Make It Right

by Megan Erickson

  The first thing she saw was a man standing with his back to her. He was tall and broad shouldered, in stained jeans and massive boots, with unkept salt-and-pepper hair. Then he twisted at the waist to face her and she looked up into a face that would have frozen her in her tracks if she wasn’t already frozen in place.

  Cold gray-blue eyes squinted and lips thinned in his lined face. “We’re full up.”

  What? “Excuse me?”

  “Ain’t got no time for your last-minute oil change or whatever you need, girl. You can head on down to Quick-Lube down the road and see if they’re still open—”

  “I—”

  “Always the girls coming in last minute on a Saturday,” he muttered.

  She clutched the cookies tight to her chest, thinking this had been a horrible idea. A terrible mistake. This is what Max grew up with?

  “Dad, Jesus,” a familiar voice said from behind the boulder of a man and Lea closed her eyes, thinking this was going to be awkward for all of them.

  When she opened her eyes, the boulder had moved and Max stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open, all color drained from his face.

  Mulligan! She wanted to yell. Just, mulligan this whole scene. Do it over. With her back home. Eating cookies and watching lesbian romance movies with her roommate and her girlfriend. Forget this drive and forget this garage even existed. Forget this man existed, who somehow had swimmers intelligent enough to produce the man she l . . .

  No, not that word.

  Not now.

  “I brought cookies,” she mumbled and then felt her face flame. She brought cookies. The only word more silly than cookies was cupcakes and thank God she hadn’t made those. And thank God she didn’t actually say the word snickerdoodle. It would have been out of place in this office, with grime on the walls and stains on the carpet. Like a couch on a front lawn. Couches were meant to be inside, in living rooms. And words like cookies and cupcakes and snickerdoodles didn’t belong around this hard shell of a man currently glancing between Max and Lea.

  “Hey,” Max finally said, his voice oddly low, like he was trying to lower it. He sounded like a prepubescent trying to talk like a man.

  She’d never thought about how Max would act different around his dad. Around his brothers. A man shifted in the far corner and she glanced at him, quickly realizing that he must be one of Max’s brothers.

  It seemed ages ago when all she knew was the cocky, arrogant, rude Max. Because she’d finally seen the real one. The caring, funny, sincere, trusting Max.

  It hadn’t occurred to her that there could be a third Max.

  This was so wrong.

  “You two know each other?” Max’s dad said. And Lea wanted to shout No! Because how many more Maxes she hadn’t met yet were inside that one body?

  Max cleared his throat. “She’s friends with Kat.”

  That one sentence could have been a punch in her gut. She looked down to see if there was a fist slammed into her flesh. There was nothing there but the container of cookies, but she felt the punch all the same.

  She was just Kat’s friend? That’s all he planned to introduce her as?

  She steeled herself and met his eyes, daring him to not call her his girlfriend.

  His eyes flickered. Something. But then it was quickly gone and this weird, impassive Max with a deep voice jerked his chin toward the boulder. “This is my dad.”

  She met his eyes and all she got out of him was a head bob.

  What was with this family?

  Her father hugged her. And knitted her socks. And called her La-La and brought her pie and held her when she cried.

  This . . . this family she didn’t understand. And every cell in her body told her this was how they always were. This wasn’t some fluke.

  And Max sat behind that desk, still as a stone, just like his father, staring her down.

  She didn’t belong.

  Max’s dad turned to his son and pitched his voice low. But she still heard every word in his low rumble. “Thought you wanted to break it off before she got too attached,” he said. “Woman tip: cookies mean attached.” And those two sentences were an uppercut. Right to the chin. Her head whirled. TKO.

  She tried to think rationally despite the pain in her stomach and head. Max had told his father he planned to break up with her before she got too attached? Too attached? She was so attached she didn’t know if she’d be able to leave this office without leaving half of her bleeding heart on the table covered with ripped and stained magazines.

