An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(39)

Her eyes widened a little, as though she’d said too much. Max nodded, not wanting to say anything that would make her feel more embarrassed. She grabbed the towel tucked in her waistband and wiped around Max’s glass, seemingly agitated about something. He wanted to show he appreciated what suffering from insomnia was like, but wasn’t sure how. He didn’t want to talk about Lizzie or Christopher despite them being the main reasons he had terrors.

He opened his mouth to speak, to explain that he understood, that he’d listen if she wanted him to, but was interrupted by a large body slamming into his side. A sweaty arm wrapped around his neck along with the stench of beer.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaax!” Buck held him close. “I knew I’d find you over here with the delectable Grace.” Buck pointed to Max. Grace watched them both with a small smile. “He likes you.”

“Buck,” Max warned, shrugging him off. “Come on, man.”

“See!” Buck exclaimed. “He’s all embarrassed and shit because he loooooooves you.”

Max’s cheeks warmed. Whether it was in annoyance or discomfort, he wasn’t sure, but the giggle that came from Grace eased it momentarily.

“And why wouldn’t he love you, huh?” Buck continued. “You are very pretty.”

Grace flushed and dropped her gaze to the floor.

“You are,” Buck confirmed, with a small stagger. “I think you’re aba—absu—absolutely gorgeous.” He took a step toward her. “And you should dance with me because it’s my birthday.”

“Oh,” Grace said, shaking her head and moving backward. “I don’t dance.”

“Suuure you do!” Buck insisted, moving closer.

She placed her hands up toward Buck’s chest and shook her head. “No, I don’t, Buck. Come on.”

Max saw the panic in Grace’s eyes when her back hit the bar. He reached for Buck’s forearm. “She doesn’t want to.”

“Yeah, she does.” Buck grabbed Grace’s hands and held them fast, swaying with her, and humming. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, making her look minute against his huge frame.

“Let me go,” Grace said, her voice low.

“Oh, come on, one song, honey. One song.”

“Buck,” Max urged, his hand now on the man’s shoulder.

“Please, let me go,” Grace said. “You’re holding me too tightly. I can’t”—she tried to wrench herself from Buck’s grasp—“I can’t move. I can’t breathe.”

Buck pulled her away from the bar, twirling around as Max tried to get the bastard’s drunk ears to listen.

Grace’s eyes closed tightly. “Buck,” she said again and wiggled against him.

Buck laughed, his drink-addled mind believing she was having fun.

“Let me go.” She tried again to get away from him. Her face crumpled and a shuddering breath filled her lungs. “Buck! Get off me! Get off me, Buck!” The scream of his name ricocheted around the bar. Heads snapped immediately in their direction as Grace fought against the man holding her. “Get off me! Get off me! Now! Now!”

Buck released Grace as though scalded with boiling water, staggering backward into a nearby table, instantly repentant and looking scared to death. After a moment when the whole bar seemed to hold its breath under the fading sounds of Def Leppard, Max reached slowly for Grace. She slapped his hand away. “No. Don’t!”

Her shoulders rounded, her knees wobbled, and her eyes scrunched shut, her arms wrapping tightly around herself. Max watched helplessly as her breathing picked up, erratic and shallow, and she screamed that she was having a panic attack.

“Grace,” he murmured. “You’re okay.” She shook her head, trying to breathe. “Grace,” Max said again, waving the crowd of concerned regulars away. “Listen, you’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

“I’m sorry, Grace,” Buck slurred. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just—”

Deputy Yates, who’d approached from the other end of the bar, touched Grace’s shoulder, making her cry out in surprise. Her eyes snapped open, wide and frantic, making Max’s breath catch.

What the hell had the poor girl been through?

Her bewildered stare met Max’s. “You’re all right,” he whispered, trying to smile. “Okay?”

She swallowed, her breathing still hurried and gasping. “I—I can’t—please?”

Max risked taking a step closer to her. “Tell me what you need.”

A sob escaped her throat. She tried to catch it in her shaking hand. “Please, I— Home. Max, please. Take me home. I need to go home.”

Grace didn’t speak while Max drove her back to the boardinghouse. On hearing her say she needed to get out of the bar, he’d wrapped her in his jacket, knowing the shakes would set in pretty quick, and all but carried her to the truck, ignoring the deputy’s pissed expression and his insistence that he should take her.

Dick.

Max glanced over to Grace every minute or so as he drove. Seeing her so small, so scared, and so sad made his chest ache; the woman at his side was a mere shadow of the vibrant, happy Grace he’d come to know. He parked, and turned off the engine. She never moved. He allowed his fingertips to touch her leg. She startled, as he knew she would.