Make It Right

by Megan Erickson

  He guessed his charm didn’t work with a head injury.

  Max reached up and gingerly prodded his head, feeling a bandage behind his right ear. It was sore as shit and he winced and dropped his arm back to the bed, noticing the additional bandages on his hands.

  He wore only a hospital gown and other than that, he was naked. His knees and palms were bandaged, probably where he fell, and his arms were bruised. He wiggled his toes under the thin hospital sheet.

  His room was small, with a couple of chairs and a TV bolted to the wall across from him.

  Fumbling for the remote to the bed, he raised it to a sitting position so he could check out his surroundings.

  A snuffled sound drew his attention. Cal was slumped on a chair beside the bed, snoring softly. His boots were untied, his fly was down and his shirt wasn’t buttoned right. A baseball cap was pulled down over his eyes, arms crossed over his broad chest.

  “C—” Max said, then swallowed thickly around his dry, swollen tongue. He tried again. “Ca-al.” The word was rough and broken, the two syllables snagging on the sandpaper of his tongue.

  Another snuffle, then blinking slate-gray eyes appeared below the brim of the cap.

  Cal gasped awake, bolting upright on unsteady legs like a newborn colt. “Bro.” He gripped Max’s chin in the palm of his calloused hand. He didn’t say another word, just searched Max’s face and roamed his eyes over Max’s body.

  “Cal.” Max said again. This time one syllable. “I’m thirsty.”

  Cal nodded abruptly and pressed the nurse button on the bed remote. A male voice answered seconds later. “Can I help you?”

  “He wants water,” Cal said bluntly.

  A pause. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Then a click.

  Max squinted at Cal. Which made his head throb more so he quit doing it. “You couldn’t say please?”

  “You’re thirsty. We need water.” Cal said, as if that explained his rudeness.

  Max sighed.

  Cal pulled the chair over beside the bed and sat down. “How ya feeling?”

  “Like shit.”

  “You look like shit.”

  “You’re a ray of sunshine. They ask you to visit the pediatric wing to give a pep talk?”

  Cal shot him the finger, and Max laughed, then winced and clenched his jaw as pain pierced his skull and ripped down his spine. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Cal looked down and rubbed his hands together. “Good to hear you laugh,” he said quietly.

  Max rested his head on the mattress behind him and rolled to look at Cal to his left, fortunately on the side without his bandage. “What?”

  Cal looked up but his eyes skittered around the room. His jaw ticked before he finally locked eyes with Max. “They had a gun.”

  “A gun?”

  Cal didn’t answer.

  Max fingered the bandage behind his ear again. “I thought . . . I thought it was just a crowbar or a pipe or something. Those fuckers had a gun?”

  Cal nodded.

  “When the hell did these guys get a gun? I don’t remember that on any of the news reports.”

  Cal sighed. “They apparently attacked someone the night before your attack. The victim reported seeing a gun. It hit the news while we were working, and the university e-mailed late that afternoon.” Cal shrugged.

  “Do they know you’re supposed to shoot it, not fucking whack people in the head with it?”

  “Not. Funny.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  Cal’s eyes flashed. “We just got a call that said they found you bleeding from the head by the campus phone. I mean, what the fuck, Max? Dad went into shut-down mode, and Brent wouldn’t stop rambling. I almost had to thunk their skulls together to get them to focus and get in the fucking car to come to the hospital.”

  “Are they here?”

  “Brent’s in the cafeteria eating. Because that’s all Brent ever does. And Dad went home to get you some clothes. You had blood on the ones you wore here and they had to cut the shirt off of you.

  “They cut my shirt?” Max whined.

  “Bro, they didn’t want to move your head too much.” Cal said.

  That made Max more upset than anything. This would require mourning. He’d been wearing his special Cross Keys bowling shirt he got last year at Kat’s surprise birthday party. It was the only time he could get away with wearing a graphic that looked as close to a cock and balls as possible. “Damn it, I’m gonna need Kat to get me a new one.”

