Make It Right

by Megan Erickson

  The sound on the other end of the line sounded suspiciously like the grinding of teeth. “You asked Lea out on a date.” That was definitely said through gritted teeth.

  “Yes.”

  “She’s way too good for you, Payton.”

  “I realize that, Owens.”

  A pause then. “How’d you get my number?”

  “Who you think? Alec.”

  “Why’d you ask her out?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Hey, asshole, you called me—”

  “She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met,” he blurted. Then took a deep breath. “I mean, she’s beautiful, but it’s not about that. She’s strong and confident and smart and gives as good as she gets.”

  A tapping, like long nails clicking on a hard surface. Then her reluctant voice came over the line. “In her room, she has a picture of the rink at Rockefeller Center during the winter, with the lit Christmas tree in the background. She went to New York shortly after . . . well, she couldn’t skate then. She told me she always wanted to go and skate in New York at Christmas.”

  He chewed his lip on that. “It’s November, they don’t have the tree up yet and I can’t afford to take her to New York.”

  A heaving sigh. “I know that, dumbass. That’s something she’s never done and always wanted to do. Figure it out. Be creative. That’s all I’m giving you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You. Are. Welcome,” she drawled.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Thanks, Danica. For real. I’ll figure something out.”

  A soft laugh. “I never thought I’d say this, but I have faith in you, Max.”

  “Thanks, Danica.”

  “One thing. You screw her over, and I’ll show up at your door with a stapler.”

  HE’D SAID TO wear warm clothes. So Lea donned her thickest jeans, magenta-and-orange crocheted socks her father had given her for her birthday last year, and a pair of black low-heeled boots. Then she stood at the door of her closet, hand on her hip, upper body clothed in only her lavender lace bra.

  She didn’t want to be cold, but she wanted to be cute.

  In middle and high school, she’d been so self-conscious of her limp and scars. She’d hid behind loose, dark clothing and a scowl.

  Her first boyfriend seemed to use her as a public service announcement. Oh, I’m dating the cripple girl, look what a great guy I am! Jason gave her flowers and gifts and compliments when other people were around. But in private? He hadn’t been interested in her at all. He liked to kiss with his eyes closed and roughly fondly her boobs. Careful not to touch anywhere she was scarred, like it was contagious.

  She’d been young and insecure and clingy and shared all her fears with him. He’d turned around, written a college admissions essay on her and her experience. He was lauded for his courage writing it, so much so that he read some of it at graduation. The day he was accepted into his dream university, he dumped her.

  After Jason broke her heart, she realized she hadn’t treated herself with any worth. Why did she expect someone else to do what she couldn’t?

  It had woken her up, and Lea vowed never to let someone make her feel like that again. She mended her relationship with her parents and took control of her appearance.

  Shopping became her vice. Instead of arguing with her parents about her attitude, she argued with them about her meager bank account.

  But it was worth it to value herself. She didn’t dress to cover her leg or limp or to impress anyone else. She wore the latest styles and the best brands, matching colors and styles because it gave her control to match her appearance to how she felt on the inside.

  She grabbed a fuchsia camisole off a hanger and slipped it over her head, then walked over to her dresser. Out of the second drawer, she pulled a loose-knit dolman-sleeve sweater and pulled that on over her cami. So, it wasn’t super warm, but she looked cute and then she could shiver so Max could put his arm around her. Surely, he’d appreciate the hint.

  After last-minute application of lipgloss, she walked out to her kitchen to down a pain killer to get her through the night.

  Then she leaned back against the counter and waited.

  Maybe it was a bad idea to issue this challenge to Max. Because more than ever, she wanted this date to be special. She hadn’t dated in a while. And despite wanting to keep her distance from him, she couldn’t. Every time Max looked at her, with a warm gaze that coated her like honey, she wanted to let herself be caught in the weight.

  Why did she have to put this pressure on him? It was like she was unconsciously testing him. That wasn’t fair to him, so she would have to lower her expectations for this date. Just enjoy Max’s company and stare at that chin dimple she wanted to prod with her tongue.

