Two women in one body.
Now she knew exactly why she’d felt that way. She’d only remembered the woman she had been before she’d gone to counseling, before she’d found out how to deal with her past, and had actually begun to like the woman she had found underneath all of her dysfunctional self.
Max had fallen in love with an illusion, a woman who she’d tied in knots to please him, creating a persona that wasn’t real. Max didn’t truly know her at all. He never had.
I never really knew Max completely either, yet I loved him. I still do.
Mia slammed her thoughts closed, not wanting to think about the agony of still loving Max the way she did. He hadn’t revealed all about his emotions, but he wasn’t hiding the kind of secrets that she had never told him about, the horrible parts of her past. What would he think of a woman who had been stupid enough to be involved with a man who had no conscience, no qualms about killing anyone she cared about? Her father had been insane. Danny was a murderous sociopath.
Mia could hear the car coming up the drive before it arrived at the house, tires crunching over dirt and gravel as a vehicle made its way down her long, winding driveway. Her heart started to hammer and she ran to the kitchen to snatch the cordless phone, her hand trembling as she grabbed for it. Even though she was willing to sacrifice anything to keep Max and her brothers safe—and she intended to do just that—she didn’t look forward to the actual consequences of her actions. She could be dead long before the police arrived.
Peering through the window right next to the front door and switching on the porch light, she watched a sleek black sports car pull up next to her rented vehicle. A shadowy figure emerged—a very large, very tall figure. Unable to make out his face, she squinted to bring his features into focus as he entered the circle of light cast by the porch lamp.
He stumbled, taking an uneven step as he cursed and moved forward again, his entire body finally revealed. Mia’s legs practically gave out with relief, and then horror.
Max. Oh my God. No!
He finally made his way ungracefully to the door and disappeared from view. Mia could still hear him mumbling as he pounded on the wood, calling out, “Open the door, Mia. I know you’re there.”
Scrambling to the door, she unlocked it and swung it open.
For the first time in his life, Max looked truly bedraggled.
For the first time in his life, Max looked completely drunk and disorderly.
And, for the first time in his life, Max did not look happy to see her.
Chapter 8
It was a sad, sad situation when a man needed a healthy amount of Dutch courage just to face his own wife!
Max was drunk, and he knew it. Okay…he sort of knew it, but was trying like hell to convince himself that he wasn’t. Maybe sitting at the end of Mia’s driveway and taking some shots from the bottle of rotgut whiskey he’d bought in Billings hadn’t been such a good idea. At the moment, he was alternating between being “king of the world” and “emperor of the dumbasses.”
“Max…have you been drinking?” Mia asked, astonished.
Bingo. Give the woman a prize.
“I’ve had a few,” Max answered, lying his ass off. He’d had more than a few. Several? A lot? Yeah…he thought one of those would be more accurate.
Still, seeing her in front of him, looking as beautiful as she always did, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a red tank top, nearly killed him. Maybe the alcohol hadn’t helped ease the pain at all, ’cause his chest was aching just from looking at her. She looked…concerned and anxious, and when he saw her blue eyes flash with fear, he nearly lost it. Was she afraid of him, or the whole confrontation thing? She did seem to prefer to run away. But then, he’d done it, too. He just hadn’t done it with another woman.
“You never drink much,” she mumbled, standing back to let him in. “And you never drink and drive.”
Nope. He usually didn’t. In fact, he’d never actually been drunk, which may be the reason he was having such a hard time deciding whether or not he truly was intoxicated. “Didn’t drive while I was drinking—except up your driveway, which, by the way, has a hell of a lot of damn potholes.” And in his possibly inebriated state, he’d driven into every one of them.
He was sauntering into the living room, trying hard not to fall on his ass, when he heard a stifled laugh.
“You’re completely plastered, Max,” Mia informed him, her eyes concerned, but her lips smiling slightly. “How much did you drink?”
“Don’t know,” he answered honestly. ’Cause really, he didn’t remember how many swigs he’d taken from the bottle. He’d wanted enough to make him numb, enough to keep him from reacting to Mia. The thing was, he didn’t think there was enough alcohol in the world to accomplish that.
“How did you know I was here?” she questioned carefully.
“Your brothers. I’m not sure…but I think I killed Travis,” he answered cheerfully. He was pretty sure Travis wasn’t dead, but he’d be battered and bruised, and the idea of that made Max pretty damn happy.
“You didn’t kill my brother, and you shouldn’t have gotten in a fight with him. He’s just trying to protect me,” she told him calmly, her hands on her hips as she looked up at him. “Is that how you got that cut over your eye? It’s bleeding.”
Damn. Travis had gotten a few punches in while trying to protect himself. But at the moment, Max was feeling no pain. “Yeah? If you think I look bad, you should see him,” Max grumbled, highly offended that Mia hadn’t taken him seriously when he’d said he had killed her brother. “He fights like a girl,” he added, knowing he was lying. Had Travis really tried, and had Kade not stopped the fight, Max had no doubt both of them would be in the emergency room right now. “Bastard should have told me. You’re my goddamn wife. I had a right to know that you’d left me for another man.”
Mia reached out and lightly touched the bruises on his face. “Oh, Max. What did they say? That isn’t—”
“I want to hate you. I should hate you. But dammit, I just f**king can’t,” Max said coarsely, hating himself for still not being able to look at her and conjure up the hatred he should have for a wife who had left him desolate and heartbroken for over two years, making everything he’d felt—and still felt—seem like one big joke…at his expense. “Did you know that when I thought you were dead, I wanted to die too? I didn’t want to go on living without you.” Max knew they were drunken words, a pity party for one, but he didn’t give a shit. “I was completely obsessed with you, so out of control that I had to back away from it to keep a leash on myself. And the whole f**king time, your mind was on another man.” He reached out and grasped her wrist, pulling her down with him to the leather sofa, her body beneath his. He might be drunk, but as he looked down at her, he couldn’t mistake the anguished, tormented look in her eyes. Did she feel sorry for him? Christ. He hoped not. The last thing he wanted was her pity.