You Dropped a Blonde on Me (48 page)

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Authors: Dakota Cassidy

Tags: #Romance, #Fiction

BOOK: You Dropped a Blonde on Me
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Campbell reached out a hand, cupping the back of her head. He pulled her to him and planted a quick kiss on her forehead.
She savored the smell of him, the strong feel of his hand when she laid hers against it, only to have him pull away.
“Take care, Max,” he said, before taking quick strides to his truck.
The engine roared to life.
And Campbell Barker drove out of her life.
Because she was the dumbest ass evah.
Good show, Max.
 
“Son?”
“Dad?”
“You wanna talk?” Garner sat opposite Campbell at the dinette table, reaching across to place a soothing hand on his son’s arm.
“It’s over. I just can’t see her ever trusting me, and that’s something I can’t live without, Dad.”
“Yep,” Garner clucked. “Trust is the key. It’s what kept your mother and me together for forty-six years. So how can I help?”
Campbell couldn’t believe it, but letting Max go hurt more than the disintegration of his eight-year marriage. Her face tonight, so beautiful whether she believed it or not, stoic and sad, flashed before his tired eyes. “It’ll just take time.” He’d have plenty of that in London. And to think he’d been on his way over to her mother’s to ask her to go with him.
So they could have time alone. Totally alone.
So he could tell her he loved her like he’d never loved another fucking woman in his life.
His gut churned.
“Can I ask what happened to make Max bolt?”
“Money,” he offered glumly.
“The root of all evil, kiddo. So you finally told her you’re rich?”
Shit. “No. I didn’t tell her. She found out online.”
Garner grimaced. “Not good, boy. By not telling her how rich you are, you caught her off guard and scared her. It didn’t have to be some big secret, Campbell, and I gotta tell ya, I almost understand her fears. She was married to money, and look what happened there.”
His father was right, but rich, poor, or in-between, he doubted Max would ever trust any man.
“You sure you did the right thing, kiddo?”
“She wanted out, Dad. Max was looking for any little excuse she could find not to trust me and run off to her cave and hide. It’s easier to hide than it is to take another chance. I guess I just wasn’t worth the risk.” And that hurt. It hurt like bloody hell.
“Fear can be a powerful thing,” Garner agreed gruffly.
“There was never going to be a way to prove myself to her. It would never be enough. She’d always question it. I can’t live on pins and needles, waiting for the next shoe to drop, waiting for her to flip out over something she never bothered to ask me about before working up something crazy in her head.”
“Do you need some alone time?”
Campbell ran his hands over his face in weary defeat. “It’s okay, Dad. You can stay.”
“You want to eat a gallon of chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream and play sad love songs? Maybe watch that Oxygen channel for women?” his father asked, his attempt at lightening his son’s pain clear in his eyes lined with sadness.
Campbell almost laughed. “You just want to use me as an excuse to eat ice cream.”
Garner barked a laugh, slapping his son on his arm. “Any excuse’ll do.”
Apparently, any excuse would do, Campbell thought, the pain of that revelation tight in his chest. “You go to bed, Dad. Tomorrow’s your first big day back on the job. Get some rest.”
Garner rose, taking quiet steps out of the kitchen before turning and gathering his son by the shoulders to give him a rare, hard hug. “I love you, kiddo. Even if Max can’t.”
Even if Max can’t.
Won’t.
Refuses to.
Fuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
 
Note from Maxine Cambridge to all ex-trophy wives on sucking it the hell up: Do you want to die all alone with the prestigious title Crazy Cat Lady?
Do you
? Get it together, sistah, and show the world the new, self- empowered, smart, independent woman you are by making sound choices fueled by reason—not your insane paranoia. It’s either that or you’d better use your newly acquired Walmart skills to find the best deal on that cat litter box with the battery operated thingamajiggy and a coupla cans of Fancy Feast. If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again. Suck it up, Princess, and take the plunge into the ocean known as sensible and, above all, sane.
 
