When I Fall in Love(96)

“You tell me. Don’t say you’re not feeling sorry for me right now.”

Jace swallowed.

“Right. You can imagine my joy when my brother said he was going to put me front and center on his foundation’s website if I won the cooking contest.”

“He did?”

“I’m not an idiot. I know the difference between salt and sugar.”

“You threw the contest.”

Max fisted his hands in his towel. “It was just a stupid local contest . . . I never thought . . .” He shook his head. “I let her down, I know. But it would be a thousand times worse if she knew the truth.”

“I’m going to have to fight you on that one. Do you seriously believe that Grace is the kind of person to walk away from someone she loves just because he might get sick?”

“Will. Full stop. I will get this disease. I will die a long, horrible death. But you’re right. I know she’s not that type of person. It’s not just about Grace’s commitment to me—it’s her future. I can’t have kids. I didn’t want to pass down the disease, so a few years ago, I went under the knife. If Grace is with me, I’d steal her hope of a family. And then she gets to watch me die. Yeah, I’m a real package.”

“So you’ll break her heart instead.”

“I already did—and trust me, it’s better left where it is. Now I just have to keep her at arm’s length until the wedding.”

“How’s that working out?”

“Not great, thanks to you.” He glanced at Jace, serious.

Jace rubbed his hands together, staring at them. “I’m not sure I should apologize. You’re good for each other. Maybe you can’t have forever or a family, but you have something rare—someone who loves you. And I can’t figure out, for the life of me, why you’d want to stop living just because someday . . . you’ll stop living.”

His words settled over Max.

“Or maybe you’ve never started.”

Max looked away, the memory of Hawaii rushing through him. Of being caught up in a world where his future didn’t touch him, where it might be only Grace, only . . . grace.

Yeah. Maybe he hadn’t started living until he’d met the one woman who made him realize that he wanted to.

Sure, he’d figured out how to hold on to his faith while staring at his bleak future. But how could he ask Grace to do the same?

“Tell her, Max. She deserves to know. Let her decide for herself.”

“And what if she decides she . . . ?”

“Doesn’t want you? That’s the problem, isn’t it? You want to reject her before she gets a chance to reject you.”

“I have nothing to give her. To give anyone. I am living a worthless life.” He gritted his teeth, looked away. “At least for anything beyond hockey.”

“I know a little about thinking your life is worthless, Max. God made you, and as long as you are on earth, your life is valuable to Him.”

Max wanted to shake his head.

And he wanted to lean into Jace’s words.

“Your life is also valuable to Grace. It could be that she needs you just as much as you need her.”

Max didn’t need her—the words nearly crossed his lips, but he bit them back. Because, yes, he did. The thought poured through him. He needed Grace like a thirsty man needed water.

What if he did tell her he loved her?

Jace must have read his mind because he clamped him on the shoulder. “I know. Facing death is one thing. But letting a girl know how you feel—that should terrify any man. Maybe we should stay right here and play more hockey.”



“Grace, you are absolutely a fairy godmother. You create magic wherever you go.” Eden walked through the open space of the warehouse they’d rented for the wedding, nearly floating with the joy on her face.

Grace looked up from where she was directing the delivery boys with their boxes of fresh fruit back to the kitchen. She put down her clipboard. “Blame Raina. She’s little Miss Tinker Bell with her twinkle-light obsession.”

Indeed, the space glittered. Raina had draped lights from the girders over the expansive eating area, and on each table, in a tall vase filled with pearly marbles, curly twigs dangled tiny pots with votive candles.

The service crew Eden rented with the space had already set the tables, covered them with deep-blue tablecloths and gold-rimmed plates. The florist had stopped by with a sample of the bouquets, a mix of orchids and the exotic birds-of-paradise, a few ginger spires. White plumeria flowers would decorate the serving line, even circle the platter on which Grace would serve . . . the pig.

It had arrived yesterday, an entire 125-pound animal, freshly slaughtered and prepared for roasting, with the ribs split so it could lie flat on the grill that Max had delivered.