“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, Max 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.”