Authors: Carol Rose
Sighing, Max said, “Look, I know you think I’m lower than pond scum, but let’s pretend I’m having a decent moment. Quit trying to look for a dark motive. Let’s keep it as simple as we can. Pretend…I’m researching for my work or something. So, which is it? Did your dad keep him with you and still act like a single, child-free man or did he adjust to your needs?”
It was, she reluctantly admitted to herself, a fair question and if anyone but Max had asked it, she’d have cheered at the distinction he was making. As a teacher, Nicole had seen so many kids in that kind of parenting situation. Adults who seemed to have forgotten that their children needed to be their priority.
“I don’t think you’re pond scum and my father did date some,” she acknowledged finally, still eyeing Max warily, “but he never made me feel like anything less than his first concern.”
“So he never married again?” Max took a swig of his coffee.
“No.” She shook her head. “His occasional girlfriends…weren’t the marrying type, really.”
“So he dated bimbos?”
“No…well, yes, sometimes,” she said, visualizing the half dozen or so women she’d protected her father from over the years. She’d be the first to admit he hadn’t had high enough standards. Helpless women attracted him. Like a lot of men, he liked being a savior.
Nicole heard herself explaining, “My dad has too soft a heart. He hates being critical and condemning of other people. Sometimes that’s made him less…discriminating.”
Biting into her sandwich, she waited.
“And that meant that you had to do the discriminating for him,” Max concluded evenly.
She couldn’t honestly deny it. “Yes. Sometimes.”
“So this warm-hearted, sweet guy who lets himself fall into dating bimbos, did you have to look after him in other ways?”
“No,” she answered with a frown. An image flashed in her mind, though, of all the times she’d written the checks for their bills in her unformed high school cursive. When she’d placed the checks in front of her dad to sign, he’d usually only asked if they had the money in the bank. “My dad took really good care of me. I always had food in the house. He never drank away his pay check. I mean, there were times when he got taken advantage of. He’s inclined to loan people money even when they have a lousy track record regarding repayment. But I never went hungry and I always had school clothes. He got me braces for my teeth and sent me spending money when I was at college.”
Max regarding her across the table, a small, not unkind smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You earned yourself a scholarship, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” She ducked her head to take another bite of her sandwich, unsettled by the turn in the conversation. Even with his flaws, she’d always felt grateful to have a warm, loving father. “I test pretty easily, so my SATs were good enough to put me in a bracket for a full scholarship.”
Was Max talking about her father to avoid the subject of his own ‘personal growth’ needs?
Max’s smile widened, the uncharacteristic tenderness in his eyes prompting confusion in her. How could a guy say such a cruel thing about a woman and then two days later sit there smiling at her like that?
The rat wasn’t making this any easier for her.
“Well, winning that scholarship,” she said as she got up to dump the rest of her sandwich in the trash, “was good for me. I think kids need to help earn their way.”
“You certainly earned your way,” he commented, lifting his cup again to his mouth.
“Yes,” she said the word with more emphasis than she’d intended. Feeling awkward then, she changed the subject, but not to the one really occupying her mind. Was Max worth the effort? Their twenty-four hours of passion loomed huge in her mind, no matter how much she tried to forget it. How could he just act like it hadn’t happened? Didn’t he ache for a repeat as much as she did?
If only he were a shade more functional…a little closer to giving up some of his isolation…. If only he were less rooted to New York City…. If he wanted a relationship with her, what would she do?
Hips against the counter top, she asked as normally as possible, “So are you pleased with the way the book is going? Don’t you think it’s your best work or can’t you be a judge of your own work?”
Max cast her an obviously speculative glance, but seemed willing to allow her to shift the conversation. “I’m the harshest judge of my own work. And, yes, overall I’m very pleased with how it’s going.”
“I’m glad,” she said, smiling. “I think it’s very good.”
“Nicole,” he said abruptly, “you do know that people only learn from their own mistakes. I’m a prime example of that in the way I deal with people, my relationship with my brother particularly. I made a huge mistake and I’m dealing with the consequences of it. Stick your hand into the fire and get burned. That’s how life works. Choices and consequences. Even if your father didn’t mean to steal money from me by plagiarizing, he made a massive mistake that he himself needs to take care of.”
“Yes, my father made a mistake,” she agreed. “But he shouldn’t be unreasonably penalized for it. It’s not like he made a huge profit. He realizes he’s made a mistake and regrets what he’s done.”
“Regret,” said Max carefully, a frown darkening his face, “doesn’t change anything and it sure as hell doesn’t keep a person from repeating their behavior. Again, look at me. As I said, our sleeping together wasn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made.”
“Shit!” Stung into a reaction, she braced her hands on the counter behind her. “Look, we obviously need to talk about what happened between us when we made love. Whatever you may think,
I
am not Alexa. The situations are completely different. You
need
to realize that!”
Max registered the agitation in her voice. He sat at the table and deliberately took a sip of his coffee. By no means would he telegraph to her the powerful cacophony of his reactions to her. This had been his primary goal in the last two days, along with getting the book finished.
She had no idea what he needed and he knew her reaction if he told her. He needed to make love to her…over and over. Against the wall, on the stairs, hell, with her sitting on the counter there. He wanted her so bad, he shook with it.
The last few days had been a mixture of misery and productivity. When she’d first returned to work with him the other morning, even after she’d found out about him, he’d been ridiculously relieved. The book was safe and if he had his work, he’d be fine, as well. Surely.
Only he’d over-estimated his own ability to disregard those hours he’d spent loving her. Now it was as if he could feel her heart beating from the floor below him. He felt alive and painfully attuned to her presence, conscious of her movements and moods. The experience still left him startled and unsettled. Hell, she was just a blonde with a good rack, wasn’t she? So what if they’d had phenomenal sex a couple of times. He’d never let that sort of thing affect him before.