  Was that weird? Was there a chin-dimple fetish group?

  A sharp knock on the door in a distinct rhythm. Rap rap-rap-rap. Rap. Rap.

  She wiped her damp palms on her jeans and walked to the door.

  When she opened it, Max stood in front of her, one big hand braced on the doorway, the other holding a . . . mini Christmas tree. With tinsel and glass balls. Bulging burlap wrapped around the base.

  He held it out to her. “Hey, doll.”

  She wrapped her hands around the scratchy fabric and pulled it to her chest, watching the glass balls clink against each other and the tinsel flutter.

  She loved the holiday—everything about it from the weather to the food to the charitable spirit. But this was November. Even if some department stores hadn’t realized it yet. Still, the little tree filled her soul.

  “A Christmas tree?” she asked.

  He shoved his hands in the pocket of his worn, camel-colored leather jacket, which looked so soft, she wanted to pet it.

  “It’s . . . uh . . . part of the date. You’ll see.” His voice shook a little, the muscles of his mouth twitching like he was unsure what to do with them.

  She knew there was one thing she wanted to do with her mouth. Stretching her neck up, she puckered her lips, too short to do anything but wait. Max’s brows dipped, then he haltingly lowered his head. She brushed her lips over his cheek, then whispered, “Thank you, I love Christmas and this tree is so cute.”

  He leaned back, face pinked. “Welcome.”

  WHITE LIGHTS FRAMED the swinging door onto the rink and two decorated trees in terra-cotta pots guarded the entrance like little pine sentries.

  On the bench to her right sat two pairs of skates—one a white, figure-skating rental pair and the other black hockey skates—and two Santa hats.

  A spotlight on the ceiling illuminated a small round table draped in a white tablecloth and two mismatched chairs. In the center of the table was a poinsettia plant, the pot wrapped in gold foil.

  Emotions coursed through Lea like a multicolored strobe light. Happy. Nervous. Excited. Scared. Overwhelmed.

  She clapped her mittens on her cheeks, speechless.

  Max shifted beside her. “I heard you always wanted to skate in New York at Rockefeller Center. But A, it’s November and B, um, the city is kind of expensive, so . . .”

  His voice trailed off and once his words penetrated her pulsing, taxed brain, her body knew what it wanted to do.

  She whipped off her mittens, grabbed Max by the lapels of that coat she’d wanted to touch since he showed up at her door, raised up on her tiptoes and tugged.

  His head dipped easily and when their lips connected, her body stopped flipping through its catalog and focused on one emotion—desire.

  She didn’t worry about her lipgloss rubbing off on him or the crescent marks her nails were surely making on his coat or the twinge of pain in her battered knee.

  His lips were soft and his stubble grazed her skin and his teeth scraped along her bottom lip, tugging gently. So she opened her mouth and melted into him as his strong arms enveloped her in an embrace and his tongue delved into her mouth. The kiss wasn’t perfect, probably because she surprised him. But it was perfect
ly imperfect because it wasn’t planned and she had wanted this for so long.

  She’d had a lot of first kisses in her life, but none was even close to the sensation racing across her skin at the taste of Max. At first, their noses mashed together, but when Max’s tongue touched hers, he made a sound in the back of his throat that she echoed in her own.

  And then the Max she always knew was in him, but the one she’d never thought she’d see for herself, unleashed. His fingertips slipped under her shirt at her back, teasing the skin above her waistband. His other hand rose, cupping the base of her head, kneading her scalp until all she could feel were the three points on her body he touched—mouth, head and back.

  He took possession of her and in that moment, she let him, as he licked at her mouth and nibbled her lips and sucked on her tongue.

  She didn’t want it to end.

  When he pulled away, his mouth was still open and his eyes still closed. He blinked them open a couple of times until the haze of lust cleared and he could focus.

  “Um . . .” he mumbled.

