And just like that, the conversation was over.
Grace’s head was still groggy. It always was the day after an attack. It was like swimming through wet concrete. Her whole body was heavy and stiff, but she wouldn’t let it slow her down, not when she had her new home to make beautiful. She looked over at Max, balancing on a ladder he’d fetched from his uncle, hanging a large canvas on her wall. An expression of concentration on his handsome face.
Waking up next to Max that morning had been a surprise, to say the very least. A good surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. She’d woken with a headache evil enough to cripple a rhino, dazed and unable to move. Max’s forearm had been wrapped tightly around her waist, his strong chest to her back, his nose in the crook of her neck. He was an epic big spoon.
She hadn’t even remembered him getting into bed with her, but her heart warmed at his thoughtfulness. He was more caring and compassionate than he realized. Even his arriving with a latte and muffin for her was something he probably didn’t give a second’s thought about. He was so used to playing the role of the big bad wolf that he couldn’t see how good he actually was. Sure, he still had a lot to work through—Grace wasn’t that na?ve—but he was so much more than he gave himself credit for.
“Is this good?” he called out, holding the canvas against the wall, his large arms open wide, the red T-shirt he was wearing pulling deliciously across his broad shoulders.
Grace crossed her arms over her chest, admiring the view. “Um, a little to the left.” He did as she asked. “A little to the right.” Again, he complied. “Up.” He sighed. “Down.”
“Grace.”
“Now left. Right.” She was giggling into her fist as he turned to glare at her.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Oh, come on, lighten up,” she said with a wave of her hand.
“I’ll lighten up when you make a damned decision,” he grumbled, but Grace wasn’t blind to the small smile he tried to hide.
“Where you had it was perfect.”
He mumbled to himself and set about hammering in the hooks to hold it. They’d blown off their usual run—both of them too tired after the prior evening’s frivolities—and, with neither of them working, had set about putting up the pictures, mirrors, and art pieces Grace had bought. Max hadn’t questioned her when she’d asked for help and had worked diligently all afternoon, even driving into town to get them lunch.
His laid-back attitude and his unquestionable acceptance of her life story endeared him even more to her. It had been a long time since she’d opened up to someone new, someone who wasn’t family or getting paid to listen, but it hadn’t been as difficult as she’d supposed. Max listened intently, as he always did. She saw no pity in his large, dark eyes, only anger and alarm and, predictably, guilt.
But that was simply ridiculous. He could argue all he liked—and she didn’t doubt he would—but Grace knew and her gut knew: Max was good to his bones. She didn’t know why he’d gotten embroiled in drugs, although his mentioning of his fiancée may have been a clue. But she saw he was nothing like Rick.
Nothing.
She hummed while she hung another picture. A fraying piece of fabric stamped with the Martin Luther King quote, “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.” It had been her mother’s favorite and it took pride of place in the hallway. It would be the first thing her guests would see when they walked into the house.
She stood back, liking its placement, suddenly aware that there was no noise coming from Max’s part of the room. She turned to find him watching her, an intense expression on his face, his arms folded.
“What?” she asked.
“Is that why you asked me? Because of what he did to you?”
Grace frowned. “Asked you?”
“The other day, on our run, about whether I found you attractive, about whether I’d have sex with you. Is it because of what he did?”
Ah. That.
Grace’s cheeks warmed. “Kind of.” She exhaled. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
Max remained silent, expectant.
“I’ve tried being with a man twice since Rick and both times were disasters.”
And that was putting it mildly. Her first attempt ended with a trip to the ER, Grace unable to breathe for the flashbacks that began hammering her when he’d climbed on top of her. Her second was equally heinous.
She approached Max slowly. “I couldn’t handle them . . . being on—holding me down; holding me too tightly. Truthfully, I struggled with everything intimate. It didn’t take my therapist to explain why.”