Across the Pond

Maxwell

I: Pretty Thoughts

Oh, this book is rubbish.

I reached up to pull the black band from my hair and ran my fingers through the roots, mentally reminding myself for the thousandth time it was probably time for a haircut. As for the novel, I decided to give it a few more pages before heading back inside to my mess of a flat. The construction company I'd hired, who were doing their best to complete their work in record time, were kind enough to start with the master bedroom and bathroom so I could check out of my hotel suite. The rays of the sun were beating down on my skin and I relaxed in the heat; it was summertime in London as well but as the weather was often temperamental I enjoyed the break from the rainfall.

Letting my thoughts wander I supposed being in the States this time of year wasn't so terrible. I was initially doubtful of acquiring yet another pub, but at the suggestion of my therapist -- as well as my divorce lawyers -- a holiday away from the city would do some good. I suppose that's why fate chose Connecticut of all places. There were fewer distractions here.

Except, of course, for the one who lives next door to me.

Miss Asydneya Rose James. The young woman is distracting, absolutely. At least twice a day I contemplate moving, especially when I hear her blasting that nonsense she calls music through her opened balcony doors. In fact, I can hear most of her movements throughout the day and night -- it's as if she never sleeps. I didn't understand how she did it, based on the way she zoomed around the pub at night tending to a million things at once she should be positively exhausted by the time she returned home.

Not that I'd noticed the way she seamlessly moved around each shift she worked.

...not that I'd purposefully arranged my schedule to

be

there each shift she worked.

From the moment I'd laid eyes on Sydney my mind had been reeling. Two days after my arrival Anthony and I were in the upstairs office discussing plans for a possible renovation when I heard all sorts of commotion coming from below. Looking down through the one-way tinted glass I saw an attractive young woman entertaining a group of men who looked to be part of a stag party

. Who is the female bartender on duty?

I'd asked out of pure curiosity.

That's Sydney

, Tony explained.

Gorgeous, isn't she?

Quite

had been my reply. I had no use for gorgeous. I dismissed the moment of attraction and carried on with our discussion. Unfortunately, I wasn't prepared for what I would encounter two days later.

I watched her from the edge of the bar for a full five minutes before she took notice of me, as she was completely oblivious with her music playing loudly in her ears. I studied her every movement to commit to memory: how she blew her fringe out of her eyes only for them to be covered again, how she mouthed the lyrics to the song she was listening to. The shape of her pouting lips as they moved, the full flare of her hips as she swayed in rhythm. When she'd unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it aside, showcasing a generous bosom and a slight gloss to her skin, I stumbled on my feet.

That was when she noticed me. And my, was she annoyed.

I wasn't a stranger to ire from a woman: I was in the throws of a divorce from one who was the epitome of anger so I'd more than had my fill. Yet this was different. The negativity may have radiated from Sydney but instead of pulling back and leaving as I usually did in avoidance I couldn't help but sit down. I was curious. That curiosity only grew when she began rambling on the origin of her name as if she couldn't help but to expose a personal part of herself to me.

As I told her, it truly was fascinating.

Perhaps it was because her irritation was short-lived, or it may have been the foreign feeling of intimacy; it was only us two, and it was

comfortable

, as if a very significant piece of a puzzle had been placed.

This feeling only gnawed at me further when I received a hostile text message from Simone and had to depart to deal with her. By the time I'd finished listening to her drunkenly screech over some imagined slight and how she would make me pay - literally as well as figuratively - Sydney had finished her tasks and left. The following afternoon I simply wanted to take the opportunity to apologize for delaying her departure.

It was then, however, I saw her eyes clearly for the first time. Swirls of molten caramel and moss green. Large. Expressive.

Hungry

. In that single moment my apology was forgotten and all I could feel was

There you are. You are who I have been waiting thirty-four years for. You do exist.

That singular thought had me on the first private jet back to London.

I couldn't escape fast enough. I was completely rattled, entertaining the idea of a soulmate with some young girl I didn't even know. I attempted to push the idea from my head by working, swimming and running, because those had been acceptable distractions in the past. My only error was casually mentioning to my best mate McKenzie that there may have been a fleeting feeling of attraction toward the young woman. The next thing I knew he had butted in as usual and purchased an entire building so I'd have no choice but to interact with her. As much as I love him he's a complete wanker, and for revenge I confided his trickery to our other mate Charles in the hopes he'd give Kenzie what for being meddlesome. As Charlie tends to be the wet blanket in the group, he didn't disappoint.

