Page 29 of Love or Leave (Mapleton #4)

twenty-four

A ntonio sat on the edge of his pullout couch, surrounded by packed boxes, and tried to rein in his foot’s involuntary bouncing. He'd tried his best to keep order in the tiny apartment, but the lack of floor space made organizing the moving boxes impossible.

The physical mess would be enough to set him on edge, but that, combined with the inner turmoil over his secretive relationship with Cara, had thrown him off the deep end.

He glanced at the clock and stood, pacing.

The time was seven fifty-five. Five more minutes before Max would arrive and he would finally get some relief from all the uncertainty and anxiety.

He would open the door, invite him in, and before Max could lift a single box, he'd say I'm in love with Cara and we're together and I'm sorry we kept it from you.

Then he'd brace for impact.

After the inevitable physical assault, he and Cara would hopefully move on. He should have taken her out on dates by now, brought her flowers, built on their relationship.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memories of all the times he'd talked to her about Fran and how he wanted to get back together with her. He wished he could just erase it all.

But he couldn't. All he could do now was apologize and move on.

He glanced at the clock. Two minutes to eight.

He paced the floor, two whole steps toward the window and two steps back, before finally breaking and picking up a box. He had to direct his nervous energy somewhere—and quick.

He turned and headed for the door. He almost made it there when he heard a faint knocking on it.

It was a soft knock that Max would never have made. Maybe Cara had come along?

His shoulders instantly relaxed as he set down the box on the floor and grabbed the door handle, but when he pulled it open, he didn't find Max or Cara.

He found Fran.

He stared at his ex-wife as she smiled up at him with a sad look. "Hi, Tonio."

"Uh, hi," he said, wondering why the hell she was there. She'd only ever come to his place once before, when he was with Sara.

He shook his head. "I'm busy." He hoped she'd just turn around and go away.

She looked past him into his crappy little space, then smiled up at his face. "Maria told me you were moving."

He nodded. So why are you here, then?

He looked at her expectantly, as the unspoken question hung in the air between them.

Fran hesitated for a moment before asking, "Can I come in?"

Antonio narrowed his eyes at her, but a flash caught the corner of his eye and when he looked down the hall, he saw Max.

Shit.

Max smiled and gave a nod, but his step faltered when he saw Fran.

Okay, it wasn't too bad. He could ask Max to give him a minute, tell Fran she needed to go, and get this back on track.

"Hey," he called over to Max. "Could you just give me a minute?"

"Yeah," he said, stopping abruptly.

"Ow, what are you…"

Cara's annoyed voice sounded, and it took a moment before Antonio realized she was behind Max.

Double shit.

Cara leaned over with a beautiful smile toward him, but when she fully sidestepped Max and finally saw Fran, her stride stopped, and her smile dropped.

"Sorry, Cara," Max said, completely oblivious to the shit hurling toward the fan in front of him. "We'll come back in a bit."

Max turned to walk away, but Cara stood, blocking his way, immovable.

Antonio shook his head and searched for words as Fran twisted and took in Max.

"Cara," Max said again. "Let's go."

Cara shook her head.

Antonio stared at the situation unfolding in the narrow, dark hallway as if he was watching a movie—a very, very bad movie.

He needed to do something—quick.

After a moment of awkward silence, Fran turned and glanced down the hall, then spun back toward Antonio with wide eyes and leaned in.

"Why is the girl from the party here?"

She'd said it in a whisper, but her voice carried the few feet down the cramped hallway and hit Max.

Max stopped trying to leave and turned toward Antonio, his head cocked to the side.

"Girl from the party?" Max asked.

Okay, the movie wasn't just very, very bad, it was a psychological horror flick where he was holding a detonator and had to decide whether to blow up an orphanage or a children's hospital.

Max's eyes darted between Cara and Antonio as he waited for an answer. Cara was silently staring at Fran, probably wondering why Fran was there and whether she was coming or going.

Panic bubbled up from Antonio’s chest and into his throat.

