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

by Sophie Jackson

  So he did. Sitting in his usual seat in the quiet coffee shop, Max relayed the last four months to his best friend, every moment between him and Grace, her past, the arrangement they made, July Fourth, the cellar, up to and including the night before. Carter sat quietly, occasionally sipping his espresso. He didn’t ask questions and never looked judgmental. Max could have hugged him again for it. Truthfully, it felt good to purge.

  Thumping back in his seat, Max waited for Carter to hit him with a glorious piece of advice. Instead, he sighed and ran his index finger around the rim of his cup.

  He seemed to mull over what he was going to say until Max couldn’t take it anymore. “Spit it out, please,” he complained.

  Carter frowned. “I’m not sure you wanna hear what I think.”

  Max placed his elbows on the table and dropped his chin into his hands. “No, man, I really do.” He cupped his fingers over his mouth, waiting. “I . . . I’m at a loss here.”

  Carter sat forward, mirroring Max’s pose. “My first question is, why? Why start this?”

  Max had asked himself the same thing, and the only answer he could come up with was why the hell not. He said as much to Carter, who appeared uncomfortable with the answer. “That’s a shitty reason.”

  Max nodded in agreement, but there it was.

  “I have to ask,” Carter said quietly. “Is this just about sex?” Max opened his mouth to reply, but Carter stopped him. “What I mean is, she seems like a nice girl, beautiful. I mean, she trusted you enough, right? Could it be more? Is that why you’re freaking out?”

  Max paused for a moment, mulling that over. “I like her,” he admitted through his fingers. “But, no. It’s not anything more.”

  Carter’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “Do you want it to be?”

  Max dropped his hands back to the tabletop and shook his head. “I can’t, man. You know that.”

  “Lizzie,” Carter said as though the mere thought of her offended him. “That woman . . .”

  “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

  “Yeah, but you are,” Carter snapped. “I wish you’d see that.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead wearily. “You’re worth it, Max. You’re worth— You’re worth more than her, more than her coming into your life, turning it upside down, and fuckin’ leaving you with no word, no care, to slowly kill yourself.”

  Max sat back, frowning at his best friend. “Wow.”

  Carter had been understandably vocal in his hatred of Lizzie before, but this was something else. “Where the hell did that come from?” Max asked.

  Carter blew out a heavy breath and dragged his bottom teeth across his top lip. He glared at his coffee cup and Max watched as his friend tried to gather himself. “I hate what she did to you,” Carter snarled quietly.

  “I know,” Max replied, his voice softened with Carter’s concern. “Me, too.”

  “Tell me something.” Carter looked up slowly. “What would you say to her if you ever saw her again?”

  Max had allowed himself a million fleeting moments to wonder about that and he was still without an answer. He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  “Would you even want to see her?”

  Something in Carter’s voice made the hair on Max’s neck lift. He cocked his head, trying to see in Carter’s eyes what he was hiding.

  “Why?” He frowned. “It’s not like that’s a possibility now, is it?”

  Carter didn’t answer. He merely stared back across the table, his blue eyes guarded.

  “Carter?” Max sat forward. “What’s going on?”

  After a brief moment where Carter seemed to come to some sort of decision, he licked his lips and looked out of the coffee shop window to the wet street outside. He reached into the inside pocket of his biker jacket and pulled out a creased white envelope. He stared at it for a beat, gave an aggrieved sigh, and placed it on the table before sliding it across to Max.

  “This is why I’m here. It arrived two days ago.”

  Max stared at the envelope with his name and address on the front of it, noting the cursive patterns of the handwriting. He’d know that fucking penmanship anywhere. Lizzie. His heart skipped an entire beat, as the realization rushed over him like a bucket of ice water, forcing Max back in his seat with a harsh exhalation. He lifted his hands as though the mere thought of touching the envelope filled him with terror.

  “I wanted to give it to you in person instead of forwarding it on to you like I do your bills.”

