Somewhere, Anywhere (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) COMPLETE, 07/23/17

[keepsmiling7]

So much going on, and so many big, big problems.......
Can't say that I blame Leanna for being jealous of Liz, she really wants to be number one with Alex.
Love the way that both Michael and Dylan both miss each other. They are meant to be a family.
And poor Kyle with PT problems.
Thanks, Carolyn

[April]

Carolyn:

Love the way that both Michael and Dylan both miss each other. They are meant to be a family.

That's probably the one bond in this story (other than Maria/Dylan) that can never be broken, damaged, or altered in any way.

Can't say that I blame Leanna for being jealous of Liz, she really wants to be number one with Alex.

And as his wife, she really should be. But she doesn't seem to understand that constantly nagging him about it won't make him want to spend any more time with her than he already does.


Thanks for reading and leaving feedback!








Part 11








Chocolate lava cakes for two had been listed as the number one sexy dessert last Valentine’s Day. So even though it wasn’t Valentine’s Day, Liz made the cakes for her second date with Doug Shellow. It wasn’t like she was looking to hop into the sack with him or anything, but she did want to amp things up a bit, steer the conversation from casual to flirtatious. And since she could cook any dessert she set her mind to, lava cakes seemed like a great idea. The plan was to stay in for a romantic date for two at her bakery and eat to their heart’s content.

Unfortunately, Doug had a mild chocolate allergy, though. So she was the only one eating.

“So do you know any funny jokes?” she asked him when the conversation started to lull.

“Jokes?” he echoed as if he didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Maybe he didn’t. She sighed, trying to stay positive. “Yeah, like . . . how do you know a chef is a clown?”

“How do you know a chef is a clown?” he mused. “I don’t know. How?”

“The food tastes funny.” She cringed, knowing that wasn’t her best. “Okay, I got another one. Don’t take offense, but . . . how are men like lava lamps?”

He chuckled lightly before he’d even heard the answer. “How?”

“They’re fun to look at,” she answered, smirking, “but they’re not that bright.”

“Oh, that’s . . . pretty good, actually,” he admitted. “That’s a good one.”

“Thanks.” Back when she’d been pregnant, she’d looked up jokes on her phone every morning to try to get herself to stop thinking about how nauseous she’d felt. “Do you have any?” she prompted. She really needed him to be able to make her laugh. He was so nice and so smart, but she wasn’t really . . . enjoying herself yet. Doug was nice, but kind of boring.

“I think I might have a few,” he contemplated slowly.

“Let’s hear ‘em.” She shoveled in the last spoonful of lava cake she intended to eat and pushed the plate aside, leaning forward eagerly.

He cleared his throat, then asked, “In math, what does the variable i say to pi?”

“To pi?” she echoed, thinking she should be smart enough to figure this out. “I don’t know, probably something perverted about eating . . . something.”

“Actually, i says, ‘Be rational,’” Doug revealed. “And then pi says, ‘Get real.’” He laughed.

Liz’s eyebrows rose, and she tried to smile. Oh, a good old math joke. Those were never that funny.

Doug’s laughter slowly faded. “Well, because pi isn’t rational,” he explained, “and i’s an imaginary number.”

“Oh, right, I kinda . . . forgot about that.” In general, if jokes needed to be explained, they weren’t really that funny. She decided to stroke Doug’s ego a bit, though, and fibbed, “That’s a really funny one, Doug. Really funny.” Inside, she’d just died a little, though. Was that really the best he had? Because . . . it just wasn’t enough. Here he was, this gorgeous guy sitting across from her, suit and tie, luscious caramel hair, kind eyes . . . and she was losing interest at the speed of light.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was only one Saturday night game of the year. It was the second of three night games that season, and it was coming off an unexpected victory in the last night game. So naturally, there were plenty of people in attendance. Even though Alex wasn’t a football expert by any means, he enjoyed a game as much as the next person. It was always fun to show that Aggie pride.

He hoped his wife would have some of the same excitement, but she had a downer attitude about it from the second they got there. She complained that the food from the concession stand tasted awful, she complained about how hard the wind was blowing, and she even complained about the opposing team’s uniforms.

“Just lighten up,” he encouraged her. “This is gonna be a good night.” The first quarter had barely even started, and already their team was up by a touchdown. They were predicted to blow this other team out of the water. It would be a fun game, lots to cheer about.

“I just pictured something a little more romantic for date night,” she informed him. “Like maybe a nice dinner instead of . . . super nachos.”

Inwardly, he rolled his eyes. Back when he’d met Leanna, she’d loved super nachos. She probably still loved them; she was just determined to be in a bad mood, so she was pretending otherwise. “I just thought you’d wanna go to the game,” he said. “You love sports.”

“Yeah, I love track and volleyball and softball. Things I played.”

“Well, I played the tuba,” he joked, cracking a smile. “And chess.” It was probably so stereotypical for him to have been on the chess team back in high school, but hell, he had a talent, so he’d gone with it.

“Whatever,” she dismissed. “Hey, I see someone from Zumba. I’m gonna go say hi. Can you find us a seat?”

“Sure.” He surveyed the bleachers below him, dreading it. It was packed, but the nice thing about heading up to the concession stand first was that you got a bird’s eye view of everything below. There was an empty area near the top. Not a whole lot of space, but enough for the two of them.

“Alex,” he heard a familiar voice say right when he was about to head down the steps. He turned around, and there was Isabel, clad in nothing but a red bikini top that was two sizes too small and jean cutoff shorts that hung low on her hips.

“Isabel.” He averted his eyes, just because it didn’t feel right to look at her when she was wearing . . . so little. Not only because she had once been his friend, but because she was his student now.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It’s a small town, Isabel. It’s not like there’s a whole lot to do on Saturday night.” Not that he would have been doing anything else even if there had been other options. He was a pretty low-key guy.

“Oh, there’s plenty to do,” she assured him. “Are you here with . . . what’s her name again? Linda?”

“Leanna,” he corrected.

“Right.”

He glanced over his shoulder, hoping his wife wasn’t catching sight of any of this. If she got jealous of Liz, she’d surely get jealous of Isabel. “Yeah, I’m here with her,” he mumbled, happy to see that her back was to him. “Date night.”

“Sounds fun,” Isabel remarked.

Yeah, he thought dejectedly. If only she thought so.

“So . . .” Isabel drawled, as though he were supposed to understand what she was saying just by her saying that.

He gave her an expectant look.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” she admitted.

“Why? Because I’m so un-athletic?” Just because he’d never played football didn’t mean he didn’t understand football. That was a common misconception. He and his dad used to watch Cardinals games every Sunday. He knew the game well.

“It’s just that you’re always so busy,” she explained, “with teaching and classes and stuff. So I thought you’d be . . . working.”

“Well . . .” He surveyed what she was wearing, disappointed that she couldn’t have just put a top on to cover up. “I thought you’d be, too.”

Quickly, she tried to cover herself up with her arms, but what was the point of that? Everyone had already seen . . . everything. Or at least everything the little triangles of red fabric didn’t cover.

Suddenly, another blonde girl popped up at her side. Bleach blonde, this one, wearing a white bikini top and shorts similar to Isabel’s. “Actually,” she chirped, “she is working tonight.”

“Courtney . . .” Isabel gave her a warning look.

“Hi,” she greeted, extending her hand. “I’m Courtney, as in Slutty Courtney. You look like the type of guy who’s bookmarked my website.”

He reluctantly shook her hand, only because it was the polite thing to do. “Not so much.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” she dismissed skeptically. “I know a fan when I see one. Listen, you should check the site next Tuesday. There’s gonna be a new video up, and in it, we’re gonna be getting screwed right underneath these bleachers.”

Isabel lowered her head, as if she were ashamed. Good.

“It’s called Gametime Gangbang,” Courtney proclaimed. “Or something like that. Anyway, it’s gonna be good, so check it out.”

“I sure . . . won’t,” he told her.

“What?” Courtney seemed unaccustomed to getting that type of response. “Whatever. You’re, like, gay or something. Come on, Isabel.” Courtney stomped off angrily, and Isabel gave him a semi-apologetic look before following.

He sighed, watching them go. It sucked, because he remembered the Isabel Evans who used to be a leader. That was where he’d met her for the first time, after all, back at a national leadership conference when she’d been a ninth grader and he’d been a junior.

That girl didn’t even exist anymore.

“Ahem.”

He spun around again, and there was Leanna, looking at him inquisitively. “So which of them was the ex-girlfriend?” she asked.

“Neither,” Alex answered calmly. “Isabel, the one in the red . . . you remember how I told you about her. The one who I went on the disaster date with back when she was in high school.”

“And the current porn star.” She glared at him. “Really, Alex? You’re gonna talk to her?”

“She’s in my class.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to talk to her here. God, she’s just yet another woman from your past.”

“Yet another woman?” he echoed. Who the hell did she think he was, Michael Guerin? His sexual history wasn’t housed in the Library of Congress. “Leanna, you know my past. I dated Liz for a few months, went out on one failed date with Isabel, and then I was single until I met you. That’s it.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled, tossing the remainder of her super nachos into the nearest trash can. “I wanna go home.” She brushed past him and headed down the bleacher steps.

He sighed, relenting to another failed date, just with a different girl this time. But actually, as much as he would have liked to stay there and watch the game . . . he was okay with going home. Partly because Leanna was in a bad mood. Partly because he didn’t want to sit there knowing what was going on beneath those bleachers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Good job, Aggies!” Michael yelled, clapping his hands loudly when his team progressed the ball for another first down. “Alright!” He glanced down at the sideline and noticed Fly attempting to do a cartwheel to entertain the crowd. Didn’t work out. He fell flat on his face.

“Ooh . . .” Michael cringed. That looked pretty bad. But Fly, like the idiot he was, got right back up and attempted a second cartwheel. It was a little better. He only landed that one on his ass.

“What’re you gonna get?” he asked his girlfriend, rubbing her shoulders as they waited near the back of a very long line at the concession stand.

“I don’t know,” she pondered, “maybe . . . a cheeseburger? I forget, are the cheeseburgers any good here?”

“They’re alright,” he said. They weren’t as good as Crashdown burgers, but then again, few things were.

“I think that’s what I’ll get,” she decided. “What’re you gonna have?”

“Uh . . .” Before he could answer, the line shuffled forward a bit, and in cut Steve and his wife, Cheryl.

“Oh my god, you’re here!” Sarah exclaimed, quickly giving Cheryl a hug. “You look so great!”

Chery brushed the hair that had fallen out of her ponytail back behind her ear. “I look round,” she corrected. “Good to see you, though. Hey, Michael.”

“Hey,” he returned. “Felt well enough to come to the game, huh?”

“Well, I waddled in,” Cheryl admitted, “so Steve might have to carry me out.”

“Are you kidding? You’re way too heavy for me to lift,” Steve said, grimacing as the words left his mouth. “Oh, crap.”

Sarah laughed. “Oh, Steve . . .”

“You know you shouldn’t say that,” Cheryl scolded. “I’m crazy and hormonal right now. We’ve been through this.”

“Are the hormones really as bad as they say?” Sarah asked as the line scooted forward a bit more.

