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

by Sophie Jackson

  “Your friend came back to the gallery. He told me where you would be if I changed my mind about speaking to you.”

  Riley. Well that shit was unexpected. “That’s why you’re here, you want to talk?” Max hedged.

  Grace licked her lips and took a deep breath. “I wanted to know why you came tonight.”

  Max took a moment to look her over, so spectacular in her dress. “I wanted . . . to see your work. To see you.”

  “Why?”

  Max clenched his teeth, nerves slithering through his veins. “Because I . . . It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, since we’ve talked, and I wanted to ask you—”

  “No,” she spat, halting Max’s words in their tracks. “You don’t understand. You see, I’m fine. Tonight I was fine. I thought I was fine. And then . . . I saw you.”

  Though he shouldn’t have been surprised, hurt sliced through him all the same. “I didn’t mean to mess everything up, Grace. I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” he stated quietly. “After I left . . . after what I said.” Max pushed his hands into his pockets and kicked gently at an invisible mark on the shop floor. “I just . . .”

  “What? What do you want?” she asked, voice soft and expectant.

  Max couldn’t meet her eyes. “I want . . . I don’t want labels. I just want you to be happy, Grace.”

  “It didn’t feel like it the day you left. It felt like I’d been ripped in half.” Despite the vehemence in her words, she crossed her arms, clutching her elbows as if holding herself together. “I was ready to let you go—to try and . . . breathe without you.”

  Her words stole Max’s own breath. “I know my apologizing, begging, groveling doesn’t take back what I said or how I behaved, but you have to know that none of what I said was true. I didn’t mean any of it.”

  “Then why say it at all?”

  Max exhaled heavily and lifted his shoulders. “Because . . . when I arrived in West Virginia, I had this perfect plan. I was quite happy living my life, waking up every fucking day, fighting my demons, my addiction, working with my uncle, moving on as best as I could.” He stared at her, so pure and lovely. “And then you . . . you just walked in like a damn hurricane and changed everything.”

  She looked down toward his feet guiltily. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t ever want to—”

  “No,” he interrupted loudly. “You don’t understand, you changed it for the good.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and stepped toward her. “I just didn’t know what the hell to do. I promised myself that I wouldn’t feel anything for anyone ever again and then all of a sudden I was feeling fucking everything at once and I didn’t know which way was up. I still don’t.” Her green eyes lifted to his, tentative and hopeful. “You’re like no one I’ve ever known,” he added softly. “You see the good in everything, and everyone, even me.”

  “But you ran, Max. After everything we’d shared, everything I’d told you, done with you.” She shook her head. “I trusted you and you said those awful things when I asked you how you felt.”

  Max exhaled.

  “I know you needed closure, Max. And I hope you got it.”

  “I did.”

  She smiled small. “I’m glad. But you were so ready to push me away to get it.”

  Max groaned in frustration. “I needed space from you to clear my head of what we’d done and how I felt, and coming back here was what I knew. It was the only familiar thing I had among shit that was totally unfamiliar.” He gripped his hair before dropping his arms to his sides, defeated. His pulse thundered. “Grace, I—I’ve never felt what I did that night with you. With anyone.”

  He chanced a glance at her but her face was unreadable. “But you still hurt me,” she whispered.

  Max’s throat suddenly grew tight as he nodded despondently. He took a stumbling step to the right and rested himself against the side of the cherry-red Mustang. He had no idea where he and Grace went from here. What the hell else was he supposed to say? He had no idea how to fix the damage he’d caused or if she’d even want him to.

  “This your father’s shop?”

  Her question brought his head up, surprised. “Yeah.”

  “Nice artwork,” she said, gesturing to the graffiti that littered the walls. Max had started it last week in an attempt to spruce the place up.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I thought I’d put my newfound love of painting to good use. It’s therapeutic, or so Doc keeps telling me.”

