An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(42)

“You know that Brooks isn’t my maiden name, right?” Her words were quiet.

Max nodded. “I heard.” Grace bit her bottom lip, fussing with one of the boxes. “Was Rick your husband?” Her head snapped around to him so fast, Max was amazed her eyes didn’t wobble out of their sockets.

“What? How do— Why would you ask that?”

“Last night. You called out his name while you were sleeping, like you were scared of him.”

Grace’s eyes dropped closed before her hand covered her face. “Jesus,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, Max. I really am. I—”

“How about you stop apologizing,” he insisted with a mouthful of muffin. “Seriously. It’s annoying.”

A smirk tugged at her mouth. After a quiet moment, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and looked him dead in the eye.

“Yes,” she answered. “Rick was my husband.”

Max attempted to look indifferent to her confirmation but he wasn’t sure he pulled it off. He picked at his muffin, suddenly not very hungry, and waited for her to continue. She didn’t. She nursed her drink, not saying a word, leaving the room heavy with expectation. Max shifted under its weight, an alarming thought creeping up his spine.

Maybe she was waiting for him to share, too.

Shit, he didn’t know if he could do that. It was bad enough opening up to Elliot, let alone Grace. He glanced over at her while she pulled some brightly colored canvases out of their bags, and he began to appreciate how hard it must have been for her to share even that small slice of information. She trusted him; it was only fair he paid her back in kind.

He steeled himself and breathed deeply. “I was engaged once.”

Grace stared at him, her mouth dropping open.

“Her name was Lizzie.”

There. Tit for tat. Just two friends talking. Sharing. Easy.

The spiking of his pulse suggested otherwise.

“And she broke your heart.” Grace’s statement floated around them like dark, thunderous clouds, conjuring a sharp nod from Max as reply. It was all he could do, his throat blocked by too many words.

“Rick and I got engaged when my mother passed away.”

Max looked at her, recognizing Grace’s familiar strength ripple beneath the surface. He dipped his chin for her to continue.

“My brother, Kai, never liked him, said he was trouble, but . . . I was madly in love. We’d been together for eighteen months after meeting at the bar I worked in, and I was ready to be his wife.” She pushed the bags and boxes away, held her latte close, and spoke toward the floor. “The wedding was small but Rick treated me like a princess. We bought an apartment; we talked about children, the whole nine yards. I was sickeningly happy.”

Max moved closer, their shoulders just touching. “What changed?”

She smiled sadly. “He got a promotion at work and . . . nothing was ever the same again.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “Before we were married, Rick would always tell me how beautiful I was, how lucky he was to have such an amazing-looking wife. He liked showing me off and I liked him doing it. It made me feel good about myself having a husband who desired me.” Her cheeks darkened at the admission.

“He worked in advertising, had since college, long hours, and mammoth workload. He partied as hard as he worked, but it never occurred to me to mind. That was just Rick. He was the life and soul. That’s what attracted me to him. Finally, after months of barely seeing each other, he got a promotion to head an important deal. He was over the moon. To celebrate there was an office party. I bought a new dress. I wanted to look special for him, pretty for him, so he could be proud to have me at his side.” She paused. “Looking back, I think I bought it because I knew something wasn’t right. He’d become distant, moody, less attentive, but I put it down to the amount of work he had. While working for the promotion, he’d started drinking every night. There was always a bottle of something on the kitchen counter when I got up in the mornings.”

Max turned his body toward her.

“All night at the party, Rick’s work colleagues commented about what a fine couple we were, how lucky Rick was to have me, how lovely I looked. He thanked them and smiled, but it never reached his eyes.” She pulled her knees closer and sighed. “Anyway, when we got home from the party, Rick accused me of flirting with his coworkers, of embarrassing him. I called him crazy and delusional and he pushed me against the wall, telling me I needed to learn some respect . . .” She blew out a long breath between pursed lips. “He wasn’t gentle.”

Max’s stomach rolled. “Christ, Grace.”

“I didn’t know the man who pinned me to the wall. He was a stranger. The entire time he told me I was a tease, how I’d humiliated him by looking like a slut, how I’d loved all the attention being on me and not him.” She rubbed her hands down her face. “It was only later I found out he wasn’t just drunk but high”—she looked at Max—“on cocaine.”

Max blinked, knowing he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was startled all the same. “Fuck.” He dropped his head, his chin tapping his chest.

“He’d gotten involved with some guys he’d met through work and started using heavily to cope with the stress after his promotion. He kept it a secret from me. He’d use it to keep awake so he could meet deadlines. Later I discovered he’d been a heavy user in college, too, before we met. Every night it became the same: he’d go out, get shitfaced, high, come home, and take it out on me.”