“Oh, just as bad and worse,” Cheryl assured her. “It’s not exaggerated one bit.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Michael started to space out a bit while the two girls kept having their conversation. He so badly just wanted to be there with them without his mind wandering, but he couldn’t help it when he looked over into the next long line at the concession stand and saw a blonde girl talking to a group of other girls. For a second, he started to think that maybe it was happening again, that he was seeing Maria DeLuca by chance. But when the girl flipped her hair over her shoulder, he saw that she was just . . . someone else. No one he even knew.

Good. It would’ve been bad to run into her here.

“Isn’t that right, Michael?”

His attention snapped back to his girlfriend when she spoke to him. “What?” he asked distractedly.

“I said we can make room for them to sit by us,” she repeated.

“Oh.” Looking at Cheryl’s gigantic belly, he actually had his doubts about that, but everyone else would slide down for the pregnant chick. They’d make it work. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, of course.”

“I don’t know if anyone could make room for me right now,” Cheryl said skeptically, and she and Sarah continued chatting as they neared the front of the line. Neither one of them even noticed when the crowd let out a huge groan of disappointment. Steve and Michael both looked out on the field, though, and Michael felt his heart sink when he saw what had happened. Aggies lost the ball, had it ripped out on the run by one of the defenders.

“Aggies fumble,” the announcer bellowed. “Eagles recover the ball.”

The visiting fans cheered and applauded, of course, and Michael sighed disappointedly. Of course they’d fumbled the ball. That Eagles defensive line was stacked. They probably should have run a pass play, but . . . maybe they just weren’t confident enough in their receivers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael knew he was a lucky guy. But when Sarah felt frisky in the morning, he felt even luckier than usual. She started out their Sunday by wriggling around all over his body, nipping at his skin, brushing the tips of her fingers up his sides. Such a cute little tease. When she sat up and straddled his hips, though, stretching her arms above her head, cute turned into straight-up sexy.

“Wow,” he said, basking in the sight of her beautiful body. “This is a good way to wake up.”

“Hmm.” She dropped her right arm down at her side and moved her left hand through her hair. “Are you up?”

“Am I?” He grinned, grabbed hold of her waist, and pressed his hips up into her. “You tell me.”

She purred happily, sliding her hand down her neck to cup her own breast. He reached up and palmed the other one, appreciating the way she had started to circle her hips now, rubbing against the exact right place.

“I think I gotta go inspect what’s going on down there,” she declared adorably.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I want a full report.”

“A full one?” She giggled a bit, then slithered down his body and slipped beneath the covers. She had just taken him into her mouth and he was just starting to watch her head bob up and down when her cell phone rang out shrilly from the bedside table. He was content to reach over and shut it off, but she immediately stopped what she was doing and came back out from underneath the covers, telling him, “Answer it.”

He groaned disappointedly. “Why?” What they were already doing was so much better.

“Because that’s the ringtone for my parents,” she explained.

“Oh, then you answer it.” He had nothing against Tim and Vivian Nguyen. They were nice people and had always accepted him with open arms. But that didn’t mean he wanted to talk to them seconds after having his cock in their daughter’s mouth.

She crawled back up on the bed and reached for her phone, answering it just as it was probably about to kick onto voicemail. “Hello?” She smiled, and Michael could tell right away that it was her dad calling. She had a very specific smile that was reserved just for him, because she was totally a daddy’s girl. “Hi, Daddy,” she said.

Michael stifled his laughter. She managed to sound so sweet and innocent, but what she’d just been doing to him had not been innocent. At all.

“Yeah, we could probably make that work,” she said after a slight pause. “Yeah, sounds good. Okay, we’ll see you later then.”

We will? Michael thought. Had he just gotten roped into some family plans for the day without even being part of the conversation? Probably. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Okay. Bye, Daddy.” She ended the call and tossed her phone down to the foot of the bed. “So . . .” she said, snuggling up beside him. “My family’s in town today. How would you feel about spending the day with them?”

Honestly . . . he would have preferred to spend it in bed with her. But Sarah’s family was just as awesome as she was; so if they couldn’t waste a Sunday fooling around, then going out with them was a decent alternative.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For some reason, Sarah’s parents loved seafood, and they especially loved this seafood buffet a few miles south of campus. Whenever they came into town, they always suggested going out to eat there, and Michael always went along with it, even though seafood made his stomach do backflips. He usually ate a couple bites of whatever fish they were serving, then spent the rest of the lunch moving food around his plate, making it look like he’d eaten more than he had.

He shuffled down the buffet line with Sarah’s little brother, Victor, and tried to distract himself from the various odors of all the food that made him nauseous by asking the kid about his life. “How’s high school goin’?” he inquired. Victor was in ninth grade, so chances were, it sucked.

“I hate it,” the poor kid droned. “My classes are boring. The jocks make fun of me. I hate the jocks.”

Michael laughed lightly, putting some shrimp on his plate. He’d probably be able to eat one.

“Oh, sorry,” Victor apologized. “I forgot you used to be a jock.”

“Used to be?” Michael feigned offense. “You don’t think I’m a jock anymore?”

“Well, you don’t play football anymore,” Victor pointed out.

Michael grunted. “Only ‘cause Kyle doesn’t play. I’m still athletic, though.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just . . . I don’t know, I guess I think of you as more of a . . . nerd.”

Michael’s eyes bulged. “A nerd?” That couldn’t possibly be true . . . could it? “I don’t think I’ve ever been called a nerd before.”

“Well, my sister’s a nerd,” Victor said.

A sexy nerd, Michael thought.

“But you’ve got a better GPA than her. So that must mean you’re a nerd, too.”

It wasn’t bad logic. In fact, in a weird way, it made a lot of sense. “Huh.” Oh, well. He had a new label now. But he felt the need to pimp it out a little bit. “I’m a cool nerd, though, right?”

Victor cracked a smile. “That’s an oxymoron,” he noted. “See, why do I say stuff like that? That’s why people don’t like me.”

“Ah, I like you, Victor,” Michael assured him as they miraculously reached the end of the buffet line. “Don’t worry what anyone else thinks about you, alright?”

Victor lowered his head and reluctantly agreed, “Alright.”

Poor kid, Michael thought as he followed him back to their table. High school was hell for everyone, no matter what social group you were a part of, whether you were popular or not. It sucked, and it would always suck. But at least Victor would make it through. He’d end up going to college and finding himself there. Which was more than Tina would probably get to do.

Sarah’s father, Tim, was already halfway through the food on his plate when Michael sat down, even though his wife, Vivian, was telling him to slow down. “It’s just so good,” he raved. “I’m a big fan of this restaurant.”

“So am I,” Vivian agreed readily.

“Yeah, you guys must be,” Michael said. “Every time you come to Carlsbad, we eat out here.”

Sarah subtly smiled at him and whispered, “We’ll get a burger on the way home.”

Thank God, he thought. He was a man, so he needed real meat, not this crap.

“So, Michael, how’s your semester going so far?” Tim asked him.

“Better than my semester,” Victor grumbled.

Tim patted his son’s shoulder supportively and said to Michael, “Sarah tells us you’re pretty busy.”

“Uh, yeah, I am,” Michael admitted, “but I like everything I’m doing, so it’s good.”

“How’s the practicum?” Vivian asked.

“Good,” he replied. “I’ve only gone a couple of days, but it’s been . . .” He thought of Dylan, of seeing him at that school, and he struggled to come up with a word to summarize that moment. “Interesting,” he finally settled on.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Vivian said. “With elementary school kids, you never know what the day might bring.”

“And he’s still working for housing, too,” Sarah bragged. “I don’t know how he does it all. And now he’s adding in another class on top of it.”

Michael shifted in seat, trying not to look uncomfortable. But he didn’t want to talk about this with them. Or at all, really.

“What class is that?” Tim questioned.

“Music Appreciation,” Sarah answered for him. “Can you believe they’re making him take another fine arts class?”

“That does seem ridiculous,” her father agreed. “You might wanna look into that, Michael.”

“Oh, I did,” Michael assured him. Hell, he’d looking into it a little too much. “It’s fine. It’ll be alright. I’ll just take the class.”

“I think it sounds fun,” Sarah’s mom chirped in between bites. “I love music. You know, I used to play the piano--”

“Brilliantly,” Tim cut in.

She smiled and blushed. “Pretty well. My parents wanted me to major in music, but something about the medical field just called to me. And now my own daughter’s following in my footsteps.”

“Well, sort of,” Sarah said. “Pharmacy’s not the same as nursing.”

“No, it’s not,” her mom agreed. “You’ll work fewer hours and get paid more. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me.” Sarah smiled and reached under the table to squeeze Michael’s hand.

And lucky me, Michael thought. As much as he hated seafood, he was happy to be out with the Nguyen family right now. They were genuinely non-judgmental, just all around good people. They were the kind of family he would have loved to have growing up. Maybe if his dad hadn’t been in the picture, they would have been more like this.

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” Tim said, folding his napkin next to his plate, “but I’m already in need of seconds. Who’s with me?”

“I am, Daddy,” Sarah piped up, even though she hadn’t finished everything on her plate yet. She just wanted to spend time with her dad.

“I suppose I could get a little more of the lobster,” Vivian decided, getting up. She put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, and the three of them headed back up to the buffet stand. That left Michael with Victor again, which he was more than happy about, because Victor wouldn’t ask any questions about the Music Appreciation thing.

Unfortunately, though, he asked something else. Something a lot . . . bigger. “So, Michael,” he said after clearing this throat, “when are you gonna marry my sister?”

Michael nearly choked on the bite of shrimp he was struggling to get down in the first place.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You said ‘I don’t know?’” Kyle shook his head in dismay as Michael helped him up the outside steps into Vidorra. “Oh, man.”

“What’s wrong with ‘I don’t know?’” Michael spat. “That’s a good, honest answer.”

“That’s a vague answer.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Alright, well, sorry I don’t have my proposal on a timeline like you did, or a diagram of how I’m gonna pop the question.”

Kyle grunted as Michael held the door open for him. “Yeah, hell of a lot of good that did me. I’m miserable, Tess is miserable, and we still aren’t married.”

“Yeah, so maybe you should ask yourself the same thing,” Michael suggested, happy to take the questioning off of himself for the time being. “When are you gonna marry your girlfriend?”

Kyle looked down at his feet, like he was purposefully trying to avoid making eye contact with the girl sitting at the front desk. Like he was trying to be invisible, because he didn’t want anyone on that campus to see him. “When things get better,” he mumbled.

Michael walked ahead a bit and punched the up button on the elevator. “Any idea when that might be?” he pressed.

Kyle shot him a hard look, one of those don’t-go-there ones.

It was a long process walking down the hall with Kyle, but eventually, they got to the apartment, where Fly, Monk, and Steve were already waiting. Kyle acted surprised to see them, even though Michael had told him in advance that they’d be there. It just wouldn’t have been much of a birthday celebration if it had only been the two of them.

Michael turned on the Sunday night football game, disappointed to see that two teams he couldn’t care less about, the Lions and the Ravens, were playing. But it was football, and that was all that mattered. Kyle didn’t object to it being on, but he didn’t look completely entranced in it, either, so that was a good thing. He actually looked like he’d be willing to hang out with the guys and play some poker, drink a little beer, and just . . . have a good time. Or as good of a time as Kyle ever had anymore.

“Happy birthday, man,” Steve said, handing Kyle a Budweiser bottle. “Welcome to the legal drinking age.”

Michael popped open the tab to his beer can and took a generous swig. “I’m not there yet,” he admitted, “but in my heart I’m there.”