  Her smile grew a little. She appeared to gather herself before she spoke again. “I promised myself I wouldn’t ask you this, because I have absolutely no right to, but, seeing you now, I have to know.” She closed her eyes and said, “Did you sleep with her?”

  Max’s response was immediate and clear. “No.”

  She reopened her eyes, searching his face for a lie. “Did anything happen?”

  Max’s gaze drifted to the door, hoping to all hell that she wouldn’t leave when he told her the truth. “What happened, Max?”

  “When I was leaving,” he began, “she asked— We hugged and she kissed me.”

  “And you kissed her back.”

  It wasn’t a question. “Yes.”

  She exhaled slowly. “I guess I already knew. She’s your first love. I could never compete with that.”

  “Nobody’s asking you to,” Max urged. “I’m not asking you to.”

  “No,” she murmured. “It just feels that way.”

  Max stepped closer again, causing Grace to lift her chin to look at him.

  “I swear,” he insisted. “It was over as quickly as it began and it made me realize that, yes, she was the woman I’d fallen in love with all those years ago, but her lips weren’t the ones I wanted. There was nothing there, only memories of a time we’d never get back, and I realized that the man who’d loved her no longer existed.”

  He lifted a hand and let his finger whisper across her wrist, seeing goose bumps appear instantly. “We’re different people, she and I. We want different things. I know now. I know that I need to move forward. I need to look to the future instead of over my fuckin’ shoulder waiting for shit to happen; shit that’s in the past for a reason.”

  Resolute, he grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly as though it would help him keep talking and make her believe what he was saying was true. “I know I hurt you and I’ll always be sorry for that. I’ll always be an addict but I can’t change that, either. All I can do is promise I’ll fight it every day. For us. For you.”

  “Max, I—”

  “Do you know what happened when I saw you tonight?” he continued. “After so long . . . You were— Jesus, Gracie, you filled the fucking room. I couldn’t see anything but you. I don’t crave anything but you.” She stared at him. “You told me that all you wanted to do was love me. Am I too late?”

  Grace pulled her hand away gently.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, her words firm. “This is a lot to take in, Max. I had no idea. I never thought that you . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t be your substitute and I won’t be second best.”

  Max frowned, hating that she’d ever thought that. “You were never second best.”

  She rubbed the tips of her fingers across her forehead and moved toward the door. She turned back to him. “I can’t be a crutch. You have to keep fighting for you, Max. No one else.”

  “I do,” he countered. “I will. You just make fighting it that much easier.” Her expression softened. “Tell me what you want.”

  She opened her mouth a couple of times, but no words came. “I don’t know.”

  Max nodded slowly.

  “Time,” she offered. “I want time to think.”

  He’d have given her anything she’d asked. “Of course.”

  She pulled the door open before looking back. “In the gallery and just now, you said you had a question you wanted to ask me. What was it?”

  Max smiled small. “It’ll keep.”

  It was a week before Max
heard from Grace again, a short text asking how he was.

  It was ridiculous, really, how seeing her name light up his cell phone screen caused his belly to flutter. He responded in kind, keeping it brief but hopeful, thrilled that they were communicating at all. Max sure as shit hadn’t known whether that was even a possibility after the night she’d left him at the body shop.

  They texted back and forth for days, until the days turned into another week. It was always casual conversation about how they were spending their time—she was back in Preston County—details about another art show she’d been commissioned for in Philly, following her amazing success in New York, and Max’s meetings. Even though he was anxious to ask whether she’d thought any more about what she wanted, he refrained from pushing. Max knew what she was doing. She was learning to trust him again, slowly and surely, opening up and giving him the second chance he so desperately wanted.

  And he was desperate for it. The more he thought about spending time with her, the more he wanted it. Carter had been right: they didn’t need labels. Max just wanted to be with Grace in any capacity she’d allow. In spite of his impatience, Max stayed in New York, resisting the urge to go back to West Virginia, however regretfully, complying with her request for time. It was the least he could do.

