An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(18)

“So, you’ve got all your paperwork, my number, your prescription, dates of your first meetings with—”

Max smirked and cocked an eyebrow at Elliot. “Yes, Doc. I have them. Just like I had them the first three times you asked.”

Tate snickered into the back of his hand. His T-shirt today was bright green and declared “Warning: If zombies chase us, I’m tripping you.” Max chuckled and shook his head. Truthfully, he was going to miss seeing those damned T-shirts every day. Tate was now officially Max’s sponsor and the two of them would no doubt see each other a lot, what with meetings and such, but it wouldn’t be the same. Max’s laugh had definitely been throaty when Tate had given him his own ludicrously inappropriate T-shirt, which stated “Pugs not drugs” under a hoodie-wearing dog.

“As part of your tutelage under me,” Tate had deadpanned, “you must wear this at all times.” Max was certain having Tate as a sponsor was never going to be boring.

Carter pulled up five minutes later in a red Shelby GT. It was gorgeous and, Max had to admit, ten times nicer than the Maserati. Carter all but leaped out of the car, wide smile of pride front and center. The four of them put Max’s bags and paintings into the trunk. Once done, Carter shook both Elliot’s and Tate’s hands and made himself scarce, silently acknowledging Max’s need for privacy.

Max cleared his throat and blinked at his therapist. “Thanks, Doc,” he managed. “For everything.” He held out his hand, which Elliot shook with a wry smile. Despite their rocky start, Max knew that, without Elliot, he’d never have gotten through the first month, let alone the following two. He’d never admit it aloud, but he was more than thankful that it had been Elliot’s office he’d found himself in that very first day.

“This isn’t the end,” Elliot murmured. “It’s just the beginning. You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Max. Never forget that. And there’s hope. In all things. The hardest part is done.” As hokey as he sounded, Max nodded in understanding. “Dr. Moir is exceptional. He’s a great friend of mine and he’ll absolutely help you move forward. Nevertheless, you know where I am if you want to talk.”

And with that, Elliot made his way back into the center.

“So you’ve got my cell, my pager, my home number, give me a call whenever, no matter what time, right?” Tate said, a rare moment of seriousness adorning his face. “We’ll have our scheduled meet-ups, or whenever you need me. Always. You’re not alone.”

Max nodded. “I got it.”

“And keep painting,” Tate implored. “Please. Dude, you have too much talent to stop now. Your work is exceptional. Even if you do it on your downtime. It’ll keep your mind busy and away from thinking about—”

“I got it.”

Tate smiled. “Good.” He sighed. “So we gonna hug this shit out, or what?”

“Thank you,” Max said earnestly as they hugged, giving each other an obligatory backslap.

“No problem.” Tate released him and grinned, leaning on his cane. “I’ll see you soon. Say hello to that * brother of mine for me, huh?”

With heavy, chaotic sensations of fear, relief, joy, and sadness filling him from toe to crown, Max saluted Tate once more and climbed into the car. He exhaled heavily and put on his seat belt. Carter sat in silence for a beat before he turned the key in the ignition.

“You okay?” he asked.

Max took in the surroundings of his adopted home one last time and swallowed. He couldn’t quite comprehend that he was going back out into the world, away from the safety of his routine and the relationships he’d built. His stay in Pennsylvania had been difficult, to say the least, reflecting on his past, his heartache, and his losses, but without it, Max knew, he’d have eventually become just another headstone on his family’s plot, way before his time.

As hard as it was going to be heading back, he finally understood that he couldn’t let that happen. His twelve steps urged him to recognize all he had to live for. And he had. Even if it was simply by painting, lifting weights and running, or working back in his body shop, he’d been handed a tiny speck of optimism, and he would cling to it with everything he had. He would focus on moving forward one day at a time. One big-ass foot in front of the other.

Elliot’s words echoed around his head. It’s just the beginning.

“Yeah,” Max answered before turning to his best friend. He stroked the medallions in his pocket. “I’m okay.”





Carter’s beach house in the Hamptons was just as beautiful as Max remembered despite the falling rain and the wind that whipped around them, as he and Carter trudged up the deck steps to the front door. Inside, a fire flickered in the hearth, and the guest room Carter led him to was made up as though they were expecting the sultan of Brunei. Towels, flat-screen TV, bamboo blinds at the windows, huge comforter, and fluffy pillows, soft-looking rug on the floor, and, wait, a vanity set?

Carter clapped his hands together. “Okay. So, I’m thinking f*ck it, let’s have pizza for dinner.”

Max’s stomach growled. “Awesome,” he replied, kicking off his sneakers and dropping onto the edge of the bed. He allowed his socked feet to wander onto the rug. Yep, that shit was soft as a baby’s ass. He glanced around the room. “This is nice, man.”