Kyle chuckled. “In your heart, you’ve been there for a long time.”

“Long time,” Michael agreed emphatically. “How about you, Steve?”

Steve shrugged, flopping down next to Kyle on the couch. “I didn’t party much in high school. I mean, I had a few drinks here and there, but nothing major. Now Fly, on the other hand . . .”

The second Fly heard his name come up in conversation, he completely forgot about the poker chips he was supposed to be sorting and the cards he was supposed to be shuffling and left that all to Monk. “Man, I got wasted back in junior high, chico. I was a badass. I had detention all the time.”

“I went to jail all the time,” Michael informed him, “so I’m pretty sure I was badder than you.”

“I couldn’t screw up like that,” Kyle said almost nostalgically, “ ‘cause of football.”

“Well, I screwed up all the time,” Michael admitted, not about to let his friend start to feel sorry for himself and what he’d lost, “but that’s why I had Kyle there to help me.” The roles had definitely been reversed in recent years, but they were still best friends, and he didn’t envision that changing anytime soon.

“To Kyle,” Steve proclaimed, raising his bottle.

“To Kyle,” the other guys echoed, toasting him.

Kyle wasn’t nearly as enthused as he sat there with his permanent frown on his face. “Yeah, to me,” he muttered, staring down at his bottle. It took him several seconds before he tilted his head back and took a giant swig.

This is gonna be a weird party, Michael thought. Kyle hadn’t been in the mood to celebrate his birthday last year, or the year before that, so just getting him to come along was a success. But getting him to enjoy himself would be tough, even with all these other guys. Luckily Shango hopped up on his lap. That brought a smile to his face.

“Alright, so are we startin’ this poker game sometime this century or what?” Michael asked his friends impatiently.

“In a minute,” Monk promised. “My OCD’s kicking in. I gotta count all the chips twice, and then we’ll be good.”

Fly swaggered into the living room, a goofy grin on his face. “You know,” he said, “we might wait a little longer even, ‘cause . . . you know, I got Kyle a present and all. Sort of a . . . hot, nimble present that’s on her way as we speak.”

“Aw, shit, man,” Michael swore. “A stripper? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, I don’t kid about that shit.”

“Hey, I got no problem with it,” Steve announced. “There’s nothing more beautiful than a pregnant woman, but Cheryl’s given me her full permission to enjoy a good stripper here and there.”

“Your wife’s awesome, man,” Kyle commented.

“Yeah, it’s this whole look-but-don’t-touch policy. I had to sign a contract, but I’m good to go.”

“I’m not,” Michael said, well aware how whipped he sounded. “Why would you get a stripper, Fly? Why would you bring her to my apartment?”

Fly shrugged exaggeratedly. “I don’t know, maybe ‘cause I’m horny, and I don’t have a girlfriend like you do. And it’s Kyle’s twenty-first birthday, and stripper’s the first gift I thought of.” He gave Michael a pleading look. “Come on, man, Sarah’s cool. She won’t care. And it’s not like she’s comin’ home tonight, right?”

“Not ‘til later.”

“So you’re good then, see? ‘cause this’ll be a strip-free zone come 9:00. The chick’s on her way here right now. She’ll be here any minute.”

Michael sighed, giving in. Hell, strippers were pretty harmless. She was probably more of a present for Fly than for Kyle anyway. “Fine,” he relented. “Have your fun, but she’s gotta be outta here by 9:00.”

“She will be,” Fly promised. “But while she is here, man . . .” He smirked and patted Kyle on the back. “It’s gonna be a happy birthday, if you know what I mean.”

Kyle just took another drink.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Isabel loosened the belt on her jacket as she and Jesse headed down the hallway, nearing the apartment number of tonight’s . . . performance. “I’m just saying,” she said, “double anal? That’s slutty even for Courtney. And did you and Eric feel the least bit weird after it?”

Jesse shrugged. “Not really. I’ve fucked her before.”

“Yeah, but that’s like . . . a new extreme.” Try as she might, it was hard to hide the fact that she was jealous. Only a little bit, but still . . . Courtney was willing to do things that Isabel would never be willing to do, things that were just too degrading, too downright painful, even. Sometimes she worried that Jesse would lose interest in her because she just wasn’t willing to push the envelope the same way her friend was.

“You don’t have to compare yourself to her, Isabel,” Jesse assured her as if he were reading her mind.

“I’m not,” she lied. “I just . . . I don’t know, I like it better when the videos are just her and Eric or just you and me. Not so much . . . interbreeding.”

He chuckled, stopping a few doors down from the end of the hall. “You’re just classier than she is,” he told her.

“Oh, yeah, I’m a classy porn star.” She wasn’t delusional enough to think that, so she untied her jacket to reveal the burlesque corset she was wearing underneath. It was midnight black and bedazzled with sequins. She had on a black thong, black thigh-high tights, and black stilettos to go along with it. Monotone, but sexy. This look was almost as popular as her pink bikini was.

“Go in and give ‘em a good show,” Jesse urged. “I’ll be right out here if you need me.”

“Promise?” She gave him a pouty look, needing to believe that he would have her back if it got too out of control in there. All she knew about those guys inside was that they were customers. She had no idea who they were or how much they were going to expect her to do.

“I promise.” He kissed her cheek, a surprisingly sweet gesture from him, and that made her feel courageous enough to do what had to be done. So she twisted the doorknob and walked right in, surveying the scene. There was a weird guy at the kitchen table counting poker chips, two guys talking on the couch and watching a stupid football game, and a scruffy Mexican who nearly fell to his knees the moment he saw her.

“Ay, mami,” he gasped. “It’s you. Naughty Izzy. You’re real.”

She smoothed her hands down her stomach to caress the insides of her thighs. “In the flesh.” This weirdo was clearly a subscriber. He looked like the type who had watched all of her videos at least ten times.

“So, who’s the birthday boy?” she asked him.

“Oh, uh . . .” He pointed to one of the guys on the couch. “Him. But my birthday’s in five months, so you’re kind of a present for me, too.”

Isabel peered closer at the man with his eyes on the TV screen. She couldn’t see much of him, just the back of his head and a bit of his profile. But she’d spent enough time with him back in high school to know exactly who he was. In fact, she was surprised she hadn’t recognized him when she’d first walked in. In all fairness, though, he didn’t look the same. He was fatter now. Hairier. Not at all the superstar athlete she’d always known.

Grinning, she moved up behind him, bent down, and snaked her arms over his shoulders. “You know,” she whispered, tilting her head to the side to purr the words into his ear, “I used to have the biggest crush on you.”

When it dawned on Kyle who she was, he cursed, “Jesus Christ, Isabel,” and tried to scoot away. But that looked like an enormous effort for him.

For a second, she felt sorry for him. She’d heard about what had happened to him at Alabama—hell, everyone with a television set had heard about that. But she hadn’t seen him. Not in two years. Not like this. He was . . . different.

But she couldn’t shift into friend mode. It wasn’t like they were friends anymore anyways. She was there as the entertainment. She had a job to do. “So it’s your birthday, huh?” she said, stepping around the couch and in front of the TV, spreading her legs wide. Kyle immediately looked away, but the other guys stared at her with their tongues hanging out.

Oh my god, she thought suddenly, her insides tingling with anticipation. If Kyle was the birthday boy and this was his birthday party, that had to mean . . . he couldn’t be the only blast from her past here.

As if on cue, the bathroom door opened, and out came Michael. He froze when he saw her, looking at her as if he’d seen a ghost.

She smirked. Fucking perfect.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he grumbled. “Fly! Why the hell would you book her?”

“Dude, would you look at her?” Fly yelped.

“Oh, he has looked at me,” Isabel assured him. “Plenty of times.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Michael growled, stomping towards his Mexican friend, backing him into a corner in the kitchen. “Are you really so stupid that you’d hire my ex-girlfriend to come take her clothes off in the apartment I share with my current girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” Isabel echoed, joining them in the kitchen. “That cute Asian chick I’ve seen you with at parties? She’s hot. I’d do her.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you would. Look . . .” Michael looked at Fly like he was resisting the urge to slap him, then just shook his head. “You’re an idiot, man.”

“Sorry,” Fly apologized. “Honestly, man, I kinda thought you were lyin’ about doin’ it with her.”

“Oh, he’s not,” Isabel confirmed. “We used to do it all the time.”

Michael turned to her, full of agitation. “Alright, you need to leave,” he ordered.

“Why?” She smirked. “Afraid you’ll enjoy the show?”

“I’ve already seen the show,” he growled. “It never really could hold my interest.”

Her taunting grin turned into a glare of animosity, and she felt the need to fire it right back at him. “Just like you couldn’t hold Maria’s.”

He didn’t have a snappy comeback for that one. In fact, judging by that flash of hurt in his eyes, it looked like it sort of stung.

“Oh, happy birthday to me,” Kyle deadpanned from the couch. “This is just what I wished for.”

“Just leave, Isabel,” Michael said, keeping his eyes locked on hers as if he were purposefully trying not to look anywhere else on her body, “with whatever dignity you have left.”

“Oh, you don’t understand. I’m bought and paid for. Well . . .” She shot Fly or Flea or whatever his name was a pointed look. “Bought, anyway.”

“Alright, pay up then, Fly,” Michael urged.

“Ah, dammit, man.” Fly reached into his pocket, then his back pocket, then shot Michael an alarmed look. “Uh . . . problem, chico.”

Michael groaned, rolling his eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

“I left my wallet at home, man!”

“Fuck my life,” Michael swore, pulling out his own wallet. He handed Isabel five twenties, but she scoffed at that.

“I’m a famous porn star, Michael,” she pointed out. “I’m not cheap.”

Reluctantly, he took out two more twenties, and even though it was sixty bucks short of what she would have normally requested, she figured it was good enough since she hadn’t actually done any stripping. Besides, Michael looked pretty pissed, so if she didn’t walk out on her own, he was probably about to throw her out.

“Fine,” she said, folding up the money and stuffing it down between her breasts. “Enjoy the party.”

Fly whimpered as she walked out the door. This had to be a big letdown for him. But truth be told, it was a bit of a letdown for her, too. If there was anyone she would have loved to strip for, it would be Michael Guerin. Despite what he’d implied, he used to love watching her take her clothes off. And Kyle would have been an added bonus. She really had developed a crush on him back in the day, back when he and Tess had first started dating. Of course, she’d never told Tess that.

“That was fast,” Jesse said, holding open her coat for her. “You get paid?”

“Yep.” She pulled the money out of her corset and handed it to him.

“That’s my girl.” He grinned and kissed her again, on the lips this time. “Why so quick, though?”

She closed her jacket, tying it around her waist to cover herself up, and gave him a vague explanation that would hopefully be enough to satisfy him. “They were a tough crowd to please.”








TBC . . .

-April

[keepsmiling7]

You're making me hungry with all of the talk about food......
Chocolate lava cakes.....
And there's nothing wrong with super nachos.
Great part!
Have I mentioned lately that I'm still curious as to what happened to Max????
Thanks,
Carolyn

[sarammlover]

Isabel is living a nightmare. Courtney is gross. Alex needs to get a divorce. It doesn't seem like they like each other. I already have sad hurt feelings for Sarah. And I hope Kyle starts becoming more social and available and he learns to help Tess. She is going to do something out of desperation if he isn't careful.

[April]

Carolyn: There's lots of talk of food throughout this whole story since Sarah is such a good cook!

