Once such a simple motion and now, without her, and without any white lines, an enduring struggle.
"So tell me about your episode in group."
Max was starting to realize that Dr. Elliot was fucking omniscient or some shit. Nothing got past him. Bastard must have cameras in every part of the damned center. He knew everything! Either that or his small "episode" in group wasn't as subtle as Max had hoped.
He shrugged. "It was nothing."
Why he continued to lie, God alone knew. It certainly didn't make him feel any better and it certainly wasn't going to get his ass home any sooner. And wasn't that the endgame, to get better and then get home?
Scribble. Scribble. "Max, it will help to talk about it." Elliot sipped from his always-present Phillies mug. Max wondered if it was coffee or something stronger, like cognac. Or whiskey. Dammit, a shot of Jack would have been a real fucking treat right about then.
"It was the same as before," Max murmured with a slow exhale.
Elliot's eyes softened. "Lizzie."
Max's chest gave an ungrateful squeeze at the sound of the two syllables.
"Tell me," Elliot said quietly. "Whatever you can. Tell me."
Whether it was the soft coaxing of Elliot's voice, or the need to show everyone he could recover, or whether it was the urgent need Max had to not let Carter down, the cracks in his emotional dam slowly started to give way. He began by telling Elliot about the party, the first time he'd seen her and not spoken to her because he'd been too chickenshit. The lighthearted abuse he'd received from Riley and Carter because he wouldn't pick up the phone and call her for weeks after, despite his desperate need to see her again. Jesus, the need. The need that still crippled him. Fuck, and then there was the sound of her soft, eager voice when he'd finally plucked up the courage to dial the digits written on the battered piece of paper he'd had in his pocket since Riley's shindig. Their first date at a bowling alley where she whipped his ass by nearly fifty points and then let him kiss her. The kiss, her lips . . .
. . . Max could barely breathe. His chest constricted as the memories pummeled him in torrents, unyielding and fierce. His heart thundered in his chest, causing his vision to tunnel and his face to burn. He had to get out of that fucking office, but his brain couldn't send the signals to his feet quick enough. And there was pain in his chest. He rubbed at it, while trying to tell Elliot that he thought there was a high chance he was having a heart attack. But no words came from his breathless mouth.
He didn't see Elliot move, but there he was, kneeling at Max's side, imploring him to breathe deeply, calmly gripping his forearm. Although Max could feel his psychiatrist's urgent fingers, he couldn't answer. The panic choked him. It was almost funny. Here was his shrink, begging for Max to talk, to open up, and the one time Max wanted to, he couldn't. Now, that shit was ironic. He collapsed in his chair, aware of voices, but unable to respond. It was almost as though he was outside of himself; floating above his body, watching the tsunami of emotion drown him.
And that was his last thought before the jaws of suffocation consumed him completely: I'm dying.
"I was wondering when you'd call."
Max blinked. "You were? But . . . how did you know I got your number?"
She laughed. It was a lush, sweet sound that made Max smile. "Riley may have told Amber. Amber told me."
"Amber?" Max frowned. "Oh, you mean body shots girl."
She laughed again. "That would be her."
Max chuckled. "Fuckin' Riley."
The silence that overtook the phone line was hesitant but exciting. Max's mouth was suddenly very dry. He pinched the bridge of his nose, silently pleading for a rush of testosterone or something to help him grow some balls and ask the girl out.
"So you called . . ." Lizzie prompted.
"Yes!" Max exclaimed quickly. "Yes, I did. I . . . well, I didn't get a chance to speak to you at the party the other week and-"
"Yeah, you stood on the other side of the room smiling at me all night and never made a move. Were you waiting for an invitation?"
Max barked a laugh. Her attitude was incredibly sexy. "Well, damn, woman, don't go easy on me, huh?"
Her laugh got louder. "I won't! Am I really that scary?"
"No! No, you're gorgeous, I mean, you know, and not scary and, fuck, I mean, I just, well, you were with your friends and I didn't want to interrupt."
"Max?"
The way she said his name made the muscles in his stomach tighten. "Yeah?"
"I'd love to go on a date with you."
Max awoke slowly. Sounds, smells, and sensations nudged him into consciousness, where, for two awesome seconds, he forgot that he was a zillion miles from home and in a strange bed. Wait. He was in bed? He glanced around. Yep, he was back in his room. What the hell? The last he remembered, he was in Elliot's office-