I knew that. I definitely knew.
My hand moved from his waist to wrap my fingers around his neck and I whispered, “I know.”
“He had Bitsy, alive and breathin’, broken but still around to laugh, to talk, to share his bed. Fuck, he never got how fuckin’ lucky he was, comin’ outta that crash. Not that he didn’t get hurt, but that he didn’t lose Bitsy.”
I stroked his jaw and stayed silent.
“It was Curt’s negligence that he didn’t take it in when the factory informed him of the recall. George told me I had a case but I let it go. Money wouldn’t help but money meant everything to Curt so he didn’t get that. He sent Trev to offer me a settlement, didn’t want me suin’ him, the asshole.” Max shook his head. “Christ, he was such a dick.”
Yes, he definitely was.
Max carried on, “Anna had life insurance, got the payoff, never touched it. Not when I was buildin’ the house, never. Touchin’ it, usin’ it, felt like givin’ in.”
“Giving in?” I asked, confused.
Max focused on me again. “To her bein’ dead, makin’ it more final.”
“Death is pretty final, darling,” I said softly but carefully.
His face changed, a wave of that pain sliding through it, his head dropped so his forehead was resting against mine and he muttered, “Yeah.”
Still cautious, I guessed, “He mentioned her in his letter.”
Max lifted his head and nodded and I knew that was why the other Max came out that day, why Bitsy told me to take care of him, because, bottom line, Curt was being a jerk.
“What’d he say?” I asked, my thumb still stroking his jaw.
“Told me he was sorry. Told me he loved Anna and it ate at him, what he did to her. I’m sure that made him feel better, writin’ that out, makin’ him feel like a better man, admittin’ to that. What he didn’t get was what that shit would make me feel, how no apology could change the decisions he made leadin’ up to what happened that night. Nothin’ could change the fact that his wife and my wife were in his car when he acted like Curt, not thinkin’ that two precious souls were with him and the first thing that should be on his fuckin’ mind was gettin’ them home safe. Not pissin’ in his corner, provin’ to a bunch of kids who’s the bigger man.”
As usual, Max was right.
“The fuck of it is, he was writin’ that letter at the same time he was fuckin’ around on Bitsy with Shauna, God knows why, no excuse for it. And writin’ that letter knowin’ that his life was in danger, as was hers, and he was dickin’ around with a PI and not gettin’ the cops involved. He was writin’ that letter apologizin’ for his stupid, fucked up decisions ten years ago at the same time still fuckin’ makin’ ‘em.”
Again, Max was right.
And something else Max was and it was clear as day, absolutely obvious.
He was not over his dead wife.
This hurt, worse than a kick in the ribs, a punch in the face but I didn’t let that show. Not that Max, in his current state of mind, would notice. He was far away, still reliving a nightmare.
Instead of pulling away physically or emotionally, which was what I wanted to do, my hand left his neck to become my arm wrapped around his waist and I rolled deeper into him, pushing him to his back and getting close, resting my cheek on his shoulder, wrapping him tight with my arm.
Max’s hand slid under my body and curled around my waist.
“I saw her picture at Bitsy’s,” I told him, feeling his body get tight against mine and I hurried on. “She was beautiful, Max. You looked happy.”
His arm gave me a squeeze and his body relaxed.
“She was,” he agreed. “We were.”
“You should know, Harry told me everything,” I whispered warily. “About your scholarship, the pregnancies –”
His gravelly voice was back to harsh when he cut me off to remark sarcastically, “Remind me to thank him.” I bit my lip and he continued, “And remind me, next time I’m enjoyin’ your company and you get the stellar idea to leave me and go distract some bitter, drunk asshole from his fucked up issues that are his own issues, ones he created his damned self, and he doesn’t man up to that but takes pot shots at you, remind me, babe, not to let you go.”
This sounded a good deal like Max thought Harry’s tirade was my fault and to ascertain if this was true, I lifted my head and looked at his face. His unhappy, clear, gray eyes locked on mine and I saw that it was, indeed, true.