Hmm, as for what happened to Max . . . well, he's the only major character we have yet to hear from in this story, so . . . read on!


Sara: Isabel, Alex, Kyle, and Tess are all in a really bad place right now. I feel the worst for Tess because she's just been dragged down with Kyle's problems. Isabel has created her own problems. Alex and Kyle aren't really dealing with their problems.



Thanks for reading!








Part 12








Michael sat down in Vanessa Whitaker’s desk chair and spun it around a few times, testing out what it would feel like to actually work there and be the permanent resident of that office. Maybe someday. Not that he was out for her job or anything, but it’d be cool to someday have an office of his own. Bigger than hers, of course.

His phone vibrated in his pocket while he was spinning, and he knew it was Sarah calling before he even saw Crazy Girl on the caller ID. He stopped spinning and answered it by asking, “So how was yoga class?”

“Good,” she replied. “I think I’m getting even more flexible.”

He grinned, liking the sound of that.

“Although . . . Tess and I decided we might give up yoga, maybe take stripperobics instead. Since that’s what you and Kyle are into.”

“Ha, ha.” Despite her teasing, he was glad he’d told her all about last night. “Very funny.”

“It is, kind of.”

He scooted the chair forward, leaning against the desk, trying to figure out how she could be so calm about the whole thing. Most girls would have freaked out. “You’re really not mad?”

She laughed. “No. Actually, when I found out Fly was coming to the party, I pretty much assumed he’d hire a stripper. Of course, I didn’t know it was gonna be your ex-girlfriend, but as long as nothing was actually stripped, I’d say no harm, no foul.”

He smiled appreciatively. Of course his girlfriend wouldn’t freak out. She was confident and secure enough in herself not to. “Sarah, you are so cool,” he told her.

“Oh, plus, if I end up planning Tess’s bachelorette party someday, I can pretty much guarantee we’ll be having at least two male strippers. Full on Magic Mike style.”

As hypocritical as it was, the thought of that didn’t exactly sit comfortably with him. “I could be your Magic Mike,” he offered. Hell, he had the name going for him and everything. Screw his lack of rhythm.

“I’ll keep you in mind for the job,” she teased. “Okay, I gotta go. See you when you get home. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” He ended the call just as Vanessa came back into her office. She gave him a look, and right away, he took the hint and got up out of her chair.

“Who was that?” she asked him.

“My girlfriend.” He stepped aside so that she could take a seat and slid his phone back into his pocket.

“How long have you been together?” she asked him.

“Two years.”

“Huh.” She looked him up and down, teasing, “You must have snagged a good one then. Wonder how that happened.”

“Yeah, I’m honestly not sure,” he admitted.

“Well, why don’t you head on home and spend some time with her,” she suggested.

“Are you sure?” He really wanted to put his best foot forward here at Pound, and if that meant staying later than the average practicum student would have, he was willing to do it.

“Yes, go,” she urged. “I just have to send out a few emails and then I’m gonna head out, too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He had to admit . . . as much as he was enjoying himself there, it would be nice to get home earlier than he’d expected, surprise Sarah, maybe fool around with her a bit before his work shift tonight. “Alright, see you tomorrow,” he echoed, giving her half a wave as he slipped out of the office. The secretary was still there, talking on the phone to someone who, judging by the shrill voice coming through the receiver, sounded like an irate parent. She gave him a miserable look, and he mouthed, ‘Hang up.’ But she just shook her head sadly and kept listening as the parent bitched her out.

Now that was a thankless job.

“Hang in there, Patty,” he whispered, and just as he was about to step out of the office, he froze, because he saw . . .

What the hell?

Dylan was out there, and that alone would have been enough to stop him dead in his tracks, because no matter how many times he saw him here, he wouldn’t get used to it; but it made no sense, because right there with Dylan—right there—zipping up his backpack and sliding it onto his shoulders for him . . . was a face he’d never forget.

Max.

Max Evans.

What the fuck was this?

In a split second, Michael felt like he was back there . . . back on that bridge, watching helplessly as Dylan slipped and fell. He remembered the pure panic in his voice as he’d yelled Dylan’s name, remembered the instinctiveness of launching himself off that same bridge, jumping into the water after him. To save him.

Feeling that same rush of instinct, he tore out of the office, adrenaline pumping. “Get the hell away from him!” he roared, storming towards Max.

Max immediately got in front of Dylan and held his hands up non-combatively. “Michael, wait . . .”

He didn’t want to wait. He wasn’t about to stand around and let Max spew out some bullshit to explain why he was there. With Dylan. With Dylan.

Michael grabbed him by his shirt and tossed him back against the brick wall as hard as he could. Then he curled his hand into a fist, swung, and punched him square in the jaw. It hurt his hand, but it probably hurt Max’s face more, so he did it again. And again. And one more time, just to make sure it left a mark.

And that was when he heard Dylan scream.

He stopped mid-punch and looked over his shoulder at the little boy. He was crying. He looked afraid.

Oh, shit, he thought, reality sinking in. What the hell did I just do?

“Michael!” Vanessa and Patty both came out of the office, yelling at him. “What are you doing?” Vanessa shrieked. “Stop!” She grabbed his shoulders and yanked him away from Max, who was grimacing, as if bracing himself for another impact.

Like a coward.

“Get off of him!” Vanessa blared, placing herself squarely between him and Max. “What do you think you’re doing?”

His mouth felt dry, but he wanted to explain. He wanted to tell her about that night, about what Max had done, about how there was no possible way he was supposed to be there. Different town, different year, but the same guy was up to the same old tricks.

But he couldn’t say any of that, because all he could do was look at Dylan, who Patty had scooped up into her arms now. He was holding tightly to her and crying.

Oh god. Michael forced the tenseness out of his body and an apology out of his mouth. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t an apology for Max, though. The guy deserved far worse than this. It was for Dylan. He didn’t need to see this.

“You’re damn right you’re sorry,” Vanessa ground out. “You’re done.”

He looked at her pleadingly, regretting his own impulsiveness now. “Please, just let me explain.”

“Get out of this school,” she ordered, “before I throw you out.”

He stared at her in disbelief, although . . . he did believe it. She would throw him out. And she should. He must have seemed like a lunatic, but she didn’t understand.

He wasn’t even sure he understood it himself, because he kept expecting Max to pipe up with some annoying comment or some lie, but he was just silent, looking away. Almost like he was embarrassed by the whole thing.

Michael’s head felt like it was spinning. It was as if, all of a sudden, his old life was invading this new one. Colliding. Shattering.

He threw his hands up in the air, backed away harmlessly, praying she would change her mind and tell him to go into her office instead so she could talk to him about this. But of course she didn’t. He’d just screwed up about as much as he possibly could screw up. She’d never allow him back there.

Dylan’s aching cries still echoed in his ears as he turned and walked out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Being that she worked in the healthcare field, Sarah was all concerned when Michael arrived home with an injury. Not even a major one, but she seemed to think it was major when he sheepishly showed her his scraped up knuckles and shaky fingers. She immediately took him into the bathroom and started fixing him up, taking care of him way more than he probably needed or deserved. She cleaned his hand with a warm washcloth and put some ice on it to help the inevitable swelling, but when she asked if it hurt and he complained about his pinky finger, she got the medical supplies kit out from under the sink and started taping his pinky to his ring finger.

“Why are you doing that?” he asked her.

“Because, we need to immobilize your finger as much as possible,” she explained. “Hopefully this works. Otherwise you might have to go to a doctor.”

Inwardly, he scoffed at that suggestion. There was no need. He’d thrown plenty of punches in his day, and he’d never had to go to a doctor once because of it.

“Your whole hand’s gonna swell,” she warned him as she carefully wound the tape around his two fingers. “You have to rest it a lot tonight and tomorrow.”

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. This was no big deal.

She sighed shakily, securing the tape with a worried look on her face. “I don’t get it,” she said. “How did you even do this? You said you hit something?”

“Yeah.” When he’d first walked in, he’d figured vague was best.

“What, like a wall?” she asked.

No, not a wall. That would have been too simple, too boring. Too easy to explain. He just had to go and make things harder on himself. “More like this guy’s face,” he confessed.

She let go of his hand and took a step back, looking up at him incredulously. “What?”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t about to tell her who that guy was, but he wasn’t going to keep her completely in the dark about it, either. “I hit someone.”

Her mouth dropped open in absolute bewilderment. “What? Who? Why?”

With his uninjured hand, he scratched his eyebrow. “Which question am I supposed to answer first?”

“You hit someone?” she shrieked. “In the face? You punched a guy in the face?”

“Yeah.” He shifted uncomfortably, mumbling, “It’s not that weird. I used to punch people all the time. Underclassmen. Other jocks. Teachers.”

She grunted, putting one agitated hand on her hip. “Okay, but that still doesn’t explain why you would punch someone now. And who did you hit?”

“Just . . .” It made his blood boil to picture Max’s fucking stupid face in his mind, so he had to stop picturing it before he got too mad. “This guy at the school.”

“What guy?” she questioned. “Like, someone else who works there?”

“No.” The more he talked about it, the more it started to frustrate him. He just couldn’t explain it to her so that she’d understand. “One of the parents.”

“One of the parents?” Her eyes bulged. “Oh my god, are you crazy?”

Probably, he thought.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because, he was just . . . he’s a jerk, alright?” he sputtered. “He’s not a good dad.”

She sighed heavily, her shoulder slumping. “Oh, Michael . . .”

“And I know I shouldn’t have done it,” he acknowledged, “and I [/i]know[/i] I probably just screwed up my whole practicum, but I don’t care, ‘cause he deserved it.”

She waited a moment, then moved in closer to him and picked up his injured hand in hers, stroking the back of it softly with her thumb. “I think I get it now,” she said sadly. “You saw this guy being a jerk to his son, and it reminded you of how horrible your dad was with you, didn’t it?”

It wasn’t a bad theory, but it wasn’t right. At all. He didn’t expect her to ‘get it,’ not when there was no possible way she could. He loved her for trying, but she just couldn’t understand why seeing Max Evans at that school had set him off like this.

So he just had to tell her one more little lie. “Yeah, that’s . . . that’s what happened,” he muttered, feeling ashamed of himself for not being honest with her.

With her free hand, she reached up and stroked his cheek gently. “Michael, I’m so sorry you had such an awful relationship with your dad,” she sympathized, “but you can’t take out your anger and resentment on other dads who aren’t quite up to par. It’s not your place to pass judgment on them.”

I’ll judge Max ‘til the day I die, he thought stubbornly. Whatever the reason was for him being there . . . he didn’t agree with it. There was no reason for him to be there.

“You can’t just go around hitting people when you get mad at them,” she lectured. “It’s reckless and immature and impulsive and . . . it’s not you, Michael. It’s not who you are.”

He frowned, thinking back to that night on the bridge, to the all-out brawl with Max that had preceded Dylan’s fall into the water. That was the last time he’d ever punched someone, until now. But it was like riding a fucking bike; you never forgot how. “It’s who I used to be,” he mumbled, brushing past her on his way out of the bathroom. As grateful as he was for her taking care of his hand and trying to look out for him, his head was spinning right now because of everything he’d seen today. He needed to go lie down and try to forget that he’d seen anything.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Max and Dylan came home that afternoon, Maria was at the kitchen table, busily filling out a job application online. Not a waitressing job this time; a hostess. Very different. Supposedly.