  So he was a liar. This is what happened when she trusted. She’d dropped her gloves, exposed her tender areas and he’d taken the shots.

  Fine. He won. He could have the gold belt. She’d go home and lick her wounds and learn her lesson for next time.

  “Excuse me,” she mumbled, fumbling behind her for the door.

  She wanted nothing to remember this weird, horrible moment by. She tossed the cookie container on a table covered in magazines. “You can have those,” she said, avoiding eye contact with either man.

  There was a whispered curse and a creak of a chair but she was already out the door, pushing against the wind. But she didn’t feel it because her whole body felt numb.

  And right before the door closed, she heard the deep rumble of the boulder. “Something wrong with her leg?”

  And that’s when the tears came. She felt those through the numbness, tracking in hot streams down her face. But she kept her head up.

  They wouldn’t see her fall.

  They wouldn’t see her stumble.

  And they most certainly wouldn’t see her cry.

  Screw Max and his thousand personalities. He could live with them, because she was done with dating several guys at once.

  She was halfway home before she realized never once had he even said her name.

  Chapter 19

  HIS DAD KEPT him late at the shop, like he knew Max was miserable and wanted to torture him more. Max wanted to throw a tire iron at him, scream about how he was done with this. Done with this garage and this life and everything that took him away from Lea.

  He wanted to live his life for himself.

  But he didn’t. Because his sole focus now was getting back to Lea.

  As soon as the garage was closed, Max ran to his truck and fired it up, wheels screeching as he took off toward Lea’s apartment.

  All the visitor spaces in her parking lot were taken and he slammed his hand against the steering wheel, waiting for his headlights to find an open space.

  No dice.

  He growled and wrenched his truck out of the parking lot, heading to the nearest lot, which was on campus. He’d have to cut through, between a couple of dorms, but it didn’t matter.

  He parked his truck haphazardly, not caring he wasn’t between the white lines, then took off across campus, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets.

  Staring at his feet as they crunched on the cold ground, Max thought of what he’d say to Lea when he reached her apartment. If only she’d understood he’d done it to protect himself. And her.

  He ran through lines in his head wondering if he was going to have to camp out at her door when she refused to open it.

  Just as he was thinking maybe he should have gotten some flowers or something a blow hit him from behind.

  He grew up with two older brothers. He knew what a punch from a fist felt like. And this wasn’t a fist. This was something hard and cold, and pain laced through his scalp. His head rolled and he stumbled to one knee and a palm. He fought to keep his wits about him, shaking his head, pretending this was a hockey game and he’d been checked into the boards. He couldn’t lose consciousness. He had to figure out what the hell was going on and how to get out of it.

  Get up, Max. Get up and get that puck.

  He struggled to his feet and arms immediately clamped around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He blinked blearily into the dark, head swimming from the blow.

  “Hurry up and help me!” A
muffled voice yelled by his ear. “He’s a strong fucker!”

  A strong fucker. He was a strong fucker, and big, yet right now he couldn’t do a thing. He couldn’t get out of the iron grip around him. He heard more footsteps.

  This guy had backup. And that’s when it finally hit him, like whatever that had been to the back of his head, that these were the guys. The ones who’d been preying on the campus and town.

  The ones who hurt Nick.

  “Stop struggling.” That voice rasped in his ear, like gravel scraping open his skin.

  The fear paralyzed him. He was fucked.

  He’d been so focused on getting to Lea. To apologize, beg, whatever it took to get her back that he hadn’t watched his six. He hadn’t paid attention to shadows in the dark.

  The footsteps grew closer. Murmuring voices.

  Grunts sounded in his ear as he renewed his efforts, wiggling and squirming, trying to break free.

  No luck. This guy had a vice grip around his middle.

  He wanted to pound these guys into the ground. That’s what his dad would do. That’s what his dad would want him to do. Stay and fight and make them pay for all the pain and fear they’d inflicted in this community. For landing Nick in the hospital. For making Lea cry.

