A family Max didn’t fit into. Not yet. Not like this.
She had to resist.
She dug deep, closing her eyes and bringing back to life a box of memories she alternated between, regularly reliving and regularly shutting out. Max with a baggie of white powder. Max, getting yet another DUI from the sheriff, who threatened to tell Emma’s parents on her if he ever saw her with “that riffraff” again. Max, trading cash for drugs with a local gang banger two weeks after promising her he’d been clean.
There. She could do it.
“Three weeks or three years—it’s not happening.” She opened her eyes and steeled herself against the hurt radiating from his posture.
A muscle worked in his jaw, and despite knowing better, she desperately wanted to touch it. Feel the rough bristle of a permanent five o’clock shadow under her fingers. Graze that dimple in his chin. She knew, instinctively, she had one last chance. He hadn’t shut her out yet, she could tell by his expression. She could undo her last words—if she spoke now.
But what would that accomplish? More pain? More mistakes? More daily reminders that she’d screwed up and had been paying for it ever since? Maybe he’d be a good influence on Cody. But once he knew the truth—it’d change everything. He’d never look at her that way again, and worse yet, he could resent Cody for her choice. Resent them both.
Her heart couldn’t break over Max Ringgold a second time without permanently disassembling.
Besides, she couldn’t risk Cody being kicked out of the program. Smack-dab in the middle of his last-chance before juvie was not the time to correct a mistruth he’d believed his entire life. Not without doing damage none of them could repair in time.
The clock ticked a rhythm above their heads. Max raised his eyebrows, waiting. One more try. One last heartbeat. She held her breath.
And the cuckoo chirped the hour.
* * *
Max ignored the crack spreading across his heart, ignored the desire seeping through his chest, and plastered on the best fake smile he could muster. “Truce, then.” He held out his hand, and Emma shook it, wariness holding her expression hostage. He didn’t blame her, after what he’d just pulled. What had he been thinking, going for broke like that?
He let her hand go immediately, despite the cry of his instincts to hold on longer, and stood to straighten his chair. He dragged it several feet away, back to its rightful place, and reminded himself that from now on, this was his rightful place, too. Where he belonged—away from Emma. A respectful distance, anyway. She’d made her choice.
A man could only get kicked while he was down so many times, and twice was enough.
Emma stood, too, as if she was afraid he was forcing her to leave. Hardly. He needed her here—for the camp. He’d just be sure to keep his personal issues out of it. “You can go back to your files. No need to run off.”
Again.
“I think I’m done for the night.” She stared at the paperwork, looking young and overwhelmed in wrinkled sweatpants and a purple hooded sweatshirt. He drew his eyes away from the strands of blond hair skimming her shoulders. “There’s nothing there.”
Oh, there was.
Just not in Tonya’s file.
“We’ll see how she does in the morning. In the meantime...” Max hesitated, gripping the back of the dining room chair in front of him.