Whatever. It was a job. She needed something part-time.

“Hey, guys,” she greeted, barely glancing up from the computer screen. She was almost done. Just a few more questions to answer. These damn applications nowadays took forever to fill out.

“Go play in your room,” she heard Max tell Dylan.

Maria frowned, eyes still locked on the computer screen, fingers typing furiously as she tried to finish up. Dylan was usually a lot more chipper when he got home from school. He liked to tell her what they’d done that day and what they were going to do the rest of the week. He never went straight to his room to play.

“Is everything okay?” she asked Max as she clicked the submit button of the online document.

“I guess,” he mumbled, coming into the kitchen and opening up the refrigerator. He bent down, looked around for a bit, and, apparently finding nothing that he liked or wanted to eat, shut the door.

“Are you okay?” she rephrased.

“Sure,” he replied, walking back to the front door so he could kick his shoes off. “Can’t say the same for Dylan, though.”

Now Maria was starting to get worried. Something wasn’t right. “Why?” she pressed. “What happened?”

Hesitating, Max looked up at her, his face covered in afternoon shadow, and then slowly, he came towards her. The closer he got, the more she noticed his face. There was a light purple bruise around his left eye, and his lower lip was swollen and cut.

“Oh . . . my god,” she gasped, getting to her feet. She tried to reach out to put her hand on his face, but he backed away. “What happened?” she asked again, more adamantly this time.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and averted his eyes for a moment, almost as if he were . . . ashamed. “Your ex-boyfriend happened,” he finally revealed.

Maria felt like her stomach just . . . dropped. And her heart right along with it. She nearly stumbled backward, bowled over by this revelation. “What?” she spat.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “He was there. At the school.”

Oh, shit. She mentally swore at herself for even allowing Max to go pick Dylan up today. She should have figured out why Michael had ever shown up there in the first place. Part of her had wanted to chalk the whole thing up as one gigantic coincidence and nothing more, but now . . . this wasn’t coincidental. He was on a mission or something.

“Michael was there?” she asked, playing dumb. She wasn’t trying to be dishonest, but . . . she just had to act surprised. If Max knew she’d seen Michael the other day, and if he knew Dylan had seen him at school before . . . he’d feel so betrayed. And it wasn’t a betrayal.

“Michael was there,” Max confirmed. “Michael was pissed. And unfortunately Dylan saw the whole thing.”

Oh my god, she thought, her mind panicking. Oh my god, oh my god. No wonder Dylan had been despondent then. No wonder he wasn’t his usual bubbly self. “I don’t understand,” she said, and that was the honest to God truth. She didn’t understand any of this. For over two years, she hadn’t seen or heard anything from Michael. And now he was just . . . he was just everywhere, it seemed.

“I don’t know why he was there,” Max mumbled, picking at the cut on his lip. “Who knows? Maybe he’s dating a new girl who already has a kid. I mean, that’s his type, you know.”

She rolled her eyes, not at him, but just at the situation. It was so ridiculous that, at this point, that scenario was very possible. It wasn’t something she particularly loved to think about, but . . . at least that would explain it.

“Did you say anything to him?” she questioned. Back in the day, Max had liked to say things to Michael that would purposefully set him off. Maybe he’d slipped back into old habits . . .

“I didn’t say anything. I had no idea he was even there,” Max said, starting to pace around the kitchen. “He just came out of the office, hit me a bunch of times, and then they told him to leave. And he left.”

God, typical Michael, she thought. So impulsive and over-the-top. He never learned, did he?

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, feeling like it was needed. She should have warned him that Michael might be there. She should have told him what Dylan had said to her. But it was too late now.

“Not your fault,” he muttered, avoiding looking at her. She couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed about getting hit, or felt guilty for Dylan witnessing it. Or maybe he was just too tense, too upset about everything, to look her in the eye.

“Listen, Max . . . just let me handle it,” she suggested softly. “I’ll figure out why he was there, and . . . and we won’t let this cause drama for us.” They definitely didn’t need it. Things had been good. Things had been steady and easy and calm for a while now. She wanted it to stay that way.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” he questioned. “You being the one to handle it?”

She gave him a look, already decided that he would not be going back to that school to pick up Dylan until she knew Michael wasn’t going to be there anymore. And why he’d been there in the first place. “Well, he’s not gonna punch me in the face,” she pointed out.

“I guess not,” he acknowledged.

She sighed shakily, wrapping her arms around herself, moving in closer to him, standing just inches away. “So is Dylan freaked out then?” she asked, concerned for her son. Thankfully, the last time Michael and Max had fought in front of him, he’d forgotten it. He’d forgotten all the awful events of that night. But he wouldn’t forget this.

“He didn’t say much on the way home. I think he’s just confused,” Max said. “Just like me.”

Great. She’d have to talk to him tonight, figure out something to say. Then, after she had the facts and understood what in the hell Michael was doing, then she could talk to him some more, help him be . . . less confused.

Everything’s fine, she assured herself, shivering. I can handle this.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael plucked one of the pink heart marshmallows out of his Lucky Charms cereal and handed it down to Shango, who was sitting at his feet, peering up at him expectantly and waiting patiently for any goodies that came his way. Breakfast seemed to be his favorite meal, although he was pretty much a hungry dog all the time.

“Stop feeding him people food,” Sarah scolded as she scrambled herself some eggs.

“There’s no such thing as people food,” he corrected her. “There’s just food. People can eat it. Dogs can eat it.”

“Well, he’s gonna get fat if he eats too much,” she cautioned.

“Not if I walk him.”

“Which you do so much,” she remarked sarcastically.

“I’ll do it more,” he vowed. “Listen, babe, you gotta trust me when I say I know everything about raising a puppy.”

“Hmm.” She gave him a skeptical look. “Even though Shango’s your first one?”

“Yeah.” Okay, so he was being cocky as hell about it, but puppies were simple. Easier than babies.

“Really?” she pushed. “How’s that toilet-training going?”

That shut him up for a second. Fine, so that had been a flop, but he’d really tried. “Okay, we all knew that one was a long-shot,” he said.

“Oh, did we?” she snapped, shaking her head as she returned her attention to the eggs in the frying pan.

Michael thought about subtly slipping Shango another marshmallow, but he thought better of it when he took another look at Sarah. She seemed . . . like she wasn’t in the greatest mood this morning, which was rare but bothersome to him. “You’re pissed at me, huh?” he guessed.

She turned down the stove burner to low heat and left the eggs in there as she padded towards him. “No.”

“Yes, you are.” He could tell.

“I’m just . . .” She flapped her arms against her sides as she searched for the right word. “Frustrated.”

Oh, shit, that sounded bad. “Not sexually, right?” he asked, horrified if that was the case.

That managed to get a little laugh out of her. “No. Just . . .” She paused for a moment, letting out a long sigh. “You were upset last night, and I didn’t know how to make you feel better. And it was frustrating.”

“Oh . . .” He pushed his cereal bowl aside, knowing he’d kind of slipped back into jerk mode yesterday. He hadn’t meant to be closed off or ungrateful or any of the other things he probably had been. Now that he’d had a night to sleep on it, he felt calmer. He felt like he could make sense of yesterday and not let it affect today. It was all going to be fine.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her down on top his lap, and she wrapped her arms around her neck. “It’s not your job to make me feel better,” he told her, holding her waist.

“It kind of is, though,” she insisted.

How could he explain that nothing would have made him feel better last night? There was nothing she could have said or done that would have gotten him out of his horrible mood. He’d just needed last night to process everything and get over it . . . as much as he could, at least.

“Well, don’t worry. I’m back to my usual self now,” he assured her. “I’m in a better mood today.”

“Good.” She cupped his face and kissed him lightly, then got back up and went over to the stove to check her eggs. “Because you’re gonna need to be. You’ve got Music Appreciation today.”

“Yeah . . .” He slid his cereal bowl back in front of himself, debating now whether or not he should even go. Maybe it would just make things worse.

“Are you excited?” she asked. “Or nervous?”

He scooped up what little was left of his Lucky Charms. Unfortunately, the only two letters that ended up swirling around in the milk collected by his spoon were two soggy M’s.

“A little bit of both,” he confessed, suddenly not very hungry anymore.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael got to Music Appreciation early, mostly just for the dramatic effect of having Maria walk in and see him there. He sat in the front row of the lecture hall, right around the same seat she’d chosen last Thursday. And he waited. And then he waited some more. And finally, when he was tired of waiting and there were only five minutes left until the start of class, she strolled in, her eyes focused on her phone as she texted someone.

Max? he couldn’t help but wonder. Hopefully not.

“Well . . .” he drawled.

She immediately stopped dead in her tracks and looked up from her phone, her expression a shocked one.

“We meet again.” He grinned like a jackass, sort of enjoying that he could torment her a little.

Her fingers shook, and she nearly dropped her phone. Pocketing it, she looked away from him, shook her head in silent outrage, and made a beeline for the back of the room instead. Like that would help.

He stayed seated for a moment, smirking at her futile attempt to get away from him. No way was he going to let that be all he said to her. No, they were going to have a conversation, whether she wanted to or not. With that in mind, he picked up his backpack off the floor and rose up, following her to the last row. She rolled her eyes when he flopped down in the seat right next to her.

“Works for me,” he proclaimed. “I used to be more of a back-of-the-class guy anyway.”

“Used to be?” she challenged.

“Yeah.” She wouldn’t understand that he wasn’t that same high school idiot anymore. She probably wouldn’t care.

Beginning to look frazzled, unnerved, she stuffed her phone into her purse and started searching around for something. Finally, she pulled out a pen, but just as soon as she did, she put it back and zipped the whole thing up again. Like she couldn’t decide if it was worth it to stay. Finally, she asked the obvious question. “What’re you doing here?”

“Appreciating music,” he replied simply. “You?”

Again, she rolled her eyes. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe you’re in this class, do you?”

“I am,” he insisted.

“Since when?”

“Last week.”

“Why?” she demanded. “To annoy me?”

“Hmm.” He bit back a smile. “No, that’s just an added bonus. I’m only here ‘cause I need a fine arts credit. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“So coincidentally, out of all the fine arts classes you could take, you end up in mine.” She shook her head skeptically, managing to look around the room at everything else but him.

The only way around getting caught in a lie was to lie some more, so he kept playing it up that he had to be there. “I didn’t even know you were in this class. I just took it. It was the only one that sounded like it wouldn’t suck.”

She grunted, slung her purse over her shoulder, and grumbled, “Well, this sucks,” as she stood up and stormed out of the auditorium.

Oh . . . crap, he thought. He’d played the jerk angle a little too hard. Now she was too pissed to talk to him. Didn’t matter, though. If she wasn’t sitting through that class today, neither was he.

Not so easily persuaded to leave her alone, he got up and walked out after her. Luckily she hadn’t gone far. She had thrown her purse down on the wooden bench below the bulletin board, and her body language was tense and agitated as she stared at the various fliers posted there, probably not reading one of them. She was dragging one hand through her hair, and she didn’t turn around to look at him, not even when she must have heard him come out.

“Fine, run away,” he bit out, unable to hold back his own anger and resentment. “That’s what you do best.”

At least that got a reaction out of her. She whirled around, green eyes blazing with accusation, and roared, “Are you serious right now? We haven’t seen each other in over two years, and that’s what you say to me?”

