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

by Sophie Jackson

  “She understands,” Max countered, swallowing a lump of something that felt like a lie.

  “Is this a good idea?” Tate asked, seemingly sensing Max’s discomfort. “You two.”

  “You’ve changed your tune.” Max shook his head. “Besides, there is no us two. It’s just sex.”

  Tate nodded, chewing the inside of his mouth. “I know the docs say that having a relationship in the first year of rehabilitation is a bad idea, but—”

  “Jesus.” Max exhaled an incredulous sound. “Wasn’t that what I said to you? There is no relationship. We’re just fuckin’. Seriously, man, I’m not getting involved with her or anyone. I don’t want that.” He licked his lips and glanced down at his half-eaten sandwich, his appetite dissolving slowly. “I don’t ever want that. I can’t.”

  Tate cleared his throat and sat back. He pressed his mouth into a tight line. “Okay.”

  Max narrowed his eyes. “Okay?”

  “Yeah,” Tate answered, lifting one shoulder. “If that’s how it is, then that’s how it is.”

  Max cocked his head to one side. “Why do I feel like you’re fucking with me?”

  “I’m not, Max. I wouldn’t do that.” Tate crossed his arms over his chest. “As your sponsor and as your friend, I have to make sure you’re all right and that the choices you make are beneficial to your recovery.” He shrugged. “If you tell me you’re okay with this, that this is what you want, then fine. I’ll support you.”

  Max dipped his chin in acquiescence, shaking off the suspicious feeling prickling his skin while allowing Tate’s words of support to settle into him. He was surprised to realize that they made him feel better, more relaxed, as though Tate’s blessing was somehow important to what was going on between him and Grace.

  Grace.

  Max sipped his coffee, thinking about how their dynamic had changed over the last couple of weeks. Damn, she was something else: passionate, demanding, and altogether hot as hell. The latter wasn’t news, but combined with her newfound inner sex goddess, Grace was truly incredible. She liked everything he’d done to her and, despite her shy smile and fidgeting hands, she wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. Like the other day when she’d begged him to come all over her, just like he had in his room at the boardinghouse.

  Max had worried that, despite the opposite intent, Grace would think his coming on her was degrading or demeaning or even, he shuddered at the thought, insulting. But when, lying on his bed, he’d seen the fire in her eyes and heard the husky plea leave her lips, he knew she liked it. She’d liked it even better the second time. They’d just gotten back from a run when Grace was sweating and breathless while stretching out on her carpet. Max had approached her, hard-on obvious in his running shorts, rubbing himself while he watched her.

  Neither of them had spoken when she realized what he was doing. She hadn’t even looked surprised, more pleased than outraged. It hadn’t taken long for Grace’s hand to travel between her legs and Max had watched as she made herself come, begging for him to do the same all over her.

  Max had been more than happy to oblige, growling as his orgasm snapped up his spine, thrusting his hips out and pulsing his pleasure across Grace’s body, the white of his come stretched across her dark caramel skin causing a deep, dark ball of possessiveness to curl in his chest.

  Max hadn’t given himself time to truly ponder—for reasons that were blatantly obvious—but it had been oddly intimate standing over her, touching himself while Grace did the same, the room silent but for their grunts and curses.

  “How’s the painting going?” Tate asked, his wry voice pulling Max back to his seat in the coffee shop.

  Max cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “Good. I’m painting nearly every day. When I get the time.”

  His paintings, just recently, had become a cacophony of vibrant colors and indiscernible patterns. He’d started to favor warmer colors, hotter colors, the usual blacks and grays of his initial artwork slowly fading into the background to make way for the golds, reds, and greens that tore across his canvases. The damn things seemed to create themselves with little help from the man holding the paintbrush. It seemed getting laid was all the creative motivation Max had needed. He smiled to himself. Hell. The curve of Grace’s neck as she called out to God when they fucked, the smooth skin of her inner thighs, and the taste of her between them were completely inspiring. He checked his watch, wondering again what time tomorrow she’d be coming back from her trip to DC and whether she’d be up for round three.

