"No," Max replied firmly, offended by her question. "I'd never fucking- I loved her, I'd . . . Never."
Grace smiled sadly. "See. Nothing alike."
Max's hands found his hair again. "It's not that black and white, Grace. I may not have done those things, but I've done my fair share of fucked-up shit. Shit I'm not proud of, stuff that I'm still working through." He exhaled heavily. "You shouldn't want to have anything to do with me."
"I'm a big girl," she retorted. "I can make that decision for myself."
Max wasn't so sure. The urge to bolt, to save her from his past, his addiction, his mistakes, swelled in his stomach, but for the life of him, he couldn't lift himself up off the floor.
"Do you know what I saw when I looked at my husband the last time in that courtroom?" Grace asked. "I saw hate. I saw violent anger and a monster unleashed by all the drugs and all the drinking. I saw secrets, threats. I saw a man who was seconds away from self-destruction, a man who, had the police not been called by a neighbor who heard my screaming, would have killed me. There wasn't even a shadow of the man I married." She nudged his shoulder. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"
Max shook his head fervently. "I'd rather not know-"
"I see a man who wants so much to be better, who regrets the decisions he made, who wants to make amends and move on with his life. I see a man terrified to take a chance, to trust, but desperate to do so. I see a man who's fractured, but trying. I see hope."
He looked at her askance, too stunned to speak, too wary to believe her.
"You're a good man, Max," she said, standing with a groan and wiping the dust off her ass with her hands. "Now stop overthinking things and help me with these boxes."
And just like that, the conversation was over.
Grace's head was still groggy. It always was the day after an attack. It was like swimming through wet concrete. Her whole body was heavy and stiff, but she wouldn't let it slow her down, not when she had her new home to make beautiful. She looked over at Max, balancing on a ladder he'd fetched from his uncle, hanging a large canvas on her wall. An expression of concentration on his handsome face.
Waking up next to Max that morning had been a surprise, to say the very least. A good surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. She'd woken with a headache evil enough to cripple a rhino, dazed and unable to move. Max's forearm had been wrapped tightly around her waist, his strong chest to her back, his nose in the crook of her neck. He was an epic big spoon.
She hadn't even remembered him getting into bed with her, but her heart warmed at his thoughtfulness. He was more caring and compassionate than he realized. Even his arriving with a latte and muffin for her was something he probably didn't give a second's thought about. He was so used to playing the role of the big bad wolf that he couldn't see how good he actually was. Sure, he still had a lot to work through-Grace wasn't that naïve-but he was so much more than he gave himself credit for.
"Is this good?" he called out, holding the canvas against the wall, his large arms open wide, the red T-shirt he was wearing pulling deliciously across his broad shoulders.
Grace crossed her arms over her chest, admiring the view. "Um, a little to the left." He did as she asked. "A little to the right." Again, he complied. "Up." He sighed. "Down."
"Grace."
"Now left. Right." She was giggling into her fist as he turned to glare at her.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Oh, come on, lighten up," she said with a wave of her hand.
"I'll lighten up when you make a damned decision," he grumbled, but Grace wasn't blind to the small smile he tried to hide.
"Where you had it was perfect."
He mumbled to himself and set about hammering in the hooks to hold it. They'd blown off their usual run-both of them too tired after the prior evening's frivolities-and, with neither of them working, had set about putting up the pictures, mirrors, and art pieces Grace had bought. Max hadn't questioned her when she'd asked for help and had worked diligently all afternoon, even driving into town to get them lunch.
His laid-back attitude and his unquestionable acceptance of her life story endeared him even more to her. It had been a long time since she'd opened up to someone new, someone who wasn't family or getting paid to listen, but it hadn't been as difficult as she'd supposed. Max listened intently, as he always did. She saw no pity in his large, dark eyes, only anger and alarm and, predictably, guilt.
But that was simply ridiculous. He could argue all he liked-and she didn't doubt he would-but Grace knew and her gut knew: Max was good to his bones. She didn't know why he'd gotten embroiled in drugs, although his mentioning of his fiancée may have been a clue. But she saw he was nothing like Rick.