“Well, what did you expect?” he snarled back. This girl had broken his heart once. He couldn’t exactly be a one-man welcoming committee.

“I didn’t expect any of this,” she said dramatically. “I didn’t expect you to be in this class, on this campus, in this town. I sure as hell didn’t expect you to be at my son’s school.”

“Yeah, what the hell was Max doin’ there anyway?” he demanded.

She huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “That’s . . . none of your business.”

“No, it is my business,” he insisted vehemently, “because the last time I saw that guy, he was high as a fucking kite and kidnapping Dylan out of my house.”

“You don’t understand,” she muttered, kicking the toe of her sneakers against the linoleum.

“So explain it to me.”

“No!” she yelped. “I don’t have to explain anything to you! Just . . . things are different.”

Hearing her say that . . . shit, it brought him back. Right back. Back to that street, where her car was loaded up and ready to go. Back to that moment where he’d barely been able to catch his breath, because he’d just run from his high school graduation, thinking he could get to her in time.

“Maybe if things were different.” That’s what she’d said to him back then.

Thinking back to that moment, and living in this one right now . . . he swore he hated her just a little bit. He glared at her in disbelief, not able to fathom how things could be so different that she would ever agree to let that prick back into Dylan’s life.

“What?” she spat, eyeing him angrily.

“Whatever,” he dismissed. He wasn’t about to get trapped in the past. He wasn’t about to feel that fucked up again.

“No, not whatever, Michael,” she ground out angrily. “You can’t just show up at Dylan’s school and go all ‘fists of fury’ on Max. Why the hell were you even there? Dylan told me he saw you before this, too.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m there for a practicum,” he informed her.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “A practicum?”

“Yeah, it’s like a class. I had to do it so I can be a guidance counselor someday.”

That eyebrow shot even farther upward. “A guidance counselor.”

“Yeah.”

She actually started to laugh a little, a clear sign that she didn’t believe him, that she just thought he was pulling her leg.

“Ask Vanessa Whitaker if you don’t believe me,” he urged. Although he did understand why she would have doubts. He’d barely passed school, so the thought of him wanting to work for one had to seem ridiculously far-fetched. “She’s my cooperating counselor. Or at least she was. I’m pretty sure they’ll never let me go back there now.”

“Well, that’s your own fault,” she said, no trace of sympathy in her voice.

He flapped his arms against his sides exasperatedly. “Sorry for trying to defend your son.”

“He didn’t need defending!” she shouted. “God, you can’t do this, Michael! I’m not . . .” She pressed both hands to the side of her head, looking like she was about to pull her own hair out. “I’m not doing this.” She seized her purse again, gave him one last glare, and then stomped off down the hall.

Just let her go, his mind told him, but his mouth had other ideas. “Hey!” he yelled.

Reluctantly, she stopped and turned back around, looking back at him impatiently, like she couldn’t wait to get gone.

He didn’t know why he had stopped her, what he wanted to say. All he knew was that, during the course of this conversation, he’d ended up getting just as pissed off as she had. And now all he wanted to do was say something to hurt her feelings just as much as his feelings had been hurt when he’d seen Max at that school. Just as much as when she’d completely ignored him when he’d called out to her at that intersection the other day. Just as much as when she’d driven down that road without even looking back. Not even once.

“I got over you,” he blurted. There. Somewhere deep down inside, that had to sting.

If it did, though, she didn’t let on. She didn’t say anything, either, though. No response for that one. Just a painfully long three-second stare, and then she’d turned her back and was on her way again.

Always leaving, he thought, feeling deflated now. Never staying. Maybe things weren’t so different nowadays after all.








TBC . . .

-April

[keepsmiling7]

I'm sorry for little Dylan........he's caught in the Max/Michael tug of war.
And Maria has to take care of everything.
Thanks for the great new part,
Carolyn

[sarammlover]

April!!!! UGH! You are killing me with a regressing Michael. It makes me so very sad. And the fact that he had to tell Maria he got over her clearly tells us he is definitely NOT over her. He wouldn't have joined her class just to see her if he was. And he is constantly lying to Sarah...though at least he told her he punched a man at the school. I think I had my hands over my eyes during the Michael/Max confrontation. HA! Great job!

[April]

Carolyn:

I'm sorry for little Dylan........he's caught in the Max/Michael tug of war.

I know. Poor little guy.

And Maria has to take care of everything.

Or at least try to. She can't just bury her head in the sand and pretend this isn't happening.


Sara:

April!!!! UGH! You are killing me with a regressing Michael. It makes me so very sad.

I know! It's hard to write, too. On the one hand, I love writing these scenes between Michael and Maria, because there's a lot of intensity. But on the other hand, it's sad because his life has become so stable and so good, and that's at risk right now.

And the fact that he had to tell Maria he got over her clearly tells us he is definitely NOT over her.

Exactly. That particular line of dialogue was one of the very first scenes that popped into my head for this fic.

And he is constantly lying to Sarah...

She doesn't deserve that.

I think I had my hands over my eyes during the Michael/Max confrontation.

Yeah, it wasn't pretty. But it was kind of inevitable considering how things went down between them in Someone, Anyone.



Thanks for reading and leaving feedback! I really appreciate it!

I'm making a music suggestion for this part for the deeply beautiful song "Volcano" by Damien Rice. You can listen to it here or click on when you see it if you'd like.








Part 13








For some reason, Maria always felt like she was being judged whenever she set foot in Dylan’s school. It was no one’s fault; no one there gave her dirty looks or said anything to indicate that they were doing such a thing. She was just overly self-conscious. Because she was younger than the other moms. Because she felt like she had to prove that she was just as good at it as they were. Ridiculous stuff like that.

“Hi,” she greeted the secretary when she came into the office.

“Well, hi, Maria,” Patty returned cheerfully. She always cheerful. In fact, usually everyone there was. They were a nice staff. They didn’t judge her.

“I’m just here to pick up Dylan for his dentist appointment,” Maria explained.

“Oh, okay.”

“But I’m a little early,” she added. “Actually, I was wondering if Ms. Whitaker was here. I need to talk to her.”

“Sure. She’s in her office right now. Go on in,” Patty said.

“Thank you.” Maria slipped around the front desk, past the nurse’s station, and knocked on the door to Vanessa’s office.

“Come in,” she heard.

Slowly pushing open the door, Maria took in a silent but shaky breath. Even though she’d come straight here after bailing on her class today, part of her had worried that Michael would be there, too, like he’d beat her there somehow. The guy was everywhere lately; it was impossible to escape him.

Thankfully, it was just Vanessa, though. She was tangled up in her phone cord, talking to someone as she searched through one of her filing cabinets for something. Right away when she saw Maria, she told whoever she was talking to, “Hey, I have to go. I’ll call you back later, okay?” and hung up the phone. “Maria,” she said, quickly untangling herself. She had to step over her phone cord to get out of it, but she managed. “I assume this means you got my voicemail.”

“Yeah. I was trying to text you back a response this morning, but I got, um . . .” She shook away the mental image of Michael sitting in the front row of the classroom, waiting for her. “Busy.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Vanessa said, shutting her filing cabinet. “I left Max the same message, but I haven’t heard back from him.”

“You probably won’t,” Maria informed her. “I think he just wants to put the memory of yesterday behind him.” Max didn’t ignore the past, but he didn’t dwell on it, either. It was part of his strategy for coping with . . . everything. Everything he’d done. So he hadn’t said anything about Michael this morning, not one thing at all. And he wouldn’t. He’d move on. That was what he did, and he’d learned to do it well.

“Well, I’m glad you came in,” Vanessa said, lowering herself into her chair. “Have a seat,” she suggested.

Maria pulled up a chair, not sure how to broach the obvious topic of conversation they needed to discuss. It was weird, especially for her. Talking about Michael felt like talking about another life.

“First of all,” Vanessa started in, much to Maria’s relief, “I want to apologize for what happened here yesterday. To be honest, I don’t quite understand it, I certainly don’t abide it, and I want to assure you that your son is safe in this environment. What happened yesterday will never happen again.”

Maria didn’t doubt that much, but that wasn’t was concerned her. “Is Michael really your practicum student?” she asked, incredulous.

“He was,” Vanessa confirmed. “He’s not anymore.”

Huh. Wow, she thought, slightly stunned. Never would she have imagined that Michael would pursue counseling as a career. Sex counseling, maybe, but not this. This was . . . unexpected. In a strange way, she felt proud of him.

“So you know Michael?” Vanessa asked, apparently just now piecing it together.

“Um . . . yeah,” she admitted. “It’s kind of a long story.” She hoped to just leave it at that, but with Vanessa looking at her expectantly, she felt compelled to elaborate. “He’s my ex-boyfriend,” she explained. “Or . . . fiancé, technically.” She cringed after saying that, because . . . well, because she felt stupid for ever letting their relationship get that far. They’d been so young.

“Oh.” Vanessa’s face now registered surprise. “I did not know that.”

“It was years ago,” Maria made sure to add. “He was a senior in high school; I was nineteen. It was sort of this whirlwind romance. We were both really caught up in it.” Really caught up? She scoffed internally at that, knowing it was a severe understatement.

“Sounds like,” Vanessa agreed. “Well, still, I apologize. That doesn’t give him any right to do what he did.”

“No,” Maria agreed. “But there’s, uh . . . there’s more to it than that.” She shifted uncomfortably, uncertain of how much she should reveal here. Max didn’t tell people about the past because he didn’t want people to know. But didn’t Vanessa need to know? Wasn’t it almost part of her job?

Taking a deep breath, Maria started to recount the whole unpleasant story, the abridged version, because she couldn’t handle any other one. “When Michael and I were together, he thought of Dylan like a son. And Dylan thought of him like a father. Max wasn’t really in the picture back then, because he had a lot of problems. Like, um . . .” She lowered her head, feeling ashamed for him as she mumbled, “Drug problems.” She glanced at Vanessa cautiously, checking for any signs of judgment. There were none, so she kept going. “Anyway, there was this one night where I was out of town, and Michael was supposed to be taking care of Dylan, but he got distracted. And while he was distracted, Max showed up and . . .” She shivered at the horrific memory. Even though she hadn’t been there to see it, she could imagine in vividly. “He took Dylan,” she confessed. “Drove off with him, ended up crashing his car on a bridge because he was so high. But Michael caught up to them, and he and Max were fighting when Dylan just . . .” She felt her lower lip tremble as she pictured something she often tried not to. “He fell into the water. He almost drowned, but Michael jumped in after him and pulled him out.”

Vanessa seemed shocked into silence for a few seconds as she leaned forward, folding her hands atop her desk. “Oh, goodness,” she finally managed, “that’s . . . unthinkable. I can’t even imagine . . .”

“Don’t imagine,” Maria cautioned. It was too painful. “Anyway, long story short, Max ended up leaving town because of it, and Michael and I broke up. And then I left town, and now two years later, somehow we’ve all found ourselves here.”

“Like a confluence,” Vanessa remarked.

“Yeah,” Maria agreed, feeling stupid because she didn’t even know what that word meant. “Anyway, what I’m saying is, I don’t agree with what Michael did, and obviously I wish he hadn’t done it in front of Dylan. But I don’t know if he’s ever gotten over that night. I mean, he hates Max, and he doesn’t understand that he’s different now. I mean, we haven’t kept in touch. He doesn’t know . . .”

