If Maxime is planning on tying me further to him with a baby, he’s got another think coming. There was a time I would’ve given him a child, a time I even craved a baby, but I was stupid then. I believed we were happy in our own way. We’re too unstable to be anything other than unhappy. We could never provide a healthy environment for a child.
I clear the table and clean the kitchen, welcoming the tasks to keep my thoughts from drifting into sadness. When there’s nothing left to tidy, I have a shower and pull on a pair of comfy pajamas. I’m brushing out my hair in front of the mirror in the dressing room when Maxime gets back.
Our gazes lock where he leans in the frame. He watches me with something that burns fiercely in his eyes, but he doesn’t express the sentiment in words.
I put the brush away and get up. “Thank you for driving Damian.”
He stares at me like he may eat me alive. “We’re family. It’s normal.”
“I’m going to bed.” I squeeze past him. “I’m knackered.”
He grips my wrist, holding me back while his gray gaze bores into mine. “That’s really what you want to do?”
“Yes,” I lie.
Slowly, he releases me.
The minute I’m free, I flee. I walk to the bedroom like I don’t want to run, and crawl into bed under the covers while Maxime undresses in the dark. He wants me. I know he does, but for some reason, he doesn’t come to bed with his usual seduction skills. He slides into his side and lies quietly on his back, waiting. Waiting for something I don’t understand.
Chapter 26
Maxime
Zoe isn’t taking the initiative. She’s not touching me.
She doesn’t want me.
Of course she doesn’t.
Look at me.
Look at my face. Look at who I am.
What did I expect?
I’m fucking devastated, and it doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand the feelings beating in my chest.
I’m a fool.
What else is there to say?
On my way to work, I spot the nail sticking out of a plank on the pavement next to a construction site. I lift my foot high and put it down with enough force to drive the nail through the sole of my shoe and into the hollow of my foot.
Fuuuuck. That hurts.
For a moment, I’m nailed to the plank like Jesus to the cross, a rivulet of cold sweat running down my hot back.
“Christ,” a workman calls out, making his way over to me. “Are you all right?”
“Does it look like I’m fucking all right?” I ask, gritting my teeth against the pain that burns up my leg.
“Jesus.” The man throws his hardhat on the ground and grabs my elbow. “Here, let me help you.”
I allow him to pull the plank with the nail from my foot and shoe. The pain reverses, a new kind of fire setting in the minute the nail slips out of my flesh. Warm, sticky wetness coats my sock inside my shoe.
“Man,” the guy says, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left the plank lying here. I was just dropping a bag of cement. I was going to move it in a sec, I swear, but you were on me so fast.”
I test putting my weight on my foot. Mm. That’s going to take a while.
“You need a tetanus shot,” the man says. “The nail doesn’t look rusted, but—”
“I know.” I jerk away, freeing myself from his hand that’s back on my elbow.
“Are you going to sue?” he asks, squinting at me as he scratches his head.
“No.”
His face relaxes. “Look man, for what’s it’s worth, I’m really sorry. Better watch where you’re going next time.”
I shift my laptop bag to my other shoulder to relieve the pressure on my foot and get into the man’s space. “You better watch where you leave your material.”
When he cringes away from me, I take satisfaction from his fear. He’s my size, but he senses the darkness in me. It’s a darkness that doesn’t fight fairly.
The power shift feeds my soul. Abated, I turn away from him and limp on my way. With every step I take, I recall how Zoe looked when she stepped into a shard of glass and cut her heel.
Her wound has long since healed.
Mine is just beginning.
Chapter 27
Zoe
The very next day, I find a female gynecologist in town through an internet search and make an appointment for a birth control shot. That same night, Maxime comes home with an injured foot. He pulls off a blood-soaked sock to reveal a ghastly wound. The nail that went through his shoe penetrated his foot so deeply the point pushed through the skin at the top. He’s lucky the bleeding stopped so quickly. When I urge him to see Dr. Olivier, he brushes my concerns away, telling me he’s injected himself with a tetanus shot at the office.
“Maxime,” I say, kneeling next to him in the bathroom where he’s bathing his foot in a tub of Betadine. “You better go see the doctor.”
His gaze tightens on me even as his lips tilt with a slight smile. “Worried?”
“Of course I am.” I point at his foot. “That looks really bad.”
“Why?” he asks, his eyes not leaving mine as he rolls his pants up to the knee.
I sit back on my haunches. “Why what?”
“Why are you concerned?”
I blink. “It’s normal.”
He rests an arm on one knee, leaning closer to me. “Is it?”
Confusion rages inside my chest. Doesn’t he get it? Aghast, I say, “It’s called compassion.”
“Ah.” He sits back, creating distance between us. “In other words, your concern isn’t because you care.”
About me.
He doesn’t say it, but we both know it’s what he means.
“What do you expect me to say?” I whisper.
“Nothing.” His voice sounds harsher despite the fact that he speaks in a softer tone. “I expect nothing.”
I motion to his injury. “Shall I—”
“Leave.” He gives me a flat look. “You