  Max swallowed, not entirely certain whether he was going to throw up or pass out. His head swam horrifically. “Ha-have you read it?” He noticed that the flap of the envelope was ripped.

  “I open all your mail, like you asked me to, but I had no idea who it was from until I read the first few lines and saw the name at the bottom.”

  Carter ran his hands across his short hair, appearing truly torn with his having to give the letter over.

  The two men sat in silence, both looking at the damned thing as though it might explode. Max shoved his thumbnail into his mouth and started chewing. It was an anxious gesture he’d not indulged in since he’d left rehab.

  “What—why . . .” he mumbled around his thumb, looking at Carter helplessly. “What do I do?”

  Carter’s brow creased in sympathy, his gaze worried. “That’s up to you, brother.” He pressed his lips together. “You gonna read it?”

  The squeeze in Max’s chest suggested not, but the curiosity was too much to ignore. Terrified or not, Max knew that he would be reading the fucking thing one way or another.

  His face must have answered Carter, who dipped his head in understanding. “You want me to stay here while you do?”

  As much as Max appreciated the offer, he knew he had to face whatever that letter contained on his own. “No,” he croaked.

  Carter nodded. “Go take a walk, okay? Maybe call Tate. Get some space.”

  The air in the shop had certainly grown stuffy; Max could barely catch his breath. He allowed his finger to trace his name on the envelope. Carter’s hand on his shoulder made him jump. Max hadn’t even noticed him stand.

  “I’ll go and hang at the bar down the street,” he said, his eyes drifting to the letter. “Come when you’re ready and we’ll talk, okay?”

  Max nodded and pushed his chair back, struggling to make his legs hold his weight as he stood. Carter gripped Max’s bicep to hold him steady, waited a beat, and pulled him into a tight embrace. Max didn’t hesitate in returning it. He wasn’t too much of an asshole to admit when he needed a hug. And right then, he needed as many as he could get.

  What the hell could Lizzie want after all these years? What could she possibly have to say to him? Why now? He dropped his forehead to Carter’s shoulder and breathed deeply, fighting off the petrified tears that threatened.

  “I’m here,” Carter murmured, cupping the back of Max’s head. “You’re not alone in this. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

  Max nodded and clapped his hand against Carter’s back. “Thank you.”

  He felt Carter nod before he stepped back. “Text me,” he said quietly, and without another word, he left Max in the coffee shop, wondering what the fuck he was going to do.

  Grace sat on her sofa, where she’d planted herself three hours before after returning from the boardinghouse. The TV played quietly from its position in the corner of the room, but Grace had no idea what the hell was on it. She was too busy watching the guilt and regret she’d seen so clearly in Max’s dark eyes playing like a damn loop in her mind.

  Grace hadn’t known what to expect when she’d made the decision to seek him out so they could talk, but his curt indifference and coldness certainly weren’t anywhere near the top of the list. It had hurt so much seeing his uneasiness, the way he stepped back from her so quickly, his need for the earth to open up under his feet. He couldn’t hide that from her; she knew him too well.

  She’d spent hours reasoning with herself, trying to
understand how terrified Max would be after what they’d shared. Jesus, he’d admitted as much when they were in bed. But even that couldn’t soothe the harsh sting of rejection or delete the echo of his words when he’d dismissed her so readily. Could he not see how terrified she was? She pulled the throw she’d draped over herself closer. Despite the warm July air, she was cold.

  Glancing at the clock to see it was a little before six, she contemplated texting Max. She fingered her cell for the hundredth time, torn between calling her therapist for advice and calling Max. No. Space. That’s what he needed. She didn’t want to crowd him or make him feel pressured. As she’d told him, all she wanted to do was love him, no titles, no expectations; he’d told her before that he wasn’t capable of that, despite the fact that he’d made love to her so tenderly. Grace knew too well that he was a serious flight risk. If she were to ask him for anything more than he was willing to give, he would bolt. She would reserve judgment and do her best to let him mull the whole situation over. She knew that’s what he needed. It was what he did.