“Maxie?”
“Mom?”
“Why are you out here all alone in the dark?”
“Because trolls like me like the dark and I couldn’t find a decent bridge,” she answered, sniffling into a wad of Kleenex.
“You okay, honey?”
“No. I’m not okay. I will be, but right now, I’m not okay.”
“Aw, hell, Maxie—are you gonna start drinkin’ again?” Mona plopped down beside her on the porch rocking chair, tucking her bathrobe tight around her neck.
Max let her head fall to her raised knees. “No. No drinking. And I didn’t drink that much, so stop making me sound like some raging alcoholic.”
“You and Campbell had a fight.”
“Yes.”
“And it’s over.”
Max swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes. You were right about me.”
“That’s not why I poke at you like I do, Maxie. I poke because I want you to prove me wrong.”
Max reached a hand out to squeeze her mother’s. “I’m sorry we argued.”
“I’m not,” Mona responded with an affectionate clap to Max’s hand. “You needed to hear it.”
“I wish I’d listened much earlier. I had no idea how good it’d feel to have Fin by the balls. Even if it was only for a minute and not signing those papers is really what he wanted anyway. But I’ve decided I should be more like you.”
“Good to know. So you know what
I’d
do in a situation like this?”
“Club Campbell into submission? Harsh.”
“But doable,” Mona snickered. “So
when
are you going to do something about Campbell?”
Bitter regret tore at her gut. “I get the impression after what he said tonight, nothing would change his mind.”
Her mother rocked back and forth, the creak of the chair somehow soothing. “Damn, you did it again.” There was no doubt in her statement.
Oh. Yeah. “Yes. I did it again. I compared him to Finley.” Christ, just hearing the notion out loud made her want to vomit.
“That’s pretty bad.”
“Yes. It was pretty bad.” So bad. Badder than bad. The baddest.
“Are you gonna cry and whine about it, or are you gonna get up off your keister and at least go out with a knock-down, drag-out? I’ve seen how he looks at you, girlie. Can’t fake that. But you can only do the hot and cold thing for so long before a man gets tired. I think that means it’s your turn now. Maybe he just needs to know you’re willing to fight for him the way he’s been fighting for you.”
“I don’t think there’s any coming back from this, Mom.”
Mona rose, pulling a tissue from the box beside Max and cupping her chin. She wiped her tears, smiling a toothless grin down at her. “Won’t know unless you try.” Kissing her cheek, she whispered, “I love you, Maxie. Love yourself enough to finish this—one way or the other.”
She left Max to sit in the frosty gloom of midnight, looking out over the village dotted with the glow of landscaping lights and a buttery moon in a deep purple sky, warring with her constant internal struggle to simply let go. To speak her mind even if painful rejection was the outcome.
Now was a fine time to wonder if she might have been smarter to ask Campbell about the Internet jazz and Linda instead of accusing him.
Yet right now, though she ached deep down in her soul for Campbell and the mess she’d made, she was surprised to find she didn’t feel as though there was no reason to get up in the morning.
The kind of desolation and helpless despair she’d once thought would kill her, the immobilizing pain that had kept her frozen when Finley and she were on the rocks, was gone.
Completely.
That eye-opener brought another. Just because she wasn’t falling apart at the seams over losing Campbell, didn’t mean she didn’t love him. Or that she loved him less than she had Finley.
On the contrary, she was crazier about Campbell than she could ever remember being over Fin. But it wasn’t an anxious, frenetic kind of crazy, and apparently, that kind of over the moon—the easy, meant-to-be kind—was unfamiliar to her.
How could she not have recognized it was a good kind of crazy? The kind that didn’t keep her up all night long after they parted, creating crazy scenarios involving Campbell and a roomful of strippers. Well, not every night . . . It wasn’t the kind of nerve-wracking crazy she’d put herself through when Fin was late calling her.
It was a comfortable kind of crazy. It was the kind of crazy that just was. It just existed between them. The kind that never failed to make her secretly smile for no reason. The kind that, without her even realizing, was secure in letting Campbell go off and do his own thing, secure that he’d make a point to let her know what he was up to. Now, just this moment, she realized he’d made those small, subtle gestures because of her marriage.
And she’d done nothing more tonight than beat him down for it by throwing his efforts right back in his face.
Jesus Christ . . .
Why had she come to that conclusion
now
? How could she have missed all the good with Campbell and found something bad? And
why
wasn’t she a hysterical mess because she had?
Sitting forward in her chair, Max smiled, and then she laughed.
Really laughed.
There was no hysteria because she’d learned a potentially painful lesson from her mistake. If she lost Campbell due to her idiocy, she had no one to blame but herself. There was no hiding from that.
Finally.
Maxine Cambridge finally loved herself enough to realize life would move on with or without Campbell Barker, and she’d move with it.
Loving someone who only wanted you to be happy was an addition to your life, not a form of ownership, and when someone loved you, they took care to tread lightly when it came to your painful past. They handled you with care. They respected your battle scars in random acts of understated reassurance. They waited patiently for you to suck it up.
Max smiled, wiping her tear-stained eyes.
Free.
At last.
Heh.
 
“Tell her, Lacey, or I swear to you, I’ll pluck every fake blonde strand of hair from your head myself!” Len shouted, dragging her sister into Mona’s kitchen with a firm grip on her sister’s hand.
“I sent you a letter from Dorothy . . .” Lacey sniffled.
The hairs on Maxine’s neck rose when she swung around to face Len and her sister. Max threw down the sponge she’d been diligently cleaning an already spotless sink with. “The one from Fin’s mother?”

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