An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(16)

“Well,” Max said slowly, closing his fist around them, “I’m not there yet. Elliot thinks I should stay another month or so.”

Carter’s brow furrowed. “And how do you feel about that?”

Max put the medallions away and began walking, not able to stomach what would no doubt be a look of disappointment on Carter’s face. “I . . . think I need it,” he confessed. “I think I still have a lot I need to work out about . . . Lizzie, Christopher—all of the shit that’s happened. I’m still not— I can’t just forget. I’m trying, Carter, but it’s not an overnight thing and I have to live with this shit over me every day when I leave here and—”

Carter’s hand on Max’s arm made him stop and turn. “Hey, man, it’s okay,” he murmured, his eyes sad but imploring. “Seriously, buddy, take all the time you need. We’ll all be waiting for you when you come home. I don’t care how long it takes. We all just want you to get better. I want you to get better.”

Max exhaled and rubbed a hand down his face. He kicked at a lump of stubborn, unmelted snow and allowed Carter’s words of reassurance to calm the disquiet in his chest. “Thanks.”

They continued walking around the center. Conversation, although not stilted, felt different. Carter spoke about Kat and, although there was caution in his words, about his proposal to her. Max smiled as best as he could while Carter waxed lyrical about his Peaches, and Carter responded in kind when Max spoke fleetingly about his sessions with Elliot.

The two of them were a f*cking nightmare for sure, both of them uncertain because of the weirdness Max’s stay in rehab had brought to their friendship. Max could only hope that, when he finally did go home, things would be easier. He could only imagine how hard it was for his best friend. Carter had seen Max at his very worst, when he hit rock bottom, half-naked, unconscious, and unresponsive on the bathroom floor. Max had known Carter nearly his whole life and knew he’d have torn himself to shreds over it all, blamed himself, which was absurd. Max had no one to blame but himself.

And maybe Lizzie.

But he was working on that blame every day.

As part of Max’s twelve steps, he’d been urged to acknowledge what his addiction had done to the people he cared for, the people who had tried for so long to help him. Christ, Carter had tried so hard, pushed Max to get better, even when Kat had asked him to step away and let Max do what he wanted; even when—in a moment of insanity—Max had pointed a loaded gun at Carter’s head, he’d not lost hope, imploring Max to get the help he so desperately needed—

“Thanks, Carter,” Max said before he could even recognize the need to say the words of gratitude.

Seated in the visitors’ room with the winter sun streaming through the tall windows, the words reverberated around him. Carter, who’d been chatting amiably with Elliot, turned. He opened his mouth to speak, but Max continued, muttering toward the cup of coffee in his hands. “And I’m sorry for everything I put you through, you and Kat—I know you two argued a lot about me, and for that I apologize. I’m sorry for what my addiction put you through and I thank you for being there and not giving up on me. It would have been so easy, but you didn’t.”

He lifted his head slowly, noticing first the wide smile on Elliot’s face. Bastard looked like a proud father seeing his son take his first steps. Almost the literal truth, the words pushed Max stumbling into new territory.

The expression on Carter’s face was surprised yet warm, while his eyes suddenly looked a little glassy. He dipped his chin and cleared his throat. “No problem. I’ve got your back.”

Yeah, he always had, and words could never convey how much Max appreciated it.

After a couple of hours during which Carter finally met Tate, fussed over Max’s paintings, and saw the rest of the place, Max walked Carter back to his car, feeling lighter, less anxious.

Carter pressed the key fob, making the blinkers of the Maserati flash. “You know,” he started, with a deep breath, “when you decide you’re ready to come home, you’re more than welcome to stay with Kat and me.” His words were quick, almost falling over one another. “You could stay with us at the beach house in the Hamptons, away from the city. You could relax, take it slowly. Riley has the body shop under control. The place is back in the black and busy, so you don’t need to rush back there until you’re ready.” He lifted his shoulders. “Staying with us might be better than going back to your empty apartment. At least you wouldn’t be alone all the time.”

Max smiled gently, curious as to whether Kat had had any say in Carter’s offer, or if she even knew of it. “I appreciate that. It sounds good.”

Carter smiled. “Well, the offer’s there, bud. You let me know.”

Max nodded and stepped back as Carter opened his car door and got in. The V-8 engine thundered to life, making the two men sigh with appreciation and lust.

“I’ll be driving this baby when I get back,” Max taunted as Carter shut the car door and rolled down the window.

“In your wettest and wildest, my friend,” Carter retorted, pressing his foot to the gas, making the car purr. Max’s laugh was halted by Carter’s next words: “I know you can do this, Max.” His face was honest and hopeful. “I know it’s been strange today and I’m sorry. You have a long way to go, shit to get through about Lizzie and . . . but I know you’ll do it. I f*cking know it.”