I was shaken out of my day dreaming by something running into the wood bench and grabbing onto my leg. When I lowered my book, I discovered a small boy with tanned skin and crimson hair attached to my knees. "Hi!" he exclaimed brightly.

"Um. Hello." The only experience with children I'd had was with my niece, and she had to have been over twice his age. As I'd never seen this child before I hadn't the faintest idea what to do. "And to whom do you belong?"

"That'd be me." A massive shadow loomed over us and I glanced up to see a shirtless, overly muscular red-headed male blocking my sun. He knelt behind the child and ruffled his hair. "Eli, we talked about this, boy. You can't go around messin' with strangers. Now let him go."

"Okay Daddy!" The child released me and ran off in the opposite direction. The man took a seat on the opposite end of the bench, watching his son pull dandelion weeds from the grass. "Sorry man, we're still workin' on personal space."

"No worries, I didn't want you to think I was some sort of child abductor. Maxwell, pleasure to meet you."

I offered my hand and he gave it a hearty shake. "Shane. You're new 'round here, I'm guessin'?"

"Ah, yes. Just moved there actually." I pointed to the duplex house across from us and he stared at me for a second before running his hand down his face. "Oh shit. That's the building I just sold to...you're Sydney's boss, right?"

He knows my neighbour

. "Yes. Newly."

A loud, incredulous laugh from him followed my admission. "

You poor bastard

. I don't know what you did to her, but she's been in a tornado of rage since you moved in. She's always callin' my wife, "

Oh he's an arrogant asshole, but he's such a hot asshole

," he imitated Sydney in a high-pitched voice while flailing his hands about, causing me to laugh as well. He reminded me a bit of Kenzie, and I felt familiar enough when I took the opportunity to ask, "Is she always so willfully obstinate? One moment she's perfectly agreeable, the next...yet I can't help but to be intrigued by her."

He stroked his chin carefully. "Yeah, Syd's a handful, but she's really a good girl, y'know? Would go to the ends of the earth for the people she cares about, she's just a fuckin' bucket of chaos. If she's givin' you shit it's a good sign, means she likes you."

As if she sensed us speaking of her Sydney appeared in the distance, holding a frozen treat out to the young boy who ran to her enthusiastically. She took his hand and began coming toward us with that walk of hers, the one where her hips swayed defiantly in impossibly fitted denim shorts. Shorts that had made more than one appearance in my dreams at night --

"Ha! I recognize

that

look." Shane slapped me on the shoulder and abruptly broke me out of my trance. "Man, she's already got you. You're in so much trouble."

"So it seems." I made no attempt to divert my attention as she approached. "Good afternoon, Miss James."

"Boss." She smiled at me brilliantly and my stomach jumped.

Definitely in trouble.

Eli jumped onto his father's lap excitedly and I felt a pang of envy witnessing the undeniable love between them. "Look Daddy! Auntie S'ney give me a 'op-pickle!"

Shane groaned and stood with the toddler in his arms. "Damnit woman, Tess is gonna kill me for lettin' him have sugar so late." Sydney shrugged unapologetically but he gave her a peck on the cheek anyway, his son following suit. "Later Princess. Hey, good to meet you man, and good luck with this one over here."

"Thank you." He walked away with his son and like that, it was just us two. I took a minute to appreciate her appearance: A tee-shirt boasting Captain America's shield sitting atop some of the

tiniest

shorts in existence. She had on mismatched knee-socks with no shoes -- one red, one blue -- her hair in braided pigtails and a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. "You're staring," she whispered, interrupting my roving.

"You're

stunning

," I blurted out without thinking.

She arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow before her face contorted into an expression of amusement. "Well that's better than "nice to look at", I guess. Hey, are you still mad at me? I'm sorry for bitching at you, I kind of have a big mouth."

She was referring to our disagreement over her schedule a few days prior. "No apology necessary. I was harsh with you, though you do seem to be productive on your days off."

