“You’re hurt.”

He looks away and my blood chills. His face is taut; his jaw clenched so hard it quivers. His lips are pressed together in a thin line. His hands are balled into fists on his lap. Anger or anguish? I can’t tell.

“Talk to me. Please. I’m sorry I misunderstood your intentions.”

He scrubs his hands over his face. “Sleep, baby.” His voice is raw and strained with emotion. His body is tense. He won’t meet my gaze. And suddenly I understand why he is here. Despair hits me like a punch to the gut.

“You came to say good-bye.” A statement, not a question.

His chin dips, just barely, but I don’t need the nod. The answer is in his eyes.

“Can I hold you one last time?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head. Tears trickle down my cheeks and my throat tightens. “You’re going to watch over me tonight and then you’ll go?”

He grips the arms of the chair, his knuckles white, and he presses his lips together, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Tears run down my neck, staining my top. “I’m sorry, Max.” My shoulders quake and I sob into my hands. “I’m sorry I can’t be who you need me to be. I’m sorry I can’t give you the trust you need. I’m sorry your violence scares me so much.”

“I’m sorry too, baby.” His voice is so low, so broken, I can barely hear it.

I curl up on the bed facing him and wrap my arms around myself. I study his beautiful, haunted face. I try to memorize every plane and angle of his jaw, his strong chin, the curve of his lips, and the crinkle at the corners of his eyes. I imagine I can feel the scratchy stubble on his cheek and smell the spicy scent of his cologne. I close my eyes and imagine the warmth of his body and the light caress of his hand over my skin. I remember the deep rumble of his laugh and the low growl of his voice. I imagine I am in his arms. Safe. Cherished. Loved.

When I open my eyes, it is morning.

Max is gone.

Chapter 25

A decent kinda guy

Monday morning. Seven fifty-seven a.m. My eyes are bleary from a lack of sleep. My head aches. I see Max everywhere—on the bus, on the street, in the coffee shop. My heart leaps and crashes at every false sighting. I can’t bear the pain anymore, and it’s only been two days.

“Late. As usual.” Big Doris tears a green slip off her pad and drops it on my desk.

“I’m not late.”

She tears another green slip off her pad, and another and another until my desk is littered with paper.

“What are these for?” My voice rises as the green slips continue to fall.

She presses her lips into a thin line. “You ruined EVERYTHING—the dinner on the weekend, the date…He’s supposed to be mine and all he talks about is YOU.”

Huh? What did I ever do to her? Who’s she talking about? Charlie?

As if on cue, Charlie pokes his head around the partition. “What’s going on? Are you okay, Doris?”

“Don’t speak to me.” She spins on her heel and marches down the corridor.

Charlie stares after her and then turns his gaze to me. “Hey, Mac. You look like shit.”

“Back at you.”

My phone rings. My heart thuds and I stare at the receiver. The phone rings and rings.

Charlie pokes his head over the partition. “Hey. You gonna pick that up?”

“No. New debt collector. Mean, nasty one.”

“He’ll call your cell next,” Charlie nods at my purse.

“Don’t have a cell. It got smashed on the weekend when I was tied up and beaten by a couple of drug dealers in the basement of a fight club.”

Charlie stares at my cut and bruised face. “No shit. I thought maybe you’d walked into a door.”

“I wish I had.”

The phone rings again and I throw my jacket over it.

“Won’t work,” Charlie offers. “My brother had a debt collector after him for years. He kept changing his phone numbers, but the collector came to his house. Sometimes he sat outside in his car for hours. My brother lost it one day and smashed all the windows of his car with a bat. Collector just added it to the bill.”

“Maybe I’ll move back to my old place. It’s still being renovated. He won’t think to look for me there.”

***

Twelve hours later, I am back in my old room. I unpack the boxes in my as-yet unrenovated lilac sanctuary and dig out my old phone. After talking to Dr. Drake over lunch in the canteen, and agonizing about it all day, I’ve decided to apply to medical school, and I want Amanda to be the first to know.

“Hi, Mac,” she says. “Guess what? I’m on a date with Kink on a Stick. I needed to rebound from Jake, and Drake was totally on board. We’re sexually but not romantically compatible so we’ve decided to become friends with benefits.”

A roar fills the speaker and I hold the phone away from my ear. “What’s that?”

“We’re at a mixed martial arts club. After his pissing contest with Max, Drake is all gung ho to get into the circuit, and he really knows how to work a crowd. They love him. He held his own in the last fight for almost two minutes. He really did wrestle in college. Apparently he even won a few titles. You should see him. He’s fast and so light on his feet.”

“Is Max there?”

“No. We’re at some fancy club in Palo Alto. Not as big as Redemption, but it’s been done up with wood floors and high-end equipment. All licensed and sanctioned.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Have you heard from Max?”