck! My phone! Blue!

  I backed up until I was pressed against the door, raising the phone to my ear.

  “What?” I said, not hearing her words.

  “I said, in this moment, you broke us, Max!”

  “Annaleigh!” I screamed, but she had already hung up.

  Oh, no! No! No! No!

  “No way in hell, Nicole. I don’t have time to deal with your bullshit. Father is sick, and I have to go. See yourself out,” I said, trying to push past her and hold back the anger that was simmering below the surface.

  “Oh, silly. He’s as healthy as a horse. But your mother and I were talking and decided there wasn’t another way to get you home.”

  “He’s not sick? Are you fucking kidding me? How could you do that? What the hell’s the matter with you all?”

  Warren was right. Oh fuck.

  I walked right into their trap.

  “Don’t be mad, baby. But you needed to come home. There wasn’t another option. You wouldn’t return my calls. But I forgive you, and we can pick up where we left off.”

  “We are through, Satan! Don’t you ever come near me again.”

  I needed to get the hell out of here and back to the airport.

  I had to call Warren. I had to call Blue. God, I was an idiot.

  “Please, baby. Come here,” she said, crooking her finger at me.

  She cocked her hip to one side and pulled the string of her lingerie, but I bolted out the front door and slammed it in her face, barely grabbing my sneakers. Anger and humiliation burned any lagging exhaustion from my body as I headed to the elevator. I pushed the button and heard the penthouse door open as she strode down the hallway, not caring that her tits and ass were on display.

  “Stay the hell away from me, Nicole!” I pushed the button again, pressing my phone to my ear, calling Blue. It went to voicemail.

  “I will not stick around forever, Max! You better not make me regret waiting for you!”

  “The only thing I regret is not leaving your plastic ass sooner,” I called back.

  The door opened, finally, and the attendant looked between us, his eyes widening.

  “Mr. Smerdon? Ms. Phillips?” he said, uncertainty clouding his face.

  “Shut up! Don’t let him get on that elevator!” Nicole said, walking as fast as she could in those heels.

  The attendant ignored or didn’t hear her, and I stepped in and pressed the button for the lobby. Taking the spare key out of my pocket, I threw it down the hallway. She followed it with her eyes as the doors closed. Thank fuck.

  “Goodbye forever, Satan,” I said, sagging against the door. The attendant didn’t make eye contact, but it was hard not to notice his smile. I tried not to smile back, but soon we were both laughing.

  I had to call Blue, tell her what happened, then call Warren and get back to the airport, but I couldn’t stop. I was laughing harder than I had in months. It was freeing, or my sanity was slipping. Probably the latter. And I still smelled oranges. Maybe I was having a stroke.

  I shook his hand and pushed him some bills when we got to the lobby, cramming my feet in my sneakers and hailing another cab. I pulled my phone back out when I slid in the cab and called Warren. It rang once, twice, three times before he picked up.

  “The fuck do you want? It’s been a long damn day, and I’m laying on the couch with a boxer who keeps trying to sniff my butt.”

  “Warren! Fuck! Blue heard Nicole. She was waiting for me. You were right! This is a huge misunderstanding!”

  “Misunderstanding? I don’t think so, dick! We were on the way home from the goddamn hospital when she called you, Max! I heard everything! How could you say those things? How could you get back together with her?”

  “Warren, no! Nicole was waiting for me. I left! Damn it! I would never go back to her! I love Annaleigh! Wait. Are you with her, and did you say hospital?”

  My heart dropped when I heard that word. The crazy cab driver was swerving in and out of traffic, and I willed him to go faster, to get me the fuck out of this godforsaken town and back to Blue. My ears were roaring with a blind panic… if anyone hurt her.

  “Yeah. The hospital. Max. It’s bad.” Warren’s voice got low, and I heard rustling and a door opening. “She had an accident.”

  “Oh God, and I wasn’t there. I left. What happened, Warren, please?” I held my breath, my hand balled into a fist, waiting for him to answer. I felt sick, dirty, unworthy.

  “You fucking swear you had no idea Nicole would be there? And you didn’t mean all the hurtful shit you said?”

  “No! I should have listened to you, to her, and never left. Please. Warren. Tell me. I need to know.”

  “Yeah, man. Okay. She was walking Baxter, and Benjamin confronted her.”

  I sucked in another sharp breath, growling, terrified as he talked.

  “Baxter bit him, and she got away, but she tripped and is bruised up pretty bad.”

  “I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll quit the bank and open up my own firm to make sure he is charged with assault…”

  “He’s been arrested, has stitches, and won’t make bail. Now, who’s a good boy? Are you? Yes, you are. Such a good protector and mama’s boy. We need to cook you a steak tomorrow, don’t we?” Warren said, baby-talking Baxter.

  The cab driver’s eyes flicked to me in the mirror, and a maniacal giggle spilled out of my lips before I could stop it.