  Max spent his days doing what he’d always done since he’d left Preston County: running, working, going to his meetings, staying clean, staying sober, fighting the good fight, all the while looking forward to his daily texts from Grace.

  It was on a hot evening two weeks after he’d last seen her that Grace called. The conversation wasn’t as awkward as Max anticipated. He found himself smiling at the sound of her voice and the excitement she oozed as she told him about her new photographs and filled him in on Uncle Vince and the family, even though she knew Max spoke to them regularly. At first she called twice a week for ten minutes. Then she called three times, until within a week they were speaking for an hour every day. The routine was as easy as it had been when they’d started running together. They fit, not just physically, but emotionally, too.

  It was during one of their conversations that Grace brought up the delicate situation of her brother, Kai. Max was under no illusions. He knew that Kai, quite rightly, had taken serious issue with Max’s behavior, and as a result he was expressing concern about Grace having any kind of relationship with Max, over the phone or otherwise.

  Max was sitting on his sofa, cell phone to his ear, his bare feet kicked up on the coffee table. “Can I do anything to help?” he asked. “I could, I don’t know, maybe talk to him.”

  Grace had laughed nervously. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, but I appreciate the offer. He’ll come around. If he knows I’m happy and safe, he’ll get over it.”

  “You’re safe with me.”

  “I know.”

  Max had swallowed, sensing they were teetering over the line Grace had drawn between the two of them weeks ago. “Do I make you happy?”

  She’d paused before saying, “Yes.”

  Max and Riley threw themselves into organizing Carter’s bachelor party, which ended up being a riotous two-day affair in Vegas. Max was more than a little warmed by the fact that Carter, Riley, and of course Tate, whom Max had invited, refrained from drinking in his company. By the second night, however, after a day by the pool, Max forced a tequila into Carter’s hand, teasing him mercilessly about how he deserved it for agreeing to subject himself to a life of servitude. There’d been a manly hug and backslap and Carter had knocked that shit back like he’d been desperate for it.

  It was followed by five more.

  As Carter had requested, there were no strippers, much to Riley’s upset. Instead, the ten members of the party enjoyed good food, good wine, scorching-hot weather, and lots and lots of gambling. Max couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed himself, even if it had been hard being in a club not drinking, but his friends were never too far away, encouraging and helping him through it. Max understood that this was how his life would always be, for better or for worse, and as he watched Riley grinding up against a bunch of girls while the others laughed and egged him on, Max realized he was okay with that.

  He didn’t mind being the designated driver, and he didn’t mind helping Carter pull up Kat’s cell phone number so that he could call her and tell her how much he was missing her. For one fleeting moment, as Carter rambled and slurred down the phone, and Kat’s laughter echoed from the earpiece, Max wondered how Grace would feel if he called to tell her the same.

  Three days after they all returned safely to New York, resolute and with a fuck-it-who-cares attitude, Max called Grace and asked her outright, “When can I see you?”

  The line was silent for a beat before she replied. “You want to see me?”

  Max scoffed and dropped down onto the sofa. “Grace,” he sighed. “I need to see you.” He played with a loose thread hanging from the bottom of his T-shirt. “It’s been weeks and I know I said I’d give you time but . . .”

  “But what?”

  Max cupped a hand to his forehead. “I miss you.”

  Her breath caught. “I miss you, too.”

  “Then come,” Max insisted, sitting forward. “Come to New York. Or I can come to you, whatever you want.”

  “How, I’m working? It’s Thursday night. Isn’t it Carter’s wedding this weekend?”

  Max smacked a palm against the chair arm. “Fuck.” How could he forget that? Some best friend he was. They had a rehearsal dinner tomorrow and then the wedding was Saturday. He still had to run through his best man’s speech.

  Grace laughed softly. “It’s okay.”

  “Sunday?”

  “I can’t. I’m in DC with Kai.”

  Max exhaled heavily and slumped back in his seat. “Next week then.”

  Grace hummed. “Next week it is.”

