Love Is Beautiful (Chelsea & Max) (18 page)

L
ater that day
, the three of us drive over to my house so I can get my car and a few more of my things. Max walks me up to the door and checks the lock and front windows for any signs of tampering before I let us in. He peers through the front door while I peek out from around his shoulder. It’s amazing how ominous the house feels, given how safe I felt here just last week. Oh, how quickly things can change.

“Tell you what,” says Max. “You go on in, I’m going to take Charlie around the outside here and show him some of the things I look for when I’m trying to keep the things most important to me safe.” Max drops a wink my way and it does wonders to my anxiety levels. If he’s joking around, he’s not stressed and if he’s not stressed, then he’s not really all that concerned about something bad happening to us while we’re here.

I admit. My imagination has been running a little wild. I’ve spent more time wondering about the meaning of the dead mouse than I should. I assume that the guy who has been watching my house is the guy who left it. Which means that I’ve spent time actually thinking about him breaking that poor little thing’s neck. Of course, the thump of its body against my door could mean that he threw it. So maybe it was the impact that broke its neck. Either way, the scenario is horrifying.

While I’m here, I’m going to have to clean out the fridge, but that can wait until we’re about ready to leave. First things first. Time to get my clothes and toiletries packed. I head upstairs, flipping on lights as I go. I guess part of me is still a little girl, frightened of the boogieman hiding in the dark.

I love this house. I’m proud of this house. I bought it when so many of my friends were renting apartments, too financially strapped by college and bad decisions to qualify for a home loan. Not me. I managed to not only qualify, but get a damn good interest rate and have been paying more than the minimum payment since I moved in. It’s clean. It’s well-cared for. And it’s worth more than I owe.

And yet, despite all that, I’m not going to miss living here one bit. All the long nights spent at the computer. Lonely. Nothing to focus on but work, work, and work some more. I’m really tired of being that person. I’m ready to relax a little, breathe a bit. I honestly can’t wait to curl up with Max at the end of a long day and just exist with him.

My first stop is the bathroom, where I grab my shampoo and conditioner and all the yummy smelling lotions and creams that I love so much. Nothing like spending a few days in a bathroom stocked by a man to appreciate all the wonderful parts about being a woman. After that, I head into my bedroom and pull open my drawers. Start pulling out all my sexy lingerie, hand-picked for my evenings with Max. Hands full, I spin so I can start stacking things on my bed before organizing them into the bags we brought.

There’s something on my pillow. A piece of paper, neatly folded and wholly out of place. My blood runs cold, and my palms go sweaty and I whirl, suddenly certain someone is behind me. All the feelings of safety bleed from the room, the corners and shadows threatening hidden secrets and looming disaster.

I should leave. Just spin on my heel and head outside to find Max and Charlie. Forget the shit on my bed and get out to safety. But, I don’t do that. Oh, no. I’m busy ignoring every instinct I have, curiosity about the piece of paper on my pillow somehow overwhelming my sense of danger.

I pick it up, barely able to touch it. Pinching it between my thumb and forefinger like it might be covered in poison. When I read the words scrawled on the page, I realize that yes, this note is poison indeed.

T
here’s
movement behind me and I whirl in time to see a small man close the door, the sound of the latch clicking into place thundering in my head. I drop the paper and it flutters to the ground, seesawing peacefully. The guys steps forward, a disgusting smile slithering across his face.

Here’s the thing. Does he really think I’m just going to stand here, all quiet and trembling while he advances on me? I took on a mother fucking linebacker for fuck’s sake.

I am not the kind of woman who curls up and cries on the bathroom floor.

With a shriek that rips through my throat, burning my esophagus, I launch myself at the guy. I am teeth and claws and fists that pummel and knees that thrust into his balls. I am sound and fury. A whirlwind of retribution.

He covers his face with his hands and backs up, hunching in on himself while I call for Max, who throws open the front door and bounds up the stairs. It’s only a matter of seconds before the bedroom door bounces off the man who would be my assailant.

“Chelsea!” Max is panicked. His voice a megaphone. An explosion of power.