“Right,” Vanessa said, nodding. “Well, listen, Maria . . .”

She couldn’t help but interrupt. “I mean, I just . . . I think when he saw Max with Dylan, it just set him off. You know?”

Vanessa stopped nodding and looked at her skeptically. “It almost sounds like you’re defending him,” she remarked.

“No,” Maria clarified. “I just . . .” She was having problems finding the right words to convey to this woman that she didn’t want Michael to lose his job. So she just blurted that out instead of beating around the bush. “Don’t fire him,” she pleaded.

“He doesn’t work here,” Vanessa reminded her, “so technically he’s not fired. He’s just gonna have to do his practicum a different semester at a different school with a different counselor, because I expect more from anyone who’s under my tutelage.”

“I understand that,” Maria said, “and I know there’s no excuse for his actions, but . . .” She shrugged sympathetically. “There is an explanation.”

“There is,” Vanessa agreed warily, “but I can’t overlook what he did. It was completely unprofessional, and there’s no way he can remain at this school. I think that’s in his best interest and your family’s.”

Oh god, Maria thought reluctantly. It is, isn’t it? Not having Michael around that school, running into Dylan, not having him there whenever Max stopped by to pick Dylan him . . . it really would be easier. She hated that it was coming at the expense of his education, but . . . there was nothing she could do. Clearly Vanessa had made up her mind and wasn’t changing it anytime soon.

“Well, whatever you think is for the best, I’m sure it is,” Maria said softly, forcing a small smile. She’d tried, but chances were, Michael wouldn’t even acknowledge that.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Some things never changed. Dylan’s resistance to falling asleep at night was one of them. Sometimes he was still wide awake at nearly 10:00, and getting him to nod off usually involved reading him several bedtime stories and cuddling with him for a while until he talked himself into a state of tiredness.

Usually he just talked about school. Things they did at school, kids at school. Stuff like that. Usually.

“Hey, Mom?” he said quietly, just as Maria was sure he was about to hit his internal snooze button.

“Yeah?” She tried not to sound impatient, but she was exhausted and wanted to go to bed, too. Today had been emotionally draining.

He blinked his eyes several times to keep them open, then frowned confusedly and squeaked out his question. “Is Micho my dad again?”

Hearing him say that was . . . heartbreaking. It made her feel judgmental of herself, because she knew she’d screwed up over the years. Rotating Michael in and out of Dylan’s life, never fully bothering to explain it because she assumed he was too young to understand . . . clearly he didn’t know how to perceive recent developments, and who could blame him?

“No,” she replied calmly. “Your dad is your dad.”

As if just to make sure, he asked, “Max?”

“Yeah. Max.” Only recently had Dylan stopped calling him that and started calling him Dad instead. It had been a process for him to come to think of Max that way, not because of what had happened two years ago—he thankfully still didn’t remember any of that. But just because it was a transition for him, forgetting about Michael, accepting Max into his life to take over that role. Max knew his relationship with Dylan was a work in progress, but it would have broken his heart to hear Dylan ask that.

Dylan wasn’t done with his questions, though. He yawned adorably before inquiring, “Then what’s Micho?”

Maria tried to answer, but she didn’t have an answer. She didn’t have the words to say, let alone the words that he could understand. So she just sat next to his bed without saying a word, watching him close his eyes despite his best efforts not to. Good, she thought. If he finally fell asleep, then she wouldn’t have to answer the question at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The phone was ringing. Volume was on low, but just loud enough for Michael to hear it. It was just the generic ringtone, so part of him was tempted to just ignore it. But when Sarah stirred beside him, he forced himself to reach over and grab it, because he didn’t want it to ring so long that it would wake her up.

He sat up and glanced down at the caller ID, squinting against the brightness of the screen. There wasn’t a name showing, but a number . . . an all too familiar number. One he used to call incessantly, only to hear an automated voicemail kick on.

Carefully but quickly, he slid out of the bed and walked around the divider into the kitchen. “Hello?” he answered quietly, bracing himself for the voice he knew he was about to hear.

It took her several seconds, but finally Maria said, “Hey, it’s me.”

It’s you, he thought, suddenly feeling wide awake. He cast a glance back at Sarah, barely able to make out her sleeping form in the dark. But she hadn’t moved, so the phone call hadn’t woken her up.

“What’s up?” he said to Maria, grimacing right after the words left his mouth. What’s up? It’d been years since he’d talked this girl on the phone, and that was what he said? So fucking lame.

“I need to talk to you,” she revealed after a moment’s hesitation.

He tensed, peering through the darkness at Sarah again, knowing it would be simpler and better to just crawl back into bed with her, spoon up behind her, and fall back asleep. He knew that was what he should do.

( )

Twenty minutes later, after a short four-minute stroll from his apartment, he found himself in the dimly-lit commuter parking lot, where there were only five cars still parked at this hour. Her old Buick was one of them, and she got out when she saw him coming towards her. She was dressed down in jeans and a loose grey sweatshirt, and her hair was up in a messy ponytail. She actually looked like she’d been sleeping, too.

“You know, we could’ve met somewhere more well-lit,” he pointed out. Campus was pretty safe, but still, she was a young girl in an empty parking lot at night. Lots of horror movies started that way.

“I didn’t want anyone to see us,” she explained, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t matter if they did. It’s not like high school. Nobody cares what anyone else is doin’.”

“Yeah, but still . . .” She let her sentence fade, and he didn’t push it any farther.

“So what did you wanna talk about?” he asked. Whatever it was must have been weighing pretty heavy on her mind for her to call him in the middle of the night.

She sighed and revealed, “I talked with Dylan’s guidance counselor today. She said you were her practicum student.”

“Told you. You didn’t believe me, huh?”

“I . . . didn’t know what to believe,” she admitted. “But anyway, I . . . I told her about what happened in the past between you and Max and Dylan.”

“You mean . . .” He trailed off, not needing to say anything more than that.

“Yeah.”

He studied her curiously, trying to figure out what would motivate her to do something like that. “Why?”

“Because I wanted her to understand where you were coming from,” she said, “because I wanted her to reconsider letting you go from your practicum or whatever.”

He grunted, still not seeing why she would even care. “Why do you even care about that?”

“Because I—I feel bad,” she stammered. “I knew Dylan had seen you at that school ‘cause he told me, but I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I wanted to believe it was just some weird coincidence. But maybe if I had . . . like maybe if I’d found out why you were there and warned you that Max might be coming to pick Dylan up some days . . . I don’t know, maybe you would’ve never lashed out at him like that.”

He thought about it, trying to picture some scenario in which he would see Max for the first time in years and not lash out. And he couldn’t. “No, I probably still would’ve,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, well, I just feel like I could’ve handled the whole situation better,” she summarized.

“Maria . . .” He actually appreciated that she was even remotely bothered about it. Maybe there was some small smart of her that still gave a damn what happened to him. “It’s not your fault,” he assured her, not sure why he felt the need to assure her. He just did.

“What’s gonna happen to your practicum?” she asked.

He flapped his arms against his sides, trying to act like it was no big deal. But really, it was. At this point, finding an alternative practicum placement was going to be tough. Doing a practicum next semester instead would throw off his whole schedule. He was potentially looking at having to restructure his entire next two years of college. Either that or jam-pack next semester, have absolutely no free-time whatsoever.

“You act like it’s not a big deal,” she mumbled, tugging her shirt sleeves down below her wrists, “but it is a big deal.”

“You’re damn right it’s a big deal,” he agreed, but he was thinking about something else when he said that. Something that was a far, far bigger deal to him, something he wasn’t going to walk out of that parking lot without confronting her about. “Why the hell was Max there, huh?” he demanded shrilly. “How could you ever let him back into Dylan’s life after everything he’s done?”

“Michael . . .” she groaned. “You don’t--”

“I don’t understand,” he cut in, knowing that was what she was going to say. “I don’t care. How did this even happen?”

“Not that I owe you an explanation,” she made a point of saying, “but a little over a year ago, he walked into a restaurant where I was waitressing. I wouldn’t give him the time of day, naturally, but he was persistent. And eventually, I got to know him again, and I found out how much he’s changed . . .”

Michael snorted at that.

“You don’t have to believe it, but it’s true. So it’s been a process, learning to trust him or even like him again, but . . . it’s been fine.”

Fine, he thought. That was quite a bland word, wasn’t it? “So you trust him again,” he recapped, angered by that fact. “You like him.” He made a face as he said the words. Like? As in . . . not love? So maybe it wasn’t a romantic thing?

“He’s become a really good father,” Maria said.

Better than me? he couldn’t help but wonder. “So now you guys are . . . what? Co-parenting Dylan?”

“Yes.”

“Together?” He didn’t know if it was his place to ask, but he asked it anyway, because he had to know. “Are you guys . . . together?”

She let out a shaky exhale, one that made him inexplicably nervous for her answer, then replied, “We’re his parents.”

He frowned, because . . . that wasn’t exactly an answer. “Just his parents?” he tried to clarify.

“Nothing more.”

He had to admit . . . for some reason, that made him feel better. Like maybe Max hadn’t gotten off scot-free on every single thing he’d done wrong. But still . . . he seemed to have gotten away with plenty, and that pissed him off. “So you forgave him,” he remarked.

“Yes.”

“Even though you wouldn’t forgive me?”

For a second, her eyes glossed over with tears. But just for a second, and then they were gone, even though she still looked sad. “Michael . . .” she whimpered. “I really don’t wanna launch into this whole long conversation. I just wanted to come by and . . . you know, say I’m sorry for the way things went down with your practicum.”

I’m sorry for the way things went down on that bridge, he thought, but there was no point in saying it. He’d said it all before.

“And that’s it,” she finished. “That has to be it. Okay, don’t sit next to me in class on Thursday. It’s not a good idea.”

He frowned, somehow unable to completely agree with her even though he felt like he should agree with her. But honestly, what was the point of even going to that class if he wasn’t going to sit next to her?

“I have to go,” she announced, opening her car door again.

“What else is new?” he mumbled, not loud enough for her to hear. He stood back and watched her climb into the driver’s seat, start up the car, and flip on the headlights. And just like she had years ago, she drove off. But there was no need to make a feeble attempt at running after the car last time. All he had to do was stand and watch it go.

He stayed in that parking lot longer than he needed to, until at least a minute after she was gone. And then, when he was ready, he turned and headed back in the direction of his apartment, where Sarah was hopefully still fast asleep. It was time to go back to the good life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was 3:30 when Maria arrived back home. That meant that there were only two and a half hours until she had to wake up and start Dylan’s breakfast. Two and a half hours for her to try to sleep after the annoying insomnia that had plagued her so far this evening.

Closing the door quietly, she told herself that there was nothing to stay awake and agonize about now. She’d apologized to Michael for the downfall of his practicum, so she’d gotten that off her chest. And that had really been the overall goal, to just let him know that she wasn’t out to get him and hadn’t demanded Vanessa Whitaker put an end to his experience at Pound.

She kicked off her shoes and whispered, “Shit,” when she accidentally dropped her car keys on the floor. She didn’t want to wake Max up and have to lie to him about where she’d been.

Bending down, she picked up her keys and rolled them around in the palm of her hand, dazing off, thinking about what Michael had said in that parking lot, and the way he’d said it. Almost as if he felt betrayed or something. But she’d meant everything she’d said about Max, about how he’d changed and how it’d been a process to accept the fact that he’d changed. She didn’t expect him to understand that, maybe not ever, because at the time, she’d had a hard time understanding it herself.

