The Right Fit

Chapter 43

“Oh! I thought you were Antony!” Maxine pulled down the sweater with one hand while she reached for her coat with the other. A clumsy choreography of tripping on her heels and disastrous attempts to put her arms in the right sleeves resulted in Maxine hugging her winter coat to her chest inside out.

“I’m so sorry.” The embarrassed heat rose to the top of her head. “You must be Marc.” She smiled weakly and held out her hand, making sure to keep the coat in place. “I’m really happy to finally meet you.”

He wheeled closer and took her hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go. His eyes never left her face.

“Wow,” she said, adding a nervous laugh. “You look so much like him…well, except for the eyes,” Maxine said, noticing the icy baby blues staring back at her.

He tilted his head and let his eyes scan her down to her shoes.

She adjusted her weight and bumped against the wall. “So,” she started. “Marc and Antony. Was your Mom a fan of Cleopatra or something? You know, Mark Antony, the Roman soldier who was her lover…I think, or—never mind.”

“Non.”

He even sounds like Antony.

She hugged her coat tighter. “I thought Antony was alone,” she explained. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, although it was beginning to sound like a plea for help now instead of an apology.

“Obviously.” He wheeled past her and into the kitchen. His shoulders were even broader than Antony’s. He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer bottle. “Would you like a drink?”

Maxine shook her head.

“Make yourself comfortable. May I take your coat?” He grinned.

She laughed, feeling some of the tension unwind. “The Laurent charm is genetic I’m guessing.”

Marc twisted off the bottle cap and tossed it in the sink. He handed the bottle to Maxine and pulled out another for himself. Taking a sip, he stared at her over the rim of the bottle. “Please stay, we can talk.” Then he grinned again.

He wheeled to the living room, positioning himself beside the couch. Maxine managed to slip her coat on the proper way. She sat down across from him; her eyes fell on Antony’s luggage in the hallway. Is he in the shower? Taking a nap?

“Did you know Antony was going to be traded to the minors?” Marc asked her, leaning forward, his countenance bordering on intense curiosity.

She peeled her eyes away from the hallway. “Um…no. What’s the minors? Is that another team?”

His blue eyes opened wider. “I thought every puck bunny knew hockey lingo.”

Maxine ignored the comment and took a nervous sip of beer. “I don’t know much about hockey,” she said. “I didn’t even know Antony played until last week.”

“Huh.” Marc rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Well, he’s doing better now.” He took a long sip of beer. “I guess he has you to thank.”

Maxine smiled, but it felt wrong. “Thank me?” “Oui.” He took another drink then plunked it down

on the coffee table. “Every time he scores with you, he scores on ice.”

The smile was frozen on her face, the muscles stuck in place. “Excuse me?”

“You’re his”—he paused and scrunched up his face like he was thinking hard—“how do you say in English? Oh, right, you’re his good fuck charm. Why else would he keep you around?” Marc leaned forward in the wheelchair bringing his face closer. He dropped his voice like he was telling her a juicy secret. “Have you seen other girlfriends? Models, actresses…” He waved a hand toward Maxine’s coat. “Not like you.”

She put down her beer and stood. “Where’s Antony? I know he came home, I can see his luggage.”

Marc’s eyebrows came together. “He told me he was leaving to see you. Oh, wait. Are there two good fuck charms?”

The thought kicked her in the stomach, but she remained stoic. “I just spoke with him and…” Maxine eyed the phone on the hall table. Then she turned back to Marc. “You pretended to be him! Where is he? Where’s Antony?” She left the living room and made her way down the hallway to his bedroom. She flung open the door, but the room was empty. In fact, it looked like nothing had been touched. The bed was perfectly made.

She went back out to the hallway. Marc was waiting for her.

“Don’t be mad,” he said, putting his hands up. “You should know he was using you.”

“He’s not using m—” But Maxine couldn’t finish the sentence. A wedge of fear had lodged itself in her deepest consciousness.

Marc’s voice became softer. “Antony needs new hockey contract. Our family depends on it…my medical costs as well. Please, don’t tell him I told.”

“I’m not sure what to say.” She shook her head, the emotions were tumbling around pulling her heart, stretching her reasoning. If Antony isn’t here, where is he? “Why would he leave his phone behind?” she said in a trance. “He always has his phone.”

Staying quiet, Marc wheeled back to the kitchen and retrieved another beer from the fridge. “I’m curious,” he said, his tone smooth and confident. “Does he have to fuck you right before game or does it last over week? Maybe we should start chart, oui?”

Maxine took in the broad shoulders coupled with the strong arms. Her gaze lingered lower, his diminished thighs and miniscule legs looked abnormal paired with the strength of his upper body. But it was the expression on Marc’s face while he belittled her that sent a jolt through Maxine; a half smirk, trying to guise a grimace of hate.

“You need help,” she said. “You torment Antony for wanting a life.”

Marc’s lower lip quivered, then he burst out laughing. “You? You’re not his life! Hockey is his life!”

Maxine continued, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill out. “You’re so blinded by self-pity and jealously you can’t do anything but suck back beer after beer.” She made her way to the door, barely keeping her dignity intact. Everything Marc was saying cut deeper into her soul, her confidence was bleeding out.

“Ask Saint Antony about sucking back beer after beer.” His voice changed, became adamant.

Maxine rolled her eyes. The absurdity of his prompt made her forget her earlier disgust. She turned and said, “I’ve never even seen Antony drink.”

“Non,” he said, his eyes becoming darker. “Not since my accident.”

One by one the small hairs on the back of Maxine’s neck stood. There was a boldness in Marc that reminded her of Antony. Which brother was lying to her?

The instinct to leave the apartment was strong, but Marc had opened up this Pandora’s Box and she wasn’t about to leave without some answers. “Antony told me it was a drunk driver,” she said.

“Oui,” he said. “We were same team, major juniors, celebrating win. Did he tell you that?”

A cool sensation crept up her spine. Maxine shivered under her winter coat.

“He insisted on driving. My little brother was always showing off, trying to upstage me.” Marc shrugged and took a sip. “He walked away with few scratches. The drunk ones always do, eh?”

“Antony was driving when you crashed?”

“Right off road, flipped over in ditch. I felt spine snap. I was awake whole time. Most people black out.” Marc raised the beer to his mouth. “Not me.”

Maxine was certain her stomach would lurch and bring up its contents. This was all too much for her heart and mind to fathom.

Marc calmly wheeled around her and opened the apartment door. “Bon soir, Maxine,” he said. “Je suis désolé de ce qui est au revoir.”

Without answering, Maxine rushed past Marc, toward the elevator. Her throat had started to close, she couldn’t take a deep breath. Every promise of love Antony had ever made to her was a lie. No, she scolded herself, Marc is lying.

But there were all those times, the little voice in the dark corner of her fears piped up. He insisted on seeing you before he went to Philadelphia instead of waiting like you asked. You thought it was devotion. But maybe…just maybe he was using you. Why else would he be with you when he could have any woman he wanted?

Maxine pushed her way through the foyer and out onto the sidewalk. The snow was falling in clumps, accumulating on the streets. Maxine’s high heels made little tracks in the fresh snow. Numb with emotion, she flagged down a taxi, determined to find Antony and get some answers.