I stumble back and the small man falls to the floor. Max shoves the door into him, somehow scooting the man across the carpet while I shove myself into the farthest possible corner. The rest is almost anticlimactic. Max pins the guy who has gone limp. Totally compliant. Utterly non-threatening.

“Are you okay?” he asks me, his eyes like weapons raking over my body and face.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I think he’s more hurt than I am.”

Max smiles. “That’s my girl.”

He calls the police and my house becomes a circus of swirling lights and cameramen and reporters yelling questions our way from behind police tape. The man is more than happy to talk. More than happy to explain why he spent months following me.

He loves me and he hates me. Fell in love with the idea of me while watching my TV interviews, but came to hate me when Sloan Anderson got charged for assault. I ruined his favorite player. His love and his hate twisted into an obsession in his crazy little mind. I’m not the first person he’s fixated on. A quick check of his records shows more than one restraining order from more than one woman.

This time though, with Max standing strong beside me, this guy is going to jail. Chalk another win up for me, I guess. Chelsea London, champion of women everywhere, taking sexual predators off the street, one swift knee to the balls at a time.

When it’s all said and done, Max pulls me in close, wrapping his arms all the way around me and pressing a kiss into my hair. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been so scared,” he said. “When I heard you scream, I thought I lost you.”

“I was pretty scared, myself. But I guess when the going gets tough, I get tougher.” I smile up at him, proud of myself. I like the way it feels, knowing that I didn’t let my fear of the guy cripple me.

“There was a moment when I was afraid that I’d get upstairs and find you dead. That maybe even though my DNA doesn’t instantly make me a bad man, that maybe it makes me a tragic man. That just when I let myself love someone, I lose them.”

I can see the swirl of memories in his eyes. “I’m still here.”

He puts a finger to my chin and lifts, examining me for any damages yet again. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I promise. I don’t think he even got his hands on me.” I smile up at him. “I’m fine.”

“I realized exactly how much you mean to me today. I mean, I already knew you were pretty much my everything, but today really helped send the message home. I love you, Chelsea.” He pauses and there’s so much emotion on his face, it brings tears to my eyes.

“I love you, too, Max.” I look around my living room. The sterile colors. The utter lack of personalization anywhere. I’m kind of glad to be leaving it behind. “You know,” I say, giving Max a devilish look. “Now that the crazy guy is in jail, you’re off the hook with the whole moving in together thing.”

“Are you kidding me? Did you not hear what I just said, woman?” Max swoops me up in his arms while I shriek in surprise. “Charlie!” he bellows, heading for the door. “Let’s go home.”

L
ife goes
crazy for a little while. Suddenly, the media cares about me again, but I’m not even a little interested in playing that game anymore. I avoid them until they forget about me.

But that only settles things down a little bit because a lot of the craziness comes from the fact that Max and Charlie and I have to figure out how to be a family together. I don’t know how he did it, but Max pulled some strings, calling in so many favors to so many different people that I couldn’t keep things straight when he explained it all. But the long and short of it is that Max managed to adopt Charlie.

Which, of course, I saw coming from a million miles away and completely and totally support the decision. Charlie’s a great kid. Smart. Hard-working. Eager to please. But we’ve definitely had our growing pains as Max and I got a crash course in parenting and Charlie got a crash course on how to be an actual kid.

Things settled down around Christmas and over the last month and a half have finally started to find a rhythm that we’re all comfortable with.

One thing’s for sure, I certainly don’t have time to devote myself completely to work anymore. I’ve got people who want and deserve my attention at home and that’s a very good thing. I’m still good at what I do, don’t get me wrong. Like Maya and Dakota always say, I excel at excelling. I think I’m just more balanced now. More complete.

Whatever it is, I like it. I like getting up early to make my men breakfast before they leave for work and school. I like finding little notes from Max in the lunch he packs for me. I like helping Charlie with his homework at night. And I like laughing with them when we sit down to dinner on the nights we’re not running Charlie to some kind of practice or another.

Life is good and we’re all happy. What more could I ask for?

