An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)

by Sophie Jackson

  Grace tried to smile at him, but he looked away quickly, thanking Vince for the orange juice he handed to him. They made their way across the bar, parked it near the pool table, and set about talking. His shoulders rounded as he sat on his stool, as though trying to make himself smaller while the men around him laughed and chatted.

  “Somethin’ caught your eye there, honey?”

  Holly’s voice startled Grace. She was immediately horrified to realize she’d been staring. “No, um, not really. I was just wondering who the new guy was on Vince’s team. I haven’t seen him at the house.”

  Holly looked across the bar, narrowing her blue eyes as though it would help her identify the newbie quicker. She shrugged and continued placing the glasses on the correct shelves. “No idea. But it’s about time we had something new, male, and pretty to look at around here. Am I right?”

  Grace giggled into her hand. The newcomer was certainly easy on the eyes, which undoubtedly surprised her. It had been a long time since she’d felt any flutter of attraction toward the opposite sex, due to the hurt that her past flirtations and intimacies had brought her. Her track record with making sound decisions where men were concerned was not stellar, and with everything that had happened in the past two years, her fear was always enough to help her politely steer clear of any man who showed her even an ounce of attention. Not that this guy had; he hadn’t even smiled back.

  Caleb turned back to face the bar with a furrow in his brow. “That’s Vince’s nephew,” he added to the conversation. “Didn’t catch his name. Flew in from New York a few days ago. He’s staying at the boardinghouse here in Preston County.” Caleb was silent a beat. “I’d keep a distance, ladies. From what I hear he’s had problems, been in prison, involved in some pretty bad shit up there. Drugs and the like. Apparently, he’s here to ‘clean up.’ ”

  The deputy used his fingers as he spoke to punctuate his meaning and Grace’s heart skipped in her chest.

  Well, of course, the newbie had a dubious past. What other douches was she attracted to other than those who’d been paroled at least once in their lives and/or were involved in illegal substances? Jesus, she was a magnet for that type of crap. It followed her everywhere. Dammit. She silently cursed her gut, which was evidently not working on all cylinders.

  “Okay, then.” She huffed out a humorless breath of laughter and picked up a towel to wipe down the bar, counting down the last few hours of her shift and keeping her curious gaze away from Vince’s pretty nephew and his intriguing eyes.

  Max’s decision to leave Carter’s beach house and fly to Preston County, West Virginia, was, after almost a week, turning out to be a good one. And thank fuck for that. He could already feel the tight ropes of anxiety loosening as he ran through the dense forests behind his uncle’s boardinghouse, and not seeing the faces of his past every day eased the tension he’d been carrying like a bag of bricks. Although he felt immeasurably guilty for leaving, his ability to breathe a little easier made it worthwhile.

  Just as Tate had predicted, Carter and Kat were both eager for him to do what was necessary to get better, and if that meant he had to leave and stay with his uncle Vince for a while, then so be it. The panic attack that the two of them had witnessed had undoubtedly revealed how far from recovery Max actually was. After Tate had researched and organized a nearby NA meeting for Max to attend, as well as having him placed back on Elliot’s list of regular patients at his office in Pittsburgh, Max was set to go within a couple of days. He immediately started to feel better, less stressed, more at ease in his own skin.

  His feet pounded the forest floor, his knees and legs burning, while the smell of freshly fallen rain filled his lungs like precious elixir. Following the path down toward the main road, Max slowed and jogged into town, back toward the boardinghouse. Uncle Vince had been more than a little surprised by the phone call Max had made to ask if he could visit. They’d not seen each other for almost eight years—not since Max’s father’s funeral—but Max knew he’d be welcomed with open arms. Despite Vince not being a relation by blood, he and Max’s father had grown up together, always treating each other and their families as true brothers would.

  “Maximus Asshat!”

  Max came to an abrupt stop at the familiar nickname. He turned to his left where the shout had come from, staring across the street to see his cousin Ruby standing outside her auto body shop, arms open wide.

