She shook her head. “I moved back to Florida for a while, stayed with my family. I’m working now and have a small place.” She smiled. “I like it. I’m happy.”
Max swallowed, not returning her smile. If nothing else, in spite of their history, all he’d ever wished for her were good things. “I’m glad it worked out for you.”
Even though it was the absolute truth, annoyance slithered across his back. “So is that why I’m here, for you to gloat and tell me how happy you are?”
Despite his best efforts to stop it, his voice was clipped and bitter, but, to her credit, Lizzie didn’t react other than to shake her head.
“No,” she replied softly. “That’s not why I wrote.” She took a deep breath and paused. “I . . . wrote because, after everything that happened between us, after losing . . . him, I wanted the opportunity to explain.”
“So explain,” Max said unsympathetically.
Lizzie licked her lips. “After he died, I wasn’t the person you met, the person you loved. I didn’t like who I became.” Her gaze drifted to Max’s hands. “I was so lost. I was . . . broken.”
Max inhaled through his nose, sitting back. “And I wasn’t?”
“I know you were,” she answered quietly. “That’s why we couldn’t help each other. That’s why I had to leave.”
As much as he wanted to understand and accept what she was saying, Max couldn’t help but feel cheated. “Yeah, you left,” he said toward his cup. “After everything that happened between us. You left me without a word, no letter, no note, no postcard when you got to wherever the fuck you went. Nothing.” Although his temper had begun to rally, Max’s voice remained calm and level.
“I know.” Lizzie closed her eyes slowly, making Max’s teeth grind. If she began to cry, he didn’t know what he might do. Walking out seemed like the best response, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to leave, Max. I swear. I wanted to get in touch, but . . . I was so scared and then it seemed like it was too late.”
“And now?”
Lizzie sighed. “I knew I was going to be in New York. And I guess I got to the point where I had to see you again, to tell you why. It seemed like the perfect chance. I realized that, if I know you at all, you’d need that much.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I wanted the opportunity to tell you how sorry I am.”
And then she stared at him, blue eyes beautiful and blazing, as if she’d rehearsed what she was about to say a thousand times. “I’m so sorry, Max,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I lost him. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t help you, help us through it, and that I left you alone when I knew it would devastate you. I’m just so sorry for everything, and I know I don’t deserve it, but I hope you can find it in yourself to someday forgive me.”
Max opened his mouth to respond, but no words came, blocked by the sudden shock of emotion swelling in his throat. Lizzie became blurry as tears filled his eyes. He looked toward the windows of the diner, angry and willing them away, breathing through pursed lips. “You nearly killed me,” he uttered, staring at the ceiling for a moment before turning back to her. “Do you understand that? You nearly killed me.” He shook his head. “To lose Christopher was one thing, but to then lose you— I . . . Jesus, Lizzie, it was like I died.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks then, but Max didn’t care. It was more emotion than he ever remembered seeing from her after they lost their son and, in a strange way, it was comforting. It meant that she was alive again inside, aware, and breathing.
“You said his name,” she croaked, smiling through her tears.
Max frowned. “Of course. He was my son.”
“You were never able to say it. It’s good to hear.”
Max sniffed. “I guess therapy and rehab has its uses.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened. She nodded slowly. “Therapy helped me.” She laughed humorlessly. “Although I still struggle with his name, I wouldn’t be sitting here without it.”
Max’s temper slowly cooled while he watched her wipe the tears from her face with a napkin. “Did you think of me at all?”
The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.
Lizzie looked up, seemingly surprised by his question. “Every day,” she replied softly. Max nodded shortly. “And you?”
“Yes,” he said, looking down at the table. “I hated you for it.”
“I understand.” She sat back, not appearing hurt. “How are you, Max, really?”
He shrugged, wanting to be honest. “I’m . . . okay. Surviving. Living from one day to the next.”
“And you have someone, someone who makes you happy?”
Grace’s laughing face immediately flashed through Max’s mind, stealing his breath away. “I—I’m not . . .” He shook his head. “It’s not . . .”