"Why are you here Fran?" Antonio asked assertively, hoping to divert from her party comment and make it clear to Cara that he hadn't invited her—that she'd just arrived on her own.

Antonio thought he could still get things on track. He just needed to get rid of Fran, make it clear to Cara that she wasn't there with him—in any way whatsoever—then fill in Max.

Fran hesitated and glanced back at Cara before she spoke. "Maria called and told me you spoke to Blake yesterday, and I just wanted to thank you for thinking about me."

Antonio winced slightly and looked at Cara.

"Yesterday?" Cara asked. Her normally brilliant eyes had dulled, and she'd caved in on herself, as if to minimize the hurt by becoming smaller.

Antonio shook his head, overwhelmed, searching for what to say to make the situation better. He'd only prepared himself for Max.

He hadn't expected Fran and Cara and Max.

Fran's eyes darted between him and Cara. "Are you two…" she paused, stumbling over her words. "Maria said it was just… You told me she was just some girl."

It was as if she'd detonated a bomb.

"Some girl?" Max asked, in a chilling tone. "What the hell is going on here?"

"She's not some girl," Antonio said to Fran, shaking his head. She had been some girl at the start. But she wasn't anymore. Not by a long shot.

"Yesterday?" Cara asked again, this time her voice full of hurt.

"No," Antonio said, pushing past Fran and Max.

He reached for Cara’s hand, but she pulled it away.

"I didn't say that yesterday," he said, hoping he could stop the bleeding. "I spoke to Blake yesterday at the hospital and I told Maria about it. But I never said you were just some girl yesterday."

Cara softened at the pleading in his tone.

Max only became harder and colder. "But my sister was 'some girl' to you before that?"

Antonio turned to him and saw nothing but murder in his eyes. He’d expected Max to take it badly, even under the best of circumstances. But this—this was the worst possible timing, and he hadn’t braced himself for the sheer hatred staring back at him.

"Yes," Antonio said with a nod.

Max's neck corded, and his jaw clenched. "You've got to be kidding me," he said with an intense, fevered stare. "I told you to stay away from her because I know how fucked up you are."

Antonio bristled, but there was nothing he could really say. He wa s fucked up before he met Cara. But everything had since changed.

"Why would you do this?" Max asked.

He spared a glance at Cara, and his heart sank. She looked totally checked out. She’d lowered her face toward the floor, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

He had to fix this.

"I'm sorry, Max," he said. "It just sort of happened and I—"

"Stop." Max's nostrils flared. "I knew this would happen. I knew it. You're a fucking sociopath—"

"Enough, Max," Cara said, finally looking up from her feet.

Somehow, Max did what she said.

"I want to talk to Antonio," she said. "Alone."

Max shook his head, holding Cara's eyes with a glare. "You know he does this," he said, waving his hand between Antonio, Fran, and Cara. "He cheated on his neighbour with his wife."

Antonio bristled again. "Ex-wife," he said, but he honestly shouldn't have bothered. Max was too enraged to notice.

Cara looked Max squarely in his eyes. Finally, a look other than shock and dismay covered her face. Unfortunately, it was anger.

"I knew that." Her tone of annoyance stopped Max in his tracks. "Max, please wait for me in the car."

Max stared at her, shaking his head in disbelief. After a long pause, he blinked—still as stone—as his gaze shifted toward Antonio. Slowly, deliberately, he turned the rest of the way to face him. "I don't want to see you again," he said with a coldness Antonio hadn't thought was possible.

Antonio's gut sank. He'd been prepared to take a punch, not to be cut off from his friend. He would rather have taken a hit.

Max turned and walked down the hallway. When he got to the door, he tore it open and left without another word.

Antonio’s whole life was crumbling—again. But unlike before, when Fran had told him she wanted a divorce, he didn't feel angry or frustrated or confused.

He felt… dread. Stomach-dropping, weighed-down, achy-chested dread.

What if this was it for him and Cara?

What if they were over before they even got started?