  “Ruby Tuesday!” He flew at her like a bullet, making her squeak in surprise, and grabbed her before she could make a run for it, squeezing her tightly.

  “Dad said you were in town,” she said with a laugh, hugging him back. “How the hell are you?”

  “I’m good,” he replied, putting her back down on the ground. “How’re you? What the fuck’s this I hear about you getting married? I met your hubby when I went to work with your dad yesterday.”

  She blushed crimson, pushing a hand through her cropped brown hair, and nodded. “Three months.” She held out her left hand, the diamond on her third finger small but elegant. “Josh and I sent you an invitation, but . . . I guess you weren’t home.”

  The smile on Max’s face dropped minutely. He sighed, knowing that all the dirty details of the past eight years he’d shared with his uncle the day he’d arrived would have been passed on to Ruby within hours. Not that he minded. He’d prefer his family knew the shit he’d done. Nevertheless, small towns were funny places, and variations of his dirty laundry had no doubt been aired several times since his appearance. “Yeah,” he replied. “I was . . . unavailable. Sorry.”

  Ruby placed a hand on his chest and lowered her voice. “But you’re getting better?”

  “Slowly but surely.” Max smiled tentatively.

  Ruby’s gray eyes softened. “I’m glad.” They hugged again, only breaking apart when one of Ruby’s workers whistled loudly.

  “There she is,” a dude with shoulder-length blond hair and tattooed knuckles exclaimed as he stared across the street. “My little RiRi.”

  Max turned in curiosity to see the same girl who worked behind the bar his uncle had taken him and his other workers to the previous night. She scurried down the street, white earbuds in her ears, a large bag slung over her shoulder, wearing black jeans and a yellow sweater that complemented her dark skin. Her black hair was back in a ponytail that swung from side to side as she walked.

  “RiRi?” Max asked with a cocked eyebrow, his stare following the object of Blond Guy’s blatant affections.

  “Yeah,” the man replied with a lascivious lick of his lips. “Her name’s Grace, but she looks just like Rihanna, right?”

  “No, Buck,” Ruby interjected with an eye roll. “She doesn’t.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “She’s softer somehow, less sex and more warm hugs.” She pushed Buck’s arm. “Now quit your hollerin’ and get back to work. You’ll scare the poor girl to death.”

  “Oh, man, you wanna see her up close,” Buck continued, looking at Max. “Green eyes, mocha skin. Damn fine ass.” He wandered back toward an ’89 Buick, shaking his head.

  Max wasn’t knowledgeable enough to comment on the ass thing, not having seen it clearly, but he understood the remark about Grace’s eyes. She’d looked at him over the bar last night, the green of her eyes bright and stunning. He’d been momentarily hypnotized by her when they’d entered Whiskey’s, and was only shunted from his trance when she’d smiled.

  It was, for sure, a very pretty smile, but Max couldn’t allow himself to ponder on that too much. He was there to clear his head, not become even more muddled by a strange girl who’d sent an alluring look his way. Of course, he’d be more than happy to satisfy his male urges by fucking her into oblivion if she asked, but just from looking at her for the brief time he had, he knew she wasn’t that type of girl. Ruby was right. There was a softness about her. There was too much innocence in those eyes, and maybe a hint of fear, which he was glad of, if it meant she kept her distance.

  Max turned back to Ruby, pu
shing any thoughts of sex or green eyes from his mind. “So are we gonna hang out while I’m here?” he asked.

  “Absolutely. I can make dinner. You can meet Josh properly.”

  Max pulled affectionately on a piece of her hair. “Sounds good.”

  Max’s uncle, Vince, opened Masen’s Boardinghouse long before Max was born, with his first wife. For the ten years before they divorced they welcomed visitors to the town with good food, hospitality, and a decent bed. Vince’s second wife, Fern, Ruby’s mom, took on the running of the boardinghouse with little fuss and an expert business eye, while Vince set up what would become Masen Construction. The Masen family had long been an unquestionable force and brought more money into the town than anyone else. To say that Uncle Vince was a hero to the community would have been an understatement.

