An Ounce of Hope(127)

"And you kissed her back."

It wasn't a question. "Yes."

She exhaled slowly. "I guess I already knew. She's your first love. I could never compete with that."

"Nobody's asking you to," Max urged. "I'm not asking you to."

"No," she murmured. "It just feels that way."

Max stepped closer again, causing Grace to lift her chin to look at him.

"I swear," he insisted. "It was over as quickly as it began and it made me realize that, yes, she was the woman I'd fallen in love with all those years ago, but her lips weren't the ones I wanted. There was nothing there, only memories of a time we'd never get back, and I realized that the man who'd loved her no longer existed."

He lifted a hand and let his finger whisper across her wrist, seeing goose bumps appear instantly. "We're different people, she and I. We want different things. I know now. I know that I need to move forward. I need to look to the future instead of over my fuckin' shoulder waiting for shit to happen; shit that's in the past for a reason."

Resolute, he grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly as though it would help him keep talking and make her believe what he was saying was true. "I know I hurt you and I'll always be sorry for that. I'll always be an addict but I can't change that, either. All I can do is promise I'll fight it every day. For us. For you."

"Max, I-"

"Do you know what happened when I saw you tonight?" he continued. "After so long . . . You were- Jesus, Gracie, you filled the fucking room. I couldn't see anything but you. I don't crave anything but you." She stared at him. "You told me that all you wanted to do was love me. Am I too late?"

Grace pulled her hand away gently.

"I don't know," she replied, her words firm. "This is a lot to take in, Max. I had no idea. I never thought that you . . ." She shook her head. "I can't be your substitute and I won't be second best."

Max frowned, hating that she'd ever thought that. "You were never second best."

She rubbed the tips of her fingers across her forehead and moved toward the door. She turned back to him. "I can't be a crutch. You have to keep fighting for you, Max. No one else."




 

 

"I do," he countered. "I will. You just make fighting it that much easier." Her expression softened. "Tell me what you want."

She opened her mouth a couple of times, but no words came. "I don't know."

Max nodded slowly.

"Time," she offered. "I want time to think."

He'd have given her anything she'd asked. "Of course."

She pulled the door open before looking back. "In the gallery and just now, you said you had a question you wanted to ask me. What was it?"

Max smiled small. "It'll keep."





It was a week before Max heard from Grace again, a short text asking how he was.

It was ridiculous, really, how seeing her name light up his cell phone screen caused his belly to flutter. He responded in kind, keeping it brief but hopeful, thrilled that they were communicating at all. Max sure as shit hadn't known whether that was even a possibility after the night she'd left him at the body shop.

They texted back and forth for days, until the days turned into another week. It was always casual conversation about how they were spending their time-she was back in Preston County-details about another art show she'd been commissioned for in Philly, following her amazing success in New York, and Max's meetings. Even though he was anxious to ask whether she'd thought any more about what she wanted, he refrained from pushing. Max knew what she was doing. She was learning to trust him again, slowly and surely, opening up and giving him the second chance he so desperately wanted.

And he was desperate for it. The more he thought about spending time with her, the more he wanted it. Carter had been right: they didn't need labels. Max just wanted to be with Grace in any capacity she'd allow. In spite of his impatience, Max stayed in New York, resisting the urge to go back to West Virginia, however regretfully, complying with her request for time. It was the least he could do.

Max spent his days doing what he'd always done since he'd left Preston County: running, working, going to his meetings, staying clean, staying sober, fighting the good fight, all the while looking forward to his daily texts from Grace.

It was on a hot evening two weeks after he'd last seen her that Grace called. The conversation wasn't as awkward as Max anticipated. He found himself smiling at the sound of her voice and the excitement she oozed as she told him about her new photographs and filled him in on Uncle Vince and the family, even though she knew Max spoke to them regularly. At first she called twice a week for ten minutes. Then she called three times, until within a week they were speaking for an hour every day. The routine was as easy as it had been when they'd started running together. They fit, not just physically, but emotionally, too.