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

by Sophie Jackson

  It wasn’t that Max was prying. Since Riley’s visit, he’d been genuinely worried about the man and concerned that he’d known nothing about Riley’s past and the obvious pain he’d suffered.

  Tate took a deep breath and sat back gradually, all hints of joking and pranks forgotten. He rested his ankle on the opposite knee. “Yeah, I know who it was.” Max waited, but Tate didn’t embellish. His expression was firm. “It ain’t my story to tell, man.”

  “I get it,” Max offered, knowing a big brother’s protectiveness and loyalty was not something to fuck with. “He’s okay, though, right?”

  Tate nodded. “I think so.” He smirked. “Riley’s like a bouncy ball, doesn’t matter how hard you throw him, he always comes back harder and faster.”

  At seven o’clock Saturday evening, decked out in black dress pants, white shirt, and a thin black tie he’d borrowed from Carter, Max sat in the passenger seat of Riley’s Jeep as Riley drove the two of them across the city toward the art exhibition.

  “You okay?” Riley asked for the fourth time since they’d left Max’s place.

  “Other than being dressed up fancier than I would be for a damn court appearance, I’m fine,” Max answered with a sly grin.

  “Prick,” Riley muttered, shaking his head and fidgeting with his own tie. “The flyer said to dress sharp, so, shit, we dressed sharp.” He glanced at himself in the rearview. “Damn sharp, baby, I look fucking hot.”

  Max chuckled and shook his head, his heart rate rising as they drew closer to Greenwich Village. He ran a hand down his tie and breathed deeply.

  “You look okay, I guess,” Riley muttered before grinning. “And you know, if this shit doesn’t work out, we could always hit a couple of gay bars. We’re in the area. You’d fit right in.”

  Rolling his eyes, Max shrugged. “I take that as a compliment.”

  “You should,” Riley agreed seriously. “I’d do you.”

  Max laughed, knowing that Riley’s incessant ramblings were an attempt to calm them both. Riley hadn’t stopped twitching for the entire car journey. Max was honestly relieved that Carter hadn’t joined them. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to cope with the two of them fussing around him. Max wasn’t naïve, of course; he knew having friends who cared about him was a great problem to have, especially when he considered the shit he’d put them all through. But Christ.

  He turned to Riley. “Thanks for doing this.”

  Riley dipped his chin. “Any time, brother. You know that.”

  Riley parked the Jeep and the two of them sat for a minute, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. Max went over his well-thought-out spiel silently, swallowed down his fear, and climbed out onto the quiet, humid street. With Riley at his side, Max felt somewhat comforted. He damn sure knew he couldn’t have done it alone.

  The building they approached was fairly innocuous, save for the twelve-foot window affording a view inside it and an awesome banner that reached across the entire front declaring the show open and the names of the four artists, Grace’s included, whose work was being shown. A guy at the door with a clipboard and a mustache that would have put Salvador Dalí to shame smiled as they drew near. Riley gave them his name and then a name Max had never heard of, presumably that of the owner Riley had met at the body shop.

  “Ah, special guests,” Dalí exclaimed with an extravagant wave of his hand. “Of course, of course, my darlings, go in. Enjoy!”

  The two of them smiled nervously and, with Max in front, slipped around him into the air-conditioned lobby. “What the fuck did you just do?” Max asked with a snicker.

  “I have no idea,” Riley answered, glancing back at the door, looking as though he was ready to beat a hasty retreat. “But I think he just slapped my ass.”

  Max laughed into his hand and shoved Riley toward a collection of paintings titled Bask in Death. Practically giggling like schoolchildren, the two of them came to an abrupt halt, eyeing the dark splashes of color against the whitewash of the gallery walls skeptically.

  “Talk about a joy killer,” Riley uttered while simultaneously grabbing two glasses of orange juice from a passing waiter.