  “That shirt was stupid,” Brent said.

  Max turned his head and ignored the pain because his brother had just insulted his favorite shirt. “No, it wasn’t. All you wear is flannel. Don’t try to talk to me about clothes.”

  “I like my flannel shirts!”

  “Just saying—”

  “Can we not argue about this right now?”

  Max chewed his lip and fell silent, his thoughts drifting to the stress his hospital stay would place on his family. But it’s not like the Paytons didn’t know hospitals. Or injuries. “Look, I’m okay. I mean, we got hurt as kids all the time, I don’t—”

  Cal talked over him. “This isn’t a fucking game, Max. You got jumped.”

  Max bristled. “You think I don’t know that? I’m the one who got hit in the head. I’m the one who ran like a fucking bat out of hell to get away from those punks.”

  Cal shook his head and smoothed the corner of the blanket on the bed. “They got ’em.”

  Max relaxed his shoulders. “What?”

  Cal met his eyes. “The police. There was a cruiser driving nearby when you called. So they radioed him to swing by and got all three guys.”

  Max turned his head and stared at the white cinder-block wall in front of him, a riot of emotions curling in his stomach like smoke.

  Part of him regretted the thought of those guys sitting in a cell now, because Max had wanted them to pay for the pain they gave to others with pain of their own. Instead, he sat in a hospital bed. He was angry.

  But at the same time, he was relieved. He was proud. Because his actions were the reason those guys would hopefully pay—legally—for what they did.

  He straightened his spine. “I did that.”

  Cal looked at him silently.

  “I did that,” Max said again. “I got away, I called the cops and now those fuckers are in cuffs.”

  Cal’s smile was slow, but it ended with a blindingly white grin. He reached out and squeezed Max’s shoulder. “You did. Proud of you, bro.”

  Cal had always been the serious brother. The one with the common sense, always thinking of the family unit.

  The one who held them together when Dad didn’t.

  So his approval flushed through Max like a breath of fresh air. “Thanks,” he whispered.

  The door of his room swung open and the nurse walked in with styrofoam cup of water and a straw.

  He handed Max a cup, and he sucked down the water greedily, despite the nurse’s commands to sip slowly. Fuck that.

  The nurse—Jeremy—then took his vital signs and told him a doctor would be in soon. Max would need an MRI to check for any swelling in his brain, which is why they’d kept him overnight. Then Jeremy left him alone with his brother.

  Cal shifted in chair. “Why were you on campus?”

  “Huh?”

  Cal squinted. “You were attacked on campus and called from an emergency phone near a dorm.”

  “What are you, a cop?”

  “Just answer me.”

  Max tensed and immediately regretted it as his head throbbed and muscles screamed. The whole reason he was in the hospital now was because he didn’t open his mouth when it mattered.

  He didn’t stand up and be strong when it mattered.

  He’d kept silent and he hurt Lea. Probably beyond repair.

  It’d been a dumbass idea to try to chase after her last night. He should have called her or something rather than raci
ng across campus at dark o’clock only to get his ass jumped.

  Did she know? Did she care?

  She was the reason he got away. She’d given him that strength and that knowledge.

  And now it was time to be honest.

  “I was on my way to see Lea.”

  “Who’s Lea?”

  “My . . . well, she was my girlfriend.” Max moved his toes under the sheet. “I think she’s pretty pissed at me right now but—“

  “That was her.”

  Max looked up. “What?”

  “That was her. At the shop. The one Dad was a dick to.”

  Max hated when Cal did this all-knowing omniscient shit. “How do you know that?”

  Cal snorted. “Maybe Dad’s too old to see it but I could tell right away something was up between you. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Yeah, well—“

  “You sure fucked that one up, then.” Cal leaned back and linked his hands behind his head.

  Max glared. “A little support maybe?”

  Cal shrugged. “You didn’t even say her name.”

