Chapter 10
Jackson
Talk about a damn crazy day. I have to admit that I now understand why Maia keeps her past so closely locked away. Those people are f-ucking bananas. Although Maia is nothing like them, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s trying her damnedest not to be. My parents fought a little when I went off the rails a few years back, but nothing that involved violence like that. I hope to God that that’s not what Maia grew up with, or so help me I’ll find that asshole who I punched and likely finish the job.
Maia directs me through the city and out to Cedar Beach, to a quiet seafood place on the wharf. I try to put on a brave face against the pain, but my hand hurts like a motherfucker, and I’m quite sure that at the very least I fractured something. Maia keeps glancing over at me hesitantly, as if she’s waiting for me to ask her about what happened today. I gather that the worthless bastard was her kind-of father, and I presume that the greasy looking fool on the street was her ex and his new, um, pet. She’s not overly close to her mother, but has a lot of respect for her Aunt Megs, who, judging by her dark complexion, is not a real aunt. That’s all I got. For that whole eight hours. But I don’t think I’ll push it, she’ll talk when she wants to.
Being that I’m driving, I opt for a light beer, and Maia orders an expensive scotch and dry. I took her for a long stemmed wine glass kind of chick, but scotch? Kind of gangster, I have to say. I smile at how the little things she does impress me. We order a seafood platter and take in the candlelit ambience of the small restaurant. The muted candlelight hits her face just right, making her eyes glow almost iridescently. The best thing about Maia is that she has absolutely no idea how f-ucking hot she is, how as she looks up at me expectantly, half her face is hidden behind a curtain of long, dark hair. My mind trails off in various directions, imagining the obscene things we could do on this table, if we were alone. My jeans pull with the rising pressure the thought is causing me. Thank f-uck for long tablecloths.
“Jackson,” Maia’s voice breaks through the imagery.
“What, um yeah?”
Her brow pulls together. “Sure you didn’t hit your head?” she teases.
“Nah, I’m good,” I say taking a swig of my beer. It’s suddenly f-ucking hot in here.
“So, I should probably give you a bit of background about today,” Maia says, very reluctantly.
“Maia, don’t feel like you have to, I don’t wanna hear anything you don’t wanna tell me,” I reassure her, because it seems fitting.
“No, I do want to tell you. I need to tell you,” she looks at me determinedly, as though she’s just decided to run a marathon. I reach across the table and cover her hands with mine. “So, the asshole you punched was my, well, apparently now not, my father. He’s a millionaire, a control freak, and a sadistic prick. He made my mother’s life hell. And practically ignored me, unless we were in the public eye. My mother decided to leave him, and I’d say given the hooker and the booze, he’s not taking it so well. Only he doesn’t give a flying f-uck about her, just about losing control.” Maia takes a long swig of her whisky, polishing off the remnants in the glass, and signals the waiter for another.
“And the asshole you met on the street, that’s Bryce. Ex-boyfriend, one of Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors and an absolute pig!” Maia takes another swig of her whiskey and I reach for the glass.
“I’m not trying to be your parent here, but slow down princess. You need to eat before you go knocking back the hard stuff like that.” f-uck me, I do sound like a responsible parent.
“The chick with him was Morgan, ex-best friend and yes, you guessed it, an absolute slut,” she continues. I’m extremely grateful when the seafood platter arrives at the table because I was seriously preparing mentally to carry Maia to the car and hold her head over a toilet bowl all night. “So,” she says between picking at the tower, “Morgan hooked up with Bryce two days after I dumped him, and she’s foul because of what he did.” Maia’s tipsy already. Wow, she’s a really cheap drunk. Not that I would take advantage of that, but still, wow! She’s holding up a tempura prawn as she asks, “Aren’t you going to ask why he’s a pig, what he did?”
I had assumed that his first impression said it all. He looked like one of those dudes that didn’t really need to do anything and would still be considered a major dick. The hurt in her eyes is genuine. I move the platter away and simply say, “No.” She looks up startled. “I mean, unless it has something to do with you, then I’m really not going to waste my time and yours talking about him,” I explain.
“It does,” she replies. “Can we go? I just want to walk for a while.”
