Chapter Twenty-Two
Max dropped down into a chair in front of Jameson’s desk. “You wanted to see me?”
Jameson looked up from his sketchpad as Maxwell’s eyes strayed to the window behind him and the bright afternoon sun. He was in a mood today, and would rather be anywhere but in the shop. His thoughts strayed to the bluff and the day he’d taken Malee up there. It seemed so long ago now.
Jameson tossed his pencil down, drawing Max’s attention from the window. “Yeah. I wanted to talk to you. What’s the deal with you and the girl?”
Max frowned. “The deal? There is no deal.”
“Come on, man. Don’t make me pull teeth here. You’ve never talked about it. What happened?”
“Maybe I don’t want to talk about it. Ever think of that?”
“Max, it wasn’t so long ago that roles were reversed here, and it was you talkin’ to me.”
Max remembered it well. His brother had been screwing everything up with Ava, and Max had talked to him. Seems it was easier on the other side of the conversation. “Yeah, well, maybe I should have stayed out of it.”
“I think you know I’m glad you didn’t, even though at the time I didn’t like it. Tables are turned now, so spill.”
Max blew out a frustrated breath and crossed his leg, resting his booted ankle on his knee. He tapped the leather nervously with his hand. “She’s not the kind of girl who belongs with me.”
Jameson spoke sharply. “You want to tell me what that’s supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Jamie. She’s a nice girl from a good family.”
“And your family’s not? That what you’re sayin’? She tell you that?”
“No, but her family’s not the kind that’s gonna want her mixed up with one of us.”
“One of us?”
“O’Rourke brothers. Not with the reputation we’ve got around this town.”
“Brother, any girl who’s not willing to take you for who you are, for the good man you are, she’s not worth having.”
“It’s not her. It’s her family, her father mostly. He thinks this shop is trouble, attracts the wrong clientele.”
Jameson leaned back in his chair, his hand stroking his mouth, contemplating Max’s words. “Thai Garden. Was he one of those businesses that wanted us shut down?”
“Yup.”
Jameson dropped his hand and growled, “Fucking hell. I’m sorry, Max. What can I do?”
Max shrugged. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“I could go talk to the man.”
“You might want to think that one through. The Thai don’t like anger or confrontation. We’re Irish. How’s that gonna go?”
The corner of Jameson’s mouth pulled up. “I see your point. What about you? Have you tried talking to him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It didn’t go too well.” Max stood, shaking his head. “Nothing I say is going to matter, and Malee—she just doesn’t have it in her to stand up to her father or to go against her family’s wishes. She has too much respect for them. That’s their way. How am I gonna get around that?”
“I’m sorry, brother.”
Max nodded. “Are we done here?”
“Yeah.”
Max turned to go, but Jameson stopped him.
“Max? Just remember, I’m here for you if you ever want to talk.”
Max nodded. “Thanks.”
“You gonna be okay?”
Max’s eyes strayed to the window and the blue sky before dropping back to meet Jameson’s. “Yeah. I just need time.”
***
On Friday night after the shop closed, Liam and Rory cajoled Max into going out for a couple of drinks, insisting they couldn’t take his brooding anymore. They were determined to shake him from the depression he’d fallen into since his breakup with Malee.
Max, on the other hand, was certain adding alcohol wouldn’t magically do the trick, but he went along with them just to get them off his back about it.
The three of them walked into the small dance club two doors down the street. It was open late and served their purposes. Usually they’d argue over where to go. Maxwell preferring the brewery, Liam, the dive bars, and Rory varying between the pickup spots or wherever had the best music on any given night. Tonight, Maxwell didn’t care enough to fight about it.
The pounding dance vibe hit him as they entered.
The three of them turned heads wherever they went; it was something Maxwell had always been aware of, but tonight the female attention that followed them as they prowled through the crowd was especially palpable.
Usually it was Rory, with his rock-star good looks that drew the women, but tonight Max noticed a majority of the attention was aimed at him. Perhaps it was the brooding, stay the hell away look he gave them that sucked them in. He was well aware of the bad-boy appeal some women had a thing for. God, he hoped none of them were brave enough to hit on him tonight. He wasn’t in the mood.
The three of them squeezed in at the bar and ordered drinks.
“Remind me again why the fuck we’re here,” Maxwell growled as Liam passed him a Scotch.
“To get you laid.” Liam grinned back.
