“You okay?” he asked.
Max took in the surroundings of his adopted home one last time and swallowed. He couldn’t quite comprehend that he was going back out into the world, away from the safety of his routine and the relationships he’d built. His stay in Pennsylvania had been difficult, to say the least, reflecting on his past, his heartache, and his losses, but without it, Max knew, he’d have eventually become just another headstone on his family’s plot, way before his time.
As hard as it was going to be heading back, he finally understood that he couldn’t let that happen. His twelve steps urged him to recognize all he had to live for. And he had. Even if it was simply by painting, lifting weights and running, or working back in his body shop, he’d been handed a tiny speck of optimism, and he would cling to it with everything he had. He would focus on moving forward one day at a time. One big-ass foot in front of the other.
Elliot’s words echoed around his head. It’s just the beginning.
“Yeah,” Max answered before turning to his best friend. He stroked the medallions in his pocket. “I’m okay.”
Carter’s beach house in the Hamptons was just as beautiful as Max remembered despite the falling rain and the wind that whipped around them, as he and Carter trudged up the deck steps to the front door. Inside, a fire flickered in the hearth, and the guest room Carter led him to was made up as though they were expecting the sultan of Brunei. Towels, flat-screen TV, bamboo blinds at the windows, huge comforter, and fluffy pillows, soft-looking rug on the floor, and, wait, a vanity set?
Carter clapped his hands together. “Okay. So, I’m thinking fuck it, let’s have pizza for dinner.”
Max’s stomach growled. “Awesome,” he replied, kicking off his sneakers and dropping onto the edge of the bed. He allowed his socked feet to wander onto the rug. Yep, that shit was soft as a baby’s ass. He glanced around the room. “This is nice, man.”
Carter crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, Kat wanted it to be perfect for when you got here. She went a little crazy in Home Depot. I couldn’t reel her in.” He eyed the fluffy white towels and bathrobe suspiciously. “Sorry.”
Max tried to hide his surprise with a chuckle. “Will she be joining us for dinner?”
Carter shook his head. “Nah, brother. It’s just you and I tonight. She’s staying in the city. It’s easier for her with work. However, I, being the boss, get the day off tomorrow.”
Max snorted and fell back on the bed. “Fucking slacker.”
“Blow me,” Carter retorted, walking out of the room. “I’ll go and order dinner before I set up COD on the Xbox,” he called from the top of the stairs.
Max smirked toward the ceiling.
Yeah, shit between them was going to be just fine.
With bellies full of the best pizza ever and after thoroughly whipping Carter’s ass on the Xbox, Max followed him down to the house’s converted basement. A hybrid man cave and gym, Carter called it, separated by a wall through the middle of the space. Max marveled at the gym equipment Carter had acquired on one side and the full-size pool table, jukebox, sofas, and bar on the other.
“You wanna break?” Carter asked as he set up the table, gesturing with his hand toward the cues lined up against the wall.
For two hours, Max and Carter caught up. Without the pressure of the rehab center around them and without anyone else around to interrupt, their conversation flowed just as easily as the Diet Coke and Oreos, which Carter pulled from a small secret cupboard under the bar.
“You can’t tell Kat about this stash,” Carter said with mock seriousness.
“I’ll take it to the grave,” Max promised, stuffing another cookie into his mouth. “I’ll definitely need to use your gym shit.” He patted his stomach.
“Feel free to use what you want,” Carter insisted, lining up a shot and pocketing a ball in the top right. “There’s space in here and your room if you want to do some painting, too.” Max didn’t reply, too overwhelmed with gratitude to speak. Carter stood up straight from the table, worry etching his brow. “That’s if you want to, man. I don’t know. You should.”
Max nodded. “I want to. It’s just . . .” Carter stood still, silent. “The painting thing was weird. Doc wanted me to do it, bribed me, in fact. Bastard. Tate encouraged me. I knew I wanted to try it again, knew I had to express myself, as Doc put it, and when I picked up the brush it was like . . . I just purged, ya know? All the hate, anger, and all of me that’s been a fucking mess for so long, just spewed onto the canvas. Some bits I don’t even remember doing.”
“Did it help?”
Max took a deep breath, recollecting the satisfaction of when he saw his first painting completed, the weight that lifted slowly with each brushstroke, and how it helped him open up more with Elliot and group. “Yeah,” he replied. “It helped.”