Page 35 of Twisted

Two Years Ago

(Maisie is 24)

Maisie knew. She’d known for a while that her husband was cheating on her with Lindsay, and though it stung her womanly pride, she couldn’t bring herself to be truly upset. Carter’d been leaving her alone for days at a time, unknowingly giving her the solitude she so potently craved. Curled up in bed, flipping through different streaming subscriptions, Maisie finally settled on her favorite childhood comfort movie;Beauty and the Beast.

With a smile on her lips, she reached for her glass of red wine—paid for in cash just to ensure Carter wouldn’t find it. He’d texted her goodnight, saying he was staying another night in Charleston on business. She snorted into her wine glass before she swallowed a full-bodied gulp.Business my ass, she thought. At least now she’d be able to divorce him under the pretense of an affair. Infidelity clauses voided prenups, and now she had proof of Carter’s affair with Lindsay in the form of texts and video evidence.

Another gulp of wine.

An even brighter smile curled onto her lips. She was so close to freedom she could almost taste it mingling on her tongue with the rich, smoky aftertaste of her favorite wine. Snuggling further into their bed, she soon became enraptured in the movie, so much so that she missed the first round of knocking on their front door.

The doorbell rang, shattering her peace and sending her heart hammering. Pausing the movie and setting aside her wine, she threw her feet over the edge of the bed, clutching her robe tighter about her small frame. Carter had her on a strict diet, even if she told him the food he’d chosen made her feel sick. She’d already hidden the Chinese take out boxes at the bottom of their garbage bin.

Padding softly to the door and down the stairs, she peeked through the railings and to the window at the top of their front door. She hated admitting she missed Carter right now, for at least his masculine presence made her feel safe from outside foes. Her eyes crinkled in her inspection of the top of the man’s head, but as he turned to rap his knuckles on the door again, she could see it was only Randy.

Puffing out her cheeks, she bounced down the remaining stairs and unlocked the door, pulling it open with a gust of fall wind ruffling her robe. Randy looked like shit—bags under his eyes, salt and pepper hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled. The sight puckered her brow.

“Hey, Randy,” she breathed, clutching at the door. He gave her a half-cocked smile, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey, Maisie. You hear from Linds lately?”

Leaning more against the sturdy wood of the door, Maisie frowned and shook her head. She wondered if Randy knew the truth…but quickly figured he didn’t. Otherwise, why would he be here?

“Umm,” she began, biting her lip, “—why don’t you come in, Randy.”

Nodding, he shuffled past distractedly as she closed and dead bolted the door. Following him into the kitchen, she flicked on a few more lights and set her eyes on the freezer to get him ice for a cocktail. If she was going to have to break his heart, she may as well give him a band aid with it.

Randy sank into a barstool and rubbed his hands along his haggard face. Maisie felt a sting of pity for him; he really did love Lindsay in some sick, twisted way. They were a fucked up pair; Lindsay had no problem telling everyone she was a psycho bitch at times, and Randy could be equally as hot headed. Maisie had always wondered how they made it work, but after uncovering the truth of the affair, it was clear Lindsay was one-upping her husband behind his back.

Sliding his glass of vodka to him, she leaned on the counter opposite. In his eyes there was distress, anguish, and it cut through the heart of her. Maybe Randy wasn’t as bad as Linds made him out to be…

Licking her lips, she prepared to dive into her little speech.

“Randy, I—”

“How do you handle it?” he muttered, so lost and forlorn. Maisie perked up, confused until she realized he already knew, his suspicions confirmed by her gentle actions. Sighing, she gave a shrug.

“I keep thinking that things can only get better from here, right?”

Randy snorted with a raise of his brows before he plucked his glass off the counter and downed it in one go, ice clinking against the sides.

“Better for who?” he said with a grimace, setting down his glass, staring into the empty void.

“We deserve better—deserve to be with people that actually want to be with us, right?”

Again, Randy shrugged, lips tilting down.

“Linds is psychotic and all but…I don’t know…” he trailed off with a deep sigh, rubbing his hand along his scruffy face. “I always thought I could keep her, buy her love. I’m an idiot.”

Maisie shook her head, heart aching for this man. Even after all she’d been forced to endure in her marriage, she still had the capability to feel empathy toward those who needed it. Right now, theybothneeded it.

“You can’t buy someone’s love, Randy. Don’t work like that.”

He chuckled, shaking his ice at her with a smirk. She answered with a soft smile and retrieved him another glass, which he downed in one go again.

“Suppose the least I can do is drink all of Carter’s fanciest booze, since he’s fucking my wife.”

Maisie giggled, trying to hide it. With a raise of her brows and a roll of her eyes, she retrieved her own glass. Shuffling around the top shelf of liquor, she found Carter’s expensive whiskey—whiskey she’d never been allowed to have even though she craved the taste of rye and fire on her tongue.

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