To Have It All(64)

At first, she struggled to escape it, pressing her hands against my chest in a weak attempt to push me away. She faintly grunted in protest, but only a little and briefly; not like a woman that seemed to feel accosted or forced, but more like she wanted to seem like she didn’t want it—want this. Because if she did want it; if she did crave the kiss of a mad man, what would that mean?

It would mean that she was crazy, too.

After a moment, she succumbed, her body going limp in my arms as she held my shoulders firmly. I kissed her with desperation, like a man that knew this was make or break. I kissed her like I would never kiss her again because that was most likely the case if she refused to believe me. Pressing her body to mine, I lifted her slightly, a low growl escaping me as I softly sucked her lower lip.

With my arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, I asked, “Do you believe me?”

With each breath she took, her chest rose and fell. Something heavy hung in the air between us and surrounding us. For me, it was fear. I had no idea what she’d say, and the unknown was killing me. A tear trickled down her cheek as she stared into my eyes. She hiccupped, her body beginning to convulse as she tried to control her emotion. A knot lodged in my throat as I watched her. The war waging inside of her was evident. She wanted to believe me, but how could she? Raising up on her toes, she clutched my face in her hands and kissed me once more.

When she pulled away, her gaze left mine. “No,” she whimpered.





He was silent all the way back to his apartment. When we walked into the lobby of his building, the doorman, Braxton, was on the phone and waved, attempting to get Max’s attention, but Max was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice him. He continued toward the elevators, pulling the wagon containing a slumbering Pim behind him. Not wanting to be rude, I walked over to the desk.

“He’s tired,” I explained to Braxton, quietly.

He raised his chin. “I see. I only wanted to tell him the motorcycle is ready. I just need to know if he wants to pick it up himself or have it delivered.”

“Motorcycle?” I questioned.

“Found it online almost two weeks ago.” Leaning in, he whispered, “He spent a fortune between buying and fixing it, but Panheads are rare.”

“Panhead?”

He smiled apologetically when he realized I didn’t know what he was talking about. “The motorcycle he bought.”

I wasn’t sure what to think about what Braxton was telling me. The other day Max told me he didn’t own a bike, but was thinking about buying one. That was the day he came home with the trike for Pimberly. According to Braxton, Max had bought this before then. A madness swept over me as I started piecing together dates. Almost two weeks ago would have been before the accident where Max claims that he, as Liam, was hit, consequently saving Max’s life.

“May I ask, between you and me, why did he have you help him with it?”

Braxton tilted his head. “No idea, ma’am. He barely spoke to me before.” Glancing toward the elevators to gauge how far away Max was, he leaned in toward me and whispered, “I don’t think he has many people he’s close to. In fact, this last week or so is the first time I can recall anyone coming to visit him.”

“Really?” I questioned. “What about women he dated?”

“Can’t recall one,” he admitted, “but that’s between you and me,” he reminded me with pleading eyes.

Bobbing my head once, letting him know his secret was safe with me, I told Braxton, “I’ll let him know about the bike.”

I waved as he offered a timid, “Goodnight.”

With a deep frown, I headed toward the elevator where Max was already inside, holding the door, waiting for me, a lost and sullen look on his face. Everything was a huge mess. Max was unraveling, and I wasn’t sure I could help him. I wanted to, badly, but there was one problem. A huge problem. One that scared me to admit because it led to questions about my own sanity.

The truth was, a part of me as warped as it might sound, believed him.

And that was just insane.

And that meant I couldn’t help Max because, in reality, I probably needed help myself.

When we got back inside the apartment, I put Pim in her travel crib and shut the door. Max stood facing the tall windows in his living room, his arms crossed as he stared out over the city. The room was dark but for the lights from outside that cast a soft hue inside.

“I thought you’d be packing,” his husky voice broke the silence.

That’s what I should have been doing, right? I mean, Max was crazy, right? Unable to give him an excuse as to why I wasn’t packing right that second, I let out a frustrated growl as I plopped on the couch and covered my face with my hands. How could I even be entertaining this ludicrous story he had spun? And what did that say about me? Was I this desperate for love that I’d buy into something that was impossible?

“I’m sorry, Waverly,” he said causing me to drop my hands. He was turned now, facing me, his gaze fixed on me. “I know this is a . . . a lot.”

“You told me you didn’t own a motorcycle,” I blurted.

He pursed his mouth as if confused. “I don’t.”

“Max,” I breathed.

Dropping his arms, he flung them up at his sides in frustration. “What?” he asked defensively. “I don’t. Before I ended up on the streets, I owned a Bobber, but I sold that to my friend Lenny.”