An Ounce of Hope(45)

She raised a hand without looking up. "Shhh, you're stepping on Marvin."

He smiled and approached when she gestured for him to join her on the floor, which he did. He plopped the paper bag close to her.

"Thank you," she uttered. "I knew someone was bound to hear my stomach rumbling eventually."

He lifted the lid of his cup and sipped his mocha. "What are you doin'?" He glanced curiously at the copious amounts of packages.

She sighed and turned off her music. "I ordered some stuff for the house, decorative stuff, and it all arrived today. It completely slipped my mind after . . . well; anyway, I got a phone call at the butt crack of dawn from the deliveryman asking me where the hell I was."

Max frowned. "I never heard your phone."




 

 

"You sleep pretty heavy." Grace averted her eyes and opened the muffin bag.

"Apparently."

"Thank you, by the way," she whispered. "For staying with me. I . . . it meant a lot."

"Not a problem. How do you feel?"

She shrugged. "Like a moron. Embarrassed."

Max shook his head. "Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong." A small breath escaped her when she shook her head. "Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked.

She seemed to ponder the offer of a friendly ear before she looked away. "It's a very long, very . . . hard story to tell."

Max picked at his muffin, silently acknowledging her refusal to share. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. He wanted to help her, he wanted to understand, and he wanted to know who the fuck Rick was and what he'd done to her. He wanted to be a friend; he wanted her to trust him.

"You know that Brooks isn't my maiden name, right?" Her words were quiet.

Max nodded. "I heard." Grace bit her bottom lip, fussing with one of the boxes. "Was Rick your husband?" Her head snapped around to him so fast, Max was amazed her eyes didn't wobble out of their sockets.

"What? How do- Why would you ask that?"

"Last night. You called out his name while you were sleeping, like you were scared of him."

Grace's eyes dropped closed before her hand covered her face. "Jesus," she muttered. "I'm so sorry you had to see that, Max. I really am. I-"

"How about you stop apologizing," he insisted with a mouthful of muffin. "Seriously. It's annoying."

A smirk tugged at her mouth. After a quiet moment, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and looked him dead in the eye.

"Yes," she answered. "Rick was my husband."

Max attempted to look indifferent to her confirmation but he wasn't sure he pulled it off. He picked at his muffin, suddenly not very hungry, and waited for her to continue. She didn't. She nursed her drink, not saying a word, leaving the room heavy with expectation. Max shifted under its weight, an alarming thought creeping up his spine.

Maybe she was waiting for him to share, too.

Shit, he didn't know if he could do that. It was bad enough opening up to Elliot, let alone Grace. He glanced over at her while she pulled some brightly colored canvases out of their bags, and he began to appreciate how hard it must have been for her to share even that small slice of information. She trusted him; it was only fair he paid her back in kind.

He steeled himself and breathed deeply. "I was engaged once." 

Grace stared at him, her mouth dropping open.

"Her name was Lizzie."

There. Tit for tat. Just two friends talking. Sharing. Easy.

The spiking of his pulse suggested otherwise.

"And she broke your heart." Grace's statement floated around them like dark, thunderous clouds, conjuring a sharp nod from Max as reply. It was all he could do, his throat blocked by too many words.

"Rick and I got engaged when my mother passed away."

Max looked at her, recognizing Grace's familiar strength ripple beneath the surface. He dipped his chin for her to continue.

"My brother, Kai, never liked him, said he was trouble, but . . . I was madly in love. We'd been together for eighteen months after meeting at the bar I worked in, and I was ready to be his wife." She pushed the bags and boxes away, held her latte close, and spoke toward the floor. "The wedding was small but Rick treated me like a princess. We bought an apartment; we talked about children, the whole nine yards. I was sickeningly happy."

Max moved closer, their shoulders just touching. "What changed?"

She smiled sadly. "He got a promotion at work and . . . nothing was ever the same again." She pulled her knees up to her chest. "Before we were married, Rick would always tell me how beautiful I was, how lucky he was to have such an amazing-looking wife. He liked showing me off and I liked him doing it. It made me feel good about myself having a husband who desired me." Her cheeks darkened at the admission.