Max's throat grew impossibly tight. He nodded jerkily in reply.
Kat gave his arm one last squeeze and glanced at the clock. "Damn. I need to get to bed. Some of us have work tomorrow."
She smiled and lifted from her seat, collecting the cups and placing them in the sink while Max tucked the pack of Oreos back in Carter's not-so-secret drawer. He stood as Kat passed him.
"Hey, Kat?" She turned with a small smile. "Thanks."
She dipped her head. "Sure, Max. Any time."
Three days passed and, with each one, Max knew his window for meeting Lizzie was slowly closing; she was only in town for another four.
He'd kept himself busy, meeting Tate, having a session with Elliot, and attending a local NA meeting that Carter found on the Internet. Max could see the worry in the eyes of the people around him, the anticipation as they waited for him to make a final decision, and hoped that his proactive approach to his continuing recovery would ease their concerns a little. And they had every right to be concerned; the cold fingers of addiction had reemerged with a vengeance, whispering sweet nothings into Max's ear when he was alone, like the damn devil on his shoulder it was.
He hung out at the body shop, even helping Riley fix a sweet Ferrari 250 GT that just ached for his foot on her gas pedal. The smell of grease and metal and the thump of rock music were a welcome relief from the bullshit that had been flying around his head for days, and helped him realize how much he loved what he did. He went over paperwork, began organizing Carter's bachelor party, and ran.
He ran a lot. He ran through Central Park, he ran along the Hudson, he ran anywhere he could in an attempt to clear his mind. It was of little surprise that at those times, he thought about Grace the most. She'd been his running partner for months, so it was to be expected. At least that's what he told himself as his feet pounded the asphalt.
He hadn't heard from her since he'd left Preston County, and part of him, a very small part, was relieved. He'd resisted the urge to text or call, having no idea what he would say anyway. Truthfully, he was still stewing, still deliberating over what she'd said to him . . . but he tried his best not to dwell, not to think about her and what she was doing. He told himself frequently that he had no right. But still, his mind wandered back to her.
It was afternoon on the fourth day, while he was running, that Max at last made his decision.
After making a phone call to Carter's office, he headed downtown to WCS Communications, Carter's company, admiring the swanky décor of the lobby, thinking that maybe he should have changed out of his running gear beforehand, and rode the elevator up to the fortieth floor.
Carter's PA, Martha, smiled as he approached her desk. "Max?" Max nodded and Martha waved toward a door. "He's waiting for you."
He pushed the large wooden door open to find Carter standing at a window that boasted a hell of a view over the financial district. It was a gorgeous summer day in the city, and Max was somewhat relieved that he didn't suffer from vertigo. Shit looked a long way down from up here. Carter turned when he heard the door click shut; his face was nervous. He tried to smile past it, but, after twenty years of friendship, Max could see through that shit like crystal.
"You're going to see her," Carter said, as Max opened his mouth.
Apparently Max was just as transparent. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his running shorts. "I don't think I have another choice here, man."
Carter rubbed a palm over his chin. "You do, Max. You do. But I know you'll beat yourself up if you don't go."
Max lifted his shoulders. "I have to know," he confessed quietly. "I have to know . . . why."
"I know." Carter moved closer.
Max sensed his friend's disappointment, but he couldn't let that sway him. He'd made a decision and he would stick with it, for his own peace of mind.
"So what's the plan?" Carter asked, guiding Max toward a brown leather corner sofa. "How do you wanna do this?" He unfastened the single button on his navy blue suit jacket and sat down.
Max sat with him and pulled his cell out. "I'm gonna text her. I thought about calling but . . . I don't know what hearing her voice will do to me."
Carter was silent for so long, Max looked up from the phone in his hand. Carter sat back, his gaze on the carpet, pressing the backs of his fingers to his lips, looking for all the world as scared as Max felt. "You're sure?" he asked quietly.
Max nodded and pulled from his pocket the battered letter that held Lizzie's phone number. He took a deep breath and began typing. His text message was short and to the point: I can meet you. Tomorrow. Max.
Once done, his thumb hovered indecisively over the send button. He paused, his head suddenly echoing with Grace's words: Tell me you didn't feel something last night. Tell me it meant nothing to you . . . along with the image of her face as it collapsed when he'd fired back, so irate and stubborn.