“Peaches,” he whispered before he walked toward her. He leaned over the breakfast bar, placing a soft kiss on her mouth.
“Hey.” She smiled against his lips. She looked over to Max, who was shuffling on his spot by the sofa. “It’s good to see you, Max,” she said softly. “You look well.”
“You, too.”
Carter had called Kat when Max had made his decision to return to New York, the sound of her voice in his ear the antidote he needed for the worry gripping his insides. Seriously, if Max stumbled back into his drugs and drinking because of Lizzie and her bullshit, Carter knew he’d scour the earth looking for her and make her pay dearly. At Carter’s insistence, Max had called Tate on the plane, not that he’d said much, but it eased a part of Carter knowing that his best friend had people ready to rally around should shit go south.
Carter smiled gently at Max. “You hungry? I could fix something.”
Max frowned. “You? Cook?”
Kat snickered and looked down at the RSVP in her hand.
“Well, no,” Carter answered while scratching his cheek. “But I know how to order a pizza.”
Max’s smile was small, but it was there. “No, man. I . . . I think I’ll turn in, if that’s okay?”
Carter’s eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. It was a little after 9 p.m. “Sure.”
“I put new sheets on the bed and there’s a towel there if you want a shower,” Kat offered.
Max dipped his chin a little. “Thanks.”
He grabbed his bag from where Carter had placed it by the door and wandered through the apartment toward the spare room. Carter exhaled when he heard the door click shut.
“You okay?” Kat asked, pushing her hand into his and squeezing.
Carter shook his head. “I’m worried about him.”
Kat stood from her seat and walked around the breakfast bar. She wrapped her arms around Carter’s neck and held him tightly. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
Max was still awake at 3 a.m.
He’d dozed on and off for a few hours, played on his phone, taken a pill, but nothing seemed to work. He scowled accusingly at the crumpled envelope he’d placed on the bedside table. Max must have read the letter at least twenty times and each time it caused his lungs to contract and his heart to pound. Parts of what was written flittered through his mind, tumbling and scratching at wounds he thought long ago healed.
Max, I’ve picked up this pen so many times over the years, thinking I was ready to write this letter . . . I’d really like to see you . . . If we could talk . . . I know you might not want to . . . What I did was inexcusable . . . There are things to say. I’ll be in New York for a week . . .
His mind reeled, never slowing down, or shutting the hell up long enough for him to fall into a deep sleep. It was relentless.
The last good night’s sleep he’d had—fuck . . . he’d slept next to Grace.
With that thought, Max shoved the covers away in frustration, grabbed a pair of sleep pants from his bag, and snuck out of the bedroom into the apartment, his bare feet quiet on the wooden floor. Making his way into the apartment proper, where the kitchen was set off from the living room, Max stutter-stepped when he realized Kat was also awake, sitting at the breakfast bar where he and Carter had found her when they arrived, the small light from under the stove hood the only illumination. She looked up, seemingly unsurprised to see him there.
“Hey. Everything okay?” she asked before he could turn and run.
He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Um . . . can’t sleep.”
“Me either.” She looked back down at the book lying open on the bar. She turned a page. “Wedding plans are not conducive to a good night’s sleep.” She smirked. “Except if your name is Wesley Carter.” Her eyes found the direction of their bedroom. “Man could sleep through World War Three.”
Max smiled. “He always was a heavy sleeper.”
Kat sighed. “Do you want a hot drink? I have cocoa. I was just debating whether or not to have one to help me sleep.”
Max took another step closer, warmed by her sincerity. “Sure.”
He watched Kat lift from her seat and start moving around the kitchen, grabbing milk, cocoa powder, and cups. He parked his ass on the seat opposite hers and glanced down at what she’d been reading. It was a wedding catalog.
“Carter tell you that I’m driving him crazy with all this?” She gestured with a wave of her hand toward a pile of dried flowers, ribbons, fabric samples, and other terrifying wedding-type horrors sitting on the kitchen counter.
“No,” Max replied quickly.
Kat caught his eyes. “You’re as bad a liar as he is.”