  Max opened his mouth and then shut it. Shit. He hadn’t. He hadn’t even said her name. She’d stood in that shop with the container of cookies clutched to her chest, chin raised at his bear of a father, not backing down.

  And Max hadn’t even acknowledged he knew her name.

  That was kind of fucked up.

  “Prepare to grovel,” Cal said.

  “Again, are you rubbing this in? Enjoying it? I have a massive head wound because I got pistol-whipped. Would it kill you to be nice to me?”

  Cal smiled, but then as quickly as it came, it faded. He brought his hands down and fisted them at his sides. “I’m joking with you because I’m glad I can.”

  Max let his anger fade. “Yeah, okay. I can deal with that.”

  Cal nodded and then rose. “Gonna go get Dad and Brent, okay?”

  Max nodded. Cal made it to the door and placed his hand on the lever, but he didn’t move.

  “Cal?”

  A pause, and then he twisted just at the hip. “Brent told me what you said to him. And . . . you need to get honest with yourself. And then you need to get honest with Dad. All right?”

  Brent and his fucking big mouth. “But—”

  Cal shook his head. “Step up, Max. You’re not weak just because you don’t wanna do what’s expected of you.”

  And with that, he jammed the lever down and slipped out the door.

  THE BOOK SPINES usually felt soothing in her hands, the familiar letters and numbers making her feel at home.

  But this morning her leg hurt and her head ached and her eyes were raw.

  She’d almost stayed home from work but then thought that lying in bed and wallowing wasn’t such a good idea. So she was here. Distracted.

  Out of her mind with worry.

  She’d woken up to an empty bed. Alec hadn’t called again before she had to drag her carcass out of bed to get to the library on time for her shift.

  Despite everything, she wanted to be at the hospital. She needed to see for herself that Max was okay. But she had to work before visiting hours started and she didn’t know if Max could even have visitors right now.

  She shelved another book with a sigh. Then growled at herself when she had to pull it back out and reshelve it because apparently she didn’t know the difference between a three and a five.

  Stupid curly numbers.

  “Lea,” a voice breathed behind her, and she whirled around to see Alec standing behind her, hands in his pockets, hair unkempt. His eyes were red behind his glasses.

  “Alec?” His name a question on her lips, because she wanted to hear news. That was it, news about Max.

  “He’s okay.”

  She closed her eyes and gripped the book in her hands so hard that her fingernails cut grooves into the soft leather binding.

  “Oh, Lea.” And then he was in her space and she was in his arms. She breathed him in, smelling soap and hair product and leather jacket and everything that was Alec.

  But he wasn’t Max. Only Max got to wear the stains of her mascara-laced tears on his shirt like a souvenir.

  She let Alec hold her because she appreciated the warmth and the comfort of his hand moving up and down her spine. When he stepped back, he gripped her shoulders and bent his head so he could look in her eyes. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. His brother Cal called me and told me Max was sleeping. But he’d been awake and talking. And made a couple of jokes, so we got our Max back.

  Which Max? she wanted to ask, but instead she whispered, “Okay.”

  Alec glanced at his watch. “You wanna hear what happened from me or wait to talk to Max?”

  Dread dripped down her spine like acid. Alec didn’t know. He didn’t know about what had happened at the garage. About how Max had treated her. He didn’t know about how she’d failed Max by not telling him about the gun.

  So she ignored the question, glad they were in a secluded alcove in the library. “How bad is he?”

  Alec ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture she’d never really seen him use. “He doesn’t have a lot of injuries, just a rather serious one to his head—”

  Head injury. That tap controlling the acid burning down her spine opened wider.

  “—but they are monitoring him and the swelling is going down, so everyone is optimistic.”

  She gritted her teeth. “And how did he get the injury to his head?”

  Alec blinked. “Oh, right, well apparently these assholes decided to step up their game and found a gun. One guy came up behind him and hit him with it. Cal told me the doctors were surprised he didn’t lose consciousness with the blow. It wasn’t until he was on the phone with dispatch that he went down. He had on his favorite shirt—that stupid bowling one—and they had to cut it off, so he’s been bitching about it.”