  Max nodded, not voicing his views about the work even though he quite liked them, and glanced around discreetly. He couldn’t spot Grace amid the crowd of about one hundred people, and the anticipation built ever higher. He figured he may as well try to relax while he had the chance. He sipped the juice and meandered around the paintings, stopping at a couple and quietly losing himself in the colors, themes, and messages of each one. He’d never been one to really stop and appreciate art, despite his affinity for painting, and soon found himself enjoying it. Riley, meanwhile, tilted his head this way and that, trying to make heads or tails of the numerous canvases they passed, much to Max’s amusement.

  “I don’t get it,” Riley grumbled, after staring hard at a canvas that was bare but for a single orange circle in its center.

  Max cocked an eyebrow, equally puzzled. “Yeah, I’m with you on that.”

  “Now these I like,” Riley said, disappearing around a corner.

  Max followed to find him standing in front of a wall covered in photographs. Some were small, no bigger than the size of a postcard, while others were at least three feet wide. Max immediately recognized the forests, the mountains, and the rocks that resided by a small cottage back in Preston County. Max looked at the title plaque. Mind, Body, and Soul by Grace Brooks. He smiled before he even felt the desire to do so; at the same time a swell of pride gathered in his chest.

  “These are hers,” he whispered.

  The colors were extraordinary. Grace’s eye for textures and light was glaringly obvious in each shot. The angles were precise and thought out, leaving the viewer disoriented in some and calm in others. This was definitely the mind part of her work. She’d had that effect on Max from the moment they met, all baffled and off kilter.

  “They’re great,” Riley said after a quiet moment, gradually making his way around the next corner of the exhibit, where the lighting, Max noticed, was duller, and less like the harsh, bright white of the rest of the place.

  Above this particular collection of photographs, painted directly onto the wall of the gallery in black cursive lettering, were the words “Hope for the Soul.” The swelling in Max’s chest receded as his gaze wandered over the black-and-white images littering the wall, replaced with the crushing weight of his guilt.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he mumbled, crossing one hand and arm over his stomach while cupping his mouth with the other.

  “What?” Riley asked, looking up from one shot that Max remembered Grace taking as clearly as if it were yesterday.

  “It’s me,” he croaked.

  Riley frowned. “Are you serious?”

  Max nodded and moved closer to the wall. The shots were taken the day he’d met her at the cottage, the day they’d sat on the overturned log and he’d touched her for the first time, his hands on her thighs. There were pictures of Max’s face, arms, hands, but, to anyone else, including Riley, it was just some random man. Grace was right. No one would know it was Max but the two of them. Astounded, Max looked at every one, noticing some he didn’t remember her taking, some that, from the wrinkles next to his eyes, he could tell he was laughing. In the few shots that showed his eyes, Max noticed, even in black-and-white, how happy he looked, how young and relaxed and, dare he say it, in love.

  “I’m such a fucking fool,” he murmured.

  Riley smiled sympathetically before his gaze drifted from Max to something over Max’s shoulder. “Dude.”

  Max stilled, knowing from Riley’s expression who it was he’d seen. “Is it her?”

  “Well, I’ve never seen her,” Riley replied, moving closer to Max. “But I remember Tate’s description just fine.”

  “Fuck,” Max gasped as his pulse began to race.

  Riley placed his hand on Max’s shoulder in silent encouragement. “Be prepared, man,” he said softly. “She looks fucking
amazing.”

  With that comment, Max turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was Grace and, sweet Jesus, Riley was right. Her hair was fastened in a tight bun at the top of her head, leaving soft curls that appeared crafted to the side of her face. With her hair up, her neck looked impossibly long, wrapped in a stunning necklace that glinted and sparkled under the bright gallery spotlights. Her dress was . . . unbelievable. It was a canary-yellow strapless number that reached the floor and pulled in at her waist, accentuating all of her glorious curves and the exquisite warm tones of her skin.

  She was a vision and Max could barely breathe.

  “You wanna go over?” Riley asked.