I go to pull out my wallet to pay the bill, but Maia’s already handed the waitress a black American Express card. My male pride suffers a little at the gesture, but given the circumstances, and the fact that the action seemed so automatic for Maia, I let it pass. With the exception of a few lonely fishermen on the wharf and adjoining piers, Maia and I have the wharf to ourselves. We find a bench close to the edge of one of the piers and Maia curls up in my arms. She seems so fragile now, so in need of protection, but when she stood in front of her father, she held his stare. Didn’t lose it. I know he hurt her when he grabbed her arm, but she forced back the majority of her pain. My blood boils when I recall that, and truthfully, the only reason I didn’t smash his face into a million small pieces was because of her, because this was still Maia’s family after all. I make a silent promise to willfully destroy the next person who makes her feel that way.
The black ocean stretches out for miles ahead of us. “So, why do I hate Bryce, aside from the obvious?” I ask.
“You mean other than him being a f-ucking waste of oxygen,” she replies passionately. Maia is really f-ucking sexy when’s she’s mad. Long as she’s not mad at me.
She recounts the story of how their families orchestrated dinners and weekend getaways in the hopes that they’d hook up. ‘Good publicity’ she called it. They finally did. When she was sixteen, they dated for a year. Maia pauses before the rest and takes a long sigh. She tells me that his friends must have been pressuring him to ‘just f-uck her already’ and clearly gave him some shit about it. Until one night, after a particularly trying evening with her father, he suggested they go out for a few drinks. One club turned into two, then three. I have a feeling I know how this story ends. A lot of chicks back home don’t remember losing their virginity. I’m about to reassure Maia that she doesn’t need to go on, but she does. She tells me that she wasn’t drinking much, two champagnes at most, but after the second one she didn’t feel right, so asked Bryce to take her home. Only he didn’t, and the next day she woke up in his bed. Remembering nothing. Bryce swore that she was too drunk to remember anything. That she wanted it. Morgan, her so-called best friend, corroborated Bryce’s story.
I personally have this desire to slam Bryce’s pretty little face right into a f-ucking concrete wall. But at least I get why she’s so detached and hesitant to trust another guy. f-uck, I would be too, if every person I’d ever gotten close to in my life thus far was such a complete and utter f-ucking asshole. To make matters worse, I really feel like I should say something now. But my male brain has no idea how to process this. Other than testosterone fuelled rage.
“So you think he slipped something into your drink?” I ask.
She nods, “I’m almost sure of it. He took selfies on his phone of the night, as show and tell at the next tennis game. Morgan showed me one, and I didn’t even look conscious. Morgan told me to let it go, said that if my father knew I was planning a smear campaign against Bryce, he’d never forgive me. It would be social suicide. So I dumped him, and within days he and Morgan were an item.”
I hold her shoulders and turn her towards me. “Maia, you need to stop wasting your time thinking about them. Don’t make them f-ucking important in your life by thinking about them. Concentrate on this.” I pull her firmly into me and find her mouth with mine. Even broken like she was today, Maia is f-ucking amazing. And I plan on letting her know that every day until she tells me not to. Her hands slip under my shirt as the kiss deepens. To my absolute surprise, she places her free hand square in my lap. I move her hair aside and trail a series of kisses down her neck. She throws her head back and a small groan escapes her lips. Her nails dig into my back and it feels f-ucking crazy. Her hands cup my crotch and the stitching on my jeans threatens to give way under the strain. “Maia,” I breathe, just before our mouths crash together again. f-uck me, there is nothing I want more than to rip both of our jeans off! I couldn’t care less that we’re on a wharf, hell, there could be a whole goddamn carnival surrounding us and I don’t think I’d give a shit. That’s why it damn near kills me when I pull back.
Maia looks at me questioningly, her breathing still ragged. “First of let me start by saying that I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but we have to stop,” I say as convincingly as I can manage. I adjust my jeans, but right now there’s no comfort to be had in them. As she averts her gaze to the crashing waves of the midnight tide, I try to read her facial expressions. It’s cloudy, and doesn’t help that she says nothing. “Maia,” I say gently.
She looks away into the black depths of the ocean sky and when she turns back to face me, her eyes are distant. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that she built an entire emotional wall around herself in those five seconds when her eyes left mine. “You’re right,” she offers me a small plastic smile before standing and starting back towards the car.