“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.”