To Have It All(39)

Rubbing my face, I groaned softly to myself. “Don’t think about it, Waverly. He’s not worth the brain cells you’d burn trying to figure it out.”

With that thought, I shot straight up. “Max,” I gasped, jerking my gaze to Pim’s travel crib. “Pimberly?” I called quietly. From where I sat on the bed, all I could see was a mound of her blanket. I didn’t want to scare her if she was still sleeping.

Grunting softly, I gently moved my injured foot to the floor and stood on my good one. Using the bed for balance, I limped toward her crib and peeked in. She wasn’t there. My entire body tensed in panic. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind the idea that Max, or anyone for that matter, had taken her was ridiculous, but I won’t lie and say it didn’t cross my mind. My other thought was . . . what if Pim climbed out of the crib and had been wandering around the apartment unattended for hours? Max’s home was not child-proofed. Who knew what he had in his cabinets or drawers? I cringed thinking about it. Hobbling back to the side of the bed where I had slept, I grabbed my crutches and hightailed it out the door. The bedroom door wasn’t closed all the way, so I didn’t wake Max or Pim when I whipped it open and practically fell through it in my hurry.

And there they were, sound asleep on the couch.

Pim was snoring, her little fist balling up some of Max’s white T-shirt in her hand, her mouth slightly parted as she breathed slowly. One of Max’s hands rested on her back, almost protectively, his other was behind his head. I swallowed hard as I watched them. If life were different, this would have been a perfect photo op. An image to frame to show a father and his daughter sharing a sweet and loving moment. What this was . . . I wasn’t sure.

For a split second, anger surged through me; the bitterness I felt toward Max seizing me, refusing to let me see even the slightest beauty in this, but I fought it. I’d been good and bitter for years, and I’d have been lying if I said I didn’t still have days where it got me, but I’d worked hard to fight it because what I learned was my hurt, anger, and disdain for Max in no way changed him. It didn’t make him a better man; it didn’t make him love Pimberly or me. It didn’t make my life better. In fact, it only made my life worse. How heavy the weight of hate can be. It can drown you. For months after Max abandoned me, I’d sat in my room with my laptop, scrolling Pinterest, and inundated myself with quotes about letting go and moving on. None of it helped, but rather hindered me more. Moving on is a choice. We can either remain cemented in the past, or we can forge forward in search of better days.

Hate is love’s nemesis, yet the two are so closely linked; almost hand and hand. You can only hate someone if you love them. When I thought about it, I realized I didn’t love Max. I loved myself in love. I loved the way I felt confident in knowing I had someone, I had a partner in crime. When I delved deeper, though, I didn’t even have that with Max. He was never my partner in crime, my confidant. All I ever loved was an illusion, an idea. I could hate him for being a deadbeat to my daughter, but I couldn’t hate him for my illusions. I saw what I wanted to see, and that was my fault, not his.

When Max’s phone rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin when it startled me. He’d set his ringer to the sound of a motorcycle revving. What the hell was going on with this bike obsession? It was weird. How did a grown man just wake up one day and start loving motorcycles? Jerking up, careful not to move too much as he tried not to disturb Pim—who wasn’t at all fazed by the obnoxious ring tone—Max used his free hand to search for the phone frantically. When he found it, he thumbed the accept button and answered.

“Hel,” he croaked. “What time is it?”

Hel I knew was Helen. I’d heard him call her that a few times the day before.

“They’re still sleeping,” he chuckled softly as he bent his head down and looked at Pim, his mouth turning up. “Pim’s sleeping on my chest.”

Hel said something and Max closed his eyes and shook his head. “I will not take a selfie of us, Hel,” he informed her in a whisper. After a few seconds, he added, “No.” I guessed another refusal from him after she’d pushed. “You’re still at the hospital?”

He was quiet for a moment, and then his mouth flattened, and the muscles in his jaw ticked as he asked, “Well, what did they say?”

As he listened, it finally occurred to me I was one hundred percent eavesdropping. The pain meds were making me slow, I’d been standing there listening to his conversation like a fly on the wall, but if I moved now, he’d hear me. It was wrong to continue to stand there without making my presence known, but I realized something. I never figured out why Helen and Max were at the hospital the day before. I was so caught up in my own issues and worried about how I was going to care for Pimberly, I completely forgot to ask what they were doing there.

Before I could finish that thought or decide what to do, Max said, “Liver failure?” Letting out a deep sigh, his whole body seemed to deflate as he listened to whatever she was saying.

“So we’re working with less than a week now?”

My brows furrowed as I listened. What were they talking about? Or who, rather?

“Look,” he huffed. “Let’s talk about it later. I’ll see you in a little while.”

When he finally hung up, he dropped his phone by his side and bent his neck, gently kissing the top of Pim’s head as she began to stir.