Memories from the night Britta left this world return in a disjointed haze that takes my breath away.

  She struggles for air as water fills her lungs, wavin' her hands around her head, desperately kickin' her legs before the light leaves her eyes, and she dies a slow, torturous death.

  That night was supposed to remain my little secret.

  Guess I wasn’t as careful as I thought.

  I hold Noah’s stare momentarily before givin' a slow, sarcastic clap. “Well done, Noah. It’s like you said—all those years of watchin’ true crime with Kathy must’ve made you a murder expert.”

  “I hadn’t been with Britta since she got pregnant with Taylor, dammit! And I never hooked up with that bartender! You’re delusional, Beth! I realize it’s your job to protect Max, but you know damn well I’m fully aware of everything she went through! I would never do anything to make her distrust me—not in a million years!”

  The door upstairs creaks open. Noah throws me a wide-eyed look as heavy footsteps descend on the stairway, but he’s too intelligent to yell for help. He’d be puttin' Maxine in danger.

  Gabby comes into view, awkwardly grippin' a small pistol in both hands with the finesse of a small child. “What’s going on down here?” she demands, her narrowed gaze jumpin' back and forth between Noah and me. “Where’s Molly? What’d you do with her? This wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “You shouldn’t have trusted her with him,” I scold, gesturin' to Noah. “It was like danglin’ a piece of meat in front of a lion.”

  “Gabby, put the gun down,” Noah pleads, twistin' to loosen the rope. “I’m sure Beth has been filling you in with her demented version of things, but Max must’ve told you how I’ve tried my best to protect her. I didn’t sleep with either Britta or Linda!”

  Gabby’s eyes roll in his direction. “Oh, so Taylor came about via immaculate conception?”

  “That’s the last time I slept with her! I care about Max more than anything in this world! I would never hurt her that way! I regret ever engaging in conversation with Britta! I only hung out with her at first because she reminded me of Max!”

  A haze fills my peripheral vision.

  I’m about to lose control.

  Not now, dammit.

  “He’s tellin’ the truth about one thing,” I tell Gabby with a mournful shake of my head. “He actually does care about us. He’s been tryin’ to help us for years.”

  Gabby lowers the gun and purses her lips. “Wait a minute. I’m confused. When you say ‘us,’ do you mean you and Max? You’re talking about the two of you collectively? I thought Beth was the one who wore the wig and bright lipstick. Was I wrong?”

  “No, Gabby. You’re exactly right.” I remove the wig from my head and drop it onto the concrete floor. “But Maxine is about to take over.”

  24

  23 MONTHS EARLIER

  Noah

  It’s after midnight when I park my Tesla inside the garage. My flight from New York was delayed by several hours, but Max promised she’d wait up for me. Although our rekindled relationship hasn’t progressed beyond heated kisses and wandering touches, I’m okay with it. It’s a reminder that she’s still the same fragile girl I met as a teenager. Even though she claimed to be okay the one time I tried pushing the subject, her actions would suggest otherwise.

  I toe my loafers off inside the door and shuffle through the dark house, tossing my overnight bag next to the unmade bed before heading into the master bathroom. Max must’ve been here and left since I made the bed before leaving town. Sometimes, I worry one of these days, she will disappear again, just like when we were kids.

  When I flip on the set of lights over the vanity mirror, I see a reflection of Max leaning against the doorway of my walk-in closet behind me.

  My shout of surprise sticks inside my throat. She wears the hottest lace lingerie I’ve ever laid eyes on. The black material looks painted on her skin the way it accentuates the heavy swells of her breasts. She’s also donning a straight blond wig and bright red lipstick. I never would have imagined Max owned anything so risqué. It’s somehow both enduring and disturbing at the same time.

  Something isn’t right.

  “Max, sweetheart, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “My name’s Beth,” she purrs in a deep, seductive voice.

  “Beth?” I repeat, lifting my eyebrows.

