“Are your meds working? Any more terrors?”
Max began nibbling the corner of his thumbnail. He shook his head in answer to Elliot’s question, pondering whether he should simply tell all about Grace. He knew what the doctor’s first instinct would be. He’d think Max was getting involved in a relationship, which he wasn’t, and he’d explain how it was a bad idea.
Maybe it was a bad idea. But seeing Grace’s face as she told him about what she’d been through and the struggles she still dealt with daily was all the push he needed to help her. She wanted to win, to reclaim herself from that fucker who beat her, and who was Max to deny her?
“I have a question,” he blurted around his hand. “A hypothetical.”
Elliot’s brows jumped. “I’m all ears.”
“Okay, so,” Max began, sitting forward. “Relationships for recovering addicts are a bad thing, right?”
“Not an altogether bad thing, no, but we try to dissuade patients from engaging in any new romantic attachments. The emotions can be too overwhelming at the beginning of a relationship and have been known to trigger a relapse.”
Max clasped his hands together and let them fall between his knees. “And what about sex? Do you dissuade your patients from that, too?”
Elliot paused, his hand by his face, the pen between his fingers motionless. “As long as you’re safe and honest with your partner, I don’t see anything wrong with your having sex.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ comin’?” Max asked wryly.
Elliot placed his legal pad on the arm of his chair. Uh-oh. “I simply want to make sure you’re not substituting one need for another, Max.”
“It’s not like that, Doc,” he said vaguely. “She’s . . . we’re not— It’s complicated.”
Elliot nodded but didn’t push. “And she knows about your past, your addiction?”
“Some. She knows about my rehab, you, Tate. I’ve mentioned Lizzie.”
“That’s good, Max.” His smile was proud. “That’s a good start. Honesty in any relationship, platonic or otherwise, is vitally important.”
Yeah, that much Max knew. He sat back in his seat, feeling somewhat calmer with Elliot’s affirmation that sex was okay—not that Max wouldn’t have done it anyway if he’d said no. He was the biggest rule breaker and asshole there was, after all. But his therapist’s words eased an anxious part of him that had been griping for more than a week.
The drive back from his session was long. Max wound the window of his truck down and enjoyed the warm evening air on his face, allowing it to help build up the resolve that had started to take shape while sitting in Elliot’s office. The whole thing with Grace would become problematic only if he allowed it to. He’d opened up to her and shared things that, ordinarily, would have had him disappearing inside himself. That was the hard bit out of the way.
Sex was easy. Sex he knew. Sex he was good at. Sex with Grace would no doubt be awesome.
He just needed to, as Grace would say, stop overthinking it, and by the time he pulled up outside the boardinghouse, he had. He was going to fuck a hot woman with no strings attached. Any other normal guy would be singing from the rooftops and it was about time he did the same. He smacked his hands on the steering wheel, resolute.
No pressure, no worries, no fuss.
Yeah, he was going to start enjoying himself, goddamn it.
Tate arrived the following morning with his customary wide smile and a yellow T-shirt decorated with—
“What the fuck is that?” Max asked with a puzzled shake of his head, once they’d sat down in their usual seat in the coffee shop, each having bought a sub sandwich.
Tate glanced down at himself and cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a Minion dressed as Wolverine,” he answered, his tone clearly disgusted with Max’s lack of comic book expertise. “What the hell else would it be?”
Max snorted. “I apologize. I’m obviously having an off day with DC—”
“Marvel! Jesus.”
“Whatever.”
Tate shook his head, looking out of the window toward the sky, his mouth full of sandwich. “I don’t even know why I keep coming back to see you. I really don’t.”
“Because you love me,” Max retorted, taking a mammoth bite of his chicken on rye.
Tate shrugged. “Someone has to, I guess.” They sat in companionable silence, watching the world go by, while they ate. “So how have things been?”
Max nodded. “Okay. Got my six-month medallion.”
Never for one moment had Max thought he’d get to that point, but the gold medal in his pocket proved it. When he’d been awarded it at his last group session, it had been the first time he’d truly felt a shiver of pride.
Tate grinned. “My man. Nice.” They fist-bumped. “Any more ‘off’ days?”