An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(27)
“Yeah.”
“But call you did because somewhere deep inside you knew that, no matter what, I’d be there for you. We all would.” He nudged him again. “So let me do this, okay? Let me help.”
Max exhaled through a thick throat.
“The only job for you now is to make your daddy proud and get yourself healthy. You hear me, son?”
“Yes, sir.” His words were soft and laced with gratitude.
“All right.” Vince scrunched up his sandwich packaging and leaped from the truck bed. “Now, stop sittin’ around, eyin’ up my clients, and get your ass back to work.”
The NA meeting the following morning was just as Max expected. He sat in the church hall, surrounded by strangers brought together by their dependencies and addictions. He introduced himself, then listened to the unfamiliar faces relay their tales of misery, regret, and recovery. Since his stay in rehab, Max had become a lot more sympathetic to hearing others’ stories, so he listened and he understood.
Over the months of his rehabilitation, he’d come to recognize why he’d initially been so closed off from lending an empathetic ear in group. The fact was, every account he heard, every anecdote about hurting loved ones in order to score, and no matter what the consequence, hit close to home. Whether he wanted to or not, Max saw himself in every face of his fellow addicts, the remorse, the cravings that would never ever go away, the need for forgiveness, and the fear of what that forgiveness would mean. He’d never wanted to be that guy, the guy who f*cked over the people closest to him, the guy who wallowed in self-pity and the what-ifs, but there it was.
He grabbed a cheeseburger for lunch on his contemplative return drive, went for a midafternoon run, and had been in his room at the boardinghouse for more than an hour when a thunderous bang, a squeal of pipes in the wall and the floor, and a scream emitted from the next room.
Max shot from his place on the bed, dropping the book he’d been reading, and flung open the door, scanning the empty hallway. He hurried to the next room, knocking hard, hearing what sounded like water hissing from somewhere and muffled expletives. The door opened abruptly, revealing Grace in nothing but a towel, drenched and breathing heavily.
“The pipe burst!” she exclaimed, leaving the door open for Max to follow, bewildered. “I can’t stop it!”
Max hurried into the bathroom after her, his socked feet sloshing in the water that had already gathered. Water spurted forcefully from one of the shower pipes, jetting across the bathroom. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Grace said with a laugh. “Help!”
“Go find Fern, um, Mrs. Masen, and tell her to turn off the water and the electric,” Max ordered as he motored back to his room. He grabbed his tool belt, willing to try to ease the damage as much as he could, and with a wrench tried to tighten the joint on the pipe.
Water rushed at him, soaking his T-shirt and jeans until, after what felt like a million f*cking years, the water stopped, followed by the lights in the bathroom, leaving the place bathed in the dim afternoon light, which crept through a small frosted window. Max slumped against the tub, water dripping from his chin. He cursed, looking down at his sopping wet clothes.
“What in the blue f*ck?” Uncle Vince filled the doorway, eyes wide, a small grin tugging at his mouth, as he looked Max over.
Grace popped her head around Vince’s shoulder, unable to hold back the unladylike snort that erupted. “Oh, heavens.”
“What the hell, Max?” Ruby exclaimed with a giggle. Small chuckles of laughter quickly developed into loud guffaws.
Max shook his head and stood up, careful not to slip. He wiped a dripping hand down his face. “I’m glad I amuse you all.”
“That you do. But don’t feel bad about it,” Vince offered with a hearty slap to Max’s shoulder. “Come on. Get changed and let me buy you an orange juice.”
Dressed in a dry set of clothes, Max, his uncle, his aunt Fern, Ruby, and Josh sat at the bar in Whiskey’s drinking and nibbling potato chips. With the pipe fixed and Grace moved to the room adjacent to Max’s while repairs were made to the bathroom floor and bedroom carpet, Max started to see the funny side.
“Hero of the day!” Ruby teased him with an elbow in his ribs, which he returned.
He shrugged, avoiding looking at Grace, who was working diligently behind the bar. She’d done nothing but thank him profusely.
“I always like to save the damsel in distress,” he quipped. It’d been on the tip of his tongue to thank Grace for the image of her wet and towel-wrapped, but he managed to refrain.
But, damn, that picture was sure to stay with him a long while; girl had great legs.
“Well, at least I know where you are in case anything else goes wrong,” Grace remarked as she wiped down the bar.
“Hey!” Vince interjected with mock offense and a pointed finger at her. “It was a one-time thing. I knew those damn pipes were— Look, nothing else will happen.” Aunt Fern rubbed his back, laughing.
“You know where I am,” Max stage-whispered across the bar to Grace, who giggled into the back of her hand.
And the banter continued. Max clutched his glass of juice, threw the occasional chip or peanut into his mouth, nibbled on the few wings Vince ordered, and allowed the warmth of the people around him to seep into his skin. It had been too long since he’d felt as relaxed. With his meeting and the exciting burst-pipe shenanigans, he’d been wound tight as shit, but the smiles, laughter, and freedom he felt as he listened to his family and the other patrons loosened all of that. Even being in a bar with the smell of liquor, undeniably tempting around him, Max felt his body unfurl and calm.