  Max could count on his fingers the amount of times he’d seen Carter lose his shit. Despite his reputation, Max’s best friend was fairly chill about most things. His wedding day, however, was not one of them. Max couldn’t remember seeing Carter so flustered and, honestly, it was funny as fuck.

  “Stop laughing and help me, assholes!” Carter exclaimed from his place by a full-length mirror where he’d been battling with his peach-colored tie for at least fifteen minutes. “I’m useless at these fuckin’ things.”

  Max snorted from his spot in the doorway next to Riley and approached, swatting Carter’s hands away and tying the tie from behind, his arms reaching over Carter’s shoulders. He smiled widely at his friend in the mirror.

  “Fuck off,” Carter grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I know you love seeing me like this.”

  “You bet your ass,” Max commented. He adjusted the perfect knot of the tie at Carter’s throat and patted his friend’s belly twice. “Done.” Carter exhaled and nodded as Max stepped back.

  “Have another drink,” Max offered, reaching for a half-filled champagne flute and passing it to him. There were hundreds of them dotted around the beach house, left by the various people milling about. Max wasn’t sure he’d ever seen so many busy people.

  Carter knocked the drink back and sighed. He glanced at the large watch on his wrist and swallowed audibly. It was showtime in fifteen minutes. Max chuckled and handed him his gray suit jacket. “Dude, relax, you’d think you were due in court.”

  “No,” Carter answered, with a finger pointed in Max’s face. “There’s no way I’d be this nervous if that was the case.”

  Both Riley and Max laughed. Max glanced back at Riley, who, understanding the need for the two best friends to have a moment, nodded and snuck out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  “What are you so nervous about, man?” Max asked, looking back at Carter, who placed his empty glass down on a nearby shelf and shrugged into his jacket. “Isn’t this what you want?”

  “Yes!” Carter blurted. “Yes, of course, I can’t wait to see her, to marry her, but . . .” He glanced at the window, out toward
the beach where rows of chairs were filling with people and a white archway decorated in white and peach-colored flowers stood in front of a very official-looking man, all waiting for the wedding to begin.

  “You’re just scared about fucking up?”

  Carter nodded and whispered, “Shitless.”

  Max smiled and stepped closer to his best friend. “You’ve got this, brother. Okay? She loves you. Fuck knows why”—they both chuckled—“but she does.” He squeezed Carter’s shoulder. “So go down there and show everyone why she chose you.”

  Carter’s eyes glistened in a way that made Max shift on his feet. “I’m proud of you, Max,” he said softly. “So fucking proud.”

  Max had no time to reply before Carter pulled him into a tight hug. There were no backslaps, no manly declarations, just two men with twenty years of friendship between them, silently appreciating how far they’d both come.

  Carter never wavered after that.

  Max stood proudly at his side, where he’d always been and would always be, as Carter married Kat, who was stunning in her ivory dress. The vows they both spoke were moving and said with such fervency that, a few times, Max’s chest echoed with a pang of longing for Grace. Nevertheless, Max was the first to stand, clap, and cheer when Kat and Carter had their first kiss as husband and wife.

  Outside the beach house, on the sand, a dance floor and bar area had been constructed, surrounded by white tables where the wedding party ate their meal and toasted the bride and groom. The lapping ocean was the only sound track to Max’s best man’s speech, before the DJ invited the newlyweds onto the floor for their first dance. Watching the happy couple dance to Otis Redding, Max recalled dancing with Grace in the godforsaken bar Ruby had taken them to that July weekend and smiled quietly to himself at the memory. She’d looked so damned beautiful that night.

  Riley thumped down next to Max as the dance floor started to fill up. “Sweet speech. You did good, man,” he uttered, his eyes on a young brunette dancing not ten feet away.

  Max grinned. “Thanks, dude.”

  Riley looked over at him and winked. “So, you and running girl—you ready for all this?” He gestured toward where Kat and Carter swayed slowly amid the other, more exuberant dancers on the floor; the newlyweds were staring at one another as though the entire world had stopped around them.