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.”