Max’s eyes scanned the club. “Right. We’re not exactly the business suit/dance club crowd.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, bro. Women love that whole bad-boy, ‘don’t-fucking-mess-with-me-or-I’ll-punch-you-in-the-throat’ vibe you’ve got goin’ on tonight.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Liam chuckled. “Well, a bar fight wouldn’t be my first choice, but if getting you laid isn’t in the cards, maybe a good knock-down brawl will get you out of this funk you’re in.”
“I’m not in a funk.”
“Right. Keep tellin’ yourself that.” Liam clinked his glass to Max’s.
Rory was already striking up a conversation with a brunette at the bar. Max scanned the room. This was so not his scene. He had ten years on every girl in the place. The irony of that hit him. Malee had just turned twenty-one. Hell, how could he have ever thought that could have worked? But he had. And it was because she was different. She was innocent and naïve, yes, but there was a certain maturity in her, too.
Christ! He needed to stop thinking about her. As his eyes connected with a curvaceous blonde headed his way, he thought maybe his brothers were right. Maybe another woman would wash Malee from his mind.
“Hello, big boy. I’m Serena.” She stood in front of him, staring up into his face with a self-assurance he hadn’t seen in a long time. She was bold and brash and about as opposite from Malee as a girl could get. His eyes skimmed down over the tight mini-dress made of some type of sparkly pink spandex. It showed off her long legs, tits, and ass. And none of it did anything for him.
She could never mean a thing to him. He’d never be in danger of losing his heart to this girl. Maybe that’s why he bought her a drink.
An hour later, he was out on the sidewalk with her. They’d come out for some air, and now he had his back to the brick wall with her plastered to his chest. She was all over him.
As her kisses moved from his mouth down his throat and his hands drifted down over her ass, he thought about taking her to bed. If he did, it would mean nothing. She would just be an outlet for the months of sexual frustration that he’d built up. But even as his hands molded over her shapely bottom, he knew he couldn’t do it.
Correction—wouldn’t do it.
She just wasn’t Malee.
Sure, he could take what this girl offered, but tomorrow he’d know he’d used her, and that didn’t sit right with him. And somewhere in the back of his mind he realized he still held hope that somehow Malee would come back to him. And as small a chance—and perhaps as foolish—as it was, he just wasn’t ready to extinguish that last flame of hope that burned inside him.
About the time he realized her lips had clamped onto his neck, she was already sucking. He pushed her away, shoving her off him, but it was too late. The damage was done. He knew what she’d just done had left a mark.
“Goddamn it, quit,” he snapped as she tried to push back into his arms.
Her eyes blazed up into his. “What’s the matter? It’s just a little hickey. You’re skin’s covered in ink, and you’re afraid of a little mark?”
She moved back toward him, her mouth latching on again. He caught both her wrists in his, pushing her off him.
“Serena. Knock it off.”
Her brows shot up. “Oh, so you remember my name. Well, that’s something.”
“Let me drive you home,” he offered, wanting nothing more than to get the hell away from her. The last thing he wanted was to stand here on Main Street and argue with her.
He was struggling to keep her off him when his eyes strayed to a figure skulking past the club, staggering drunk. He’d know that face anywhere, even though he’d only seen it once. Ben’s father.
All the anger simmering beneath the surface tonight exploded out of him. He pushed past Serena and confronted the man. “Hey, you!”
The man lurched to a stop, his watery eyes meeting Max’s. “You talkin’ to me, asshole?”
“Yeah, asshole. I’m talking to you.”
“Fuck off,” the man snapped and moved to stagger on.
Max grabbed a fistful of his jacket and whirled him around, pushing him up against the lamppost. “Who’s watching your kid?”
“Whadya know about my kid? Get yer damn hands off me.” He staggered as he shoved back, and then took Max completely off guard when he threw a punch at him, slamming into Max’s jaw with a powerful blow.
Max’s head snapped back, and then his eyes flared as they focused back on Ben’s derelict father. “You son of a bitch.” He punched him back, sending him crashing to the ground.
It was then that Serena screamed, and two big burly bouncers came charging out of the club. Max was pushed up against the wall, his face to the brick, but before he could explain, he heard the whoop-whoop of a siren. A squad car came racing up the street. The next thing he knew he was bent over the hood of the squad, his arms wrenched back, and his hands cuffed behind him.
Ben’s father was also cuffed, but left to sit on the curb as the cop realized the man was too drunk to stand. The officer’s radio crackled as he called for backup before he even got their stories.
Liam and Rory piled out of the bar.
Liam took one look at Max and grinned at him. “I see you went for option number two.”