"I guess. Can we just start over?" I gave her a brief nod. "Yay. Hey, can I see your palm?"

"...sure." I wasn't sure why she would request such a thing but nevertheless I stood, holding my book in my right hand while holding my left up to her. She took a lingering look at it before tentatively reaching her fingers out to touch mine. Only a slight touch, then she pulled away. Again, her skin grazed mine before she shied away, then began walking away. I felt discomfort swell in my chest and I called to her. "Sydney, stop."

She halted in her tracks as if she were physically stuck to the ground and I stepped behind her, careful not to reach for her though I desperately wanted to. "You want to hold hands. Is that it?"

"Kind of, yeah." She admitted. "I don't know. You're married and I'm insane, I just...I don't know what I'm doing."

The way her voice cracked betrayed the ever-present layer of hurt I knew resonated inside of her, and that's when I realized. Touch. Touch was her desire, what she was starved for. What she denied herself. "There's no rule stating we can't hold hands, nor is there any pressure here."

"There's always pressure." I watched her hand raise and rub over her eyes. She was so upset over something that should have been second-nature and I ached to take it away. "I was really mad at you, Max. About the overtime and my schedule change, but I shouldn't have yelled at you like I did. I'm sorry. It wasn't fair or professional and I won't do it again."

I stepped to her back and, though I still made no move to touch her skin, I simply shared her space. "I should have been more receptive to your concerns. I saw you were exhausted and assumed you'd appreciate the time off. When you didn't I became angry because...I find myself personally invested in your well-being." I grew bold and leaned down, brushing my lips on her shoulder covered by her sleeve. "I apologize, little one. Forgive me."

Taking a deep breath, Sydney turned and threaded her fingers between mine in one swift motion, her hand rigid as was the entirety of her body. I made no move other than to grasp her hand tightly and let her adjust. After a long beat she did so with a nervous laugh. "Is this alright?" I asked quietly.

She offered no answer either way, her eyes darted around a bit but eventually we began walking back to our building. I cleared my throat and tried to get her talking. "Any exciting plans this evening?"

She stared straight ahead to our destination. "My roommate Sam and I were supposed to hang out tonight, but at the last minute he got the opportunity to hook up with one of the nurses at the hospital so it's just me."

I frowned. This wasn't the first time she'd mentioned her roommate's sexual escapades taking preference over time with her, but it was the first time she seemed affected by it. "That hardly seems fair, you having to cancel your plans."

It wasn't until we approached our respective doors when she let go of my hand, instead leaning back against her door and setting her eyeglasses atop her head. "He's a twenty-five-year-old dude. Pussy on the brain, I get it. I'll probably end up getting started on a new jigsaw puzzle and watching old episodes of Buffy."

The loneliness I could see in her desperately prickled my chest. Even as busy as my mates and I were we almost never broken a commitment to one another, even for something as simple as taking in a film and dinner.

How long has it been this way for her?

"Would you like some company? You shouldn't have to scrap your entire evening."

Sydney seemed to seriously consider it, but instead shook her head with a strained smile. "No, that's okay. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow night at work?"

"Of course. Rest well." She disappeared into her flat quickly, her door shutting me out almost as effectively as she had.

***

II. Talking to Myself.

I was unlocking my door after returning from a grueling workout at the local gym when I thought I heard sniffling from inside Sydney's flat. I paused, straining to listen when I heard the distinct sound of weeping.

Oh, no.

It had been three days since our uneasy encounter together. I acted like a bit of an arse and I wasn't sure how she felt. I didn't know how

I

felt, so I'd spent the following seventy-two hours obsessing over it. Her home had been strangely quiet, she hadn't sought me out and I couldn't speak to her about it at the pub. Had I known she'd been so upset over it...

I set my gym bag in front of my door and knocked on hers, ready to apologize profusely for upsetting her. She wrenched the door open seconds later, a look of fury on her face softening a tick as she looked up at me. "Oh. Hey Boss, what's up?"

She didn't look as if she'd been crying. "Good evening, Miss James. Is everything alright?"

Hard sobbing came from the direction of her living area and she let out a frustrated noise. "My little sister Carson, some

fuckstick

took her virginity and then dumped her in, just, the worst way. I accidentally got her drunk and now she won't stop crying."

