What’s New Pussycat(50)

Martine stayed silent, absorbing Jerry’s words, pacing her steps to meet his larger ones.

“Too much honesty?” he asked, his face now worried beneath the overcast sky.

“I don’t want a mate,” she said, her eyes falling to the ground for speaking with such brutal truth.

But was it still the truth? Or was she just being lulled into this whole idea of love and family because she didn’t have one, and the second she gave in to the idea, it would all crumble around her?

But Jerry grinned, easing her concern she’d spoken out of turn. “Yeah. That’s why this is getting harder for you each day. Because what you say you want and what you’ve always thought you wanted sometimes turns out to be exactly the opposite of what you really want. That hurts for people like you—so determined to go through life without any attachments. Because attachments can mean disappointment. Easier to avoid if you just float. It’s the chicken-shit way out for sure.”

She pinched his arm, making him growl. “Hey, now. I’m no chicken-shit.”

Now Jerry stopped and turned her toward him, his face as relaxed as it always was, but his words—his words were another story. “I always wonder about people like you. People who think the best way to avoid getting hurt is to hide from it altogether. But if you don’t get hurt, how can you know what really good feels like? Know what? You can’t.”

Now her temper was rising. She had experienced some of the worst hurt. Her father. She didn’t need to justify her fears to anyone. “I’ve experienced pretty bad. Maybe by comparison, it’s not the worst tale you’ll ever hear, but it certainly won’t leave you warm and fuzzy on the inside. Don’t judge me, Jerry, because you have no clue about where I come from.”

Nice crutch. Lean harder on it, Martine.

Jerry raised his lean hands like two gloved white flags. “Oh, you won’t hear me trying to compete for the gold with you in the Suffering Olympics, Martine. Whatever keeps you from wanting to join the rest of us in the world—join something—is yours alone. Life is messy, relationships are messy, but sometimes you have to keep jumping in the mud to find the sweet spot. Or you can give up. So you live a half-life. And I’m okay with that, if you’re okay with that. Just promise you’ll stop back in and visit when you can because I’ll miss our morning walks.”

With that, he patted her on the arm before strolling off, taking the path they usually took every day without another word, leaving her to stand there like the big, fat, classic example of abandonment cliché she was.

* * *

Max sipped at his coffee as Derrick eyed him over the rim of his own cup. “So how are things with JC?”

He asked only because this comfort he’d found with Martine, comfort laced with passion, made him antsy. Made him angry. Made him happy. He needed to find a flaw in Max’s happiness, one he could work a finger into and tear a big hole in, so when something went wrong, he could say, “See?”

But Max’s smile said it all. It was satisfied. Content. “We’re good. Really good. It’s taking some time to adjust, and we’re still figuring stuff out, but I love her. Damn well nuts about her. In the end, that’s kind of all that matters to us.”

His next admission was sincere. He was happy Max had found the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. “The mate looks good on you.”

Max gazed at him, raising his coffee mug. “It looks good on you, too, brother. Whether you like admitting it or not. I think instead of preparing to ship Martine off the minute she saves your life, you might want to consider how happy she seems to make you and beg her to stay. You yell a lot less with her in the picture.”

“She’s easy to get along with.”

Max winked. “I get it.”

Suddenly, he was defensive. “But that’s all it is.”

“Right. Got it.”

“Do you get it, Max?”

“Yeah, brother. I get it. Look, don’t get defensive because you’re falling for her.”

“I’m not falling over anything.” So fuck you.

Max shrugged. “Okay.”

His temper flared and he fought to keep his flaw for yelling in check. “Stop agreeing with me, jackass.”

“Okay.”

Derrick’s jaw clenched. “Let me spell this out for you. Martine’s easy to get along with. We have a lot in common. She likes to cook and so do I. She can carry on a good conversation on just about anything, and she’s pretty good at crossword puzzles. She also doesn’t bitch at me when I want to watch Ice Road Truckers and have a beer. She makes me laugh. But that’s it.”