  “That’s right.” Slipping in behind me, she grinds against my backside. “Won’t be long before you’ll associate my name with pleasure.” She kisses my neck before clamping her teeth over a section of skin. Meanwhile, her hands work on releasing my trousers.

  With a quiet growl, I close my eyes. On some level, I realize something’s amiss. I should stop her from going any further. But my body can’t resist her seductive touch. “We should talk about this. If you’re not ready⁠—”

  “Oh, I’m ready, darlin’.” As soon as my trousers fall around my feet, she tugs on the band of my boxers. “I’ve been ready to do this for years.”

  Unable to fight against the heat coiling inside me, I reel around to capture her mouth with mine. She responds in kind with a lustful rush of vigor that almost knocks me on my ass. It’s hot as hell. It’s also too aggressive.

  It isn’t like her.

  I draw back and take her face in my hands. Words can’t express what it means to witness the beautiful girl I cared so much about becoming a strong, confident woman with more sex appeal than I know what to do with. Yet her smile’s off. There’s also something different about the spark set deep in her eyes.

  “I’ve been fantasizing about making love to you again for weeks, sweetheart. Hell, decades. But we should slow it down a little…take our time.” Emotion burns behind my eyes when I slide my thumbs along her slim jawline. “I still love you, Maxine. I never stopped.”

  Her lips harden with a feral scowl. “My name is Beth!” She rises on her toes and catches my earlobe with her teeth, biting hard enough to leave an impression of her teeth.

  I almost choke on my tongue. “What the⁠—”

  “Don’t you remember me, handsome?” She drags her nose along my jaw. “We’ve met before…back when you were a horny teenager too afraid to make a move on sweet Maxine.”

  Rocked with the memory of how she suddenly became aggressive the first time I confessed my love for her, I suck in a shallow breath. She became randomly sexual, almost identical to how she’s acting now. An internal switch flipped. “Are you into role-playing, or is this something else?”

  With a throaty sigh, she shoves herself away from me. “Men can be so daft.” She yanks on a vanity drawer and retrieves a pack of cigarettes from the far back.

  I watch in awe as she removes a small lighter from the inside and lights a smoke between her red lips. I’m too shocked to ask how the cigarettes ended up in my bathroom drawer or tell her I don’t allow anyone to smoke in my home.

  “You obviously don’t get it,” she says before taking a long drag. Smoke billows from her nose as she throws me a pointed look. “Maxine is far too messed up to have kinky sex with a man. Her momma’s piece of shit boyfriend made sure of that. I’m here to get the job done. I have to protect her from all the things she can’t handle.”

  The truth hits me with the impact of a sucker punch to the face. I’ve sensed something more profound has been going on with her since we first met. I was convinced her mood swings were because she had undiagnosed bipolar disorder. But this goes far beyond a simple change in mood. The lipstick and wig are part of a different persona, just like the drastic change of clothes she donned as a kid.

  Another forgotten memory returns, this one from an old mini-series I once watched from my mom’s extensive VCR collection. The main character, played by Sally Field, experienced blackouts, and a psychiatrist diagnosed her as having several different personalities as a direct result of her mother’s abuse. Is that what this is?

  The notion that Max may be dealing with something so complex and dark rockets a harsh jolt through my bones. How did I not see the signs earlier?

  She’s watching me closely as I process everything. “You have multiple personalities.”

  Her lush, red lips spread with a satisfied smile. “Ladies and gentlemen, give the man a prize!” Laughing manically, she taps the cigarette ashes into my marble sink. “You got it, although that term’s outdated. They call it dissociative identity disorder now.”

  Lips pursed, she studies my expression. “I’m surprised you don’t look at least a little freaked out by this information. Maxine’s first husband hit the road once he realized the truth. Well, other factors were involved. She also didn’t want to bring children into a world that allowed innocent little girls to be habitually abused by predators. The fact that she was secretly takin’ birth control became the final straw that broke that moron’s back.”