  There was a gentle knock on the front door that Grace considered ignoring. She didn’t want to see anyone. It would take only a small question, a sympathetic glance and she’d fall apart. With a sigh, she lifted from the sofa and made her way to the front door.

  Max stood on her porch, head down, hands in his jeans pockets, looking as bad as Grace felt. He looked up as she opened the door. Seeing him, hair in disarray, desperate for a shave along with the memory of his body over hers, Grace found her legs suddenly shaky, and leaned subtly against the door’s edge for support.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice small. She glanced at the hidden key spot. “Thanks for knocking.”

  He swallowed and nodded sharply. His eyes were still wary, still confused and scared, and it broke Grace’s heart.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  He shook his head. “No,” he replied quickly, throwing a thumb over his shoulder toward a very flashy-looking car, inside of which was Carter. “I’m not staying.”

  Grace let the heavy meaning behind his words settle into her. She bit her lip to hold back her panic. “Not staying here”—she pointed toward the floor—“or not staying in Preston County?”

  Max’s eyes darted to the side before they settled on her again. “Both.”

  Grace’s breath stuttered as it entered her lungs. “Where are you going?”

  He licked his lips, looking for a moment as if he intended not to tell her. “Back to New York.”

  “For good?”

  “I don’t know, Grace,” he growled, looking toward the sky as though asking God for strength. “I’m just . . . shit. I need to go, all right?”

  Grace’s pulse kicked up, his tone and abrasive attitude no longer hurting but angering her. She didn’t deserve it. She’d done nothing but care for him. “Yeah, all right. I mean, it makes sense for you to go.”

  Max’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”

  “Well, you have always been good at running,” she commented sharply, arching an eyebrow at him when his shoulders lifted in anger. “What?” she challenged. “You don’t think I can see what you’re doing?”

  Max laughed humorlessly, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You don’t see anything. You have no idea.”

  “Then why don’t you explain it to me?” she said bluntly, standing tall, no longer needing the door. “You owe me that much.”

  His nostrils flared, but she saw the realization of what she said being true wash across his face. He took a deep breath and looked toward his boots, avoiding her pointed look. “Lizzie.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “Lizzie?”

  Max nodded. “Carter brought a letter she wrote me . . .” He lifted his head. He looked so exhausted. “She wants me to meet her. She wants to talk.”

  Grace was struck dumb. That was the last thing she expected him to say and that changed things. Massively. The fight in her slowly began to ebb away.

  With everything that Max had told her about Lizzie and what happened between them, of course it made sense for him to go to her. He would need closure after everything he’d been through. He deserved that. Still, a dark part of Grace couldn’t help but wonder if Lizzie’s letter was the escape Max needed to get away, to run instead of talking about what had happened the previous night.

  Beneath the understanding, cold realization settled in her chest. “So you’re meeting her?”

  Max rubbed the tips of his fingers across his forehead. “No, I’m not, I— Maybe, I don’t even know if I will, I just . . .”

  Grace swallowed and when she spoke her voice was careful and quiet. “Came here because you want me to tell you it’s okay to go.”

  Max’s face creased with incredulity. “What?”

  She smiled sadly, resignation slithering through her.

  He didn’t want her. Not in the way she wanted him. He was too busy clinging to a past to see what was right in front of him and, honestly, she was simply too tired to keep trying to convince him she was right for him.

  “I get it, Max, I do,” she uttered honestly. “It’s important that you two speak. She has a lot to explain, a lot to apologize for. You deserve that.”

  He frowned, his eyes suspicious. “Yeah, I do.”

  Grace nodded, pressing her lips together to hold back the desperate words that threatened: I love you, come back to me, stop running.

  Instead she said, “Will you tell me something before you go?”

  Max sighed, glancing back at Carter’s car. “Sure.”

