Page 89 of Maxwell

He winced. “You might regret it, but I don’t. Meeting you changed my life forever. For the better.”

“There you go, using the old Maxwell charm. You played me.”

“I didn’t. I swear. Jayson can explain everything.”

“Do you think I’ll believe Jayson? Your best friend? The man who played my friend Myra after the night they hooked up at NV Lounge? That Jayson?”

Maxwell closed his eyes and pressed his palm flat against the door. If only he could push the truth through the wood and make her believe him. He couldn’t blame her for not accepting Jayson as an alibi.

“I admit he’s not perfect, but Jenny said he’s the one who let her into my place. I didn’t.”

“I should’ve known better.” Her tone had gone flatter and contained less emotion. She sounded resigned, which was worse than anger. “I saw you for who you were from the beginning, and I let you convince me that what I knew to be true wasn’t true. You made me believe that I had finally found a good man.”

“You did.” His voice shook. “I read the card that you wrote. If you meant those words, you owe both of us the chance to move forward from this before you throw our relationship away.”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare blame what happened on me. This is all you. And don’t you dare use what I wrote against me.”

“I’m not using them against you. I’m asking you to remember how you felt when you wrote them.” He blew out a silent breath, racking his brain for the right words. “Let’s go somewhere and talk. Somewhere quiet. I-I’ll take you to dinner, and we can figure out how to get past this bump in the road. Just the two of us.”

“You can’t bribe your way out of this,” Jasmine said.

Her words crushed him. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“How could you, Max? You fooled me and made me believe in something that’s not true. Why did you do that? You promised. Why did you do that, Maxwell?” Her voice shook and broke on his name, like someone trying not to cry but failing anyway.

The sound of her pain gutted him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel her sorrow. Her distress. Listening to the woman he loved cry because of something she believed he had done made him want to put his fist through the wall. How could he fix this? How could he convince her that what she saw wasn’t the whole story and that he had been sincere with her the entire time?

“Jasmine, please. I love you. I would never⁠—”

She tried to shut the door, but he braced his shoulder against it, keeping it open.

“I don’t want to hear your lies. Get away from the door.”

“No. Babe, please.” He had never begged for anything in his life, but he would drop to his knees if he thought it would make a difference.

“Get away from the door, Maxwell. The game is over. Leave me alone.”

“Our relationship wasn’t a game. Everything I said and did was honest and true. I swear to you. I love you. You love me.”

“Get away from the door. I don’t want to call the police, but I will.”

“Jasmine, you’re wrong about me.”

“Get away from the door!” Her scream whipped through the gap—raw, sharp, and final.

Maxwell didn’t want to move, but she was emotionally at her end. He stepped back, and the door slammed shut. The deadbolt turned.

He stared at the door, hating this wooden object that had cut him off from the love of his life. Then his legs gave out. They simply ceased to support him. His back hit the wall opposite, and he slowly sank to the floor.

He lost track of how long he sat there. At one point his phone buzzed with a text. It could’ve been from Jayson, but he didn’t have the energy to check. He kept staring at the door. He sat there so long the feeling of panic that had propelled him across town to her apartment transformed into something deeper and blacker that felt a lot like grief.

Her neighbor came out of the unit next door and paused, looking at him for a second with curiosity. Then, perhaps he figured out what was going on, and his expression changed to one of pity before he headed down the corridor.

Maxwell waited until the elevator doors closed before he got to his feet. His steps were slow and heavy, indicative of the burden of loss he carried.

When he climbed into his vehicle, he sat there for a while, staring at her building and the window on the fourth floor where her apartment was located.

Was this karma punishing him for all the women he had hurt throughout the years? For the games he had played? For the hearts he had broken?