I tried to remember his assailants, but the memory was fuzzy after forty-eight hours of very minimal sleep. My instinct had been to help Maxx, not to identify the guys who had hurt him.

“I don’t remember much about them. It was dark. I was focused on you bleeding all over the place. Sorry,” I muttered.

“How in the hell did you get me home? There’s no way you were able to drag me to your car by yourself,” he continued. Why did I feel like I was being interrogated? Where was the thank-you?

“Some guy helped me. I recognized him from working the front door,” I offered shortly, annoyed with his curtness.

“Marco,” he prompted. Yeah, Marco. That sounded right, so I nodded.

Maxx pushed past me and walked to his bedroom. He was still weak, his steps slow and clumsy. I followed him and froze.

Maxx stood stark naked in the middle of his room, the towel fallen at his feet while he rooted around in his drawer for clothes.

I swallowed thickly and averted my eyes while he dressed. The urge to chance a peek was overwhelming, but I refused to give in. It wasn’t right to ogle the guy after everything he had been through. Sure, I had crossed every boundary in our relationship, but I had some lingering morality left.

“Have you seen my phone?” he asked a few minutes later. I turned to look at him and squelched my disappointment at finding him fully clothed. I pointed to his desk.

“I put it over there. It was in your jeans pocket,” I told him.

Maxx grabbed it and put it to his ear. He looked up at me, and I knew that currently I wasn’t welcome. It was time for me to go.

He turned his back, shutting me out as surely as if he had slammed a door in my face.

I bristled at his rejection, infuriated by his dismissal.

Even more humiliating was the burn of tears I felt in the back of my eyes. I never cried anymore. I hated tears.

I stood there for another moment listening to Maxx leave a frantic message on Marco’s voice mail. He was talking in quiet, quick sentences that I couldn’t quite hear. One thing was obvious: Maxx was agitated.

I quietly closed the bedroom door and made my way back to the shabby living room. I had made an effort to clean up while Maxx had been in the shower, but not much could be done to make the space comfortable.

I thought about leaving a note, but then decided against it. What was the point?

I grabbed my purse and dug out my car keys, ready to make my escape.

“Where are you going?”

I looked over my shoulder to find Maxx walking toward me. He looked drawn and tired, but some of the spark had come back to his eyes.

“I just thought I should head home. You know, get out of your way,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly.

Maxx put his hand flat against the front door, barring my exit. His face, which had been hard and anxious a few moments earlier, was now troubled and vulnerable.

He leaned down until his face was a mere few inches from my own. I could smell the mint from his toothpaste on his breath. His eyes drilled into mine, piercing me.

“What you did, how you helped me, stayed with me . . . I don’t know why you did it. But thank you,” he said quietly.

And there it was, the acknowledgment I had wanted. But now that he had given it, I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me. Or what I wanted from him.

I leaned back against the door, his proximity overwhelming me.

“It was nothing,” I replied, shaking my head.

Maxx brought his other hand up to rest on the wood beside my head. I was captured between his arms, no room for escape.

“It wasn’t nothing,” he argued. “Why were you at the club?” he grilled.

“I don’t know . . . ,” I started, but he interrupted me.

“You do know, Aubrey. Why were you there?”

“For you, Maxx. I was looking for you,” I admitted breathlessly, my heart pounding in my chest. “I was worried about you.”

“You don’t even know me, Aubrey. Why would you concern yourself about me at all?” he pressed.

I closed my eyes, needing some distance from the intensity of his gaze. “I just . . . I wanted to help you.” I opened my eyes and looked unflinchingly up at him. “I care about what happens to you. You seem to need someone to give a damn. And I do, Maxx. So much,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Maxx swallowed, his lips trembling at my admission. His bruised face twisted with an emotion I couldn’t quite read. He dropped his face and pressed his forehead against mine, our noses brushing.

“You shouldn’t. I’m not worth it, Aubrey,” he pleaded in a strangled groan.

I slowly moved my hands up to gingerly touch his face, my fingers sliding down the length of his cheek. He leaned into my hand and seemed to be at war with himself.

“You are worth it, Maxx. You need to learn that and believe it,” I said. Maxx captured my hand, his eyes opening and blazing into mine.

“You need to know that if you decide to do this with me, I’ll never be able to let you go. Not ever.” His words quivered. A small part of me was terrified by his promise.

But a larger part of me hoped he would hold me tight . . . forever.

I pulled my hand from his and touched his face again. I brushed my thumb along the curve of Maxx’s mouth. He parted his lips, kissing the soft pad of flesh, his tongue tentatively tasting.

I shook at the tidal wave of emotion that simple touch unleashed in me.

“Maxx, let me help you,” I begged, knowing I was slowly climbing over his wall.