****

Maria put on her friendliest smile as she slid the pizza tray towards the center of the table.

“Looks great,” one of the customers raved.

“It does,” Maria agreed, although truthfully, four months of working at Pizza Hut had caused her to detest both the sight and the smell of greasy pizza. Maybe once she no longer worked there, she’d be able to eat it again, but for now, she’d lost her appetite for it.

“Alright, you guys enjoy,” she told the family at the table. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do. Thank you.”

She backed away from the table, getting a kick out of the way the little boy practically flung his whole body across his dad’s so that he could score the biggest slice. Waiting on people like this wasn’t actually all that bad. They were nice and entertaining.

When she spun around, she collided with a man, her face hitting his shoulder. “Oh! Sorry . . .” She froze, mortified, when she got a look at his face. His all too familiar face.

Max.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” she groaned in distress, giving him a little shove as she made her way in the opposite direction. Maybe if she looked busy enough and started cleaning some tables, he’d figure she was boring and leave her alone.

Fat chance, though. She knew better than that.

She tried to focus on stacking up a bunch of plates from the birthday party group that had just left, but her hands were shaky, and the pile of plates kept wobbling. If she tried to carry them, she’d surely end up dropping some, and she didn’t want to give Max Evans the satisfaction of seeing her get nervous.

Even with her back to him, she could feel him shuffling towards her. His douchiness was intruding on her own personal bubble.

“I just wanna talk to you,” he said calmly.

She gripped a nearly empty soda glass so hard, she thought her fingers were going to shatter it. “Never gonna happen,” she grumbled, precariously putting that glass and four others on top of the plate pile.

“Please,” he begged.

She couldn’t even look at him, because if she did, she’d probably end up slapping him or screaming at him or just causing a scene in general. And when scenes were caused, she got fired. She knew that firsthand.

“Leave me alone,” she mumbled determinedly, forgetting about the messy table. She literally fled without even giving him a second glance, and she ducked into the ladies restroom, figuring he at least couldn’t follow her there. Locking the door into place, she gasped as she tried to catch her breath. It didn’t matter how strong of tough she tried to act; seeing Max rattled her. And it was probably obvious.

The point of moving to a huge city like Houston had been to just blend in, be one of millions instead of thousands, and not be so findable. It had been almost a year since she’d left Roswell, and she had to admit, she’d lulled herself into a false sense of security, thinking that it was all over, that she’d never have to deal with Max again. But she should have known better.

She’d been in that restroom for about three minutes, trying to work up the courage to head back out into the restaurant and confront Max if he was indeed still lingering around; but all of a sudden, she heard the whisper of a piece of paper as it slid underneath the door. It was one of the papers they give little kids to keep them occupied while they waited for their food to get done, full of mazes and games and pictures to color.

What the hell? she thought, bending down to pick it up. When she looked at it closer, she noticed something scrawled on the top right corner, in handwriting she didn’t quite recognize but somehow suspected to be Max’s.

I’m not no one anymore, it read. And that was it. No threat, no plea to forgive him, no jerky comment of any kind. Just that one simple, bold claim.

She didn’t believe it for a second, but she did allow herself to ponder if it could possibly be true.

****

Sinking onto the mattress, Maria hoped for a feeling of calm and relaxation to wash over her. But she still felt tense and way too awake to fall asleep. She rolled over onto her side, shutting her eyes, hoping that sleep would just overcome her, but when she felt the other side of the bed move, she opened her eyes again, knowing Max wasn’t sound asleep, either.

“Were you awake?” he asked quietly.

Still am, she thought. “Yeah. I was just in the living room watching some TV.” No way was she telling him where she’d really been. Then they’d both end up having a sleepless night.

He shifted onto his side, curling up behind her, and slipped his arm around her stomach, holding her close. Kissing the side of her neck, he murmured, “Get some sleep,” as he settled in again.

That’s not likely, she wanted to say. Chances were, by the time her alarm went off at 6:00, she’d already be out of bed.

She put her hand on top of Max’s, gently interlacing her fingers with his. It was a good thing Michael couldn’t see her right now. It hadn’t been her intention to lie to him tonight, but in the moment, when he’d asked her about her and Max, it had just seemed . . . necessary. Because the truth was something he couldn’t handle. The truth would only hurt him more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Vanessa asked Michael to drop by the school, he figured it was just to put a formal end to their arrangement. There were papers she had to sign, after all, to terminate their practicum agreement. But when he handed them to her, she laid them flat on her desk and just looked at them contemplatively. She picked up her pen a few times, poised it on the signature line, but then never wrote her name. He watched her do this a few times, then came right out and asked, “What’s stopping you?”

Sighing, she set her pen down. “I thought he just said something to you that upset you,” she admitted. “I thought that’s why you hit Max Evans the other day. I thought you were being immature and reckless, which you were, but . . .” She sighed again, as though the decision of whether or not to sign these termination papers was weighing heavily on her. “I didn’t know the full story until Maria told me.”

Michael grunted. “Yeah, well . . . not even Maria can tell you the full story. She wasn’t there when it happened.”

“It sounds . . . awful,” Vanessa empathized. “Terrifying. And I know you must have really cared about Dylan to risk your life for his.”

Jumping off that bridge hadn’t even been a tough decision, though. There was a reason why he hadn’t hesitated and never would. He loved that little boy. That would never change.

“There were most definitely circumstances that led to what you did,” Vanessa acknowledged, “and they were very extenuated.”

Holy shit, he thought, starting to feel hopeful for a minute. Is she gonna give me another shot?

“But Michael . . . this is a school. We work with children. It’s our responsibility to rise above our differences and our disagreements in order to set a good example for them. And lashing out at Dylan’s father the way you did, right in front of Dylan himself . . . that’s inexcusable.”

“I know,” he admitted shamefully. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t regret socking Max, but he did regret doing it in front of Dylan.

“You have to be able to control yourself,” she lectured. “You will see Max Evans around here. He picks Dylan up after school sometimes. He swings by and has lunch with him once in a while. He’s even volunteered to coach the kindergarten basketball team this winter.”

Michael made a face. “Really?” What the hell had happened to this guy? This wasn’t just someone who had changed; this was a fuckin’ lobotomy.

“From what I’ve seen so far this year, he’s a good father,” Vanessa said. “And I know it doesn’t thrill you to hear that, but . . .”

“No, it’s fine,” Michael cut in. Honestly, that was a relief, because the thought of Dylan under the care of someone who was still a bad father was unbearable.

“I don’t know the specifics of your history with Max and Maria and Dylan,” Vanessa went on, “but I don’t care. If you wanna stay here and continue your practicum, if you wanna learn from me and be a part of this school, you have to conduct yourself with the utmost professionalism at all times. Do you understand?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, intimidated but pretty damn grateful at the same time. “I understand.”

“I’m sticking my neck out on the line for you,” she warned, “so you need to understand, if you wanna salvage a recommendation out of this experience, you will meet or exceed my expectations every single second of every single day. If there is ever a day where you fail to do this, I have no problem signing these termination papers. So don’t just get here on time; get here half an hour early. Leave half an hour late. Do extra work even when there’s no work to be done. Go above and beyond. Make an impact on students rather than on Max Evans’ face. Are we clear?”

After all of that . . . there was really no way it could be unclear anymore. “Yes.”

“I can’t believe I’m even doing this,” she grumbled, picking up the termination papers. She took one last look at them, then tore them in half down the middle and dropped them into the trash can next to her desk.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he said, “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me,” she said. “Thank the person who changed my mind.”

He smiled a little, thinking he might have to do just that. “Yeah, Maria can be pretty persuasive, huh?”

“No, not Maria.”

He frowned. If not her, then . . . who else?

“Max came in and talked to me, right before you showed up,” she revealed. “He said I should give you a second chance.”

Michael’s frown intensified as he struggled to picture it, let alone make sense of it. “Max?” What the hell was he trying to pull? That guy didn’t do anything without an ulterior motive. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

Vanessa didn’t want him to stick around that day, probably because he’d shown up in jeans and a t-shirt and wouldn’t look professional in any of their afternoon meetings. So that meant, as timing would have it, he left right around the time lunch was getting over. When he got out into the parking lot, he saw Max there, strolling towards the back lane.

“Had lunch with Dylan, huh?” Michael called, catching up to him.

Max stopped and slowly turned around. “Not sure if any of that plastic food they serve qualifies as lunch, but yeah,” he replied. “I try to do that every other week.”

Michael narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, studying him, trying to figure out what his deal was. His car looked like a piece of junk, and he was wearing a shirt that said Cooper Construction across the front. It was like he was trying to project this blue-collar image nowadays. It was weird. The whole thing was weird.

“So do you get to stay?” Max asked him.

“Yeah.” Michael was still way too proud to offer up any sort of gratitude, though, so he skipped straight to asking the obvious question. “Why the hell would you stick up for me?”

Max smirked and shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because you hate me. I hate you. That’s the way it works.”

“I don’t hate you,” Max corrected. “Actually, I have no ill will towards you at all. I can understand why you let me have it when you saw me. Last time we crossed paths, I was high and pissed, and I put Dylan in danger. It’s natural for you to assume I hadn’t changed.”

“But you have, huh? I mean, that’s what everyone’s saying.” Michael wasn’t about to just fall for that, though. He still had his doubts.

“I have changed,” Max insisted. “Haven’t you?”

A lot, Michael thought, but saying that would be allowing Max to make his point.

“I mean, are you the same guy you were two years ago on that bridge?” Max went on. “I highly doubt it.”

“Fine, so you’re Saint Max now,” Michael spat out. “Give me a break. You didn’t talk to Vanessa out of the goodness of your heart. You had a reason.”

“You’re right, I did,” Max acknowledged. “See, that night, when Dylan fell . . . you jumped in after him. You got him out of the water. You saved my son’s life. So I figured the least I could do was save your practicum.”

Michael stood there like an idiot, dumbfounded. Admittedly, out of all of Max’s possible motives . . . he’d never entertained the idea that this would be the one. “So that’s it?” he said, expecting more. “You’re just returning the favor?”

“As much as I ever can,” Max said. “So now we’re even.”

Shit, Michael thought, biting his tongue to keep from saying something . . . unprofessional. Instead, he let Max get into his car, and he backtracked through the lot to find his own. Dammit. This sucked. Maybe Maria and Vanessa were telling the truth. Maybe the school lunches and blue collar look weren’t a lie. Maybe Max Evans had changed as much in two years as he himself had.

Fuck. Michael resented the thought. As jealous and ridiculous as it made him seem, he didn’t want Max to ever be someone, and he didn’t want his life to be going somewhere.








TBC . . .

-April

[keepsmiling7]

It appears that Max is really coming around with Dylan.
Has he had any contact with his daughter??
I can only imagine how Maria feels being the youngest mother in the school. People do tend to judge not matter what.
Thanks,
Carolyn

[sarammlover]

So as I am saraMMlover I usually rally around the michael and maria....however, I am completely uninterested in maria at this point. I don't hate her, I just think she is bad for Michael. I am in love with your Sarah character and think she pushes MIchael to be better and it always seems like he wants to be better for her until you put Maria back in the picture. I am glad Maria and Max BOTH stood up for Michael but it still feels like Michael is regressing once more.....not good. Thanks for the great update April!!!