Page 105 of Off Court Fix

What I do know is I can lose myself deep inside Maxine, and maybe there I’ll find the person I need to be in this moment, strong, confident, able to stand on his own two feet.

We’re two panting, heaving bodies, and I’m leading us there. Because when it all comes down to judgment day, I know I’m going to hell. So, I’m going to fill up on the bits of good that are Maxine—found between her lips, hidden beneath her dress that I bunch up, sliding my hand up her silky leg as I seek to find heaven’s gates.

Maxine’s neck calls to me, and I abandon her mouth to look there as well, as if I’m about to find bits of redemption among the scattered freckles, free for me to swallow down. When she moans my name again, it drives me crazy and mad—but actually mad, so I lick, kiss, and suck harder as I push my hand higher, finding lace I’m about to tear from her body. The intensity and adrenaline flooding me are so potent I know I could do it with my pinky. I’m that determined—but so is Maxine, it seems, to slow things down. Her hands cup my cheeks, pulling my head back, and I fight, nearly feral, to get back to her. She takes my glasses off my face—ones I hadn’t noticed had fogged up along with the windows and windshield of my car. When I realize I can finally see, she comes into view, a vision of swollen lips and glossy eyes.

“Crosby—”

I pull her face to me again.

“You’re drunk,” she mumbles against my lips.

“On you.”

And I am. I’ve been. Ever since that first night in this very same car, before I even had a taste, I was hooked, drunk, high off Maxine.

“Back seat,” I growl, ripping my mouth from hers as she takes a quick, relieved breath.

“What? Crosby—”

“You’re worried now? You weren’t last time. But this time is different.” I manage to land in the middle of the backseat. “This time, you’ll listen to me when I tell you to sit on my fucking lap andrideit.”

I lean to reach over and grab ahold of Maxine’s wrist, but I’m so out of my mind I don’t even realize she struggles against me, even when she objects.

“Stop it.”

“Come on.” I pull her more so I can run my lips and tongue along the thin skin on the underside of her wrist. I nip at it, and Maxine yanks harder, cursing me under her breath.

“What’s wrong with you?” Finally, she yanks her arm free, and I slam back to the seat, leaning against the headrest. Maxine waits for my answer with her chest rising and falling rapidly, her lipstick smudged around her mouth, cheeks reddening even beneath her makeup. “Crosby.”

I slip a finger into the knot of my tie, wiggling it until it loosens. It’s a cool August night by the ocean, but I’m burning—from the severe heat that’s filled the car, from the anger and frustration storming within me at the realization that everything I’ve done changes nothing in the end.Nothing.

Maxine scoffs and turns in the front seat, reaching for the door.

“They put her on hospice. My mom,” I push out, and Maxine’s body stills, her bare shoulders slightly raised. It reminds me of how we sat in the church, how she bared the pain in her soul to me.

I’m hot, dizzy, uncomfortable. I press my hand to the fogged window, smudging the glass. “I didn’t think about it before. That this would happen, no matter what I did—right or wrong. Especially the wrong. But here we are. All for nothing.”

Through the gap between the headrest and the seat, I can see the bottom beauty mark at the base of Maxine’s neck, thanks to her short hair.

“It wasn’t for nothing, Crosby. You did the best you could.”

I snort. “TheworstI could, is what you mean.”

And isn’t that it? I did the worst things to get the best results—my mother in great care—only for the final result to be the same either way.

Maxine shakes her head and shifts in the seat, turning to look at me. “I have to believe you didn’t know any better,” she says quietly before climbing over the console. In her long dress, she can’t quite straddle me, so she swings both legs over my lap.

There’s no rush, no fire, no frantic moves, moans, or whimpers. We’re both clothed, dressed to the nines, but when Maxine wraps her arms around my shoulders and I bury my face into her sweet, soft neck, it’s as if we’ve breached our clothed boundaries and crawled inside one another. I hear my pulse in my ears and hers beating within her neck. I hear my own heart breaking inside Maxine, as if she’s managed to take some of this awful pain away.

It’s the most intimate moment of my life.

Her hands smooth down the hair at the back of my neck. “You didn’t know any better, Crosby.” She sighs and cups the back of my head. “Neither did I.”

I don’t knowhow long Crosby and I remain in his car—too long, considering my absence inside the gala is most likely to be noticed. But I don’t care who notices or who says anything. I’m needed in this moment, and I’m going to show up for the man I love, but not because I believe I can fix anything—I’ve been there, done that. It doesn’t work. You can throw money at problems, spend your energy racking your brain trying to figure out a solution. Nothing like that changes things. I didn’t fix Mason, and I won’t fix Crosby, rid the pain he feels knowing what’s coming. But I can sit with him and let him know he’s not alone.

“Were you going somewhere?” I ask, looking at the empty glass in the cupholder with a frown.

My attention floats back to Crosby when he burrows deeper into my neck with a shake of his head, somehow strangling my heart, his hurt becoming my hurt, and I remember the night in Cincinnati when he wouldn’t leave me alone to suffer.

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