Flawed Heart (House Of Obsidian #1) (16 page)

My heart warms.

“Come on,” I say, waving to them.

Immy takes Max’s hand and I see the fear flash across his eyes, but after a few seconds he lets her drag him along. As he passes me, he looks into my eyes, and I can see the pain there, the pain I left behind. I don’t have time to talk to him about it right now, but I will.

I will tell him how wrong I was.

Most of all, I’ll tell him just how much I love him.

Still.

~*~*~*~

F
our words.

Four, horrible, heart-wrenching words.

I’m sorry she’s gone.

They are saying it to me, but I’m numb. I’m just staring at them. They can’t be right; the doctors said she had a few months more. They said she was progressing well. I don’t understand. There must be a mistake, there has to be. Maybe they’ve got the wrong person. She was just sick. A cold. It wasn’t the end. I didn’t...it couldn’t...
no
.

“Miss?”

I blink, completely numb and stare at the doctor. “No, y-y-y-you said she had more time and . . .”

“She had a virus, and it appeared her body just couldn’t cope any more. The cancer had spread further. She was severely dehydrated and she passed. I’m very sorry.”

Dehydrated? No. Oh God. I should have called the ambulance quicker, I shouldn’t have let her talk me out of it. What the hell was I thinking?

“But . . . I didn’t get to say goodbye,” I say, my voice shaky.

“I’m so very sorry. Is there anyone I can call?”

I shake my head, numbly. I have to call my sister. I have to pull myself together and let my family know.

I walk down the hall until I find a waiting area, and I sit down, my body burning with unshed pain. I want to scream, and cry hysterically, and just sit there and be angry. I didn’t get to say goodbye to her. I didn’t get to tell her I love her. I wasn’t by her side. If I had forced her to go to the hospital sooner . . . maybe she would have made it.

With shaky fingers, I pull out my phone and call Tina. She’s away with her husband—she shouldn’t get this news now, but there’s no other option. I have to tell her.

It’s the worst phone call of my life.

She cries a lot, and her husband gets on the phone and tells me he’ll take care of her, and they’ll get the next flight home. Until then I have to live with this. I just can’t process that she’s not here. Everything inside my body feels numb, and alien, like it just doesn’t belong there.

I don’t know what to do from here. Where do I go? Am I supposed to sign something? Am I supposed to pay someone? I just don’t understand what the hell I’m supposed to do. I drop my head in my hands and try to fight back the tears that are urgently trying to push forth.

“Anabelle?”

I lift my head and see a nurse with kind green eyes staring down at me.

“Yes?” I croak.

“You don’t have to stay here. We’ll make all our arrangements on this end, and ensure your mom is in a safe place while you organize her funeral.”

You mean the morgue.

“But of course you can stay as long as you need.”

I can’t spend another second here. I need my little girl. I need to breathe her in. I need a reminder that it’ll all be okay.

“Do I have to sign something?” I croak.

“Yes, I have that right here.”

She has me sign a few things and then I’m free to go. Free to leave my mother’s deceased body. That thought makes me want to scream. This isn’t how she should have gone. It was meant to be fun. Her last days were meant to be happy ones. She was meant to see that Tina and I were happy, and that we were coping. Not this. Never this.

I walk numbly to my car and drive, doing nothing but staring out the windscreen. I honestly don’t even know how I make it to Max’s house. I get out, terrified that my entire body is numb. I should be crying. I should be screaming and demanding answers. Why the hell am I so numb? I walk up the front steps of the house I used to love so much, and even that doesn’t draw an emotion from me.

When I reach the front door, I lift my hand and knock.

A moment later the door opens, and Max is there. Seeing him makes all the emotions I thought I wasn’t feeling rush forth. I feel my own face crumble and scrunch as hysterical tears pour from my eyes.

Max doesn’t say a word. Instead, he does the best thing he can do for me. He pulls me into his arms and then into the warmth of the home.

He lifts me into his arms and carries me to his couch, and then he sits there like that, with me breaking into a thousand pieces on his lap, for hours. He stays there long after I stop crying. He stays there even when my body starts sinking into his and my eyes flutter closed. Yes, my husband stays with me until finally I fall into an exhausted, broken sleep.