Max glared at him. “‘Let’s go have a beer,’ you said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ you said.”
“Hey, we wanted to get you laid, not arrested,” Rory put in.
Liam folded his arms and chuckled. “Big brother decided on another method of getting his frustrations out.”
“Just shut up, all of you,” the cop growled. Max recognized him. Officer Hewitt, a cop who knew him and his brothers all too well. “Ain’t you O’Rourke boys getting a little too old for this bullshit?”
Liam looked at Rory. “He just called you old.”
“Nope. Pretty sure he was referring to you.”
Max rolled his eyes, wishing he’d just gone home to bed.
The second squad pulled up, and a moment later, he was yanked up and off the hood of the car to an erect position. As he was whirled around, he noticed a car driving slowly down this side of the street. It passed not three feet from him, the eyes of every occupant on him. The driver was an Asian man. Max’s eyes flicked to the passenger, and he sucked in his breath in a sharp hiss.
Christ! Could his luck get any worse tonight?
There was a stricken look on Malee’s face, her wide eyes taking in the silver cuffs that clipped his wrist together, and as luck would have it, the mark on his neck. Then those eyes flicked to the blonde in the sparkly mini-dress standing nearby.
Malee wasn’t stupid. She added it all up in an instant.
Max’s eyes slid shut, and he turned his head, unable to stand the devastation written on her face.
Fucking hell.
And right there on the curb that night, he felt that tiny flame of hope sputter out for good.
***
Malee’s father dropped her off at Aunt Tan’s apartment. They’d worked especially late at the restaurant tonight. Papa knew they were due for a monthly health inspection soon, and as he always did, he made them do a thorough cleaning in preparation. She was bone tired as she climbed the steep stairs, but worse than that, a horrible depression and sadness had settled over her at what she’d just witnessed.
It all felt so overwhelming; everything that had happened since that night Max had asked her to marry him seemed to push them further apart.
When she opened the door and stepped inside, her aunt was sitting in a chair by the window, the lights from the squad cars still flashing outside.
Malee dropped her bag on the dining table and walked into the front living room, her hands signing the words. Did you see? That’s Maxwell down there.
Her aunt nodded. I saw it all.
Malee couldn’t believe what she’d seen as her father had driven past. When they’d come upon the police cars, she’d perked up in her seat, looking to see what was happening. She noticed the man sitting on the curb with his hands cuffed, the bouncers, and the sexy blonde in pink. But it was the other man who’d stopped her gaze cold. His back had been to her, standing rigidly, his chin in the air. His face was bruised, his lip bleeding, but she recognized him instantly. Her eyes had traveled down his muscular arms with their scrolling ink, down to the silver handcuffs that pulled back those powerful arms and clipped his wrists together tightly. His fingers flexed several times, as if he longed to wrap them around someone’s throat. And she couldn’t help but remember the way those same hands and long fingers had touched her so gently, so tenderly.
Almost as if he’d sensed her stare, he’d glanced up and toward her father’s car to catch her openmouthed. And for just a split second something flashed between them, and it was as if the squad car with its flashing lights, the bar, and the whole damn street had faded away until it was just the two of them staring at each other. That brief moment was over all too soon, and he turned away. Was it shame or distain for her that caused him to turn?
Malee moved to stand next to her aunt and stare out the window. It looked like they were releasing Max,and hauling the other man to his feet.
What happened? Malee signed. Maxwell’s face was bruised and his lip split. Was he fighting?
Her aunt shook her head. He didn’t start it. The other man hit him first.
Why?
I don’t know.
As they watched, one of the officers pointed to the second man and asked Max a question. He responded with a shake of his head. A moment later they were releasing the other man as well. Perhaps they’d asked Max if he wanted to press charges.
Malee’s eyes strayed to the woman in pink. Did you see that woman?
Aunt Tan nodded.
Was she with him?
I don’t know. He seemed to keep pushing her away from him. Maybe she was drunk.
Malee’s jaw tightened, and her signing was abrupt and jerky in motion, revealing her anger. He had a mark on his neck.
Her aunt looked up at her with sad eyes. Malee, I don’t think it’s what it looked like. He didn’t look happy with her.
She stared unseeing out the window. I guess he’s moved on already.
Her aunt tugged on her shirt hem, drawing her attention. You don’t know that.
She turned from the window. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going to bed.
Malee?
But she didn’t stop. She moved to her room, threw herself on the bed, and cried into the pillow—long, gut-wrenching sobs that emanated from her soul.