Max snorted quietly. “He may have mentioned it. But he just wants you to be happy.”
He saw a smile pull at the side of her mouth as she poured hot water into the cups. “I am.” She brought the cups over, placing one in front of him. “See that drawer by your knees?”
Max looked down, noticing a hole in the wood of the breakfast bar big enough for the tip of an index finger. “Yeah.”
“Open it, would you?”
Max did as she asked and grinned when he saw what was in it. Packs of Oreos, chocolate with Oreo pieces, and all manner of other cookie treats filled the drawer. He looked up at her with wide, amazed eyes. “This his secret stash?”
Kat shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. “He thinks it’s secret. Just like the one in his man cave at the beach house.”
Max pulled out a pack of Oreos. “Bastard would never give up where he kept them. It was always a nightmare when we partied here and got a mad case of the munchies.”
He tore the pack open, taking one for himself, and offered them over to Kat. She took one and dipped it into her cocoa.
“How’d you get it out of him?”
Kat smiled into her cup. “I didn’t. I have ninja-level stealth skills.”
Max nodded, impressed. “Nice.”
“I’m marrying him; I know everything there is to know.”
Yeah, just like he and Lizzie had been. Max’s smile faded. He sipped his cocoa as a feeling of panic and anxiety, the likes of which he’d not felt since before rehab, skittered across his neck.
“I’m sure it’ll be all right,” Kat said, her face open and honest, apparently seeing the stress he was trying so hard to hide. “Whatever you decide.”
Max swallowed and rested his elbows on the breakfast bar between them. “Carter told you everything, huh?”
“Does that bother you?” Kat asked cautiously.
Max thought about it for a moment, but shook his head. “I’m glad he has you.”
They sat then in comfortable silence, eating cookies and drinking cocoa, before Max said, “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Kat’s gaze snapped to his, surprise prevalent. “An idiot? I—I’m not sure—”
Max held a hand up, smiling. “It’s okay. Honestly.” He shrugged. “I know we’ve never really . . . talked or anything, but I’d like to hear what you think. I know Carter thinks I’m crazy coming back.” He laced his fingers around his cup, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the world. “Am I fuckin’ stupid for even thinking of doing this?”
Kat sat back, as though carefully considering her answer. Her green eyes were intense on him and, for a split second, Grace’s face flashed in Max’s mind. He blinked slowly, waiting.
“I think . . .” Kat started. She glanced at her cup and gradually sat forward. “I think that you need to do what you feel is right.”
Max exhaled in frustration and opened his mouth to tell Kat what a crock-of-shit answer that was. She held up her palm and cocked an eyebrow. “I haven’t finished.”
He could clearly see what Carter loved so much about her; she was sassy and Max was damn sure she put Carter in his place all the time.
“I also think that you’re very brave,” she added.
That brought Max up short. Brave? He didn’t think so. He’d never felt m
ore terrified. He shook his head gently.
“You’re willing to face what nearly broke you,” Kat murmured. “That’s very brave.”
Max clenched his teeth, holding back the angry retort that threatened; he had no right. He’d asked for her opinion. An opinion that itched like an insect bite. But how could he refute what Kat had said? Lizzie had nearly broken him. He’d fallen apart without her, because of her. If they met, would he shatter all over again? He’d grown so used to the sensation of being whole over the past few months, he wasn’t sure he’d survive even the most gentle of taps from her.
“Has Carter ever told you about my grandmother, Nana Boo?” Kat asked.
Max nodded, not looking up. “Yeah, he’s mentioned her. She’s the one who makes him the killer Oreo cheesecake, right?”
Kat laughed. “She does. Every time she visits. I swear, he should be, like, three hundred pounds.” Max chuckled despite himself. “She’s the very best person I know. I still go to her about everything. When I was in senior year, I had my first boyfriend. I was eighteen and madly in love, while he was apparently madly in love with three other girls behind my back.”
Max’s eyes found hers. “Ouch.”
Kat lifted her eyebrows. “Right? So we broke up. Three months later he called me up, begging for me to take him back, he was sorry, he wouldn’t do it again, blah, blah, blah. I went to Nana Boo to ask what she thought I should do.”