  She sucked in a breath. Relief warred with guilt. They’d used it on him. They’d smashed a gun on Max’s head. He would have had blood in his beautiful, thick hair. And on his clothes. And . . .

  “Why was he on campus?” The words left her mouth as soon as they entered her brain, like there’d been no filter.

  Alec frowned. “What do you mean? He parked in the campus lot and was coming to see you, wasn’t he? Why else would he have been between Macon and Dorset?”

  Lea reached out for a shelf. Her knees threatened to give out. This is what happened when she trusted. She got hurt and she let other people get hurt.

  None of this would have happened if she’d kept her distance. And with that guilt came anger. Now that she knew he was okay, that anger was directed at Max. Because he was the one who’d flayed her open, then walked away so she now writhed in agony.

  “We . . . we’re not together. I’m not sure why he was on his way to see me.”

  Alec stared, then his face twisted in confusion. “Come again?”

  She straightened her spine. “We saw each other for a couple of weeks but I went to see him at his shop and he made it clear in front of his dad and his brothers that I’m not welcome in that part of his life. That he only let me get to know one version of Max. And that’s not okay with me.”

  Alec stared at her, blinking his pale green eyes behind his frames. “Wait, I need an explanation here, because—”

  “There’s nothing to explain—“

  “But Max’s family—“

  “I know!” she shouted, then lowered her voice. “I know his dad is . . . whatever he is . . . but at least he was honest, letting me know Max planned to break up with me.”

  Alec’s eyes widened. “What? He was on his way to talk—”

  “Or break up with me—”

  “No. No, Lea. You gotta believe he cares about you. You have to let him explain—”

  “There’s nothing to explain. Because I left before I could tell him that those guys had been reported as armed. I forgot. And that’s on me.” Her voice cracked at the end, and she looked away, unwilli
ng to meet Alec’s eyes.

  “Lea.”

  She shook her head, but Alec wasn’t going away quietly.

  “You can’t possibly blame yourself for that.”

  She pursed her lips and still refused to look at him, letting her eyes drift down the long shelf of books. She saw one spine upside down and she glared at it, her fingers itching to fix it.

  But then Alec stepped into her line of vision, forcing her to stare at the zipper on his leather jacket or up into his eyes.

  She chose the zipper.

  “Lea, no one could have predicted those guys would have been there. But do you know how he got away?”

  The zipper blurred a little and she raised her eyes to Alec’s. Max had gotten away, that’s how he’d reached the phones . . .

  “He did what you taught him. He got away and he didn’t stay and fight and he called for help. And Lea, because of that, the police got all three guys. They’re in jail now.”

  Her mouth dropped open as warmth surged through her body, healing the damage caused by that acidic drip of dread. “He . . . he did?”

  Alec’s jaw clench and he took a step back. “Yep, he did. So he might have fucked up at the shop, I get that. But he was thinking of you when those guys attacked him. So before you write him off, remember that.”

  And that was Alec’s parting shot, because he turned on his heel and walked away.

  Chapter 21

  LEA SAT ON her bed, fingered the neckline of the T-shirt she’d just driven a round-trip of three hours to purchase.

  For a boy.

  A boy who infuriated her, yet still held her heart.

  A boy who sat in a hospital bed with a head wound because he’d done the right thing. The hero thing.

  After talking with Alec, she asked her coworker at the library to cover for her and left early to buy him a new shirt. The bowling pin and balls on it looked . . . well . . . rather phallic and Max laughed every time he put it on.

  And now she sat on her bed, paralyzed, staring at the clock as the time wound closer to the end of visiting hours.

  He’d been on his way to her apartment for closure, she was sure. And so she’d provide her own closure. The shirt would be her parting gift.

  Lea heard a knock at the door. Out in the living room, Danica’s voice mixed with a male one and Lea assumed Alec had come over to study or something.