  Lea.

  And then her voice pounded in his brain, breaking through the pain fog like a beacon.

  Create a diversion and get away.

  He shook his head again. Think, Max. Think.

  In this position, heel stomps didn’t work. But grabbing this guy’s junk would.

  His arms were pinned at his sides, but he slipped his right arm back. The guy stiffened and Max had his shot.

  He took it.

  He grabbed a hold of something he never wanted to touch ever again in his life and squeezed and yanked.

  The arm prison around him dropped and a male howl sounded in his ears. Max slumped into a crouch.

  The footsteps grew closer, and Max saw two figures materialize out of the dark in front of him.

  He paused. He could turn around and kick this guy in the ribs. He could take on his two friends. Two against one wasn’t so bad. He was a “strong fucker” after all.

  But then Lea’s voice again.

  Life isn’t a Jason Statham movie.

  He knew where the emergency phones were and if he made it out from between these two dorms, he could reach one in seconds.

  “Hey asshole!” Called one of the dark figures. “Oh shit, he got Ray—”

  And Max didn’t stay to hear the rest. He took off like a sprinter out of a starting block. His head pounded as he pumped his arms. He stumbled. That guy probably gave him a concussion, but he couldn’t worry about that now.

  His focus was getting to that phone under a bath of streetlight.

  He tripped over the sidewalk, his depth perception fucked, and fell on his hands and knees again, this time knowing he tore open his jeans as gravel dug into his skin. But that pain was nothing compared to the pain in his head. He got back up and didn’t stop running until he was right in front of the phone. His body slammed into the pole holding the call box, and he ripped the receiver off of its hook. As he raised it to his ear, he heard one ring and then, “Bowler police.”

  Relief washed over him. “The guys. The assaults. I’m Max Payton. They just attacked me and I got away. I hurt one of him, between Macon and Dorset dorms.”

  The voice was saying something in his ear but he couldn’t concentrate because there was something trickling down his neck. Something warm and wet. What the . . .

  He reached up with shaking fingers, realizing his whole body was trembling. And then the pads of his fingers touched something sticky. He drew his hand away and saw the red and smelled the iron. How . . .

  The voice in his ear was more urgent now. But he couldn’t make out the words. Something about staying put or . . .

  He looked at the phone but it was no longer in his hand, it was dangling by its cord beside the box. His vision blurred, his head rolled, and the ground rushed up to meet him.

  LEA IGNORED HER ringing phone for the third time. She didn’t even look at the display. She figured it was Max, calling to officially end it.

  And she didn’t want to hear it because her gut still churned, and she was still too raw. She needed her wounds to heal, scab over, develop scar tissue because she needed protection from Max.

  What did more scars matter? Inside and out. She matched now.

  She heard the ringing of another phone out in the living room and hoped Max didn’t start calling Danica, too, because she’d staple his balls to the wall.

  She heard Danica’s voice answer her phone, her murmurs too low to decipher even through their thin walls.

  Then the volume of the TV stopped, Danica’s voice rose higher. Lea thought maybe she should get out of bed and walk out there, take the phone from Danica and end it with Max once and for all.

  Because Danica hadn’t been amused by Lea’s retelling of the scene at the shop. In fact, she’d been furious.

  No one messed with Danica’s people. And Max had just been dropped as one of Danica’s “people” and shoved solidly into enemy territory.

  There wasn’t a gray area with Danica.

  But then there was a crash. Followed by a curse. And then bare feet ran down the hall and Lea’s bedroom door flew open, slamming back on its hinges.

  Danica’s face was white, her lit phone held out from her ear. “Lea,” she gasped.

  Lea raised to a sitting position, bracing her arms behind her. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “It’s Max,” Danica whispered.

  Lea frowned. “What’s Max?”

  Danica looked at her phone and Lea could hear a tinny male voice through the speaker. “I don’t want to talk to him, Dan—”

  “He was attacked.”