Max sat forward. “And what did she say?”
Kat swallowed her sip of cocoa. “She said, Katherine, angel, never answer the door when the past comes knocking.” Her voice grew softer. “It never has anything new to say.”
Max took a deep breath, the echo of her words reverberating through him. He slumped in his seat and stared at the breakfast bar suddenly feeling nothing but defeated. He was so fucking confused. His body torn in two. His mind wanting one thing—to walk away from what nearly killed him—and his heart wanting another. It was exhausting. The edges of his brain teased with a righteous headache and, for the first time in months, he craved a line.
Angry with himself, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes until he saw small white stars dancing behind his eyelids.
“Do me a favor, Max, will you?”
Kat’s request brought Max’s head up, blinking away the fuzzy darkness. “Sure.”
“Be careful.” Kat reached over, placed a small hand on his forearm, and squeezed. “You have a lot of people who care and who worry about you. Don’t forget that, okay? You’re not alone.” She smiled gently. “We’re family.”
Max’s throat grew impossibly tight. He nodded jerkily in reply.
Kat gave his arm one last squeeze and glanced at the clock. “Damn. I need to get to bed. Some of us have work tomorrow.”
She smiled and lifted from her seat, collecting the cups and placing them in the sink while Max tucked the pack of Oreos back in Carter’s not-so-secret drawer. He stood as Kat passed him.
“Hey, Kat?” She turned with a small smile. “Thanks.”
She dipped her head. “Sure, Max. Any time.”
Three days passed and, with each one, Max knew his window for meeting Lizzie was slowly closing; she was only in town for another four.
He’d kept himself busy, meeting Tate, having a session with Elliot, and attending a local NA meeting that Carter found on the Internet. Max could see the worry in the eyes of the people around him, the anticipation as they waited for him to make a final decision, and hoped that his proactive approach to his continuing recovery would ease their concerns a little. And they had every right to be concerned; the cold fingers of addiction had reemerged with a vengeance, whispering sweet nothings into Max’s ear when he was alone, like the damn devil on his shoulder it was.
He hung out at the body shop, even helping Riley fix a sweet Ferrari 250 GT that just ached for his foot on her gas pedal. The smell of grease and metal and the thump of rock music were a welcome relief from the bullshit that had been flying around his head for days, and helped him realize how much he loved what he did. He went over paperwork, began organizing Carter’s bachelor party, and ran.
He ran a lot. He ran through Central Park, he ran along the Hudson, he ran anywhere he could in an attempt to clear his mind. It was of little surprise that at those times, he thought about Grace the most. She’d been his running partner for months, so it was to be expected. At least that’s what he told himself as his feet pounded the asphalt.
He hadn’t heard from her since he’d left Preston County, and part of him, a very small part, was relieved. He’d resisted the urge to text or call, having no idea what he would say anyway. Truthfully, he was still stewing, still deliberating over what she’d said to him . . . but he tried his best not to dwell, not to think about her and what she was doing. He told himself frequently that he had no right. But still, his mind wandered back to her.
It was afternoon on the fourth day, while he was running, that Max at last made his decision.
After making a phone call to Carter’s office, he headed downtown to WCS Communications, Carter’s company, admiring the swanky décor of the lobby, thinking that maybe he should have changed out of his running gear beforehand, and rode the elevator up to the fortieth floor.
Carter’s PA, Martha, smiled as he approached her desk. “Max?” Max nodded and Martha waved toward a door. “He’s waiting for you.”
He pushed the large wooden door open to find Carter standing at a window that boasted a hell of a view over the financial district. It was a gorgeous summer day in the city, and Max was somewhat relieved that he didn’t suffer from vertigo. Shit looked a long way down from up here. Carter turned when he heard the door click shut; his face was nervous. He tried to smile past it, but, after twenty years of friendship, Max could see through that shit like crystal.
“You’re going to see her,” Carter said, as Max opened his mouth.