Well, this morning I think I could ask for not being late. Wouldn’t you know, on the very day that I’m set to start working with Hudson Knox again—poor guy is hurt again—I manage to burn our breakfast and then get caught behind the busses dropping Charlie off at school. Now, I’m swooping and swerving through traffic, thankful that the snow they’re calling for later this evening hasn’t started yet.

Small blessings, you know?

Of course, people are thoroughly pissed at me, honking and flipping me the bird and I just grimace and keep holding my hand up in apology. If I were them, I’d hate me, too.

Funny thing is, I can’t stop smiling because it just reminds me so much of the first day I met Max. He was such an asshole that day, how could I ever have imagined that he’d end up being the absolute love of my life? How could I know that underneath that furrowed brow and etched-in scowl was a heart so big it would swoop me up, rescuing a small boy from certain disaster along the way?

Although, given distracted I was by his sexiness at first—and totally surprised by it because he so wasn’t my type—maybe I did know, on some level, that he was everything I needed and then some. Maybe my soul took one look at his soul and said ‘hey, I know you!’ and that was the end of it.

I flip on my turn signal and cut off some poor lady who looks too sleepy to be dealing with likes of me. “Sorry,” I say out loud, hoping to catch her eyes through the mirror.

Instead, I catch the whirl of blue and red lights. The chirp of a siren. What is it about me that every time I speed I get caught? Am I just that bad at being bad?

I pull over and slide my license and proof of insurance out of my wallet and prepare myself for the long wait while the officer pulls up my information.

Imagine my surprise when there’s a knock on my window while I’m pulling my registration out of the glove compartment.

I whirl and find myself staring at a blue-clad torso, thumbs hooked in his utility belt. I roll down the window and crane my neck, trying to see the guy’s face. “I’m sorry, officer,” I say. “I’m running late…”

“I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle.” Fear surges through me, but only for an instant, because I totally recognize that voice.

“Max?”

“Officer Santoro, ma’am. And I need you to step out of the vehicle.”

I peer up at him and his eyes glimmer with excitement, the only normal thing in his otherwise completely stoic face. He steps aside to give me room to swing open the car door. The frigid February air hits me in the face and I shudder as I stand.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“Max, what’s going on?” I flare my hands, utterly confused.

“Answer the question. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“Because I was speeding? I’m really late. And if I don’t—”

Max puts his hands on my shoulders and spins me around. Pushes me over so my hands go flat against the hood of my car. I gasp as he pats me down like a common criminal on the side of the road. He gives my hips and breasts more attention than I’m sure is professional.

“What you’ve done is far more serious than breaking the speed limit.” His voice is hard. Almost foreign. “It’s inexcusable really.”

He takes his hands off me and I just stand there for a second, hands on the hood of my car, legs splayed, totally freaked the hell out. Well, until I remember that this is Max and that no, I haven’t done anything other than break a few hundred traffic laws on my way to work this morning.

Max’s hands come back to my shoulders and he spins me again, gently this time. He’s smiling when I come to face him. Nervous. It’s not a look he wears well.

“So, do you know what you’ve done?” he asks. “Why I pulled you over?”

I shake my head. “If it’s not the speeding thing, then I’m utterly clueless.”

A slow smile twists the corner of his mouth. “You’ve stolen my heart, you sweet girl. Each and every day you’ve made it more and more yours and less and less mine and now, I can’t imagine how I’ll ever manage to live without you. You’ve made my house into a home, helped me through this transition with Charlie. We’re both better off because of you.”

I’m smiling now, too, because this may be one of the sweetest things he’s ever done, even if I am going to be super late to work. “No, silly. I’m better off because of you guys.”

Max shrugs. “Or maybe we’re all better off together.”

“I think that’s probably the truth.”

Max takes my hand in his and I look down. He has a ring poised over the tip of my finger. “Chelsea?”

I look up at him, mouth open, eyes filling with tears.

“Will you marry me? Be mine for the rest of our days?”

I don’t hesitate because I think I’ve known my answer since the very first moment I ever met him. “I’ve always been yours, Max. And I always will.”

And it’s the truth and it’s beautiful and I know, without doubt or question that we will live happily ever after for the rest of our days.

* * *

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