I
’m staring at Max, just staring.

He’s sitting on the couch, looking out the window. He hasn’t said a word to me for three days. Not since he came home that night with one of his security friends from the club. They said he broke down. I don’t know what happened. They don’t know what happened. He just lost his shit and now he’s sitting there, staring blankly.

I don’t know what snapped in his brain. He’s been fine; everything seemed normal. Everyone that’s called through told me they didn’t know if something had happened before he arrived at the club that night, because he did show up late. I’ve asked him, but he simply grunts at me and gives me no answers. Something is wrong, but I have no idea what it is.

Maybe he just needs time.

I’ve been continually giving him food and drink, none of which he touches. His skin looks pale and his big body is slumping over. I’ve grown desperate on more than one occasion in the last few days, asking what’s wrong, begging that he tell me, but he just keeps answering with the same thing. “Nothing is wrong. I’m fine.”

Clearly that’s not so.

What did he see? Did someone hurt him? Did something happen on his way to the club? He’s not close with his family, and they live a good eight hours away, but I called them anyway. His mother had no idea, so there were no answers there. Everyone at the club said he just came in, and something was off. He was beside himself and lost his shit at a staff member.

It’s as if someone isn’t telling me something. I’m most suspicious of the security guard, Peter, who said he controlled him and calmed him down. He was vague when he was answering my questions, saying that he thinks Max’s just under stress and needs some time off. Maybe he’s right, but there’s got to be more to it. Max doesn’t just shut down like this. It’s not normal.

“Hey,” I say, walking over and putting my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t even flinch. “You okay?”

He nods. “Fine, Blue Belle.”

“You haven’t moved a lot in the past few days. Are you sick, Max?”

“I’m fine, Blue Belle.”

His words are so empty, emotionless and broken.

“Max, please. You’re scaring me.”

He shrugs my hand off his shoulder. “I’m stressed, I need a break. It’s fine.”

He stands then, finally moving from his spot.

“Max, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” he snaps, his face full of rage.

As if he realizes what he just did, his expressionless mask comes back. “I just need rest.”

“Please,” I beg. “I feel so helpless. I need to help you, but I don’t know how. Max please.”

He ignores me. He just turns and walks up the stairs and I hear the door slam.

A tear trickles down my cheek.

~*~*~*~

T
here’s nothing left.

I feel nothing.

I want to die.

~*~*~*~

H
e hasn’t come home for three days. Three days. He’s been at the club, and no matter how many times I call, he doesn’t answer. He sent a vague text assuring me he’s fine and that he’s just working, but it’s not like him to behave like this. I’m frantic with worry, and I’ve asked him so many times what’s going on, but he just keeps brushing me off. Eventually he stopped answering and just glared at me, as if my questions were stupid.

I’m pacing my living room, contemplating going down to the club and demanding that he come home. I don’t like going down there, and I don’t like pushing him when he doesn’t want to be pushed, but something has got to give. He’s clearly struggling with something. I just don’t know what it is. Every time I ask, he just shrugs it off. He doesn’t want me to know. He’s pushing me away.

The door swings open, stopping me in my tracks. I turn and see Max stumble through. He’s wearing a pair of faded denim jeans and a black shirt, with a leather jacket thrown on. He looks a mess, and his hair is scruffy and overgrown. His face needs a good shave. I watch in horror as he fumbles with the lock, and I realize that he’s drunk.

Max hates drinking. He never does it, and if he does it’s so light you wouldn’t even know he’d been doing it.

I’ve never seen him drunk. Never.

“Are you drunk?” I whisper, pain shooting through my heart.

He spins around, as if just noticing me, and then laughs loudly. “Had a few.”

Ice runs up my spine and I storm forward, slamming the door closed and locking it. “You never drink. What the hell is going on, Max?”

“Get off my back,” he mutters, taking a shaky step forward. “I’m allowed to have fun.”

“Yeah, you are, but this isn’t just fun. You’re suffering. Something is wrong, but you won’t tell me what it is. Is it the club? Is there a problem?”

