Thursday Nights (The Charistown Series) (30 page)

“Thank you for opening up and sharing your story with me.” Tightness coiled in her belly.
Let people in
, she could hear Janie whispering in her ear.

Max just took a huge leap of faith with me
, Lyla thought.
I can take a small step for him. Just a small one
, she promised herself. “If you want to be honest, I’m grateful. Because I think I can help you. But before I do, there are a few things I should probably tell you about me.”

Max sat quietly, afraid speaking would make her stop talking, so he just nodded.

Lyla smiled tightly, small drops of perspiration lining her spinal column. “Max, I keep my private life
private
. I don’t like to share it. I can’t share it. I can’t answer questions, and I won’t. That’s why Janie and I are as close as we are. She understands what I can give, and she accepts it. In return, I give her more than I have ever given anyone in my life. She’s the best person I have ever met and she deserves no less.”

Her pointed stare was not lost on Max. Neither was the fact that her face had gone slightly pale and a sheen of sweat glistened near her hairline. But he kept his observations to himself.

“I know I hurt her, Ly, and I will spend forever trying to make it up to her. I love her, I’m
in love
with her. Please help me.”

Lyla looked down at the black-and-white carpet and then back into Max’s eyes. She swiped her hand across her forehead, removing the dampness that had begun to trickle down her temple. “So no questions about the things I don’t say, okay?”

He nodded silently.

“I never won the lottery, Max. Let’s just say, I never won the lottery in any part of my life.” Lyla’s blue eyes were flat and cold. They sent a shiver up his back, but he stayed silent. “But I did come into some money once. I invested that money, and then used some of it to put myself through college. After school, I didn’t know what to do with myself, though, so I started writing stories, and to my surprise, I sold one of them, and then another and another. As they say, the rest is history.” Lyla sat there and let Max process the information. After a minute or so Max’s eyes grew round like baseballs.

“
Lyla
! You’re an
author
?” For the first time since meeting her, Max watched shyness cross over Lyla’s face. “Holy shit, Ly! I…I don’t know what to say. So, you don’t write a column?” Lyla shook her head. “You’re writing books?” Lyla mutely nodded. “What kind of books? Mystery, horror, adventure?”

Lyla took in a deep breath. “Romance.”

At her admission, Max started laughing. He laughed so hard he slipped off the sofa and onto the floor. It was uncontrollable.

“You do remember that you’re here to ask for my help, right?” Lyla’s sarcasm was gentled by her smile.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that you are the least touchy-feely romantic person I know. I need to read your books. Do you have your heroine’s gag the heroes when they don’t listen?” He continued to chuckle.

“If the situation warrants it,” Lyla said without a trace of humor.

Max immediately stopped laughing, but his grin grew into a huge smile. “Really?”

Now it was Lyla’s turn to laugh. “Sometimes. But that isn’t why I told you this, Max. Bring your dirty little mind back to the table,” she said as she walked over to her massive bookcase and chose a few selections from the far right corner.

Max watched her expression change from eager to anxious the closer she got to him. By the time she handed him the books she looked positively pea colored.

“Who’s L.P. Jodes?” he asked, looking at the cover.

“Like I said, I like to keep my private life private. L.P Jodes is my pen name. Jodes was my mother’s maiden name.” Her eyes were downcast as she made the admission, something so small and so big at the same time.
That wasn’t so horrible
, she thought as she swallowed back the bile that had been climbing the back of her throat.
I can let people in…a little.
And when Max did as promised and kept his questions to only book-related topics, she felt herself ease even more. She knew it was only a matter of time before she shared this one small part of her life with the other new members of her family from Danny’s. She had so many secrets to keep; it would feel wonderful to let one off her shoulders.

“Lyla, I’m really happy that we had this time to talk, and I’m even happier that I still have all of my body parts intact. But what does any of this”—he held up her books—“have to do with my getting Janie back? Especially if she’s with…” The muscles in his jaw tightened. “Owen.”

Swiping the paperbacks from his hand, she wacked him in the side of his head. “Pay attention, Max! She’s not with Owen! And she not with you, either. Why is that, you ask? Because you’re a man, and you don’t listen!” Spreading the novels out on the coffee table, Lyla made an exaggerated sweeping motion. “You’ve kept her from learning your story. Yes, she fell in love with the you that you did show her, but you never really opened your book and gave her more. Tell her your story, Max. Tell her how you became the man that you are. And then give her the happy ending that you both deserve.”

Janie’s heels clanked as they hit each metal step on the way up to her apartment on Wednesday afternoon. The noise, while never bothering her before, grated on her nerves. If she was being truthful, everything grated on her nerves the past two days. The students were too loud, the teachers were too chatty, Owen was too quiet, the sun was too bright. “I should’ve called out sick,” she grunted to the empty stairwell.

Monday night had been horrible. How could she have spent as much time with Max—and the rest of the gang for that matter—and not learn anything real about his past? Why didn’t he ever trust her enough to share with her?

Familiar pangs of insecurity pinged through her mind. It always came back to her not being good enough, worthy enough to deserve more. An ache formed in her stomach as the throbbing pain in her head continued its assault. With her messenger bag draped over her shoulder, her empty travel mug in one hand, and her keys in the other, she walked to the end of the walkway toward her apartment.

It wasn’t until she was right in front of the door that she noticed the basket with a pale blue bow resting against her door.