  She smiled and loosened her grip on his coat. Then grimaced at the scratches she’d left behind on the soft leather and smoothed her fingers over them. “I’m sorry, I, uh, might have marked up your jacket.”

  He didn’t even glance down, those eyes boring into hers. “Good. A souvenir. Because I’m going to want to remember that.”

  His lips glistened with her leftover lipgloss, so she raised her thumb to wipe them off.

  He yanked his head back and gripped her wrist. “What are you doing?”

  “You have shiny pink lipgloss on your lips.”

  He smacked them together. “Yeah? Is it a good color for me?”

  Lea laughed. “I don’t know. You might be more of a deep red kind of guy.”

  “Well, too bad. This is my favorite now.”

  “You don’t want me to wipe it off?”

  He shook his head. “Another souvenir.”

  She lowered her heels to the ground. “I can’t believe you did this. How did you know?”

  He touched his lips, one corner of his mouth lifting. “You have that poster in your bedroom.”

  “You’ve never seen my room.” She frowned.

  “Nope, but your roommate has.”

  “My roommate? You mean . . .” she widened her eyes. “You talked to Danica?”

  Big grin. “I called her.”

  “You, Max Payton, called Danica Owens.”

  “That sounds really dramatic when you say it like that, but yes, I did.”

  “She actually answered the phone?”

  “Well, she didn’t recognize the number.”

  Lea scrunched her lips to the side. There was no love between Danica and Max. It was a mutual dislike, really. So Max braving a call to a woman who surely put him through his paces was impressive.

  But not as impressive as this recreation of Christmas in New York.

  “So,” he said, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes. “If you’re hungry, we can eat first. I mean, we don’t have to skate—”

  “Let’s skate first!” she all but shouted.

  Max chuckled. “Really? Well, okay.” He led her over to the benches and pointed to the white figure skates. “I texted Danica for your shoe size and she said six. Is that right?”

  Lea nodded, slipping her boots off, but froze when her brightly colored socks contrasted sharply with the black rubber floor.

  Max snickered while slipping on his right skate. “Those are some socks.”

  She touched the seam on the inside of her ankle. “My dad crocheted them. Gift for my birthday.”

  Max finished lacing up his skate and stuck his foot in the left one. “Seriously? Wow, that’s awesome. The last thing my dad gave me was a new muffler. And I had to do a day’s worth of oil changes for it.”

  His head was bent, face hidden between outstretched arms tying his laces. But when both of his skates were tied, the laces of the left one were tighter, the knot sloppier. He stood above her as she tugged on her skates, now even taller with an additional five or six inches of steel and sole.

  She took her time lacing up the skate while Max stretched. She hadn’t skated since before the accident. She’d been taking lessons, had a birthday party at her local ice rink. Loved the sound of blades slicing the ice and the clomp when she landed a jump. Dreamed of being like Kristi Yamaguchi or Johnny Weir.

  Asked to go skate at Rockefeller Center for her next birthday.

  But then she trusted the wrong person, who crossed the wrong intersection at the wrong time, and Lea was forced to dream new dreams.

  Skating was never mentioned again. When she’d packed for college and found that forgotten poster hidden in her closet, she’d tucked it into her luggage. And then displayed it behind her bed. Her parents pretended not to see it when they visited.

  Max shook out his legs and gripped an elbow to stretch his tricep behind his head. With Danica’s help, he’d found the biggest item on her bucket list, checking it off in the best way he knew how. He hadn’t asked her about whether she could skate, hadn’t treated her like a cripple or a broken doll.

  He’d shown her the choices and let her choose.

  She chose this. She chose skating. She chose dinner on the ice with a handsome man.

  She chose him.

  When she finished lacing up her skates, she straightened and leaned back, bracing her arms on the bench and clicking her skates together. “When I was thirteen, Nick and I were at his neighbor’s, playing with her kid. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was an alcoholic. One day, she said she had to run errands. So we all got into the car, the three of us in the backseat. We passed through an intersection, and a truck hit us. Or, really, hit my door and subsequently, me.”

