To Have It All(7)

“Please don’t tell me you’re some kind of addict,” I mumbled to myself. That’s all I needed right now. The thought caused me pause, and I had to inhale a steadying breath.

“Keep it together, Liam,” I told myself. “Losing your shit won’t help.” With every moment that passed I felt more and more panicked. I was in this man’s body with no idea who he really was. I didn’t know if he had family or if he had medical problems. Was he a drug addict? But the biggest question, the one that was really eating me alive, was why in the hell was this happening?

Tossing the bottle aside I opened the drawer further, finding condoms, a black silk eye mask and some folded bills in a clip. “Six thousand dollars?” I gaped after a quick count. Who the hell keeps that kind of cash in a drawer? Staring at the bills, I twisted my mouth wondering if I should take the money. Was it stealing if I was Max—at least in the physical sense? I mean, it’s not like I stole his body. In fact, I’m the only reason his body still existed at all and wasn’t stuffed in a body bag somewhere. I decided to take some of the cash, just in case. I wouldn’t spend much but I thought Max owed me a few drinks at the very least. And at the very least, I could pay for dinner with Waverly if I needed to.

When four o’clock rolled around, I decided it was time to get ready for dinner with Waverly. The Mill was high class, but whether I was in Max’s body or not, suits just weren’t my thing unless I was attending a wedding or a funeral. Luckily, after quite a bit of digging through suits and jeans that looked like they were bedazzled—were dudes really wearing this shit?—I found a semi-normal looking pair of jeans and a black shirt that fit well. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I gave a nod. It made this unbelievable situation a little more tolerable dressing more like myself.

Rubbing the bit of scruff on my face, I momentarily wondered if I should shave, but decided against it. I had enough to worry about—a few day-old beard was the least of my worries. I assumed Max would understand, where ever the hell he was.

When I rode the elevator to the lobby, I timidly stepped out onto the polished marble floors, glancing around. This place was hella-nice. I was wearing a T-shirt and jeans—some real expensive name brand shit too—because Max didn’t seem to be the kind of man to buy clothes from places a man like me would. Even wearing the finest of his over-priced casual clothes, I felt like white-trash as I walked through the lobby. People, Max’s neighbors I assumed, stared at me like I was a fly in milk—like I didn’t belong. I momentarily second-guessed my decision to dress down. Was that why they were staring? Because they’d never seen Max wear normal people clothes? Or was I imaging it all because I felt like the fact that I was inhabiting Max’s body was that transparent? I felt like the proverbial sore thumb—I stuck out. Shaking it off, I snickered to myself as I imagined the judgmental stares they’d cast at me if they’d seen me less than a week ago, in my own dirty body, clad in dirty street clothes.

“How are you today, Mr. Porter?” A short gray-haired man removed his hat and bowed slightly to me as if I were royalty. Was he for real? I’d seen doormen before, mostly as I passed by nice buildings where they were opening car doors for residents, but I had never really spoken to one. Did they all bow?

“Uh . . . I’m good,” I paused and glanced at the shiny metal name tag on his uniform, “Braxton.” Then I cut my gaze to his. “Your name is really Braxton?” Braxton the doorman? It sounded like something out of a movie.

He chuckled nervously, his eyes filled with what looked like confusion. “Name given at birth, sir.” I almost smacked my forehead as I realized I had just asked his name. Max would have known his name. Right? Or maybe rich people wouldn’t care about their doorman’s name. Damn, this was frustrating.

Realizing I must’ve sounded like I was insulting him, I quickly added, “Good name.” I cringed internally. I sounded like a dumbass. What dude gives a shit about another guy’s name? Keep it together, Liam, I reminded myself. I had to learn to be more observant. Otherwise, I’d make Max look like he was losing his mind.

“Are you okay, sir?” he asked in a hushed tone. “You don’t quite seem like yourself.”

My head reared back a little. “I don’t?” Shit. So it wasn’t just me. I really was sticking out like a sore thumb. I imagined I must look like a clay humanoid, awkward, as I navigated Max’s body around.

Patting my arm, his mouth twisted into a smile. “You’ll be fine, sir. Maybe you just need a little fresh air.”

“Yes, I think I’ll take a walk, Braxton,” I sputtered. “Thank you.”

Braxton stared at me a moment, his mouth seemingly trying not to curve into a smile before he jerked suddenly and bobbed his head once. “Very well, sir. Have a nice afternoon.” He scurried off behind the desk and answered a ringing phone. As I headed out into the hot New York afternoon, I wondered if this would be how everyone I approached as Max would act—like they could tell I was a fraud?

“I hope not,” I mumbled to myself.





As soon as his eyes met mine I could tell something was off. If the way he smiled nervously and how he wiped his hands on his jeans as if his palms were sweating weren’t enough to clue me in, the way he was dressed certainly did. Expertly fitted black shirt and jeans that were perfect—but not his usual suit or designer get-up? The lax outfit paired well with the bit of scruff on his face which was also unlike him. He looked . . . good. I mean, Max was a handsome man, no doubt about it, but once you got to know him, his physical attributes were quickly tarnished by his egotistical and selfish character. Unfortunately, I was young and foolish when I met him and fell hard. I believed I could change him. What happened was I ended up wasting part of my life with a man who would never love anyone more than he loved himself.