  With a towel around his hips and steam billowing out of the bathroom door behind him, Max wandered back into his room, glancing at the wall-mounted clock to see that it was a little after seven in the morning. He lifted his underwear and jeans from the bed and pulled them on. The room he was staying in was pleasant enough with a large bed, TV, and wardrobes. The floral drapes were not quite to Max’s taste, but he’d learn to tolerate them.

  He sipped quickly from the cup of coffee he’d made with the standard percolator before pulling on his socks, boots, and a black Sonic Youth T-shirt. He was working for his uncle again—determined to pay for his stay one way or another, even with manual labor, despite his uncle’s protestations that Max was there to take it easy and recuperate. But Max had shut down his uncle’s concerns. It kept Max’s pride from taking a hit with free bed and board, and because his uncle was a stubborn ass and wouldn’t take any money, it kept him busy both physically and emotionally, and that was always a good thing. His terrors, for the most part, had stayed away, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

  He sprayed on some deodorant, rubbed the towel over his hair, popped some gum into his mouth, and grabbed his jacket.

  Opening the door and vacating the room, he walked smack into something, or rather someone, moving quickly down the hallway. He grabbed at the flailing arms and held whomever it was upright, while cursing under his breath when the toe of their shoe rammed into his shin.

  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”

  Max gained his bearings and looked down at the rushing, apologizing idiot, immediately captured by mesmerizing green eyes and a complete look of surprise. Grace. He released his hold and took a step back. “It’s okay. No problem,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. Great. Just what he needed first thing in the damn morning.

  “I caught your leg,” she insisted, a hand at her mouth. “I really am sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “It’s fine,” he replied, turning from her to lock his door.

  “I woke up late because I was working last night and I need to get to the house before the windows arrive. I promised Vince.” She continued to ramble even as she reached to the floor to pick up the bag and phone she’d dropped.

  Max frowned in confusion. Windows? Vince?

  “Are you sure your leg’s okay?”

  Max exhaled, clutching as much serenity as he could to his chest, and smiled politely. “I’ve had worse.”

  Seeming to sense his impatience, she nodded and quickly averted her gaze. “Okay. Well, sorry again.” She maneuvered around him, all but darting past like a nervous animal.

  Max watched her hurry away, shaking his head wryly when he noticed the ass Buck had mentioned a couple of days before.

  Yeah, he was right.

  It was slammin’.

  Thankfully, Grace was nowhere to be seen when Max finally got outside and to his rental truck. It was an overcast April morning, with the remnants of the night’s rainfall gathered in large puddles on the ground. Starting the truck, Max headed away from town toward the site his uncle was working. The project was a huge house, potentially beautiful, set back against the green of the forest. It took only ten minutes in the truck and, when Max arrived, work was well under way.

  He waved at his uncle, Josh, and the other guys as he clambered out of the truck and jogged over to where they were unloading a shitload of windows.

  “Did ya bring breakfast?” Vince inquired as he heaved a large window from the truck with the help of two other workers.

  Max smirked. “’Fraid not.”

  Vince huffed. “The hell am I payin’ you for?”

  Max chuckled and got down to work, lugging the windows, timber, and tools up to the house before starting to help with the slow but steady construction of the first-level floors and walls. Hours passed swiftly being so busy. Max’s muscles burned gloriously from all the heavy lifting, and the banter with the crew was light. They almost certainly knew who Max was and why he was there, but he couldn’t have given less of a shit. They seemed to accept him readily into their team, being Vince’s nephew and all, and that, for Max, was enough.

  Sitting down in the truck bed opening up his sandwich for lunch with another worker, Rob, Max startled when he noticed Grace speaking with Vince. She was smiling widely, obviously complimenting his uncle on the build work. Max noticed how minute she looked next to Vince’s bulky frame and how, bizarrely, she carried an expensive-looking camera around her neck. Maybe she was doing some promo or shit for Vince’s company.