  Click. Click. Click.

  The sound of her skates reverberated off the walls of the vacant rink. Max’s black skates in front of her didn’t move. And she didn’t look up.

  “The details don’t really matter, but I broke a lot of bones and needed surgery. I have a lot of pins to keep everything in place. But there are a lot of scars, and it’s pretty obvious my leg isn’t the same and never will be.”

  Click. Click. Click.

  She stared at a scuff mark on the toe of the white leather of her skate.

  Max took a step forward. “Do you still have pain?” His voice was a low rumble.

  She stilled her feet. Couldn’t someone have buffed out that scuff? “Sometimes.”

  Still staring at that scuff, she took a deep breath and told him about her lessons, her birthday party. Her dreams that could never happen. “You know, when I was sixteen, I thought I’d always be bitter. I thought I’d be a sarcastic bitch. Turn everyone away before they could turn me away. But then I came to college and now that I’m a senior, I’ve grown up a little. I’ve accepted myself.” She shook her head. “I finally understand I can’t predict how I’m going to feel twenty years or ten years or even five years from now. So I live my life in the moment how I see fit. It’s been going okay.”

  When she finished, he took another step closer and knelt down. She raised her head as the weight of one large hand warmed her knee. The left one. “I’m glad you’re choosing this moment. With me. In an ice rink covered in gaudy Christmas decorations in November.”

  The relief of trusting Max with her story and this moment washed over her. She threw back her head and laughed. The sound ripped from her chest and out her mouth in a torrent, unable to stop until tears were streaming down her face. At some point, the tears changed to sobs but she tried to hide them as best as she could, holding her face in her hands, not wanting Max to see this odd breakdown.

  And then Max’s hand wasn’t on her knee anymore. Now it was cradling her head to his chest and she was soaking his leather jacket with the salty river and she couldn’t stop. Her hands gripped him as she burrowed into his chest. His other arm wrapped around her back and all she smelled was leather and soap and sweat
and all she felt was Max’s heat and shelter.

  When the tears dried and she could breathe without a hitch, she pulled back, head down, furiously swiping her eyes, her hands now coated with ruined mascara and black eyeliner and gray eyeshadow. She didn’t cry in front of anyone, let alone a man who wasn’t her father.

  She didn’t know what to say, because that breakdown came out of nowhere. Didn’t she read somewhere how extreme emotions are linked? Because that laughter had been normal at first, then turned maniacal and then took the highway at ninety straight to Sob Town.

  Awesome first date, Lea. Bawl all over the guy.

  She dried her face as best she could and raised her eyes to Max’s, expecting to see his face etched with holy shit, what have I gotten myself into?

  Instead he lifted up the hem of his shirt and wiped her cheeks and around her eyes and she really must have been a mess, because he even wiped her forehead and chin. The whole time, those brown eyes concentrated on her face, tender and strong. When he dropped his shirt back down, the cream-colored fabric was a sodden, gray mess. She opened up her mouth to apologize, but he shook his head, straightened and held out his hand. “More souvenirs. Now come on. This is our moment, and we’re going to skate.”

  Chapter 11

  MAX WATCHED AS Lea stumbled slightly on her bad leg when she stepped onto the ice. She didn’t blush with embarrassment or apologize. She took a deep breath, a muscle ticking in her jaw and clenched her hands into fists. Then took another, steadier step.

  Her strength was beautiful and inspiring. He wanted to bottle it up and rub it into his skin like lotion.

  It’d taken an act of God to reserve the ice rink all to himself. The manager owed him a favor from back when Max used to work there in high school. And it was a matter of chance that the club team who called this rink home had an away game, and there was a figure-skating competition going on in the next town, so those athletes weren’t practicing.

  He’d still had to cough up a pretty penny, but it was worth it for Lea.

  When she stumbled again, he spun in front of her and skated background, holding her hands in his. She didn’t acknowledge the help but didn’t pull away either.