Thursday Nights (The Charistown Series) (8 page)

“Max, is everything okay?”

He looked her in the eyes but even that was different somehow. “Yeah, babe,” he said. “I just have to get going. I’ll see you for Sunday night dinner.” Janie’s smile must have faltered because, with what looked like a forced smile, he stiffly added, “but I’ll talk to you before then, okay?”

Max swiped his phone and keys off the counter and briskly left Janie’s place before she could even answer. Janie felt a chill spread through her veins, so cold even the hot coffee couldn’t warm her up.

What the hell just happened?

“Fuck,” Max shouted as he hit the gas on his most-prized possession, his Ferrari Spider. His baby still had that new-car smell, and every time he slid into the buttery leather seats he felt like he was a king perched on his throne. As long as he didn’t allow himself to dwell on how he got the money to pay for the exclusive, expensive-as-hell car he would enjoy every minute of every ride.

Max drove on autopilot. His body was taking him to Winston’s Track, the one place where he would be able to process the crazy shit that went down in the last twelve hours—hell, in the last six months. “I feel the need for speed,” he said aloud, quoting his all time favorite movie, Top Gun.

During the fifteen-minute drive to the track, he tried to squelch the loud droning in his mind.
Concentrate on the road, DeLucca. Just until you get there.
He was on the public roads and forced himself to focus—he wouldn’t be a hazard to anyone around him. When he finally pulled into Winston’s, he slid down the window and stared at the knowing face of one of his oldest friends.

“Gage.” Max nodded his hello.

“DeLucca.” Gage stared at Max and tilted his head. “Looks like you could use a few laps, my man.”

Max shrugged. “You could say that.”

“I just did.” Gage laughed, leaning his head into the driver’s side of the car. “And it’s your lucky day. All of the teams are done and packed up, and the recreation drivers aren’t due back for about two hours. Have at it, my friend.” Gage clapped Max on the shoulder and strode away.

Max thought about the man for a moment. Sebastian Gage had been his best friend for over twenty years. If not for his support and sometimes fucked-up brutal honesty, Max probably would have drowned himself in sorrow and liquor more times then he cared to count. Yep, Gage was a great friend.

As he drove through the gates and onto the quiet track, Max revved the engine. The Ferrari’s rumble was music to his ears, the vibration a lull to his tense body. He gunned it, letting the car lead him around the track. And as he drove, Max finally allowed himself to think about this morning, last night, Janie…and Chloe.

Not again
, he thought.

Get Un-Angry

“Everything makes more sense with Starbucks. Thanks for bringing it over, Ly.” Janie took a sip of the lifeline in a cup and continued to analyze Thursday night and Friday morning with her best friend. It’d been twenty-four hours since Max had left, and she hadn’t heard a peep from him.

“I just don’t know what to say, Janie. It doesn’t make sense.” Lyla was just as confused as Janie. She poured a sweetener in her Caramel Macchiato and sat on the carpet in the main room of Janie’s place. “It sounds like everything was perfect. He said all of the right things—and clearly
did
all of the right things. I mean, honestly, you haven’t stopped blushing since he left here yesterday!”

After pouring copious amounts of cream in her coffee, Janie sat Indian-style on the sofa. They had their best “therapy sessions” over Starbucks.

Janie blushed again, and Lyla laughed. “You don’t understand, though. It’s like a light went off. He went out for coffee as one man and came back as another. You don’t think—” Janie stopped speaking.

“I don’t think what, Jane? What do you think happened?” Lyla wanted so badly for her friend to find happiness.

Janie was more of a sister than a friend, and the girl deserved a
good
man. Janie’s love life had been a long running bad joke, and it needed to end. Lyla thought back to all the guys that Janie had dated over the years. There had been a lot of “boys,” some “guys,” but never once a real “man.” Lyla couldn’t think of one guy that Janie had dated that had been worthy of her.

Especially the last prick, Richard, or as Lyla had taken to calling him, Dick. To say that Dick and Lyla had a love/hate relationship would have been too kind. Lyla hated Dick all of the time, but she put up with his bullshit to make Janie happy. In the end, the asshole had not only cheated on Janie but shattered what was left of her confidence. Lyla had gotten even, though, as she tended to do whenever people hurt Janie.

“What are you grinning about? I’m in the middle of a situation here,” Janie said, pulling Lyla back into the here and now.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about Dick. The person not the body part.” Both women laughed, even though Janie’s was weaker than usual. Laughter is what got them through life’s hard times—Lyla would take what she could get.

“Why are you thinking about that asshole?” Janie asked.