  “Tell me you didn’t feel something last night. Tell me it meant nothing to you.”

  He stared at her for a moment, his jaw ticking. She knew she’d backed him into a corner and he didn’t like it, but she had to know he felt what they’d shared. Of course, it made no difference; she was under no illusions that he was leaving no matter what, but at least she’d know that last night was something special for both of them.

  “It was what it was,” he answered finally, his voice flat. He shrugged belligerently. “A fuck is a fuck, you know?”

  Grace’s heart stammered as his words hit like bullets. She knew he was lashing out because he was afraid, but they crippled her all the same.

  “You don’t mean that,” she said, her voice wavering.

  “I don’t?” He shook his head in a way that could only be described as patronizing. “Shit. I knew this was a mistake.”

  “This?” Grace asked, hating the shake in her knees. She gripped the doorframe.

  “You!” Max bit out. “I told you all I wanted was sex,” he continued, his voice frustrated, as though he were explaining something simple to a child. “I was straight with you from the beginning, but you chose not to hear me.”

  “I hear you now,” she said firmly, shifting the door, ready to close it on him so that he wouldn’t see her shatter. “I hear you loud and clear.”

  “Thank fuck!” he exclaimed, slapping his palms to his thighs.

  Grace blinked, hating the tear that escaped her eye when she did. She didn’t recognize the man standing on her porch. The gentle, caring, patient man she’d fallen in love with was nowhere in the stranger before her.

  She pressed her lips together. “I’m so sorry that all I did was care for you and try to help you see that you’re so much more than drugs and bad memories.” She swallowed. “But, I get it; that’s all you’ve known and anything else, anything new, frightens you to death.”

  Max glared at her, his gaze like pinpricks on her skin.

  She lifted her chin toward Carter’s car. “So go. If I truly was a mistake, and you feel nothing for me at all, it’ll be easy as pie for you to leave. Right?”

  Max huffed, his eyes flashing. “Right,” he spat. He lips twitched as though he had more to say, but he simply exhaled and waved a dismissive hand. “Seriously, I don’t need this shit.”

  He spun on his heel, thumped down the porch steps, and strode toward Carter’s car, nearly pulling the doo
r from the chassis. He threw himself down into the passenger seat and slammed the door. Grace watched the car reverse and disappear down the driveway before she stepped back into the house and closed the door gently. She put her back to it, and slid down until she met the floor.

  It was only then that she broke apart into a million pieces.

  Max was quiet. He was too quiet and, frankly, it was scaring the shit out of Carter.

  Since leaving Grace’s place he’d been silent, his deep breaths and tremoring hands obvious signs of the fury coursing through him. Carter hadn’t asked what or why. He’d watched him talk to Grace, heard the raised voices through the windows of the Lexus, the hurt and fear plain as day on the two of them.

  Carter sighed. What the hell was Max thinking? Carter had seen it on Grace’s face. She was head over heels and, whether Max admitted it or not, he was more than a little fond of her in return. It broke Carter’s heart seeing his friend deny himself happiness because of his fear, because of his past, because of a woman he still had on a pedestal. But what choice did he have? He had to support Max. Carter always had and that would never change.

  Seeing Max so animated through the car windshield, however, regardless of the cause, was strangely comforting. It’d been too long since Carter had seen him passionate about something that was neither alcoholic or came in a small, see-through plastic bag. Grace seemed to have woken a part of Max that Carter had worried was lost. It was just cruel irony that Lizzie would decide to write to Max now, right when he was beginning to warm to the idea of moving forward.

  But shit was never easy.

  Carter turned the key in the lock of the Tribeca loft apartment he shared with Kat and opened the door, standing to the side to let Max through. Carter shut the door behind them, his eyes immediately finding Kat sitting at the breakfast bar, wedding invitations covering almost all of it, amid envelopes, ribbon, and fancy calligraphy pens that she had insisted on buying. She looked up and smiled widely.