  “That’s good, Max,” Tate commented, his eyes on Max’s watch when Max looked up. “You late for something?” He smirked when Max flipped him the bird.

  “Okay,” Riley said and thumped back down into his seat. “What awesome sexy-time details did I miss?” He shoved a huge forkful of waffle into his mouth.

  “None,” Max said, leaning forward. “Anyway, forget that, I need to talk to you about Carter’s bachelor party.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Any ideas?”

  The smile that spread across Riley’s face was huge. “Dude,” he mumbled around his food. “Do you even need to ask? I have links on my phone.” He began riffling in his jeans pocket.

  Max snickered into his coffee cup, not feeling guilty at all for using Riley’s short attention span to his advantage. He knew he’d successfully dodged a barrage of questions he had neither the forbearance nor inclination to answer, while avoiding Tate’s knowing stare needling him across the table.

  “Grace?”

  Grace opened her eyes slowly, scared to death that the room would tilt horrifically should she do it too quickly. She immediately grimaced. The pounding in her head, along with the nausea that gripped her entire body, made her pull the duvet closer, cocooning herself in her sweats, hoodie, and socks. That was the second time she’d woken thinking that she’d heard Max’s voice. Hallucinations no doubt brought on by the hundred-degree temperatures that had spiked in the early hours. She couldn’t understand it; she was so cold her teeth chattered.

  “Grace?”

  The voice sounded louder now, closer. She hummed into her pillow, shivering and mumbling, wishing that Max really was there so she could snuggle into him, get warm next to him, maybe grope him a little.

  “Grace, are you in here, we’re supposed to be on our run— Jesus Christ! What the hell?”

  Yeah, that sounded like him, all curse words and exclamations. Wait. A run? Some part of her understood what she was hearing, knew what the words meant, but her brain was so very tired. She couldn’t find it in herself to respond. Instead, she smiled to herself, the image of Max running flashing behind her eyes.

  There was a sound of a window being opened and gust of fresh air hit her face, making Grace squirm and bury her head farther under the covers. “It’s like a fucking sauna in here! And shit—is that puke I smell?”

  Yeah, it probably was. Grace could vaguely remember vomiting a few times on herself, before she’d managed to muster the energy to change out her bedsheets, but not enough to crawl into the shower. Her legs had been far too weak. She couldn’t recall, however, how long ago that had been. It could have been days. She almost cared that Max, hallucination or not, was near her when she was full of sick bits, but she couldn’t gather enough energy to tell him to go away.

  “Are you awake?” The duvet was pulled gently from her grasp, causing another violent shiver to gallop across her. She gasped when something large and freezing cold touched her forehead. “Shit, Grace, you’re burning up.”

  Maybe he was real. “Max?” The cover disappeared altogether. Grace tried to protest, tried to reach for it, but her body just wouldn’t move. “Don’t,” she mumbled, opening her eyes into small slits, seeing a blur of dark hair and darker eyes. “Cold.”

  “You’re not cold,” the dark eyes told her. “You have a fever. Come on.”

  She cried out when hands grabbed at her and hauled her into strong arms. “I know. I’m sorry,” he said soothingly. She hurt ev
erywhere he touched. God, she wanted her momma.

  “Shhh,” he whispered against her cheek. “I’ve got you.” His hand was icy on her face. “Don’t cry.”

  “It hurts,” she croaked against the nausea, slumping against him.

  “I know,” he murmured. “I’m going to try and cool you down, okay?”

  “Max?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think I was sick.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I think you were.”

  “Don’t smell me.”

  “Too late.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re going to take a shower, all right?”

  A shower sounded cold. She shook her head. “Please, don’t.”

  “It’ll feel colder than it is because you’re so hot. Jesus, Grace, you’re shaking, why the hell didn’t you call?”

  She didn’t know. The last thing she remembered was getting home last night from DC feeling more tired than usual, with a splitting headache, and crawling into bed. Then her dinner had made a reappearance and everything went tits up.