Only now, it was.
She
was affecting him.
He struggled simply to keep from jumping her bones. To his shock, he wasn’t rational about her, all of a sudden. Hell, he couldn’t even resist her when she wanted to drag him away from his work yesterday. He knew he should have. Why go walking with the woman when all he needed was to get the work done so he could remove himself from the temptation she offered? Temptation and a certainty that she was not within his reach.
Like he needed another knife in the gut!
Max knew she was waiting for him to respond. To buy himself some time and with a spurt of defiance against his own emotions, he took a slow sip of coffee.
Ever since they’d had sex, he could hardly bear to go into the office when she was there. Did people really spontaneously combust? Simply sitting here in the kitchen with her left his body feeling like he could glow in the dark. Hell, whenever she was in the apartment, his body reacted like a Geiger counter signaling a major uranium find. The internal buzz was damned near deafening.
But he couldn’t allow her to see. There was no point. He’d recognized the look on her face when he’d turned away from Pete in the park that morning. She had been repulsed by what he’d done. And his mistake with Alexa was just the last and biggest moment of abysmal defeat in his forays of human interactions. He could write about it, but he sucked at actual human-to-human contact.
Why she’d come back to type for him, he didn’t know. But he suspected her return and her fucking motherliness in taking him for walks were simply part of her caretaking dysfunction. He hated himself for enjoying it sometimes.
But the book was going beautifully. He had his work back—partly due to her—and that would have to do for him. It would have to be enough.
The option to pursue all he wanted with her didn’t exist. That one moment in the park and the horror on her face had confirmed for him everything he’d feared. She’d be unable to endure him. When the chips were down, he thought, deliberately using the cliché with a black humor, she couldn’t accept him.
He had to keep guarding his tongue and get the damned book done. The subject of Alexa couldn’t even be allowed to arise between them.
Nicole stood now watching him with a challenging gaze, still waiting impatiently for his response.
Max smiled blandly. Through the years, he’d perfected the masking of his feelings. It was so natural to him now, he frequently didn’t even register emotion within himself…except with her.
After several more long moments, he reminded her coolly, deliberately, “There’s no need to discuss our sexual encounters, at this point. They’re obviously behind us. We are currently talking about your father, not about anyone else.”
Nicole returned his stare, a helpless frustration growing in her eyes.
She was so easy to read, Max thought for the hundredth time, so open and straight forward. He’d made a deliberate choice to come in here and talk to her about her father. He had to stay focused on his purpose. She needed to understand that she had to let her father stand on his own.
It was best for her and her father in the long run.
“The problem with the people we love,” he said carefully, “is that we hurt when they hurt. We want to make it better for them…but really we do it for ourselves. You know you’re too quick to parent your father. It’s hard to watch him struggle, so you step in. But you’re a teacher and you also know sometimes, people—kids—have to do things for themselves.”
If he couldn’t do anything else, he could help her with this part of her life. She wouldn’t leave him completely damaged, he thought with a savage internal smile.
“Maybe so,” Nicole said, the words slow. “Yes, I know he has to start picking up his own messes. I guess that goes for all of us, doesn’t it?”
Max watched her walk out of the kitchen, a sinking sensation in his gut. The woman knew how to stick to her guns. Standing alone by the kitchen counter as her departing footsteps echoed through the kitchen, he couldn’t help respect her for it. An odd combination, respect and grief. It didn’t matter that he’d grown ravenously more addicted to her company, that the sound of her laugh or the dawning of her smile made him feel so fucking warm inside. There was nothing he could do to make this work…except to help her in the small ways he could. She needed to let go of her father…to let go of her tendency to rescue those who had to rescue themselves.
In his weaker moments, he considered allowing her to try and save him from himself. But he knew where that would lead. That brand of relationship had it’s own kind of hell, particularly when the rescuer didn’t see enough change in the rescuee. And even if he could alter his DNA for her, eventually she’d lose interest and go off to find another project.
Max took another sip of coffee, holding the bitter mouthful until his throat would work again.
There could be no future, no further lapses in judgment for him where she was concerned.
Turning the heavy ceramic mug in his hands, Max wondered how he could stop thinking of ways to please her.
* * *
An hour later, Max still hadn’t been able to dive back into his work. Instead, he stood gazing out the bank of windows across from his bed, thinking the same useless, repetitive things. Using every brainwashing technique he’d ever heard of, he kept trying to erase his longing for her out of his mind.
It wasn’t working very well.
As he turned back to where his writing pad lie on the floor in front of the bank of windows, his gaze fell again on the phone and Max thought again about his brother.
As though haunted by twin ghosts, Nicole and Pete couldn’t be dismissed. He’d hurt them both, in different ways, but Pete, at least, might fit into his life eventually. Nicole could never accept him for who he was, but a moderate, occasional relationship with his brother sounded doable.
The phone sat there, silent.
Maybe if he fixed his own life a little, Nicole would lose interest in him before he succumbed to her completely.
Max knew if he called his brother, Pete would probably erupt all over him again. Almost a week had passed since their confrontation in the park and they’d had no further interaction. Why call Pete now? Max didn’t have a need to offer himself up for target practice. Who wanted to be ranted and raved at, particularly when he felt like shit about the situation already.
But…maybe Pete had a right to dump on him. Perhaps that was even what his brother needed to do to get past the crap between them. Maybe, instead of avoiding him and hoping time would heal the wounds, Max needed to give him more opportunities to vent and, eventually, Pete might be able to forgive him.
He really wanted his brother to forgive him.
Picking up the phone on an impulse, Max dialed his brother’s number from memory. There weren’t many numbers he kept in his head, but Pete’s remained emblazoned there despite three years of disuse.