I give a dramatic, feminine sigh. "I bet you get all the girls to drop their panties when you talk like that, right?"
He leans forward a bit, looks at the lower half of my body with an arched eyebrow and says dryly, "Apparently not."
I should be tired as hell and not up for witty banter, but damn if he doesn't energize me with his quick wit and charm. I laugh and turn my face forward again. "But seriously, what did you say?"
"I said you're not getting in my pants, no matter how much you beg," he says devilishly.
And I can't help it, I laugh again.
But then he turns serious. "I said yes, I am French-Canadian and I was born to a French-Canadian father and an American mother."
"Your accent is very hard to detect though," I point out.
He shrugs. "I probably mimic my mom's accent some, plus I've spent the last eleven years outside of French-speaking Canada. It's probably just diluted, I guess."
"And do you have siblings?" I ask, my mind of course thinking of my one and only, who I lost.
"Three," he says in a voice that tells me he loves his siblings the way I loved Melody. "I'm the oldest, then there's Lucas, who is a year younger than me at twenty-six. He's a center for the New Jersey Wildcats. Then Malik, who is twenty-four and exercised his dual citizenship by enlisting in the U.S. Marine Corps, and finally our little sister, Simone. She's twenty-one and in her senior year at Dartmouth, where our parents met. She wants to follow in my dad's footsteps and become a doctor."
"Your dad's a doctor?" I ask curiously.
"A radiologist. His name is Laurence," he confirms with a nod, and I can hear the French part of his accent loud and clear when he pronounces it "Lor-ohnce." And damn...that's sexy.
"My mom, Marilyn, is a public speaking coach," he adds with pride. "My family is amazing."
"I can hear the affection in your voice," I say with a smile. "That's nice."
And it is...so nice.
And foreign.
"Will you tell me about Melody?" he asks softly, and his voice washes over me with such care that I don't hesitate in the slightest, even though she's been difficult to think about much less talk about.
"She was three years older than me--" I start, but Max interrupts.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-five," I tell him and then continue on with my story. "Our mom ditched us when I was thirteen and she was sixteen, and my dad was a long-distance truck driver, so he sort of just let Melody take care of me when he was on the road. Which was fine. Melody was always really mature and she did take great care of me. Did all the grocery shopping, paid bills with money Dad left us when he was gone, made sure I did my homework. You know...mom stuff."
"Was that here in Raleigh?" he asks.
I shake my head. "Fayetteville...about an hour south of here."
"Military base there, right?"
"Fort Bragg," I tell him. "In fact, that's where she met her husband, Dwayne. He was a soldier there and they got married when she was twenty. I moved in with her and Dwayne for my last year of high school, but then he got out of the Army not long after I graduated and she moved with him back to Oklahoma, where he was from."
"That must have been tough on you," he observes.
"Really hard because Melody had just found out she was pregnant with Rocco," I tell him in a sad murmur. "But she was in love and following her heart."
"What did you do?" he prompts.
"Moved back into my dad's house. Got a job and tried to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Finally decided on becoming a nursing assistant, and I figured I could go back to school later and complete my RN degree if I wanted."
"And that's when you moved to Raleigh?"
"Yup. Finished my degree, got a job at Sweetbrier and have been there ever since."
Max sits up from his semireclined position and turns himself to face me, raising one powerful leg up onto the cushion and slinging his arm along the back of the couch. It's not touching me but it is resting right above the top of my head. I shift my body, turn to lean on my hip so I can face him.
"What happened to Melody?" he asks quietly, his eyes pinned to mine.
I drop my gaze only for a moment, really just to collect myself, and then I look back up to him. "Ovarian cancer. By the time it was diagnosed it had spread everywhere. She went downhill really fast, maybe about three months total from the time she was diagnosed. Sweetbrier let me take a leave of absence--unpaid, of course. I went out there and took care of her until she...well, until the end. Brought the kids back with me."
Max's face has morphed into painful empathy and he reaches his hand out, runs his fingers over the back of mine resting on my thigh. It's an intimate move, but not a sexual one. It's full of support and care. He then wraps his fingers around my hand and squeezes.
"What about her husband?" he asks.
"He flaked out pretty much after Rocco was born," I told him with only a slight hint of bitterness. Bitter that he hurt Melody so badly but very much consoled by the fact I have the kids and he doesn't. I explain further, "He cheated on h
er frequently, often leaving for weeks, usually to stay with another woman. He'd then float back into her life, she'd take him back because she loved him, and lo and behold, she'd get pregnant again. Then he'd flake out again. When she got diagnosed, he'd been gone again for maybe six months. Moved to Arizona last we heard, with some woman. Never sent her any money and actually owes a few years of back support to them, but I doubt I'll ever see that."
"Did he even come back when Melody was sick?"
"Nope," I tell him now with complete bitterness. "Melody was heartbroken he didn't even care enough to come say goodbye but she defended him to the end, which drove me nuts. Said that it was too hard on him to see her that way. They had a few conversations on the phone and he made it clear he couldn't handle the kids. Gladly signed off for me to get guardianship."
"What an asshole," Max mutters, his hand reflexively squeezing mine. And it feels good and secure.
"Totally an asshole," I agree. "He was horrible to Melody and I never got why she kept taking his shit. He's only called the kids once since they've moved in here, but honestly, I'm not sure that's a bad thing. They're used to him not being in their lives and I think it only highlights his abandonment of them when he makes such infrequent calls. At first I thought it was strange they hardly ever asked for their daddy but then I realized he really wasn't that to them throughout their lives."
"Someone should kick his ass," Max says on a low growl. "Or better yet, go kick his parents' asses for raising such a piece of shit."
He won't get any argument from me there, that's the truth. I lean until the side of my head rests against the cushion and smile at him in agreement.
Max bends his head down a little closer to me, his eyes brimming with stark admiration. "So here you are...probably leading a decent, stress-free life, and all of a sudden...you lose your sister and gain three kids. You had to cram everyone into this little apartment, and you're struggling to make ends meet because it's not cheap feeding and clothing and nurturing three children. So you work your ass off, morning, noon, and night and you make things work."