  “I’m gonna sit you down. Hold on to me.”

  Grace’s backside hit something cool and she tilted sideways, caught by Max’s hand on her shoulder. She didn’t have the strength to hold on to him. Her fingers just wouldn’t work.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she muttered back. “It hurts, Max. Can you—”

  “Can you do me a favor?

  A favor! Was he nuts? She could barely sit up. She opened her eyes to see Max crouching in front of her, his handsome face serious. They were in the bathroom. She was sitting on the toilet seat. He had a cell phone to his ear. What the hell was going on?

  “I’m at Grace’s. I found her in bed. She’s running a really high fever . . . no, she’s not really with it.” His hands found her face again. “She can’t hold herself up— No, she’s not. Yeah, she’s definitely puked. I was going to put her in the shower, try and cool her down . . . okay. I don’t have the number. Can you call him? Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered as he slipped his cell back into the pocket of his shorts, the urge to cry again scratching her throat.

  “For being ill?” he asked, standing up in front of her. “Don’t be dumb. Lift your arms for me.”

  She did as he asked without question and hissed when the frigid air of the bathroom hit her skin. “Please, Max.” She shivered. “I need my sweater.”

  “After you’ve showered with me. Lift up so I can pull off your sweats.” She wobbled when she stood and he held her upright. “You should be ecstatic,” he added from her feet. “You told me you wanted me to have you in the shower.”

  She closed her eyes and groaned as her stomach rolled and the room swam. “Max, you’re very pretty, but I don’t think we can have sex right now.”

  His laugh was beautiful but it hurt her ears and made her head pulse. She closed her eyes.

  “Don’t worry, Gracie, I just want to help make you feel better.”

  His nickname for her made her smile. He lifted her again, his body like ice against hers, and moved them both into the shower. She whimpered and clutched on to him as he turned the water on and the spray caught her foot like a rush of Arctic Ocean. She cried out, the sensation like a fierce slap against her skin.

  “Max, please,” she begged into his shoulder, trying her best to climb up him and away from the water.

  “Hang on. It’ll only be for a minute. I’ll do it quickly. You need to cool down, sweetheart. You’re far too hot.” His lips pressed against her temple. “Hold me.”

  She cried out again when he lifted the showerhead and moved it hastily over her body, keeping it for long moments on the back of her neck and her scalp. It hurt. It hurt and made her bones vibrate, but she knew somewhere in the back of her heat-addled mind that it was for her own good. She sniffled and whimpered into Max’s neck, hearing him turn off the water and step out of the shower. She was still in his arms and, when she opened her eyes, she could see goose bumps running across his shoulder.

  “Ar-are you c-cold?” she stammered against her chattering teeth.

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  She couldn’t help it, though. She cared for him, a whole lot, so worrying was part of the deal.

  “Is that so?”

  She nuzzled his neck, pretending she had not just said that aloud. Shit. A towel was swiftly wrapped around her and he placed her carefully on the circular love seat she had in her bedroom next to the large window he’d opened. She shook.

  “Stay here while I change your bed, okay?”

  “Sheets in th-the clos-set.”

  “I know,” he whispered, his lips near her cheek.

  She wished he’d kiss her. She wished he’d just stay and hold her. She wished she could appreciate seeing him wet from the shower. Wait. Was he naked? She tried to open her eyes, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Instead, she snuggled against the cushions of the love seat and pulled the towel closer, trying to keep warm.

  Max rolled over and was greeted with a fist smacking hard into his cheek. “Ow. Jeez!” He cursed and grumbled, grimacing as he clutched his face. “Shit, Grace.”

  From her side of her bed, Grace blinked up at him in surprise, her eyes tired and her hair a fuzzy disaster.

  “I just slept here to make sure you were all right,” he explained. “No need to beat me up.”

  She blinked at him again, seemingly lost and trying to piece together the last thirty-six hours. Max watched her carefully as he sat up against the wrought-iron headboard. At least she’d regained a little more color than she had had the day before. If it hadn’t been for all the shivering and shaking and grumbling nonsense, Max would have thought she was dead when he found her. Damn woman had given him a heart attack.