“What the…” Bewildered, she unlocked her apartment door and carelessly dropped her things at the entrance. Twisting around the open door, she reached for the basket and pulled it inside. With decorative grass floating out of the sides and the products placed slightly askew, Janie began to question its sender.

Sliding down onto the floor, she began to unwrap the unexpected—and unwarranted—gift. She spun the dial on the lock in her thoughts trying to come up with the right combination. With her mind on the
why
, she wasn’t thinking about the
what
as her hands blindly swept along the products in the basket. It wasn’t until her thumb stroked over the label on the lotion that she heard the proverbial
click
. It was
her
lotion, the same lotion Lyla always gave to her.

Excitement fueled her hands as she sorted through the basket of treasure, lifting out shampoo, conditioner, and body wash—all in the same fragrance.
Why would Lyla send this to me?
The thought struck her head at the same time her hand hit the thick envelope at the bottom of the basket. When she saw her name written in masculine print across the front of the envelope, she felt breathless.

“Max,” she whispered, as if saying his name louder would make him materialize. After Monday, though, she wasn’t sure which would make her happier: if he actually appeared or if he didn’t.

Unscrewing the lid of the lotion, Janie inhaled a lungful of the coconut-and-lime concoction. She let her eyes drift closed as the fragrance engulfed her senses. It didn’t go unnoticed that her own scent would now remind her of him. That made her heart break just a little bit more.

Forcing herself to stand up, she locked her door and carried the basket to her bedroom and climbed into bed. She had a feeling she was going to need some comfort to get through whatever the envelope contained.

Janie wrapped her favorite pink, chenille blanket around herself and brought the bottle to her nose once again, allowing the sweet, tropical smell take her back to the days she and Max spent together as friends and the two scorching nights they spent together as lovers. The envelope stared at her, daring her to open it. Her fingers twitched at the flap, the unknown somehow seeming less frightening than dealing with whatever the words inside had to say.

“Oh fuck it,” she huffed as her head quickly reminded her of the events that took place the night before.
He hurt you
, she told herself.
He locked you out and made you look like a fool. And now that he thinks he’s lost you, he finally decides he wants you. No. Not okay. Just read his damn letter, and then put it behind you. Move on, Janie.

Before her bravado could dissipate, she tore open the sheath to reveal pages and pages of Max’s handwritten words.
Stay strong
, her mind repeated loudly as the thrumming of her heart started to increase. With her knees bent up to provide the support her shaking hands couldn’t, she started to read.

Dear Janie,

I may have ruined our chance to have the kind of relationship that I truly desire with you, but our friendship means the world to me, and it kills me to know that I have caused you so much pain. I know I left you in the dark. While you gave me an open and honest book, I left my cover tightly closed.

Please, Janie, let me try to fix what I have broken. You were right that night in my driveway—you are worth so much more than one step. I would like to come to you…one step at a time.

She drew her legs closer to her chest and stared at the words, trying to absorb their meaning. An array of emotions washed over her as she teetered between feeling giddy that he was ready to share with her and angry that he waited until he thought she had moved on to reveal what he’d kept hidden for so long. She was no stranger to secrets. She respected people’s privacy and knew when not to pry, but last night made her feel like a fool. She had spent months falling in love with a stranger, and her pride was more than bruised—it felt demolished.

Sucking in a deep breath, she looked down to the letter on her lap and began to read some more.

I guess the best place to start is at the beginning. So please, Janie, I know I am asking a lot, but if I could ask for one more thing…Please be patient, and let me explain how I became the man that was dumb enough to let you go.

I’ve lived my whole life here in Charistown with my parents and my sister. Sebastian Gage—the dark and broody- looking guy who usually sits in the corner of the bar most Thursday nights—has been my best friend since I can remember. His family owns the garage here in town and the nearby Winston’s Track. He and I spent our childhood, and most of our twenties, working together and planning for when we would run both businesses together. Gage isn’t just my friend—he’s my brother like Lyla is your sister, and I would do anything for him and he for me.

My senior year of high school a new girl moved into town. Chloe was a beauty queen even without the title, and to be honest, it was love at first sight...for me. Or so I thought.

I thought this girl was the sun and the moon, so when Gage and my family started questioning our relationship, I began to push them away instead of looking at her, or even at myself, for the problems they were seeing. They told me she was manipulating me; I said I thought she was just insecure. They said she was conniving; I was convinced she loved me as much as I loved her. So when she begged me not to go away to college because she feared I would meet someone else, I proved my love by staying here in Charistown and going to the community college. I was blinded by my devotion to her. Little did I know, I was the only one unsighted.

Janie, I am going to stop this letter here. Please understand that I am not doing it to be cruel. I will tell you the entire story over the next couple of days, but I have been holding onto it for twenty years. You deserve it all—I just need to give it one piece at a time.

Yours,

Max

Meticulously folding the letter, Janie slipped it back in its holder and placed it on her dresser. Indescribable feelings started pelting her body like paintballs, exploding on contact and leaving her marred in so many colors that she just felt grey. Knowing that Lyla could help or at least make her laugh, she grabbed her phone and dialed her friend. She wanted to cry when Lyla’s voice mail told her to leave a message.

“Lyla! Where the hell are you? Max may have lost his mind, and he’s taking me with him. Ly, please don’t let me go down with him,” she begged. “Call me back.”

Within one minute she received a text from Lyla:

Hey J. On Skype with my agent…quick project came up. Go with the flow and follow ur heart not ur head. I luv u, L