An Ounce of Hope(100)

His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. "Fine."

The word was curt, cold, and made Grace flinch. Her stare flittered around his face, trying to see past his anger. And he was angry; it surged off him. "You don't seem okay."

He huffed a laugh that reeked of sarcasm and rubbed a hand across his chin. His other gripped the door handle so hard his knuckles whitened. "What do you want?"

Grace's breath caught. He'd never spoken to her that way before. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what do you want? Why are you here?" His nostrils flared and his stare flashed heatedly.

Grace was mystified. "I'm here because . . . I wanted to see you and . . . give you these. I'd have come sooner but I didn't know you were back."

"Yeah, I know."

Annoyance and confusion pushed her words out. "What's wrong with you? What happened?"

Max sighed heavily and glared at a point over her head. "Nothin'. Look, I've got shit to do. I'll see you around, okay?"

"Max, wait." Her plea was met with the sound of the door slamming shut. She knocked again, her knuckles smarting with the force, and called his name twice, but there was no reply. "What the hell?" She remained standing in the hallway, lost and perplexed for what felt like hours before she left his coffee and muffin at the door and made her way back home, where she clambered into bed and tried her damnedest not to cry.





Grace rolled over in bed as lightning filled the room. The rain was still falling heavily, the sound like pebbles smacking the window, while the sky continued to complain and snarl every few minutes, as though it were as pissed-off as she was. It was warm again; that horrid, sticky warm that makes fabric stick to your skin like Velcro, and Grace suspected the worst of it was yet to come. She'd been awake for a while, tossing and turning with every bump of the clouds, with Max's irate face flashing behind her eyelids.

She had no idea why he'd behaved so dismissively, said such hurtful things, or why he'd looked at her with such disdain, when all she could think about was launching herself into his arms and begging for him to never let her go. Whatever it was, she was going to get to the bottom of it if it killed her. 

She'd texted him twice asking him to talk to her, but he'd yet to reply. The gray dots stayed maddeningly invisible, despite her knowing that he had read each one she'd sent. He was purposefully ignoring her and it cut her to the quick. She'd put so much trust into what they had between them so quickly that to have it snatched away with no reason at all left Grace breathless. Never would she have expected him to treat her that way after what he'd been through, after knowing what she'd been through. It was cruel and made Grace feel decidedly ill.

"Idiot," she whispered to the empty room. The sky grumbled in agreement.

Lifting her head from her pillow, Grace looked toward her bedroom door, cocking her head. She was almost certain she'd heard a noise, or a knock of some kind, maybe the jangle of a key. Pausing from a brief moment, she reached out and flicked on her bedside light, almost crippled in relief when it turned on, shooing the darkness away.

A floorboard creaked.

"Oh God." Paralyzed, Grace widened her eyes as the door handle on her bedroom door turned. She knew she kept a baseball bat under the bed-there was even a gun in the safe that Kai had given her-but she couldn't move.

"Don't," she managed, her voice surprisingly firm. "I have a gun. I have a gu-"

"It's me." Grace's heart nearly collapsed in her chest, as the door opened and Max appeared, sopping wet, her key hider in his open palm. "Don't shoot."

"Jesus Christ!" Grace yelled, kneeling up quickly and pelting him with one, two, three of her scatter cushions, launching them across the room, hitting him square in the face with the first. "You scared me to death! What the hell were you thinking?"

He held his arms up to block any more potential missiles. "I was thinking I needed to talk to you."

"At two a.m.?"

"Yeah, at fucking two a.m. I couldn't sleep." His tone was sharp, the remnants of whatever had him so out of shape still clutching every word. He stood up straight, when the last cushion hit the floor, staring hard at her. Ordinarily, Grace would have shrunk back at his attempts at intimidation, but the adrenaline had kicked in, and she wasn't backing down.

She looked him up and down, noticing that the running shoes and his sweatpants up to the knee were drenched and caked in mud.

"You ran here?" she exclaimed, glancing toward the window.

"Yeah, so?" he retorted defensively. "I think better when I run."

Yeah, Grace knew that. He'd told her so before. "So." She gestured toward him with a wave of her hand. "Are you here to tell me what the hell is wrong with you and why you acted like such an ass today?"