To Have It All(60)

And they were set on me.

My heart lurched in my chest.

The hard-on didn’t ebb one bit, though.

I busied myself with the comforter, embarrassed and unsure what I’d say to her if she asked why I was cussing at my manhood. When I glanced up again, her eyes were closed, her body still and peaceful.

Had I imagined that?

No. No way. Her eyes were open. She was looking right fucking at me while I scolded Max’s dick. Was she faking being asleep now? Had she been faking the entire time? Fuck. Should I say something?

Quickly, I jerked the blanket over her and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. You’d think the near heart attack I felt like I was experiencing would have withered the erection right away, but no. Max’s junk was set to torture me.

Hustling out of the bedroom, I grabbed the baby monitor and darted for the guest bathroom, stripping my clothing as I traveled. Once I reached the bathroom, I set the faucet as cold as it would get and climbed in, forcing myself to stand under the arctic cold water as I shivered and cursed whatever force had put me in this body.





I let out a long slow breath. The one I’d been holding for what felt like an eternity. After Max practically sprinted out of the bedroom, I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling, trying not to let the panic render me frozen.

He knew I’d been faking being asleep.

Shit.

I hadn’t meant to open my eyes, but when he said ‘you motherfucker’ I couldn’t help it. After everything I’d heard, I should’ve been having a panic attack, but I knew I needed to keep my cool. I had to. Clearly, Max was not well, and I’m not talking about how odd it was when he’d scolded his crotch only moments before. That certainly didn’t help. I’m talking about . . . something else.

I knew I should have left. I knew it was wrong, but my curiosity got the best of me and maybe . . . just maybe . . . it was nice having the extra help. The truth was my ankle was better. Not a hundred percent better, but good enough I could make it around without crutches. I knew it that morning when I woke up.

But I didn’t tell Max that . . . or Helen.

I just kept pretending to need my crutches and let them take care of Pim and me. It was pretty low of me, but I was determined to find out what was going on with Max, and I wanted to know how he and Helen were affiliated. Maybe it wasn’t my business, but the more I got to know this ‘new’ Max and his ‘friend’ Helen, the more I needed to know. Maybe it was the masochist in me—a part of me that needed to feel tortured—but what I really wanted to know is . . . why?

Why was Max different now?

The most pathetic part of me wanted to know why couldn’t he have been different years ago? Why hadn’t I been enough to evoke this new and improved Max?

Shamefully, I had to also admit part of me wanted to stay because of the kiss. I didn’t like that I was letting myself become attracted to Max again, but the fact was it was happening. No matter how hard I fought it, or how tall I built and enforced the wall around me, it was there.

So I faked it, but in my effort to figure out what the hell was going on, I’d discovered more than I cared to and I was in over my head. I needed to call Matt. I needed my brother to bail me out, once again.

When Helen returned with Pimberly after getting her ready for bed, I wasn’t really passed out at the table. I don’t know why I pretended to be asleep—okay, that’s a lie. I do know. I wanted to see how they’d act when they thought I wasn’t listening. Everything I’d overheard had sounded like pure madness. Helen kept calling Max Liam, and Max kept referring to himself in the third person. And who in the hell was on life support? Why did he call Helen sis when she was leaving?

And suicide? Had Max really tried to commit suicide?

There were so many questions. None of it made any sense. The only conclusion I could come up with is they were both certifiable. Maybe I was, too. After all, I’d put myself and my daughter in the hands of two insane people.

Jerking my head up, I glanced at the nightstand. “Shit,” I whispered. I’d left my cell phone on the dining room table. Careful not to make a sound so as not to wake Pim, I climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door. Max hadn’t shut it all the way in his haste, and I was able to peek out. The muted television was on, illuminating the living room, but there was no sign of him. I listened for a few moments then I realized the shower in the guest bathroom was on.

Twisting my neck, I looked back at Pim in her travel crib. She was out cold, her giraffe clutched tightly to her. “I’ll be right back, baby,” I whispered as if she would hear me. Whipping the door open, I sprinted out, quietly leaping like a gazelle toward the dining room. All of the lights were out in the apartment except for the television, but it didn’t take me long to whisk into the dining room and find my phone right where I’d left it.

Picking it up, I dialed Matt’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

“Damn it,” I muttered to myself as I clenched my phone a little tighter. Matt’s voicemail message was way too long and he played an old school rap song in the background. It was so lame. I reminded myself to give him hell about it when he got home. When it beeped, I kept my voice low. “Matt. It’s Waverly. I need your help. It’s about Max. I think . . .” I paused, unsure how to word what I wanted to say. “Look, just call me as soon as you get this. Please.”