Last on the List (Wait With Me #5)(84)

Max stares back at me with so much compassion that I’m not sure I can look at him for the next bit, so I decide to stare at my glass of wine.

“On Christmas Eve this past year, I was supposed to be driving home to be with my family. Instead, I was in the office working late with about eight other people trying to fix a huge mistake someone made. People were tired and cranky…everyone was pointing fingers at everyone.

“Then all of a sudden, I couldn’t feel the left side of my face. My arm felt really heavy, like I couldn’t lift it, and I opened my mouth to ask for water, and I couldn’t even understand what I was saying…I was just mumbling incoherent gibberish. It was weird because I could tell I wasn’t making sense, but I couldn’t make my brain fix the issue. The last thing I remember is everyone gaping at me as I fell to the ground.”

“Fucking hell.” Max reaches out to grab my hand splayed out on the table, but I pull away and cross my arms over my chest. I know his affection will make me break down, and I really don’t want to be the girl in ripped-up jeans crying in the middle of a fancy restaurant.

“My next memory was waking up in a hospital with a tube down my throat and my mother sobbing in the chair beside me.”

“Cassandra.” Max whispers my name so reverently that it causes tears in my eyes.

“The doctors said neuro stuff was all miraculously okay, but they weren’t sure if I would regain full function of my left arm.”

“Fuck.” Max’s pained voice is crushing to hear. It reminds me of my family’s tone as they huddled around me in the hospital bed, waiting for me to recover. His tone is thick when he adds, “I’m so sorry that all happened to you.”

I nod slowly. “I was in the hospital for a week and physical therapy care facility for two weeks after. I came home to do outpatient therapy, and it was my dad’s idea that I start doing some woodworking to improve my fine motor skills. Which…as you can probably tell, worked because I gained back the full function of my left arm. I guess I defied the odds.”

The corner of Max’s mouth tips up into a smile, but it’s a sad smile. One that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You said you left that job on bad terms…”

“Yeah…I haven’t even got to the bad terms part yet.” I inhale and shake my head, feeling the weight of those six years like a fucking storm cloud hovering over me. “The thing that really sealed the deal about me leaving that job wasn’t the stroke. It was the fact that none of my coworkers came to visit me in the hospital. Not one. I’d watch the door every day for people who I considered family for most of my adult life to check in on me, and no one ever did. My sister showed up, my parents did. Hell, even Dakota did once I let my mom tell her what happened to me. But none of the people who I spent endless hours with ever stopped by.”

“What about the boyfriend you mentioned?” Max asks, his face taut with poorly concealed rage.

“He texted me once.” I laugh, and it hurts. “We’d broken up several months before the incident, and he was with someone new. My boss emailed me about disability leave, but that was pretty much the extent of his communication with me.”

A look of disgust mars Max’s handsome face. “What company was this? Who was your boss?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I respond quickly, shuddering at the thought of even saying his name aloud. “I never stepped foot back in that building, and I never will. All that work, all that commitment to a company that didn’t care about me when I literally almost died in front of them makes me sick to my stomach. I never even went back to my apartment in Denver. As soon as I was released from the care facility, I went straight home to Boulder and moved in with my sister because I couldn’t handle my mom’s hovering and worrying. I hired a company to pack up my entire apartment. Most of my boxes are still in storage because I’m terrified if I open them up, there will be something that triggers a panic attack or worse, another stroke. I was twenty-five years old and had a stress-induced stroke at my job. How embarrassing is that?”

“It’s not embarrassing,” Max replies softly, reaching out and grabbing my hand firmly.

“It is, though, because I couldn’t handle the stress like everyone else.” Like you, I want to say, but I don’t. “I’m a total failure.”

“You’re not a failure, Cassandra,” Max nearly growls. “You can’t control what happened to you any more than I can control having my wife leave me. It’s just a part of our past lives that we have to navigate our way through.”

“I know, but you’ve accomplished so much despite your past life. I was a twentysomething with no responsibilities other than my job, and it nearly killed me. How are you so much better at this than me?”

“I’m not,” Max snaps, his eyes boring into me. “We just handle stress differently. I mean…hell…I may have accomplished a lot, but I spent nearly a decade of my life devoid of any real romantic relationship. My eleven-year-old told me this weekend that she worries about me constantly. You think I’m not fucking up? Trust me, Cozy. I fuck up plenty.”

He exhales heavily and sits back in his seat, thrusting a frustrated hand through his hair. “What happened to you is the result of employee neglect from a shitty corporation and vile boss. You’re lucky to be alive.” His voice cracks, and my eyes instantly fill with tears at the stricken look on his face.