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

by Sophie Jackson

  Max snorted. “That she is, but, firstly, I was far too fuckin’ drunk. And, secondly, for a guy, all boobs are amazing, especially when they have Apple logos creased on ’em.”

  He knew how flirtatious his comment was, but the laugh that exploded out of Grace made his unease worth it.

  “Where is this comin’ from?” he asked with a lift of his shoulders. “I thought we were cool just like this.” Max knew that if she wanted more from him, he needed to put the brakes on whatever they were doing, pronto.

  “We are,” Grace insisted. “Oh, God, this is great.” She waved her hand between them and then to their surroundings. “I love running with you, and hanging out, it’s just . . .”

  Max waited, seeing the indecision skirt across her mouth.

  She had a great mouth.

  He fidgeted.

  “Look,” he offered, sensing the odd curve their friendship was about to take. “I wanna be straight with you: I’m nowhere near in a position to offer any woman a relationship. I’m fucked up. I have serious attachment and trust issues. I’m a drug addict. I’m fighting every day to stay in recovery, and getting involved with someone wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

  A small V punctuated Grace’s brow. “Who said anything about a relationship? I was talking about sex.”

  Max laughed and clutched the bridge of his nose. “Fair enough.” He leveled her with a stare. “But I still wouldn’t have sex with you.” The red-blooded male in him immediately smacked him upside the head with a what-the-fuck-dude? Before Grace could look even more despondent, he admitted, “I find you very, very attractive.”

  “You do?”

  “You own a mirror, right?”

  She smiled faintly. “But you still wouldn’t—”

  “Because you deserve better than that,” he interrupted. “You deserve more than some asshole like me who can offer you nothing but an emotionless fuck. You deserve someone who’ll take you out and treat you right.” He shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’m not capable of that right now.” He swallowed down the regret. “I don’t think I’ll ever be capable of that again.”

  Grace stared at him for a moment, searching his face for answers to fill in the blanks of his past. Her gaze did funny things to Max’s chest. “Okay. Thank you for being honest with me,” she murmured. “I appreciate it.”

  He dipped his chin. “Sure.”

  She rubbed her hands together and set off toward the direction of her house. “But now at least I know who to come to for an emotionless fuck, right?”

  Max grinned at the exaggerated sway of her ass and hips.

  Fucking woman.

  Whiskey’s was busier than Max had seen since he’d arrived in town. Ruby’s coworker Buck was celebrating his thirtieth birthday, and she’d invited Max to join them. It had been a few weeks since he’d shattered his sober streak, and he’d avoided the bar and the careful invitations that his friends and family offered him ever since, but, besides being a stubborn son of a bitch, he knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer. As it was, he liked the atmosphere of the place, he liked the people who frequented it, and he enjoyed spending downtime with his uncle. The banter with him and the awesome food undoubtedly took his mind off the temptations behind the bar.

  His gaze slid over to Grace, who was popping the cap off a bottle of beer for a customer, and he cleared his throat.

  Too fucking tempting.

  Eager to distract himself, Max sat with his cousin, her husband, and their friends and listened to them reminisce about Buck as a kid, his less than stellar behavior at school, and his obsession with Star Wars.

  Max listened, adding anecdotes about Ruby as a teenager and receiving smacks of embarrassment from her, much to the delight of Uncle Vince, who elaborated with gusto. Max sipped his orange juice, smiled at the stories he heard, and tried not to wonder why his gaze continually kept traveling back to the bar, where Grace was working hard, smiling as she served beer and food, and generally looking lovely.

  It had been two days since she’d asked him about whether he found her attractive, and for two days he’d been chewing it over. It sure came out of left field, although, in hindsight, it shouldn’t have been surprising after he’d left the bar with Fay draped all over him.

  He hated that he’d done that.

  He hated that Grace believed she was less attractive than Fay—who was watching him predatorily from her seat near the pool table—and he was truly perplexed that Grace wasn’t aware of how hot she was. As much as he maintained his sexual distance, keeping their relationship as platonic as possible, Max wasn’t immune to the way Grace looked.

  Jesus.

  A year ago, he wouldn’t have given a shit about her feelings, his feelings, or anything else for a chance to get her into bed, against a wall, in the backseat of his car, on his desk in the body shop office, but now things were different.

  Since rehab, he had feelings about this shit. He knew Grace had feelings and, as much as she assured him that all she wanted from him was sex, he knew that no woman was that black and white. There were always areas of gray where someone got hurt; someone was left disappointed. Max had been that guy, moving from one piece of ass to the next with no regard for how they felt or who he was hurting. He fucked to forget and in doing so, he forgot what his bed partners felt or wanted. He was an asshole.

  But he wasn’t that man anymore.

  Grace was good people. Optimism glowed from her and he couldn’t mess with that. Like he’d told her, she deserved more. She deserved to be treated like a queen by a guy who wasn’t fucked up, who wasn’t always thinking about his next score. She deserved a man to be thinking about her 24/7, who made her laugh and smile.

  She leaned on the bar as she chatted to Deputy Yates, who, as always, looked like he wanted to ravage her senseless. Prick.

  Max pondered. If he could go back two days and answer Grace’s question again, would he sleep with her?

  Hell yes.

  Of course he would.

  Damn, he’d fuck her until she screamed. He’d take her in every position he could think of. He’d taste her and make her skin gleam just as it did when they ran. He’d watch her as she came, knowing it would be fucking awesome, and then do it all over again until she begged him to stop. Grace was the kind of woman who deserved to be pleasured hard, pleasured thoroughly—

  “You okay over there?” Ruby asked, smirking into the lip of her bottle of beer, knowing full well who Max was looking at.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” he answered, ignoring her wiggling eyebrows.