  The airport food might make a second appearance after all, “Fuck, Warren.”

  I took off my glasses to rub my eyes. They felt like sandpaper.

  “Fuck indeed, Maxie.”

  “Can I fix this? Talk to her?”

  “She’s sleeping. And I don’t know.”

  “Thank you for being with her. Please keep her safe. And thanks for answering, Warren. I’ll text you when I’m back home.”

  “You do that, Maxie. And for the record, I’m rooting for you.”

  “Thanks, man. I love her,” I said.

  “I know you do. You just have to convince her that you do. Love you, bro. Talk soon.”

  “Bye, Warren.”

  I was silent for the rest of the drive. My brain was in overdrive, fueled by my mistakes. All my mistakes. I laid my head back in the back seat of the cab. All the feelings that had been fighting their way to the surface broke through, coming together to make one thing crystal clear.

  It was time to man up and become the man my father never was, the man she deserved. No more letting my temper get the best of me. I was going to jump in headfirst without a life v
est, diving into the deep end of obligations and responsibilities. She deserved someone who loved her and trusted her. Someone who listened to her.

  She deserved a place where she could be the amazing person she was without anyone second-guessing her. She deserved someone a hell of a lot better than me and my fucked-up psyche. But if she’d let me, I’d make it up to her.

  Hell, I’d stand in her driveway John Cusack style with a boombox. Did they even make boomboxes anymore? Didn’t matter. I’d write her love letters or meet her on top of the empire state building. Whatever it took. She was mine, and I was hers. Nothing else mattered. Operation Get Her Back was about to begin.

  - 29 -

  MY EMPTINESS

  Max

  The next thirty-six hours went by at a snail’s pace. Thank fuck my bourbon didn’t judge. I was going to have to make another stop at the liquor store if this kept up. Annaleigh wasn’t answering my calls. She was answering my texts, but little good that did.

  Max: Can I come over?

  Blue: No.

  Max: Will you answer the phone?

  Blue: No.

  Max: Are you okay?

  Blue: Yes.

  Max: I’m sorry.

  My thumbs had permanent indents from pressing my phone screen so hard. Warren was at least answering me with full sentences. Operation Get Her Back might as well be called Operation Epic Failure. But she couldn’t ignore me at work. It was a shit thing to do, but I was prepared to lock her in my office until I could apologize and explain what the hell happened with Nicole.

  But she didn’t come in to work on Monday. The office felt empty and cold. Even her plants looked wilted and sad like she had been their sun. I knew she was my sun, lighting up every dark corner of my life. Elise wasn’t at work either. A new girl was sitting at the reception desk. I introduced myself, but her name didn’t register, and when I got home that evening, I sent another round of texts.

  Max: Are you sick?

  Blue: No.

  Max: Can I do anything?

  Blue: No.

  Max: Can I call you?

  Blue: No.

  Max: I’m sorry.

  When I got one-word answers again, I drowned my feelings in bourbon and passed out on the couch.

  She didn’t come to work Tuesday either, and I made more of an effort with the new receptionist. The new girl, Lydia, said that Elise was fired for being in cahoots with Benjamin. She used the words cahoots and did air quotes for added effect.

  Tuesday night was more bourbon and more one-word answers. I should take it as progress that she wasn’t telling me to fuck off, but clearly, this wasn’t working. I needed help. I texted Warren, and he reluctantly agreed, putting him at five percent Team Max.

  By Wednesday, I was using every technique I could muster to keep my emotions in check. And I wasn’t the only one who was a walking disaster without Annaleigh. I had listened to Jake stomp around his office for an hour before he knocked on my door. His personality had done a complete three-sixty. He was short-tempered and angry.

  I got it. I was a jerk. But I was a jerk that deserved a chance to make things right! He walked in with a scowl on his face and an indent between his brows.

  “Do you have any idea where these Promissory Notes are, Max? They have to be mailed today, and I don’t want to bother Annaleigh in her condition.”

  He handed me a blue post-it with names and loan numbers. My heart broke when Jake stressed the words ‘her condition.’ I should be with her, comforting her, holding her, letting her know I’d never put her second again. But I was here—a useless shell of a man without her.

  “Um, yeah. I witnessed her notarizing these,” I said, standing up.

  Jake followed me to Annaleigh’s desk, and I opened her second drawer, taking out a stack of documents with her familiar blue post-its. I handed the docs to Jake and picked up a piece of paper lying underneath.

  It was a list of about a dozen nicknames, some crossed off, and some circled. Ace, Tiger, Babe, Broody, Sexy, Tight-Ass, Baby, Boo, Cutie. And the list went on. I ran my fingers over her blue curly script before tucking the list in my pocket. She was taking her nickname search seriously. At least if she never forgave me, I’d be able to look back and see how good I had it.

