The Real

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, snatching my bottle from my grip before taking a healthy sip.

“What’s with the stalker lighting? Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“Just got home.”

He flipped the switch in the kitchen and I cringed. “Where’s Abbie?” He peered over at me. “The fuck happened to you?”

“My goddamned life,” I said bluntly and instantly regretted it.

Max sobered. “What happened?”

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “Like I said, I’m not in the mood.”

“I didn’t come over to make love. Kat did that to you?”

Whatever lie I told him, I already knew he wouldn’t believe.

He took my silence as confirmation. “Then why the hell aren’t you on the phone with your lawyer? She can’t touch you now.”

I stared down at the bottle. “First, because it’s two o’clock in the morning. And second, because it’s not worth it.”

“Jesus Christ, man,” he said, moving toward me as I took a step back. “Kat’s done this before?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, taking another step forward.

I shook my head, my voice stone. “Back off. Leave it alone.”

“How long?”

Something foreign crept up my spine. The same part of me that lashed out at Abbie. I couldn’t control my bite. “I don’t want to talk about it, fucking ever. We’re never going to have this conversation.”

I gritted my teeth as he watched me too closely. “Let it go, Max. She’s gone.”

“Okay,” he admonished. “Where’s Abbie?”

“Gone too,” I said, snatching the bottle from his grip and finishing it off before I spoke. “Turns out they were working together.”

Max stood speechless, a first for him.

“I know,” I said with a dry laugh, pulling two beers from my fridge.

“You have the worst luck of any pretty boy I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah,” I said, tossing the beer caps into my sink and handing one of the bottles to him. “I thought my luck was turning.”

“Apparently, you need Jesus,” he said, taking a swig.

“Trust me, he won’t listen, either.” Max eyed my chin.

“Damn, we’re a mess. It’s like we’re back in college again, screwed up little boys instead of grown men.” I didn’t have an ounce of argument until his eyes trailed over my face.

“Stop looking at me that way, man. If it was anyone else, you would have asked me how he looked.”

“But it wasn’t a he, it was your wife.”

“I’m telling you now to let it go.”