  The room spins as I watch the virtual stranger before me take another drag of the cigarette. How did I not understand the complexities of her situation back in high school? It dawns on me that she’s using a Southern dialect stronger than the occasional soft drawls she sometimes slips into.

  “How many personalities are there?”

  “Far as I can tell, it’s only been me and Maxine for a while now. I kept Roger in line after he became a little aggressive, but I haven’t been around much since. At least not until the day you came back into her life. There were a few others—one being a sweet little thing afraid of her own shadow, but the weaker ones tend to die off once I take charge. I don’t have time for whiney babies, and I won’t let anyone else take the light whenever Maxine needs me.”

  Unease tightens my chest. “Beth” is letting me know she won’t be pushed around or mistreated. “Can Max hear me right now?”

  “Not likely. She tends to stay in the dark when I take over.”

  Somehow, speaking to this alter personality feels like a severe betrayal to Max. Worse than the time Britta spilled Max’s secret all those years ago. Still, as long as she’s willing to talk to me this way, I hope to gleam the information Max refused to share. “Where did you—Max—go that fall of my junior year? Why did she run away?”

  “Because you humiliated her, you imbecile!” The way her expression hardens, I believe everything she’s saying about this disorder. There’s no sign of Max when she screams, “You made her think she was broken!”

  I start to reach for her, wanting to provide comfort, but the sharpness in her glare makes me think better of it. “It wasn’t my intention to embarrass her! If I’d known Tara was spying on us, I never would’ve said those things! Can you please just tell me where she went?” I fist both hands inside my hair and lean back on the vanity. “Don’t tell me she returned to her mom’s. I don’t think I could live with that.”

  “She returned to Georgia alright, but I made damn sure she’d never have to deal with that pedophile, Martin, ever again.”

  “What do you mean?” I study her face, wondering if she’s implying precisely what I’m assuming. Is she capable of murder? “How’d you do that?”

  With a teasing smile, she sucks in more nicotine. “Don’t you worry your sexy head over it, darlin’. I told you it’s my job to protect her, and I got the job done.”

  My mind races with the possibilities. “Have you…I mean…is Max seeing anyone? Like a doctor or a therapist?”

  Humor sparks her eyes. “Why, so they can tell her she’s crazy?”

  “So they can try to help her. Both of you.”

  She looks away, shrugging. “When the state stepped in and took her away from her momma, the judge made her see a psychiatrist. That’s when they diagnosed her with D.I.D. At first, Maxine was relieved. It explained all the lapses in time. Then she realized no one would want anythin’ to do with her if they knew the truth, so I’ve done my best to help her keep it hidden. Her psychotic momma extorted thousands from us after she learned about Maxine’s condition.”

  Momentarily gripping the sides of my head, I wince. “Hold on. Max said she used her savings to pay for her mom’s rehab.”

  “Maxine lied. She didn’t think you’d wanna be with her anymore if you knew about us.”

  Strong emotion stings my eyes. This is partially my fault. If I had spoken up when we were kids, she wouldn’t have spent decades battling this dark secret alone.

  “I still want her in my life,” I insist, my voice gruff. “Maybe even more than before. I could go to a therapist along with her. They could help me understand the complexities of this diagnosis a little better.”

  Smashing the cigarette’s cherry against the sink, she tosses it aside before tugging on my shirt to draw me closer. “We’re perfectly happy with things are, especially now that she brought your sexy ass back into our lives.”

  When she resumes kissing my neck, I shake my head. It’s the most confusing situation I’ve ever found myself in. The woman I love may not be aware of what’s happening.

  “This doesn’t feel right,” I say, giving her a gentle nudge. “It’s like we’re sneaking around behind Max’s back.”

  “Beth” glides her fingers through my hair, her velvety lips twisting with a wicked grin. “Trust me when I say Maxine wants this. She’s always wanted this with you, like that night you made love to her at the park under the stars. She’s just too messed up to go after it again.”