He glares at me. “Maybe the fucking problem is you. Stop nagging.”

It feels as if someone’s slapped me. “Nagging?” I whisper. “You think I’m nagging? I’m trying to help you, Max.”

“Don’t want your fuckin’ help, ’cause nothin’ is wrong.”

“Then why are you drinking?”

“Because I’m having fun!” he roars. “Maybe you should try it once in a fucking while.”

Tears burn under my eyelids. “Is that the problem? You don’t think I’m fun enough because I don’t come down to the club? I thought that didn’t matter. I thought . . . I thought it’s how you wanted it to be.”

“Nothing is how I fuckin’ wanted it to be, Anabelle. Fuckin’ nothing.”

With that he stumbles up the stairs.

I stand in stunned shock.

He’s never spoken to me like that before, and it hurts like hell.

I
wake on the couch in the middle of the night, alone but tucked in with a blanket. I sit up and rub my eyes, staring around the room. My heart aches as I realize where I am. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this house. God, I loved it so much. I push to my feet and the floorboards squeak as I walk into the kitchen. I get a glass of water and then tiptoe towards the stairs. I need to know Immy is okay.

I go up slowly, and when I reach the room that used to be the spare room, I push the door open. Immy is tucked in the big double bed, surrounded by teddy bears. My heart aches, because Max must have gone and got those for her. She looks happy, comfortable and cared for. That makes tears spring to my already burning eyes. He took care of her. I knew he would, but seeing it makes warmth smother some of the pain.

I step out and gently close the door. I’m about to head back down the stairs but I hesitate when I glance at the old main bedroom door. I find myself turning without being prompted and I walk over, taking the door handle with trembling fingers. I push it open lightly and peer in. The bed is exactly where it used to be, and right in the middle of that bed is Max, sleeping, hands tucked behind his head.

The moonlight is just touching his body, and I can see all the hard grooves of his muscles. The sheet is down around his waist, and so I have a perfect, clear view of the body that has changed so much since I last saw it, but it’s still equally as delicious. I step in quietly, walking over to the bed and glancing down at his face, which is surprisingly soft in the dull glow of light.

I swallow the thick lump in my throat and turn to walk away, when a hand lashes out and catches my wrist. I stop and look back to see Max staring over at me with sleepy, hooded eyes. “What’re you doin’, baby?” he murmurs.

My heart swells and explodes at the words, because it’s as if he’s forgotten that I was never gone, and is treating me the way he always used to. He tugs my hand and I step forward. He flicks the covers back and pulls me into the bed, and I don’t fight it. I need him more than my next breath. He tucks me into his side and my cheek rests against his hot, hard chest.

“Max?” I whisper.

“Mmmm?”

“Thank you for tonight.”

“Anytime, Blue Belle.”

His voice, low and husky, makes my heart swell and burst. I put an arm over his belly and flatten my hand out on the hard muscle there. He stiffens a little, as if my touch surprises him. I swallow and try to push back the needy feelings I’m having towards him right now. It’s not right that I should want him; it’s not right that I need him. I just lost my mother.

But the comfort having his body in mine brings is calling to me more than it ever has.

I try to close my eyes, try to push the thought away and tell myself it’s inappropriate to want such a thing at a time like this, but I can’t fight it. I try, but I can’t. My hand moves of its own accord, sliding over his smooth, hard stomach. It goes up and down his chest, feeling the hard ridges of muscle, before dipping below the waistband of his boxers.

“Belle,” he grinds out as I curl my fingers around his hard cock.

“Please, Max,” I whisper against his skin. “I need you. I need you more in this moment than I have needed anything in my entire life. I miss you. God, I miss you so much.”

He flinches. “Baby . . .”

“I love you, Max. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I wasn’t the wife I promised to be. I’m sorry I let you suffer on your own . . .”

He rolls quickly, pressing his lips to mine, stopping any further words escaping my tear-stained lips. He kisses me soft, slow and deep. He moves as if I’m made of breakable china, and even though that’s sweet, I don’t want him to handle me as if he’s going to break me. I want him to handle me as if he’s been starved of me for years.