  “Yeah, stay here,” Max answered unthinkingly, turning around and taking the first of the fifteen wobbling steps it took to reach her, leaving Riley where he stood. As he drew closer, Max’s stare stayed on Grace’s shoulder blades, watching the way they moved as she talked with her hands, as she always did, recalling the way they felt under his hands and against his mouth as he moved in her.

  He approached silently and stood a couple of feet behind Grace while she finished her conversation. The woman she was speaking to glanced alluringly over Grace’s shoulder in Max’s direction, alerting Grace to his presence. She turned to him, smile in full effect before she realized who he was. The smile fell like a stone in water, taking all of Max’s courage and hope with it. Her green eyes flashed first with shock and then something Max couldn’t quite identify. Nevertheless, it made him feel minute.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice a staggered breath.

  Max cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles. “I came to see you.”

  He glanced at the woman and her male companion pointedly. They mumbled their good-byes and moved toward another part of the gallery.

  Grace watched them go before turning back to Max, bewilderment clear on her face. “How are— What? Why?”

  Max coughed a nervous laugh. “Why?” he echoed, his spiel all but dissolving the longer he stood looking at her. “Well, I wanted to see if you were okay, and . . . I, um, I thought that we could talk. Maybe. If you wanted.”

  Grace stared at him as though he’d spoken in an alien language. “Talk,” she repeated. “About what?” She licked her lips, her green eyes sad as she lifted her shoulders. “What is there left to say?”

  “There’s a lot left to say,” Max replied, swallowing hard. “Things I need to say, want to say.” He sighed. “I tried to find you.”

  She nodded toward her feet. “I know. Sienna told me you were at the club. I got your note. I thought about calling but . . .”

  She looked at him, her honest gaze like a warm blanket over his entire body.

  Christ, he’d missed her.

  “But I can’t do this right now, Max,” she whispered.

  Max took a step closer when she turned to go. “Gracie,” he pleaded.

  Her face pinched. “Please don’t call me that.”

  The hurt in her words and the anguish tensing her shoulders was like a punch to the gut. “I’m sorry,” Max blurted. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to ask you a question—what I said to you that day . . .”

  “Hurt me more than—”

  “I know.”

  “I never asked you for anything other than to let me in.”

  “I know. I’ve—I’ll never—”

  “Everything okay here, Grace?”

  The man who approached was tall, strong, and sickeningly handsome. Max’s back straightened as he watched the man wind a protective arm around Grace’s waist. White-hot jealousy seared through Max so quickly he wavered on his feet. The man’s skin was the same color as Grace’s, offsetting the white of his dress shirt, and the way he stared seemed oddly familiar. The man’s dark eyes pinned Max in place before relief and understanding slowly began to settle into Max’s bones.

  Kai. It had to be her brother.

  “Everything’s fine,” Grace said softly.

  “And you are?” Kai uttered, fist clenching on Grace’s side.

  “I’m Max,” Max replied, standing tall, not even remotely intimidated. “And I’m here to speak to Grace.”

  “Doesn’t seem like she wants to talk to you—”

  “Kai, please.” She sighed, turning toward her brother.

  Max clenched his teeth and looked down at Grace, ignoring her brother’s dagger-sharp stare as Grace began to shoo Kai away.

  “It’s all right,” she told her brother. “Really.”

  Kai huffed. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Kai shot Max another heated look, standing firm at his sister’s side, before he made his way back across the gallery.

  “I’m sorry,” Grace explained when it was just her and Max once more. “He’s protective.”

  “It’s okay,” Max offered. “I’m glad he is. I just need five minutes. I have to ask—”

  “Max,” she interrupted, fisting her hands at her stomach. “I know you have things to say, but I’m not ready to . . .” She closed her eyes slowly.

  Watching her face crumple as she tried so hard to keep her emotions in check broke Max in two.

  What the hell had he been thinking?