"How do you accidentally...never mind." The heavy weight in my stomach subsided somewhat.

She's okay. Everything is okay.

"I'll leave you to your sister, my apologies for disturbing you." She nodded and abruptly shut her door. I retreated to my side to let her handle her familial issues, now wasn't the time to speak with her but at least I knew she was home. It was a secretly reassuring feeling, knowing she was close by.

Forty minutes later I'd showered, changed and was in the process of deciding what to order for takeaway when a steady rapping rained down on my front door. I stepped away from the kitchen to open it and to my surprise Sydney stood there holding a sparkling pink baseball bat behind her neck over her shoulders. "Is everything alright?" I asked.

She blew out a pink bubble with the gum she was chewing and popped it with a loud smack. "Get your shoes on. We're going on a little field trip."

"What of your sister?"

"She's sleeping it off. Now it's time for batting practice." I opened my mouth to question and she shook her head, motioning with her fingers for me to follow her down the hallway. She walked away dressed in a short black jumper that practically molded to every curve of her body and, as Kenzie would refer to them as, "shit-kicking boots". I slipped on my trainers and grabbed my keys from the hook behind the door, following her out of the building.

***

III. Heathens.

"Am I to assume this isn't the first time you've done this?" I whispered in the dark.

"Nope. First time was when my older sister Rachael walked in on her college boyfriend balls-deep in some other chick, then again when I found my ex in bed with one of my sorority sisters. History repeating itself, I guess." The sharp

pop

of Sydney's knife and the gentle

hiss

as she yanked it from the fourth tire were the only sounds around us. We were outside of a poorly-lit building in a seemingly-affluent area of North Haven doing some mild damage to the Mercedes of the bastard who deflowered her sister. "No one fucks with my family and gets away with it."

"How do you know this is the bloke's car?"

She laughed callously as she moved to the boot of her Porsche. "Stole his contact information out of Carson's phone, called Rachael and had his address and license plate in ten minutes. She would have joined us but she had to put my niece to bed. She does say hi, by the way." She retrieved her bat, closed the hood and walked back to the front of the vehicle she was clearly about to assault.

"Wait." I interrupted her right before she brought the bat down to swing into the headlight.

"It's too late to back out now, you're already an accomplice."

I rounded the car and grabbed onto her hips, trying to ignore how lush they felt in my hands as I shifted her body behind the bumper before returning to the sidewalk. "It's more efficient if you stand there, and you won't have glass splattered upon you."

She shot me a wry grin over her shoulder. "I guess this isn't your first time either." With a hard grunt she brought the bat down, smashing glass all over the pavement. After laying waste to the other she moved on to the windshield, heavily bashing it in. I probably should have stopped her, but it was a bit glorious watching her fury. The muscles in her arms flexed hard every time the bat connected, her face held a stern determination as she released her anger. It was destructively erotic.

"Bitch what the hell are you doing?!" I turned in the direction of the shriek, an obnoxiously skinny chap with shaggy hair bounding down the stoop toward us with his fists clenched tightly. I balled up my hands, ready to strike this bastard if he so much as got within a foot of Sydney but she pushed past me, shoving her pink bat into my hands and brandishing her knife in his face. "Whoa whoa whoa what the fuck!" he yelped when she came at him.

"You fucking

asshole

," Sydney lashed out as she pushed him backward, his feet tripping over the stairs before he landed hard on his back. She leaned over him and threateningly pressed the tip of her blade at his neck. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't slit your throat right now. You think you're gonna fuck my sixteen-year-old sister and then ditch her?"

Sixteen?

"W-wait," he began groveling, "I didn't know, I thought she was older, man-"

"Bullshit! She told me you've been taking her out for

weeks

before you got her into bed, then you tell her she's a shitty lay and leave her at some party in the middle of nowhere while you fuck some other girl in the bathroom? You fucked with the

wrong girl

." She jerked the blade and he whimpered pathetically. "Here's how this is gonna go. You're gonna call her and apologize. You beg for forgiveness like the quivering piece of shit you are and then you

never

see her again, or your little car isn't the only thing I break with my bat. You got it?"