Page 189 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
Cole:Dude, are you okay? I heard what happened. Tanya called Storee.
Max:No, I’m not okay.
Cole:What can I do?
Max:Nothing. I need to fix this myself.
Cole:What are you going to say?
Max:Just beg her to listen to me.
Cole:And what if she doesn’t?
Max:I can’t even think about that right now.
Cole:Okay, well, we’re here for you if you need us.
Max:Thanks.
I stuff my phone in my back pocket and then drag my hands over my face. I can do this. She has to at least give me a second to explain myself, right?
No, she doesn’t. She doesn’t have to give me the time of day. I’ll be lucky if she even opens the door. But I need to at least try.
I walk up to her porch and give the door a knock. I take a step back only to hear her say, “Go away, Max.”
Max.
Fuck, she called me Max.
Not sure she’s ever called me that, which can only mean one thing: she wants nothing to do with me. She’s put up the boundary, and even though I respect that, I need to try... before I walk away.
I knock again. “Betty, please, let me in.”
“No,” she says, and I can hear the hurt in her voice.
“Please, Betty, I’m not going to leave until I talk to you. I’ll stand here all day, all night. Please.”
I wait in silence, hoping. I wasn’t lying. I’ll stand here all goddamn night if I have to, into the next morning. I can’t have her leave Kringle without knowing that she wasn’t a pawn in a small town’s cruel joke. People genuinely adore her. But I hurt that trust, and she needs to know I’ll do anything to heal those wounds.
“Betty,” I say as I knock quietly. “Please.”
After a few seconds, there’s movement in the cottage, and then to my utter surprise, the door opens to show Betty on the other side with tear-stained cheeks.
Fuck.
My heart sinks, and my initial instinct is to pull her into my arms, to protect her, to shield her from the hurt she’s feeling, but unfortunately, I’m the one who brought on the hurt.
“Betty, I—” My voice gets caught in my throat as she shakes her head.
“I can’t do this.”
She goes to shut the door, but I stop her, my hand to the wood. “Please, Betty, can I just explain?”
“Explain what?” she asks, her voice rising. “How you used my feelings against me? As a weapon?” Her eyes well up with more tears, and it nearly splits me in half, seeing her this upset. “You made me trust you, believe you, only to... to use me.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I say.
“It wasn’t?” she shouts. “So you didn’t set out to try to hurt me?”