Apparently Max was just as transparent. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his running shorts. “I don’t think I have another choice here, man.”
Carter rubbed a palm over his chin. “You do, Max. You do. But I know you’ll beat yourself up if you don’t go.”
Max lifted his shoulders. “I have to know,” he confessed quietly. “I have to know . . . why.”
“I know.” Carter moved closer.
Max sensed his friend’s disappointment, but he couldn’t let that sway him. He’d made a decision and he would stick with it, for his own peace of mind.
“So what’s the plan?” Carter asked, guiding Max toward a brown leather corner sofa. “How do you wanna do this?” He unfastened the single button on his navy blue suit jacket and sat down.
Max sat with him and pulled his cell out. “I’m gonna text her. I thought about calling but . . . I don’t know what hearing her voice will do to me.”
Carter was silent for so long, Max looked up from the phone in his hand. Carter sat back, his gaze on the carpet, pressing the backs of his fingers to his lips, looking for all the world as scared as Max felt. “You’re sure?” he asked quietly.
Max nodded and pulled from his pocket the battered letter that held Lizzie’s phone number. He took a deep breath and began typing. His text message was short and to the point: I can meet you. Tomorrow. Max.
Once done, his thumb hovered indecisively over the send button. He paused, his head suddenly echoing with Grace’s words: Tell me you didn’t feel something last night. Tell me it meant nothing to you . . . along with the image of her face as it collapsed when he’d fired back, so irate and stubborn.
He ground his teeth, hating how the memory made him feel, hating how what she’d asked him poked at parts of himself that scared Max to death, knowing what he’d said to her was unforgivable and categorically untrue. He growled deep in his chest and shook off the guilt.
He slapped the pad of his thumb down on the screen defiantly and pressed send.
Because fuck it, that’s why.
He breathed through the thu
ndering pulse in his ears while Carter sat stock-still at his side, seemingly without words. Both men stared at the phone, apprehension pulsing between them.
Lizzie’s reply came within a minute: I’m staying at the Hilton in Midtown. One o’clock in the lobby?
That was no good. Familiar ground was important if this was going to work.
One o’clock. Sam’s Diner across the street from the Hilton.
Okay. Thank you, Max.
Max pressed a button to quickly black out his cell phone screen and Lizzie’s gratitude, and slumped back into the sofa, eyes closed, nausea rippling through him as though Lizzie’s text was a big-ass stone thrown into his relatively peaceful little world. He couldn’t figure it. Surely, he should have felt some sort of satisfaction, some sort of revelation with contacting her after so long.
But, no; all he felt was distracted. Pressure on his chest transported him back to their old apartment, to the day Lizzie left, Max on his knees, frantically calling everyone he knew in an effort to find her. The memories trickled through before the levees broke and they slammed into him, thick and fast, like white-tipped rapids, pulling him under, swirling him around, with no pause for him to catch his breath.
“You’re okay,” Carter murmured at his side. “Breathe.”
Bizarrely, with Carter’s words, an image of Grace dancing by the moonlit lake on Fourth of July weekend slipped between the chaos. Along with the echo of her laugh, her arms above her head as she twirled, and the memory of her skin under his fingers, Carter’s hand on Max’s shoulder was the only thing keeping his ass securely on the sofa and not bolting out the door to find the nearest dealer.
Max stood outside the diner the following day, wondering whether it was at all possible for his heart to break his ribs. It pounded so hard, it almost hurt, and every time he attempted to move forward, to enter the place, it stuttered and squeezed. He was bone tired, having not slept a wink the entire night, worrying and hypothesizing about what the hell Lizzie could have to say, what he would say.
Dragging his feet, he pushed the door open. The smell of coffee and pancakes accosted him immediately, causing his stomach to roil. He glanced around the place, sweat dripping down his neck. She hadn’t arrived. Relieved that he had more time to collect himself, Max commandeered an empty booth and slid into it, fisting his hands together on the tabletop. A waitress approached with a wide smile and a name badge that read “Grace.” Max blew out a disbelieving breath. Wasn’t that just the last thing he needed to see?
An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2) Page 31