  Buck snorted. “Of course he’s good, he’s watching RiRi.” He stood up, shaking his ass and slapping it while singing off-key: “Bitch, better have my money!”

  Everyone laughed. Ruby rolled her eyes before she snuggled into her husband’s side. “You fellas.”

  “She’s smokin’, Ruby,” Buck stage-whispered as he sat back down. “Am I right, Max?”

  Max didn’t answer, suddenly finding the toe of his boot fascinating.

  “I would wine and dine and slap the hell out of her ass,” Buck continued. “And then I’d kiss it better.”

  Everyone around the table sniggered. It was clear to Max that Buck was perfectly harmless; nevertheless, his words caused a stirring of unease in the depths of Max’s belly.

  Buck sat up straight, his stare on the bar. “I should ask her out.”

  “Don’t, Buck,” Ruby said with a laugh. “You’re drunk.”

  Buck stood, pulling his Black Sabbath T-shirt at the hem in an attempt to look presentable. He ran his hands through his shoulder-length blond hair and made his way, swaying ever so slightly, over to the bar. Max and the entire group of fifteen others watched in hushed silence as Buck smiled at Grace, who smiled back. After a moment, he handed her some money. Grace took it and handed him something in return that looked like a piece of paper. Max kind of hoped it wasn’t her phone number. Buck winked at her and walked back to the table.

 
“What the fuck?” Josh exclaimed.

  “That’s how you treat a woman, my good man,” Buck answered with a smile, folding the piece of paper Grace had given him before wafting it in Josh’s face.

  Josh coughed a laugh, clearly impressed. “Is that her phone number? Did you actually ask her out?”

  Buck dropped back onto his stool, all bravado gone, and lifted the paper. “I tried but then she asked me what I wanted, so”—he opened up the receipt—“I ordered some wings for the table.”

  Even Max laughed loudly.

  It had been a long time since Max had enjoyed himself quite as much, without the help of any illegal substances. He was sober and clean and it felt good; his initial worry about being back in the bar dissolved in the relaxed atmosphere. As the night progressed, Buck got drunker and, the more he drank, the funnier he became. He played rock song after rock song on the jukebox, which Max was all for, and danced on his stool despite being told numerous times to get down and be careful. He tied his belt around his forehead as he performed a stunning and energetic air guitar and shouted every single word to every Led Zeppelin song played.

  “He looks like he’s having fun,” Grace commented as she handed Max another orange juice.

  Max smiled, watching Buck prance around the pool table. He danced with each woman he encountered, spinning and twirling them around the place. “He’ll have a hell of a sore head tomorrow.” He sipped his drink and turned back to Grace, who was on his side of the bar, collecting glasses. “How are you?” he asked.

  “Meh. Tired. I’m not sleeping great.”

  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.

  “We’re here,” he said gently.

  She looked out of the window, returning from wherever she’d been in her uncharacteristic silence. She opened the truck door before Max could hurry around the hood and began shuffling across the lot, gripping the edges of his jacket around her hard enough to make her knuckles white. It drowned her, but it was keeping her warm. He followed her up the stairs and along the corridor, thankful that he was only across the hall from her room. If she needed anything, he knew he could get to her quickly. She pulled out her door key, the shaking in her hand pronounced and not conducive to finding a keyhole.

  She muttered a curse under her breath before Max took the key and opened the door for her. She entered with a sigh, leaving Max in the doorway, torn. He knew he needed to make sure she was all right to be on her own. She’d knocked back two pills like they were Skittles back at the bar, but he didn’t want to freak her out further. A man making himself at home in her room was not what she needed right now. That shit was clear as day.

  “You can come in,” she muttered. She turned on the side lamp, kicked off her shoes, and dropped onto the edge of the bed.

  Max did as she asked, approaching her
cautiously, closing the door behind him. After a moment of silence where she stared at the floor, Grace cupped her palms to her face and began to sob. Carefully, Max crouched in front of her, placing a hand on her arm.

  “I’m such an idiot,” she managed through her tears. “Such an idiot.”

  “No one thinks that,” Max assured her. If anything, everyone in the bar had been terrified by what they saw. Truthfully, he felt sorry for Buck. She’d certainly sobered him up some.

  “It’s been . . . so long since I’ve had— I haven’t done that for a while. I thought, being here seemed to, I thought it helped me forget.”

  Max’s thumb moved against her skin, a gentle whisper of a movement to calm her. She rubbed her face and wiped inelegantly at her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t have shit to be sorry about,” he told her firmly. “It happens, trust me.”

  She released a breath of wry laughter. “I guess we’re messed up together, huh?”

  Max nodded.

  Grace closed her bloodshot eyes and exhaled. “I’m just so tired.”

  “I should let you get some sleep,” Max offered, standing gradually and gesturing to her bed.

  “That’s just it,” she complained, slapping her hands to her legs. “I can’t. I take my pills and still I lie awake or the nightmares come and I’m too frightened to shut my eyes again.” Her face creased, frustration stiffening her shoulders, and the tears started again.

  Max rubbed the back of his neck, helpless. “What can I do? Do you want a drink? A bath? I could run you a bath if you want.”

  Grace sniffed and cleared her throat. “Could you . . . could you stay? Just for a little while. It might help me fall asleep with you here, and I, I don’t want to be alone.”

  The humiliation of asking him such a simple question seemed to wash over her and rest in her imploring eyes.

  “Sure,” Max said without thought or pause. “Get into bed.”

  He walked across the room to sit in the high-backed chair in the corner of the room, experiencing a twinge of déjà vu of the day he’d awoken from his own panic attack in rehab to find Elliot watching over him. Grace stayed fully clothed; she didn’t even remove Max’s jacket. She simply slipped under the covers and snuggled down.