  Grace rubbed a hand down her face and shifted heavily so she, too, was sitting up. “Oh. Oh dear. I feel like crap.”

  “You look it,” Max commented honestly.

  Grace snorted. “Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “Just keeping it real. If it’s any consolation you look a damn sight better than you did.”

  Grace sighed, grimacing with each movement. “Was I run over by a truck?” She ran her hands through her hair but froze midway through. “Oh God, I was sick. I was sick a lot.” Her face was instantly mortified. “Max, that’s twice you’ve cleaned me up while I was spewing.”

  “Tell me about it,” Max replied earnestly. “It’s a good thing one of us has a strong stomach.”

  She looked like she was going to cry. Max couldn’t have handled that again. Once was bad enough. It had damn near broke his heart when, in her fever-riddled haze, she’d asked for her mother.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, stop,” Max said with a breath of amusement. “It’s fine.” He took a deep breath. “Although, I have to admit, I was severely disappointed that you weren’t wearing that red underwear again when I stripped you.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “Stripped me?”

  “Mmhm,” Max hummed, stretching; he caught her stare on his bare chest. “For the shower.”

  “Shower?”

  Max chuckled and nodded. “Together.” He winked. “Shame you were too ill to remember.”

  “Amen,” Grace sighed, looking decidedly disappointed.

  “Well, there’s always next time.” Max grinned. “Do you still feel sick?”

  At his words, a loud gurgle emitted from Grace’s stomach.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Hungry?”

  Grace looked around herself. “Water?”

  Max gestured toward the side table next to her, where there sat a large glass of water, a bottle of Gatorade, and a couple of white tablets. “It’s just Tylenol. The doctor wanted to give you a shot of something but I didn’t know if you were allergic or whether it would fuck with your meds, and I didn’t much fancy a trip to the ER, so we just gave you some ibuprofen and Tylenol to bring your temperature down.”


  Grace finished the whole glass frowning. “Doctor?”

  Max smiled. Yeah, she’d been totally out of it. “I called Aunt Fern, who called the doctor. Just a forty-eight-hour thing. He said you’ll be fine. Thank God.” He yawned. “I don’t think I could handle sleeping here again with all of your damn twitching and mumbling.”

  It’d been like sleeping inside a damn washing machine and Max was genuinely surprised he didn’t have more bruises. Initially, he’d grabbed a couple of blankets and bunkered down on the love seat, giving Grace the space to flail and turn in her bed. But, after a while, she’d started to cry out in her sleep, muttering nonsense that kept him awake for more than an hour. Tired and cranky, he’d scrambled into bed with her just after midnight and soothed her until her fever broke. As she had been after her panic attack in the bar, she was calm only when he was next to her, touching her. A fact that made something feel warm deep in his belly.

  Grace looked at him, aghast. “What the hell was I say— Are you joking?”

  He shook his head. “It was gibberish, mainly. Then it was about how awesome you think I am, how you can’t live without me—” He laughed when Grace swatted weakly at him. It was almost the truth, though he’d never tell her. She’d slurred a few times as she snuggled into him about how much he meant to her, and how pretty he was. The former made parts of Max twitch in discomfort but the latter made him chuckle and shush her until she was snoring softly. Then the next bout of fidgeting and fighting with the covers would start.

  Grace smiled, appeased, the worry fading from her eyes before she frowned. “Wait. What day is it? I have to work.”

  “Monday. I’ve been here since Sunday morning, when you didn’t show for our run. And don’t worry, I called Holly.”

  She exhaled, relieved. “Thank you. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  Max shook his head. “Uncle Vince said I could play hooky, to make sure you were still breathing and shit. Besides, he owes me.”

  “He does?”

  Max took a deep breath and licked his lips. “Josh and I with a few of the other guys are helping him on a job in Philly. A friend of his got behind schedule on a build and . . . we’ll be staying there to get it done faster. It should take about a week, maybe ten days.”