  Lea’s body flushed numb. Like someone had stuck a needle in her spine and injected some serum right into her marrow.

  The gun. She hadn’t told him about the gun. And then that needle was yanked out and in its place was a bone-deep chill. She wrapped her arms around herself, in a lame attempt to warm up her body temperature, and rocked forward. “The gun. Oh shit, Danica, the gun!”

  Danica nodded. Then slowly raised the phone to her ear. “I’m back, Stone.”

  Lea closed her eyes, not even wanting to hear the words, the words that despite her anger at Max, despite the fact that minutes ago the sound of Max’s name had made her want to spit fire, were words she didn’t want to hear.

  Max with his arrogance and his eye-for-an-eye-justice bone. Oh Max, what happened?

  Danica said, “Well keep us updated,” and Lea raised her eyes because updates were good. Updates meant there was something to update. Updates meant there wasn’t an end.

  “How bad is it?” Lea whispered. She remembered Nick lying in the hospital bed. Swollen eyes. Casted arm.

  And that was before these assholes armed themselves. She looked around for her trash can in case she needed to hurl.

  The guilt was . . . overwhelming, thickening her blood in her veins. She clutched her chest as the pain splintered out from her heart into all her limbs. If only she’d calmed down, taken a minute to forget her anger and warn him about the gun. She knew he often came back to his town house Saturday nights. She knew and yet she’d let her emotions take over.

  She’d lost control.

  And she hurt Max.

  Danica walked over and lifted up the covers, crawling into bed beside Lea. They sank down onto their sides, sharing a pillow. “Alec said Max’s brother called him. Max is at the hospital. He was taken by ambulance when they found him collapsed at a campus emergency phone.”

  Campus? What the hell had he been doing on campus? His town house was in town.

  Danica brushed Lea’s bangs off of her forehead. “Lea, he was bleeding. From the head.”

  “Oh my God,” Lea groaned, knowing the only reason she wasn’t throwing up now was because her
stomach was empty. “Was he shot? Was—”

  Danica shook her head. “I’m sorry sweetie, but all Stone knows is that Max is alive.” The for now hung in the air between them.

  Lea yanked on her hair. “This is my fault, I—”

  “What?” Danica gripped her wrist and tugged so Lea let go of her hair. “In what world is this your fault—”

  “I didn’t tell him about the gun—”

  “It’s not your fault they had a gun! Lea—”

  “I know, but I should have told him!” Lea shouted, and Danica’s face fell. Lea had never seen Danica cry, but now her face was flushed, her eyes wet.

  “Honey . . .” Danica started.

  And then Lea broke down in sobs. “I should have told him. He would have been more careful, then. I know it.”

  Danica grabbed Lea’s head and tucked it under her chin. Lea nuzzled into her roommate’s soft skin as tears soaked Danica’s shirt.

  “Even if you told him, this still could have happened . . . Max isn’t always the most careful person. I think he thought he’d be untouchable to these guys . . .”

  But Lea didn’t believe that. Max would have listened to her. If she asked him to be careful, he would have.

  Or . . . the Max she thought she knew. The one who took her on dream dates and sang karaoke and kissed her until she didn’t know her name.

  She had no idea which Max was real. And if she’d ever get back the Max she fell in love with.

  So all Lea did was sob until she couldn’t anymore, until her pillow was soaked and her body ached and until she fell asleep with Danica smoothing her hair.

  Chapter 20

  WHEN MAX WOKE up, he swore he had an axe embedded in his skull, splitting it in two. His palms and knees burned, and his whole body ached.

  He remembered a little of the night before. Reclining in an ambulance, wheeled to a bed in the hospital. Poking and prodding and a thermometer in his mouth and a blood pressure cuff on his arm.

  Nurses disturbing his precious REM sleep throughout the night to complete the same routine over and over again. He’d tried to bribe one to leave him alone and she’d rolled her eyes at him.