An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(103)

That brought Max up short. Brave? He didn’t think so. He’d never felt more terrified. He shook his head gently.

“You’re willing to face what nearly broke you,” Kat murmured. “That’s very brave.”

Max clenched his teeth, holding back the angry retort that threatened; he had no right. He’d asked for her opinion. An opinion that itched like an insect bite. But how could he refute what Kat had said? Lizzie had nearly broken him. He’d fallen apart without her, because of her. If they met, would he shatter all over again? He’d grown so used to the sensation of being whole over the past few months, he wasn’t sure he’d survive even the most gentle of taps from her.

“Has Carter ever told you about my grandmother, Nana Boo?” Kat asked.

Max nodded, not looking up. “Yeah, he’s mentioned her. She’s the one who makes him the killer Oreo cheesecake, right?”

Kat laughed. “She does. Every time she visits. I swear, he should be, like, three hundred pounds.” Max chuckled despite himself. “She’s the very best person I know. I still go to her about everything. When I was in senior year, I had my first boyfriend. I was eighteen and madly in love, while he was apparently madly in love with three other girls behind my back.”

Max’s eyes found hers. “Ouch.”

Kat lifted her eyebrows. “Right? So we broke up. Three months later he called me up, begging for me to take him back, he was sorry, he wouldn’t do it again, blah, blah, blah. I went to Nana Boo to ask what she thought I should do.”

Max sat forward. “And what did she say?”

Kat swallowed her sip of cocoa. “She said, Katherine, angel, never answer the door when the past comes knocking.” Her voice grew softer. “It never has anything new to say.”

Max took a deep breath, the echo of her words reverberating through him. He slumped in his seat and stared at the breakfast bar suddenly feeling nothing but defeated. He was so f*cking confused. His body torn in two. His mind wanting one thing—to walk away from what nearly killed him—and his heart wanting another. It was exhausting. The edges of his brain teased with a righteous headache and, for the first time in months, he craved a line.

Angry with himself, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes until he saw small white stars dancing behind his eyelids.

“Do me a favor, Max, will you?”

Kat’s request brought Max’s head up, blinking away the fuzzy darkness. “Sure.”

“Be careful.” Kat reached over, placed a small hand on his forearm, and squeezed. “You have a lot of people who care and who worry about you. Don’t forget that, okay? You’re not alone.” She smiled gently. “We’re family.”

Max’s throat grew impossibly tight. He nodded jerkily in reply.

Kat gave his arm one last squeeze and glanced at the clock. “Damn. I need to get to bed. Some of us have work tomorrow.”

She smiled and lifted from her seat, collecting the cups and placing them in the sink while Max tucked the pack of Oreos back in Carter’s not-so-secret drawer. He stood as Kat passed him.

“Hey, Kat?” She turned with a small smile. “Thanks.”

She dipped her head. “Sure, Max. Any time.”

Three days passed and, with each one, Max knew his window for meeting Lizzie was slowly closing; she was only in town for another four.

He’d kept himself busy, meeting Tate, having a session with Elliot, and attending a local NA meeting that Carter found on the Internet. Max could see the worry in the eyes of the people around him, the anticipation as they waited for him to make a final decision, and hoped that his proactive approach to his continuing recovery would ease their concerns a little. And they had every right to be concerned; the cold fingers of addiction had reemerged with a vengeance, whispering sweet nothings into Max’s ear when he was alone, like the damn devil on his shoulder it was.

He hung out at the body shop, even helping Riley fix a sweet Ferrari 250 GT that just ached for his foot on her gas pedal. The smell of grease and metal and the thump of rock music were a welcome relief from the bullshit that had been flying around his head for days, and helped him realize how much he loved what he did. He went over paperwork, began organizing Carter’s bachelor party, and ran.

He ran a lot. He ran through Central Park, he ran along the Hudson, he ran anywhere he could in an attempt to clear his mind. It was of little surprise that at those times, he thought about Grace the most. She’d been his running partner for months, so it was to be expected. At least that’s what he told himself as his feet pounded the asphalt.

He hadn’t heard from her since he’d left Preston County, and part of him, a very small part, was relieved. He’d resisted the urge to text or call, having no idea what he would say anyway. Truthfully, he was still stewing, still deliberating over what she’d said to him . . . but he tried his best not to dwell, not to think about her and what she was doing. He told himself frequently that he had no right. But still, his mind wandered back to her.

It was afternoon on the fourth day, while he was running, that Max at last made his decision.

After making a phone call to Carter’s office, he headed downtown to WCS Communications, Carter’s company, admiring the swanky décor of the lobby, thinking that maybe he should have changed out of his running gear beforehand, and rode the elevator up to the fortieth floor.