“I was thinking about the
women
I sent to his house the week after you caught him with Tracy…”

Lyla had sent two “working women” to Dick’s house under the guise that a friend sent them over as an early birthday present. Since Dick’s ego was bigger than it should have been, he gladly let the women in without further questions. They had him naked, in compromising positions, and posing for pictures within minutes of their arrival.
Seriously?
Could Dick be more of an idiot?
What he didn’t notice was while he was smirking and moaning, the “woman” who was giving him his blow job…was stroking her own penis. Dick had no idea until that “woman” ejaculated all over his stomach. The pictures were priceless. And Lyla made sure Dick knew exactly who was responsible when she signed her name at the bottom of the email—photos attached:

Guess you’re not the only cock-sucking bastard in the room after all…xo, Lyla

Lyla giggled again, remembering.

“I heard Tracy dumped him about two weeks after I caught them together,” Janie said. “She finally got what she thought was mine.” Janie snorted. “All two minutes-worth of missionary, vanilla sex.”

Lyla laughed and brought the conversation back to Max. “So, talk to me. What exactly happened?”

“Well, Max walked in when I was gushing to you about his wonderfulness. It could have freaked him out, I guess. After all, we had kind of gone into the night calling it ‘sex with friends.’” Janie sighed. “I suck at this shit. You know casual sex and I have never seen eye to eye. Maybe I got wrapped up, and it just felt like more to me at the time. I thought it felt like it meant more to him. But it didn’t. I don’t know, Ly. I guess I’m just missing the bullshit detector.”

Lyla took Janie’s hands and looked directly into her defeated eyes as she said exactly what she knew her friend needed to hear. “Listen up, Jane. You do have pretty shitty taste in men. Let’s face it—you suck at choosing because your parents sucked at parenting. But you have amazing taste in
best friends
.” Lyla beamed a self-satisfied grin and continued. “I, on the other hand, have an amazing bullshit detector. I can smell it coming and going, and I can tell you that Max DeLucca is a good man. There is something going on inside his head, yes. I can see it in his eyes. Something is damaged in there, but his heart is still beating.”

She raised her hand to stop Janie from interrupting her. “Zip it, I’m on a roll here. I am not telling you this so that you can fix him. That is where you tend to fuck things up. Let him do that himself, and then he can come to you. It’s time for you to work on mending
you
. I don’t want to see you hurt again.” Lyla’s eyes started to glaze, something so rare Janie was aghast, so she sat silent, letting her friend continue.

“Your father abandoned you and your family. Your mother taught you to survive by throwing you into the fire. She was a drunk and a junkie, Jane. Your siblings were gone, and you were taking care of yourself and her. I know that you pity her, but I hate her for you. Parents are supposed to love and support their children”—tears gathered in Lyla’s eyes—“not the other way around. It’s time you start focusing on you. You are worth so much more than you think.”

One tear fell down Lyla’s cheek before she wiped them all away and stood up to walk into the bathroom.

As the emotional one of the pair, tears were already streaming down Janie’s cheeks unabashed. She called after her friend, trying to mask her surprise with humor. “Hey, Ly, was that a tear I saw?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lyla called from the bathroom. Sounds of Lyla blowing her nose emanated from down the hall.

“Crying is for pussies, Ly.” Janie snorted through her tears when she heard a loud
thump
, one that could only be Lyla’s head hitting the wall as she quietly giggled in the small bathroom.

It was three o’clock on Sunday afternoon, and Janie was helping Lyla with last-minute dinner preparations. Janie loved how their intimate Sunday dinners had turned into large family-style events, and she knew Lyla felt the same way. Neither of them grew up with kitchens full of wonderful home-cooked food or family rooms filled with laughter and love. The smells and sounds of Sundays had become a sort of balm to each of their souls.

Being the “oops” child in an already struggling family of seven won Janie no admirers in the Silver household. Her four siblings had formed their bond before she ever came along. Janie couldn’t blame them. Their parents were selfish, alcoholic abusers, and they had bonded with each other to stay safe. By the time Janie was six, her father had finally up and left the family—which was good in some ways and bad in others—and her mother quickly turned child neglect into an art form. When her mother wasn’t drunk or high, young Janie thought she could see some love in her mother’s eyes, and it was because of that fleeting glimpse that Janie always came back to care for her mom after her “boyfriends” left or the “medicine” wore off. It would be years before Janie would finally give up on the dream of having a “real” mom.

As for her siblings, Janie had limited communication with them. For years she had tried to maintain relationships with each of her brothers and sisters, but they only seemed bothered by her presence.

“Why don’t they love me, Lyla? What have I done to make them hate me so much?” Lyla would hold Janie while she cried and explain that it wasn’t Janie’s fault, that her siblings were probably feeling guilty about leaving their little sister behind. Lyla always seemed so certain of the explanation that Janie actually started to believe her. So it came as little surprise when Janie’s oldest brother called her just after Janie’s college graduation and asked to meet with her. Angry and hurt, Janie refused the face-to-face but did speak with him on the phone. With Lyla holding her hand, Janie listed to her brother’s heartfelt apologies about his abandonment and neglect.

“We just had to get out of there,” he had said. “We never thought about saving you too. There will never be a day that I don’t hate myself for leaving you, Janie.”