  “I’m a fucking lunatic,” I said under my breath, walking back to my office and slumping down in my chair, turning it to face the river. Jake followed and cleared his throat, tilting his head to his office. Standing back up, I sighed and rubbed my hands over my face, pulling off one, no two, pieces of tissue from where I cut myself shaving. I slumped down in front of Jake’s desk and stared at the floor.

  “You ready to stop wallowing in self-pity? It’s not like you were ever good enough for her,” Jake said, sitting down and linking his arms behind his head. He leveled me with a glare, the intimidation clear, but I seriously wasn’t in the mood for him. I wasn’t in the mood for anything.

  “Wow. Thanks, Jake. Way to be impartial,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

  I took off my glasses to clean them on my tie, but they came away with more smudges than before. Coffee stains dotted my tie. My blue tie. I loosened it, pulling it over my head and throwing it towards Jake’s trash can.

  I missed.

  “I never said I was going to be impartial, Max. I specifically remember saying I would side with her if things went South. I don’t know the whole story, so are you going to tell me why our EA refuses to give me a date for when she’ll be back to work? And are you going to ask me to help you fix this fucked up situation? Or continue to sulk around the office like a kid that had his favorite toy taken away?”

  Jake stared at me until the words sunk in. Holy shit! He’d help me!

  “What? You’ll help me. What do you want to know?” I said, standing up to pace his office. I shook out my hands and rolled my shoulders, pouring out everything that had happened these last few days—from Warren, to the band, to freaking Nicole, and my epic screw-up. I was wildly waving my hands as I paced, trying to make him understand.

  “So, yeah. I planned to talk to her here, but she hasn’t shown up. I don’t want her to slam the door in my face, but something has to give,” I said, slumping back down in the chair. “Jake, I’m spiraling.”

  “You mean to tell me your big plan was to talk to her here?” Jake said.

  “Yes. I mean, no. She won’t answer the phone. I don’t know. She deserves an apology and an explanation for my overreaction. She deserves everything.”

  Jake reached in his top drawer and took out a manilla folder, laying it in the middle of his desk. With a tap of his finger, he pushed it forward.

  “I’m overstepping big time here, Max, but I feel like you need to know the whole story. Pick up the folder and say, ‘you’re welcome.’ ”

  “What is this, Jake?”

  “Answers,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest.

  I sat back and picked up the folder, flipping to the first page. It was complaints. Some dated more than a year ago, and they were all from Annaleigh about Benjamin and Raymond. Holy shit. I kept flipping until I got to the printed conversation that happened in Tennessee, and not far after that was a copy of two police reports, one from Annaleigh, another from Jake. Flipping further, I saw a restraining order.

  Oh, God. The next papers had my hands shaking and sweat beading on my forehead. Phrases jumped out at me, possible fractured wrist, suspect taken into custody, history of abuse and threats, arrest record. I was sick reading the words. She called me after it happened, she tried to tell me. But I accused her, and Jake, of being deceitful. I put down the folder and put my hand over my mouth, taking off my glasses and laying them on Jake’s desk.

  “HR forbade her from discussing this until the investigation was complete. But it’s over now. Benjamin had a prior for assault. I don’t know how the fuck he covere
d it up and was hired in the first place. But this is his second offense. He’s not getting off this time. And she’ll be fine, but I’m not too sure about you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone deteriorate so fast in seventy-two hours. You wore that suit yesterday,” Jake said, taking the folder back.

  “It is going to take more than talking to fix this,” I said, hanging my head. “Especially after what I said.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. Now, get the hell out of here,” Jake said, “You have literally been useless this week.”

  I bolted up like a man on a mission, because I was. I wouldn’t argue with Jake about being useless. It surprised me it took him three days to kick my ass into gear. I was going to go to her house and would stand on her doorstep until she answered.

  Stepping forward, I shook Jake’s hand, and he clapped me on the back. I sprinted down to my truck and fired off a text to Warren to let him know I was coming over. He responded almost immediately with about time, making me push my speed higher through the city.

  Operation Get Her Back was back, baby! No, that sounded stupid. Operation Blue? Operation True Love? Operation True Blue! Maxwell Smerdon, marketing genius!

  I needed a nap. Or another cup of coffee. No, I needed Blue.

  I turned the radio on and Whatever It Is was playing. It was a sign—a sign I was doing the right thing, something I should have done as soon as I got back from Chicago. It felt like each moment I went without seeing her; the further she slipped away.

  Different reactions she could have crossed my mind as I drove, from her slamming the door in my face, to us slow kissing in the rain, to us becoming exhibitionists and screwing on the porch while her neighbors watched and cheered us on.

  I was fine with being an exhibitionist, as long as having a cheering section didn’t give me stage fright. It was like that movie with Kevin Bacon where he imagined his wife’s parents at the foot of their bed with headlamps, making sure their technique was right to get pregnant.