  Her laugh echoed from where she stood, garnering amorous looks and less than respectful mutterings from others of the work crew. Not that Max blamed them. She looked hot in her yoga pants, sneakers, and sweater. He chuckled when he heard Rob’s playful murmurings: “I’m a married man. I’m a married man.”

  Max pulled his gaze away from Grace, focusing on his bag of chips.

  “Y’all okay over here?” Vince asked as he sauntered over and hopped up onto the edge of the truck bed, pulling out his own gargantuan sandwich. Max nodded and smiled around the lip of his bottle of Dr Pepper. “Heard you went to dinner with Ruby and Josh last night.”

  Max swallowed his drink. “Yeah, it was great seeing her. Plus she made biscuits so I couldn’t refuse.” Vince laughed. “Josh seems like a nice guy.”

  “That he is,” Vince agreed. “Treats my baby girl right.”

  “It’s a damned good job.” Max’s eyes once again found Grace, who was taking pictures of the exterior of the house and the surrounding forest. He tilted his chin in her direction. “What’s she doin’ here? She working for you or something?”

  Vince scowled in confusion. “No. This is her place. Bought it before Christmas.”

  Well, shit.

  “Don’t know much about her,” he continued around his baloney sandwich. “She’s nice and all but keeps herself to herself. I don’t know much about her story other than she’s paying for all this up front. Must come from money.” Vince side-eyed Max and leaned in close. “She’s a missus, too, ya know?” He paused for effect. “But there ain’t no mister staying with her at the boardinghouse. I’m thinkin’ a huge alimony payout.”

  Max snorted. “You know what they say about gossip, Uncle Vince.”

  Vince laughed heartily and clapped Max on the back. He gradually quieted and nudged him with his elbow gently. “We haven’t had a chance to talk properly, Max. How ya doin’? You feelin’ okay bein’ here?”

  “Yes.” The word was out without thought. “I’m okay. I feel . . . better. Less stressed.” And it was the truth. “Thank you.” Although still restless, he was sleeping better, and his appetite was coming back. He hadn’t painted yet, but that would come. “I’m at my NA meeting tomorrow morning. I’ll try and get back so I can help out—”

  “Max,” Vince chastised. “Not that I don’t appreciate your thought, son, but it’s all right. You come and help me out when you can. You don’t have to punch a time clock.” He shrugged. “You do what you need to do. Get better. That’s what’s important right now. That’s why you’re here.”

  “I know. I will, but I want to pay my way and—”

  �
�Look,” Vince interrupted, turning to look at Max directly, “when he was sick, and even before then when he lost your momma, I promised your daddy that I’d help you whenever I could, or whenever you’d let me. I told him I’d be there just as he promised he’d be there for my Ruby should anything happen to me. Now, I know, like him, you can be a stubborn son of a gun when you want to be.” He smiled fondly. “Especially when it comes to accepting help. So imagine how surprised I was when you called.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But call you did because somewhere deep inside you knew that, no matter what, I’d be there for you. We all would.” He nudged him again. “So let me do this, okay? Let me help.”

  Max exhaled through a thick throat.

  “The only job for you now is to make your daddy proud and get yourself healthy. You hear me, son?”

  “Yes, sir.” His words were soft and laced with gratitude.

  “All right.” Vince scrunched up his sandwich packaging and leaped from the truck bed. “Now, stop sittin’ around, eyin’ up my clients, and get your ass back to work.”

  The NA meeting the following morning was just as Max expected. He sat in the church hall, surrounded by strangers brought together by their dependencies and addictions. He introduced himself, then listened to the unfamiliar faces relay their tales of misery, regret, and recovery. Since his stay in rehab, Max had become a lot more sympathetic to hearing others’ stories, so he listened and he understood.