An Ounce of Hope(15)

He wasn't ready quite yet.

In truth, the thought of going home-as awesome as it would be-filled Max with an odd sense of trepidation. He was busy every day in the facility, surrounded by people he had grown to recognize and, in many cases, like. Despite the latter being true, Max worried about how he would fill his time when he was home, how he'd move from one day to the next without the rigorous timetable he lived by. Busyness was his new friend. Without it, back home, he'd have a lot of time on his hands; time to ruminate, agonize, wonder where he could get a line.

He was concerned that his friends wouldn't understand, wouldn't recognize how hard Max battled to make it through every day without stuffing that poison up his nose. He knew they'd be supportive, of course; they always had been; but would that be enough? Elliot explained that his fears were understandable and very normal, but still Max fretted.




 

 

The reflection that looked back at him in the main hall window showed a much healthier face, though still weathered with lines of struggle. His brown hair had grown into disarray and he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. His dark eyes watched the driveway like a hawk.

"You got a visitor today?"

Max startled at the voice at his side. He turned to see Dom, from his group session, peering out of the window, too. Max nodded. "My best friend." He turned back to the window. "It's the first time I've seen him since he left me here." He swallowed. No, that wasn't fair. "Actually, he helped me get in here. Paid for everything."

"Awesome," Dom commented, always a man of few words. Max noticed how much better the man looked, too, in comparison to when they'd first been introduced, and wasn't that a strange thought? Two men, two addictions, but both with the same goal: get clean or get dead.

The two men heard the car before they saw it. The unmistakable roar of a Maserati GranTurismo MC Stradale echoed through the rural surroundings.

"Jesus," Dom muttered as they watched the matte black vehicle pull up to the front of the facility. "Nice wheels."

Max snorted. He just knew Carter would have loved every minute of driving that damned thing from New York. Boy had always had good taste in automobiles and now that Carter was CEO of the business that was his birthright, he certainly had the money to indulge.

Max and Carter had grown up from small boys watching and working in Max's father's body shop, where they'd learned what the term "muscle car" truly meant, pulling engines apart, and building them back up. They passed their tests and crashed their first cars together, bought motorcycles together, and attended every gearhead event in the continental United States.

They were great times, and as Max watched Carter unfold himself out of the car, he realized how much he'd missed his best friend. They'd been through so much together. So many times, when any normal friendship would have been ripped apart at the seams, the two of them fought yet stayed obstinately loyal to each other. Carter's going to prison in Max's place more than three years ago-so Max could be with Lizzie while she was pregnant instead of doing time for something he didn't do-was just one thing on a long list of shit that Max owed his friend for dearly, and Max was determined, once he was back in the real world, to spend every day paying Carter back.

Despite his initial shock and the dregs of cheap jealousy that still sloshed through him, Max couldn't have been more proud of his best friend. He was happy, healthy, and in love, looking for all the world like the weight of doubt and abandonment he'd always carried around with him since they were kids had at last been shucked off. Max realized with a jolt that Carter had finally found his place in the world, and the slow spread of relief that followed was more than a little welcome. 

Carter smiled as Max approached, but it was uncertain, careful, and Max hated it. He knew today was going to be awkward as shit, both Tate and Elliot had warned him, but Max had hoped it wouldn't be.

"Sorry I'm a little late," Carter began, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. "I had to check in with the front desk."

Max shook his head. "It's okay." He stopped two feet from Carter, his hands pushed deep into his pockets, and tilted his chin toward the Maserati. "Compensating for something?"

Carter barked a laugh and lifted his eyebrows, glancing back at the car. "She needed her legs stretching, what can I say?"

"She's beautiful. V-eight?"

"Zero to sixty in four-point-five seconds." Carter nodded with a wry smile. "It would've been rude not to, right?"

Both men chuckled nervously. Max rocked uncomfortably on his heels before reaching out a hand. "It's good to see you, man. Thanks for coming."