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Chapter 1
“She’s gone.”
SilencegreetedMax.Itwasthekindof silencethatmadehimwish healready had a shotof something strong and potentin his hand.
“Hello?”
“Yes,I’mhere, dear.Whatdoyoumean,she’sgone?” his momasked.
He rana hand throughhis shorthair and blew outabreath. “Imean,she’s gone. Her sideofthe wardrobe has been clearedout;all thethings on the dresseraremissing.Shejustwasn’therewhen I gothome.”
Moreof thatinfuriating silence.
“WhataboutErin?”
He looked downathis daughter sleeping peacefullyin her crib. “Shelefther behind.”
“I’mcomingover,”hismother said tersely,hanging up thephone beforehecould tell hernot to bother.
Maxplaced his phonebackinto hispocket.This was notwhat he wasexpectingwhen hecame homefrom a fourteen-hour day at work.Walking backthroughtohis bedroom,hestood inthe doorwayand studied thespaceheusedtosharewithhis wife. Chelsea and hehad been together sincetheywere in highschool together—thepicture-perfectquarterbackand headcheerleader living thedreamof popularity. Justbeforeschoolhad finished,she’dtold Maxshewas pregnant.They’d gotten married becausethatwas whatwasexpected,butthingswerefar fromperfect.Maxhad found outshe’d lied aboutcarrying hischild,and sotheseedof doubtand resentmentstarted to grow.
He hadmoved onfrombeing thehighschooljock. He’d gotten areal job, and after eight years of hard work, he had become the manager of one of the most popular bars in LA. Chelsea, ontheotherhand,seemed to bestuckin thehigh school frameofmind. Theproblemwiththatwastherewereno dotingairheads tostroke her egoeveryday,and thatjob gotprettyfucking boring when Maxwas lefttodo it.
Hehad always thoughtChelsea was beautiful—everyonedid—and maybethatwas theproblem. Shehad thesignatureblondehair and blueeyesthatall theguysatschool had liked,and thatwas perhaps theonlyreasonhe had agreedtodate her in thefirstplace;Chelsea wastheunobtainable girl for everyguy,expectfor him.
Shewas pretty,buthad nosubstance. Shewas apicture book.
Slumping downontotheedgeofthebed,he lethishead fall into his hands. Whatthe fuckwas hegoing todonow?Erin wasbarelyfourmonthsold,heworkedstrangehoursof thedayand night atthebarand hehad noidea howhewassupposedtodealwiththeshitChelsea had justpiledon topof ittoo. Scrubbing a hand over hisjaw,helookedup and sawhistired facestaring backat him in themirrorhanging on thewall.
Erin started crying beforehecould studyhimself tooclosely. Hauling himself up on tohisfeet, Maxwentinto hisdaughter’s roomtofind herwailing,her littlefists clenched tightand her face stained red. Scooping her up,heheld herclosetohis chestand rocked her gently.Erin had taken after Chelsea ineveryway possible. Shehad blondehair and blueeyes. Sheeven hadthesame dimples hermother had when shesmiled. Thinking howshehad leftErin alonefor god knew howlong tonightmadehim angrier thanknowing thatChelseahad actuallylefthim. Itwasone thing toscrewhim over—hewasa grownman,hecould takeit—buttoscrewover their daughter, too?
His blood boiled.
Erin was going togrowupwithouta goddamnmother,and thatwaswhatreallychaffed Max.
“It’s allright,baby girl,”hemurmured intoherear,settling her until her cries becamesmall whimpersofprotest.“That’s right. Driftoff tosleep now. Good girl.”
He rocked Erin untilshefell asleep in his arms. Afterheputherdown again,heshuther bedroomdoor and wentintothekitchen.Pulling open thefreezer,hetookoutabottleofvodkathen found a glass drying in therackbesidethesink.
Theclear liquor froze his throaton thewaydown,the burn of thealcohol chasing thesensation away. Hewas onhis second drinkwhen therewas a knockon thedoor.Hestood up and walked throughhis living roomtotheentryway. He stared atthedoor—halfof himhoping itwasChelsea on the other side,buttheother halftelling himhewas a fucking idiotfor thinking shewould comeback.
“Max?”hismothercalled.
With a sigh,heopened thedoor. The porchlightwas still broken,so hecouldn’tsee his mother’sfaceclearly,butheknewitwould beamixture ofdisapproval and pity.Shestepped into theentryhall andtookoffher coat,handing ittohim.
“When didyougethome?”sheasked,walking aheadof himintothekitchen. Even frombehind, hecould seeher gazefalling on the bottleofvodka and glass sittingon the bench,her headshaking in disapproval.Maxwatched her fill thekettleand putit onto boil beforeheanswered.
“Aboutforty-fiveminutesago.”
His motherfrowned.“And when did sheleave?”
“I havenoidea.”
Hismom’s lips thinned intoa severeline.“Thatwomanissoirresponsible. Howcould sheleave her child likethat?Anything could havehappenedtoher whileshewas alone.”
He leaned againstthecounter and crossed hisarms. “Itwasn’tlikeshewasleftwith lighterfluid and a boxofmatches inher crib,Mom.”
Shehuffed,glaring athim.“Don’tgetsmartwith me,Max. YouknowwhatImean.”