  He glanced around. His being there was an absolute mistake. He knew with certainty that he was no good for her. He was only human after all and, if they were together he would no doubt fuck up and hurt her again, and no one, least of all Grace, deserved that.

  Taking a deep breath that hurt like hell, he risked taking a step closer.

  She looked up at him, beautiful and scared.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly, memorizing Grace’s face. “Truly I am.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just needed to tell you that.” He looked around the gallery toward her photographs. “These are really something, Grace.”

  He reached for her hand, ecstatic that she didn’t pull away, and kissed her knuckles gently. “You’re amazing. Congratulations.”

  And with that, Max smiled sadly at her one last time, released her hand, turned, and walked away.

  Riley dropped Max off at the body shop.

  Feeling utterly mauled, Max knew that the smell of gas and oil would keep his mind off the regret gripping him. The ride in the Jeep was silent, yet Max felt Riley’s troubled glances on him every couple of seconds.

  “You sure you don’t want me to take you home, or even to Carter’s?” Riley asked, concerned. “Shit, man, you can come back to mine if you want.”

  Max smiled small and shook his head. “I’m okay,” he said, softly unclipping his seat belt. “I just need to be here for a while.”

  “If you’re sure. You call if you need anything,” Riley uttered. “I can call Tate—”

  “No, I’m fine.” He sighed. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I know she deserves better than me.” He clasped a hand to his friend’s shoulder. “I appreciate what you did, though, man.”

  Riley nodded sharply.

  Max climbed out of the Jeep, pulled his keys from his pocket, and unlocked the body shop, then slipped quietly inside. The familiar smells and the cool air immediately calmed a part of Max that yearned for a time when shit was easier; when he was younger, cleaner, and his father was the only thing he had to worry about. He flicked on lights as he went, moving around the three cars the guys had been working on, and made his way to the office. He pushed the leather seat back from the desk and dropped into it, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. He closed his eyes against the hurt he’d seen on Grace’s face, and breathed.

  He meant what he’d said to Riley: Grace deserved better than him. He’d acted like a complete asshole; he’d wounded her, himself, and now he’d lost her. Max wasn’t entirely prepared for the sensation of loss that folded through him, but he embraced it all the same. Feeling something was better than feeling nothing at all and, like Tate always said, it reminded Max that he was alive. And, despite all that had happened, including tonight, Ma
x did want to be alive.

  It was with that last thought that, emotionally exhausted, Max slowly drifted off to sleep.

  Max awoke with a start. He groaned when his neck protested at the quick movement, stiff and sore. He rubbed at it and yawned, slightly disoriented, chancing a glance at the clock on the office wall. It was after 1 a.m.

  “Shit.”

  He pulled at his tie, loosening it and pulling it from around his neck, before he undid the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. It was then that he heard a knock. Was that what had woken him?

  Cocking his head to listen, the knock came again, this time harder and for longer. Standing on sleepy legs, Max trailed a hand through his hair and approached the door cautiously. Who the hell would be knocking on a body shop door at this time of night? He paused by the side of a large wrench, seriously considering whether or not to pick it up on the off chance that trouble stood on the other side of the door. He grabbed it and leaned it against the side of the wall within easy reach should shit go down. He unlocked the dead bolt, pulled back the second lock, and opened the door a crack.

  “Grace.”

  She stood on the sidewalk, still in her yellow dress. Max opened the door wider. “What are you doing here?”

  Grace shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Come in.” Max stood back as she glanced over her shoulder toward a taxicab that Max belatedly realized was waiting for her. She held up her hand, fingers wide apart, indicating five minutes, and moved past Max into the body shop.

  He closed the door behind her. If five minutes was all he had with her, Max knew he couldn’t waste a second. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No,” she answered quickly. “My cab won’t wait.”

  Max dipped his chin in understanding, his head still sleep addled. “Wait. How are you here?” he asked in confusion. “How did you know where I was?”