“You’re really going to do this?” Pierce asked in disbelief. “Isa, make sure you get it on video this time!”
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned her with a grin. He bent down and kissed me loudly on the lips. “Better make hay while the sun shines,” he laughed, heading towards the stage. He paused and turned to me. “Be thinkin’ which side of the closet you want, sweetheart.”
I couldn’t even respond. I couldn’t formulate a “Don’t do this!” or an “Are you crazy?” or a “Wait a second!” because, for one, I had been rendered completely speechless. I never, ever dreamed he’d actually do it. And for two, I didn’t know which response I wanted to go with. A part of me was terrified of the idea and another part of me felt like a salve was being applied to my wounds as he walked to the stage.
Max stuck his hands in his pockets and made his way through the crowd. A bachelorette party was finishing up, murdering one of Ariana Grande’s hits.
“You know you have to go through with this now, right?” Cane asked, glancing quickly at Samantha with a huge smirk on his face. “You’ve finally agreed. He’s not going to let you out of this.”
“I’m sure he’s kidding,” Sam said, giving Cane her best innocent look. “He’s too much of a gentleman to hold her to this.”
“Of course he’s kidding,” Brielle laughed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be dumb.”
Their banter was broken by the emcee taking back the mic. The final beats to the song pounded through the speakers, as the man on stage began to speak. “The ladies out there are going to love this one! Keep your panties off the stage, please!”
I couldn’t hide my satisfaction at Samantha’s reaction when Max took the stage. He looked downright edible in his dark denim jeans that hugged his thighs in a way that made me want to remove them. He had a black t-shirt with a motor company logo stretched across his chest and his black Saints cap on.
The bachelorette party, now seated in the front row, began to cheer and yell at him to take off his shirt. He ignored them, fiddling with the mic instead. He looked nervous, completely out of his comfort zone.
As the beat to We Rode In Trucks by Luke Bryan started to play, Max raised his head towards the crowd. I laughed out loud at his song of choice, the tune he sang constantly. He held his hand over his eyes, shading them from the bright lights, until he found me. He pointed at himself and then at me, before raising the mic to his mouth, the equipment catching the last bit of a rough chuckle. He watched the screen as he began the words to the song.
“I can’t believe he’s doing this,” I said to no one in particular. My eyes were focused on my man, who kept chuckling instead of singing, like he was in as much disbelief as the rest of us.
The first chorus ended and the second began and he settled down. His southern drawl was pronounced, his voice low and sexy. Encouraged by the cheers, he began to sing a little louder and laugh a little less. As his confidence grew, his voice evened out. I’d heard him sing a number of times to himself in the truck or while he was building a bookcase or something, but I had no idea he could really sing. Not like that.
The song ended and everyone clapped, the bachelorettes asking for an encore without clothes. Max looked across the crowd and smiled.
“One more! Throw me your shirt, baby!” someone yelled from the front of the room.
“Sorry, but there’ll be no encore tonight. I gotta go help my lady pack her stuff.”
KARI
I looked at her face and it told me everything I needed to know. Her lips were pushed down, her eyes sorrowful.
I tried to simultaneously sit up and push her hands away, my throat tightening as the panic set in. I didn’t want her touching me, didn’t want to hear her voice tell me what I already knew. I wanted her to leave! To get out of the room! To leave me alone!
Alone . . .
Hot, golf ball-sized tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over my lids in a spectacular fashion.
She scooted back in her little round, wheeled chair and away from the examination table as I scrambled to sit upright. The sound of the chair rolling across the floor amplified the emptiness of the room.
The emptiness of me.
“No! No!” I shouted, trying to force myself to breathe but failing. My throat was too tight, my chest too constricted.
“I’m sorry, Kari . . .”
My eyes flew open. I scanned the room, my heart pounding in my chest. I gulped a breath of air and batted back the tears and fears, not necessarily in that order.
The sound of the ceiling fan. Max’s boots by the door. My purse on the chair in the corner, right next to Max’s belt. Titus’ pillow empty against the wall.
I inhaled deeply, letting the air hold in my chest before blowing it back out. I lay back, putting my hands on my stomach, and tried to relax.