  Guilt for not doing anything to help her, for not asking my mom to intervene, weighs heavy on my conscience. I yank her against me for a searing kiss. Whatever’s going on inside her brain doesn’t change the fact that I love the woman standing in front of me. I’ll do everything in my power to help her now that I know the truth.

  After making several calls and watching a dozen informative videos the following morning, I run to Sioux Falls while Max spends the day with Britta. She seemed a little confused when she woke nestled inside my arms. Thankfully, her other persona, Beth, insisted on wearing one of my dress shirts to bed so Max wouldn’t panic when she “took over the light,” as Beth calls it.

  Max kissed me before she left and stated she was glad we’d finally made love. I could sense in her hesitant tone that she only made an assumption. It was disappointing that she seemingly wasn’t present when I’d told her how much I loved her as she climaxed beneath me. And Beth’s assertive nature erased any hope of the tenderness I’d been looking forward to.

  By the time I return home early evening, my mind’s still reeling over everything I learned about Max and her “alter” personality. Every article I could find online suggested dissociative identity (or “D.I.D.” as it’s commonly called) is typically triggered by a childhood trauma. The instinct to lock all the doors and spend the rest of my life protecting Max from any more harm is suffocating. I needed to do something drastic.

  When I spot her car pulling into the driveway a couple hours later, I kill the lights and cue the selected playlist so Kurt Cobain is singing “And I Love Her” when she steps through the front door.

  Illuminated by the dozens of candles I’d lit around the room, her eyes widen at the velvet box in my hand. “Noah⁠—”

  “What’s going on?” Britta demands, appearing on the threshold behind Max. She regards the diamond ring like it’s a bomb about to detonate. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Eyes closed, I give her a slight shake of my head. “This has nothing to do with you, Britta.”

  “The hell it doesn’t!” She nudges Max aside and holds a hand up between us. “You don’t know her as well as you think, Noah. She’s going through a lot of shit! You can’t make someone this fragile…this broken…your wife!”

  As I step forward, I have to remind myself I would never hit a woman. “Get out of my goddamn house before I throw you out!”

  She releases a hard laugh. “You can’t⁠—”

  Max swings her fist, throwing a solid punch against Britta’s jaw and sending her down to the floor. “Shut the hell up, Britta! He’s right! This has nothin’ to do with you! Stop tryin’ to control everyone else and worry about your own disaster of a life for a change!”

  “I can’t believe you hit me!” Britta pouts, cradling her jaw while scrambling to her feet. She wags a finger at me. “See what you’ll have to put up with? She’s crazy! One minute, she acts sweet and innocent, then she turns on you and becomes this insanely angry person with a redneck accent!”

  “Goodbye, Britta,” I seethe through a clenched jaw.

  As Britta stomps back outside, part of me wants to high-five Max for standing up to her overbearing cousin. Then I remember—everything has changed.

  Max wasn’t the one who threw the punch. Now that I know to listen to the pronunciation of her vowels and the way she drops her ‘g’s, it’s a dead giveaway.

  Once again, I’m standing face-to-face with Beth.

  25

  PRESENT DAY

  Maxine

  Darkness dissipates around the edges of my vision as I return to the light. It takes me a moment to catch my breath and find my bearings.

  I’m in the basement of our house, with Gabby and Noah.

  She’s holding a gun.

  He’s tied to a chair.

  Blood trickles from his neck.

  There’s something metal clenched in my hand.

  I look down to see a knife from our kitchen.

  I drop it, flinching when it clatters against the concrete.

  Beth was here.

  “Oh, god!” I cry, rushing to my husband’s side. Fortunately, the cut on his neck doesn’t appear to be deep enough for stitches. I begin loosening the rope. “What did she do to you? Are you okay?”

  “It’s just a nick,” he assures me in a comforting tone. “I’m okay.”

  Gabby carelessly waves the gun through the air. “Maxine, you seem to be forgetting the reason we’re in this situation to begin with. Molly called me as soon as your badass side hijacked your husband. She said she was just getting to the good part.”