An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)

He chanced a glance at her but her face was unreadable. “But you still hurt me,” she whispered.

Max’s throat suddenly grew tight as he nodded despondently. He took a stumbling step to the right and rested himself against the side of the cherry-red Mustang. He had no idea where he and Grace went from here. What the hell else was he supposed to say? He had no idea how to fix the damage he’d caused or if she’d even want him to.

“This your father’s shop?”

Her question brought his head up, surprised. “Yeah.”

“Nice artwork,” she said, gesturing to the graffiti that littered the walls. Max had started it last week in an attempt to spruce the place up.

“Thanks,” he said. “I thought I’d put my newfound love of painting to good use. It’s therapeutic, or so Doc keeps telling me.”

Her smile grew a little. She appeared to gather herself before she spoke again. “I promised myself I wouldn’t ask you this, because I have absolutely no right to, but, seeing you now, I have to know.” She closed her eyes and said, “Did you sleep with her?”

Max’s response was immediate and clear. “No.”

She reopened her eyes, searching his face for a lie. “Did anything happen?”

Max’s gaze drifted to the door, hoping to all hell that she wouldn’t leave when he told her the truth. “What happened, Max?”

“When I was leaving,” he began, “she asked— We hugged and she kissed me.”

“And you kissed her back.”

It wasn’t a question. “Yes.”

She exhaled slowly. “I guess I already knew. She’s your first love. I could never compete with that.”

“Nobody’s asking you to,” Max urged. “I’m not asking you to.”

“No,” she murmured. “It just feels that way.”

Max stepped closer again, causing Grace to lift her chin to look at him.

“I swear,” he insisted. “It was over as quickly as it began and it made me realize that, yes, she was the woman I’d fallen in love with all those years ago, but her lips weren’t the ones I wanted. There was nothing there, only memories of a time we’d never get back, and I realized that the man who’d loved her no longer existed.”

He lifted a hand and let his finger whisper across her wrist, seeing goose bumps appear instantly. “We’re different people, she and I. We want different things. I know now. I know that I need to move forward. I need to look to the future instead of over my fuckin’ shoulder waiting for shit to happen; shit that’s in the past for a reason.”

Resolute, he grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly as though it would help him keep talking and make her believe what he was saying was true. “I know I hurt you and I’ll always be sorry for that. I’ll always be an addict but I can’t change that, either. All I can do is promise I’ll fight it every day. For us. For you.”

“Max, I—”

“Do you know what happened when I saw you tonight?” he continued. “After so long . . . You were— Jesus, Gracie, you filled the fucking room. I couldn’t see anything but you. I don’t crave anything but you.” She stared at him. “You told me that all you wanted to do was love me. Am I too late?”

Grace pulled her hand away gently.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her words firm. “This is a lot to take in, Max. I had no idea. I never thought that you . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t be your substitute and I won’t be second best.”

Max frowned, hating that she’d ever thought that. “You were never second best.”

She rubbed the tips of her fingers across her forehead and moved toward the door. She turned back to him. “I can’t be a crutch. You have to keep fighting for you, Max. No one else.”

“I do,” he countered. “I will. You just make fighting it that much easier.” Her expression softened. “Tell me what you want.”

She opened her mouth a couple of times, but no words came. “I don’t know.”

Max nodded slowly.

“Time,” she offered. “I want time to think.”

He’d have given her anything she’d asked. “Of course.”

She pulled the door open before looking back. “In the gallery and just now, you said you had a question you wanted to ask me. What was it?”

Max smiled small. “It’ll keep.”





It was a week before Max heard from Grace again, a short text asking how he was.

It was ridiculous, really, how seeing her name light up his cell phone screen caused his belly to flutter. He responded in kind, keeping it brief but hopeful, thrilled that they were communicating at all. Max sure as shit hadn’t known whether that was even a possibility after the night she’d left him at the body shop.