from seeing the mess I’ve become. I think she knows, I can see the concern in her eyes. I don’t know how to fight it anymore; I don’t know how to make it go away. There are times I think taking myself out of the picture would be easier. I’m so tired of trying.
Tonight I stop trying.
Tonight I’m drinking at my bar, swaying from side to side as the pain keeps finding its way inside. Nothing will take it away. Nothing will make it better. I’m suffering in complete silence. I’ve shot back so much alcohol I can’t even feel my own legs, but the pain in my heart isn’t leaving. It just won’t fucking go. Why the fuck won’t it go?
“More,” I grunt to the bartender, sliding my glass at him.
He studies me with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure about that, sir?”
“Do I fucking own this club?” I bark.
“Yes, but you’re not in a good way tonight and . . .”
I can’t take it. I can’t.
I stand and lift the stool I was sitting on, hurling it across the bar. The bartender ducks, and it narrowly misses him. It hits the wall behind him and bottles of alcohol explode from the shelves. I’m sprayed with glass and alcohol. It soaks into my shirt and I don’t care. People start gasping and chattering, or going completely silent.
“I own this club!” I roar, launching the glass at him next. “If I want a motherfucking drink I’ll have one.”
“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t . . .”
“Stop treating me like I’m a fucking broken toy,” I bellow. “Stop looking at me like I’m a fucking pathetic man.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You shut up! If I’m talking to you, you shut up!”
“Max.”
A hard hand curls around my shoulder and I turn, fighting as hard as I can. It’s one of my security guards. My vision blurs as an emotion I’ve trapped for a full month comes bursting forth, like the poison it is. It constricts in my throat until I can’t breathe. Everyone has stopped, and they’re all staring at me as if I’m broken, as if I’m pathetic.
“Come on, cool it.”
“Don’t tell me to fucking cool it!” I roar.
“You’re losing your shit. Calm down.”
“I can’t fucking calm down.”
Her face keeps flashing in my head, over and over, over and over, until I snap. I launch my fist into his face, over and over. Before I know what’s happening, my club is cleared out and there are so many arms holding me back. There’s blood on my fists and I’m screaming bloody rage, thrashing and just wanting it to stop. A team of security members drag me to the locker room, and I start slamming my fists over and over into them.
“Max, you’ve got to calm down buddy, or I’ll call the cops. Do you want that? Do you want Belle to see you like this?”
It’s my security guard, which one I can’t tell because my vision is blurring. It hurts. It hurts so fucking much. Why won’t this pain leave my heart?
“I don’t fucking care anymore,” I bellow, grabbing my hair and tugging it.
“You do care. Whatever happened, there is always a way to fix it.”
“There’s not,” I hiss, tearing my own hair out. The pain is a good distraction. “There will never be peace. I saw her die. I saw her die in front of my eyes and I didn’t stop it.”
“Who? Who did you see?”
“The little girl. The accident. The car threw her out and she...I tried to help her. I fucking tried. I couldn’t help her. I moved her and I shouldn’t have. I didn’t call the ambulance quickly enough.”
“Buddy,” he says, his voice full of pity.
“No,” I howl. “Don’t you feel sorry for me. No more. No fucking more.”
It’s all too much. I’ve lost it. I can’t take it any more. I just can’t be this person a second longer. I’m sorry, Blue Belle. I tried.
As I sink to my knees, the Max I am dies a cold, painful death.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NOW – ANABELLE
I don’t see or hear from Max after that, not for three long days. Pippa tries to keep me company, cheering me up, but nothing she can say makes me feel better. Max lived in pain for so long, and I didn’t know. That reality is enough to break my heart into a thousand pieces. My poor, beautiful husband was suffering and I let him.
My mom is getting sicker, which only adds fuel to the fire, so today I’m with