Dance With Me (21 page)

She didn’t want to look at him, see the revulsion she knew would be there. How could anyone not be disgusted? Rebecca had always felt filthy because of it. Because it made her dirty. And now Max knew the truth.

“I wish I could have killed them for you,” Max growled as he stood and yanked her into his arms. “I wish I could kill them again.”

He rocked her gently from side to side, but Rebecca’s arms remained by her side. For all the demons he had, none of them soiled him the way hers did. Max was clean, and she wasn’t.

“Your scars are marks on someone else’s soul. Not yours.” He whispered the words she’d spoken to him so long ago.

Rebecca turned her face up and met his eyes. Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes and spilled over.

“Your scars aren’t something to be ashamed of. They show strength that most people lack.” Max pulled her head to his chest as he continued to speak her own words back to her. “They have no power over you anymore. It kills me that they hurt you. You should never have to feel pain again. I won’t ever let
anyone
hurt you again.”

The tears flowed silently from her eyes as Max rocked her slowly. Rebecca sniffed and muttered, “Most of that wasn’t original. You stole it from me.”

Max’s chest rumbled as he chuckled and Rebecca reveled in the sound. “It was pretty good stuff. I didn’t think I could beat it.” Rebecca smiled against his chest and sniffled again. He kissed the top of her head and said, “Come back to bed. Let me hold you tonight. And when we wake up tomorrow, it’ll be a new day for us both.”

Rebecca nodded and Max led her back to the bed. She cuddled into his arms, rested her head on his chest, and sighed. Max kissed her forehead and said, “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything hurt you. Ever.”

Chapter 16

Three months later

“Thanks for coming with me.” Max shifted in his seat, obviously nervous.

Rebecca smiled and reached across the center console—another freaking four-door sedan, what was his deal?—and took his hand. “You knew I would. You didn’t even have to ask.”

Max squeezed her hand, and Rebecca noticed a fine mist of sweat breaking out on his forehead. She doubted it had much to do with the dry Texas heat, though. “I love you.” Rebecca leaned her head back as she spoke the words she’d been dying to say for so long, but she figured he needed to hear them now more than any other time.

Max jumped and looked over at her, shocked. His hand squeezed hers so hard it hurt but Rebecca didn’t complain. He jerked his eyes back to the road and whispered, “I love you too.”

* * * *

Shelly Hargrove stood with her hands on her hips, staring at her eleven-year-old Texas tornado. He was the spitting image of his father but had more of his uncle in him than anyone else. He was smart, sneaky, and completely lovable. His mischief was, more often than not, a cover for complete and utter kindness. This time it was a garden snake in his grandmother’s kitchen sink.

“Mom, he was thirsty. That’s all I was doin’, was gettin’ him some water.” Her son stood with his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying his level best to look contrite. “Sorry, Mom. I guess I shoulda gave him water outside. But it’s so hot! I thought he’d like to cool off when he got his drink.”

Shelly closed her eyes and counted to ten silently. How was she supposed to stay mad? “Maximillian Collin Hargrove, don’t you
ever
bring a reptile into your grandmother’s house, or my house either. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered. He opened his mouth to speak and stopped. He looked away, then started again. “Mom, is a turtle a reptile?”

Shelly covered her eyes.
God help us all.
“I don’t want to know where it is. Just put it back outside.”

Max darted off toward the bedroom, and Shelly determinedly looked away.
I don’t want to know.

Before she had a chance to follow the little terrorist someone knocked on the front door and Shelly crossed her fingers that it was animal control. She called out, “Just a minute!” and walked out of the kitchen and through the den. Both of her parents were outside, so whoever it was would probably need to be sent off in the direction of the garden. She’d only come inside to investigate because Max had been sneaking toward the house in a very suspicious manner.

She swung the door wide and smiled at the redheaded lady and tall, dark-haired man standing there. Shelly directed her greeting toward the woman. “Hi! Mom and Dad are out…back…”

Shelly stopped speaking and jerked her gaze back to the man. Her heart thudded wildly.
It’s not possible.
She lifted a hand to her mouth. Same nose, same eyes, same stubborn jaw…“Max?” she whispered and reached for him before drawing her hand back. A ghost stood in front of her: the ghost of her dead brother. Shelly blinked back tears. This doppelgänger of her long-deceased sibling shouldn’t have to deal with a hysterical woman. She was just glad she’d opened the door instead of one of her parents.

“Hi, Seashells.”

Shelly’s knees gave out—she would
never
do something so silly as faint—and she began to fall. He moved though, faster than lightning and caught her before she hit the floor.

“Better sit her down somewhere before she passes out.” The soft voice belonged to the redhead and Shelly just looked at her, dumbfounded. “She’s pretty pale, Max.”

Max.

Shelly’s dead brother picked her up and carried her to the couch. He leaned down to her and lifted her wrist to check her pulse. Shelly jerked her hand away as it finally set in.

She stood, reached back as far as she could, and slapped him. “Where in the hell have you been?” Her voice was shrill and tears streamed down her cheeks. “Eleven years, Max! We thought you were dead! How could you do this to us?”

His cheek was red in the exact shape of her hand and Shelly felt a spurt of satisfaction followed by dismay. Max looked down at his feet. “Are Mom and Dad…?” He trailed off and swallowed.

“They’re in the garden. And good thing too! They’re old! What do you think would have happened if they’d opened the door? Jesus, Max, eleven years! You have a headstone!”

“I know.” He gulped again and said, “And I’ll explain it, I promise. But I’d really prefer to only do it once. Okay?”

Shelly covered her eyes and tried to get herself under control.

“Shelly? We’re done for the day. It’s just too darn hot out there. Your dad’s redder than the tomatoes.” The back door slammed closed and Shelly knew it was only a matter of seconds before they came in and saw their
dead son
standing in the living room, alive and well. “Shelly? Where are you?”

She wasn’t going to have time to warn them, prepare them, so she called out, “Living room. Company’s here. Someone important.” There. She’d done the best she could.

Max turned and shuffled his feet, his hands shoved into his pockets. Good. He should be nervous and ashamed. He’d let them believe he was
dead.
What kind of asshole did that?

“Is it the preacher?” her mom called, closer now. Shelly could hear her Dad’s scuffling footsteps coming.

“Nope. Definitely not the preacher.” Shelly hurried to the edge of the living room so she could be close to her aging parents when they entered.

“Well, who in the world…?” Her mom stopped and put a hand to her chest. “Max?”

Dad stopped too and whispered hoarsely, “Son?”

Max clenched his jaw and Shelly felt a little sorry for him. Just a little though. It might be hard on him, but dammit, they’d thought he was dead.

“Dad. Mama. I…I’d like to explain.” He spoke haltingly, as though afraid they’d reject him.

Shelly bit back anger. They might be madder than fire at him, but he was their
son,
her brother. Did he really think they’d tell him, “Thanks but no thanks, have a nice life?”
Idiot.

“You don’t have to explain anything as long as you’re alive.” Shelly felt tears gather in her eyes again at the longing she heard in her mother’s voice.

Max stood there uncertainly for a moment before the redhead nudged him. He strode quickly across the room and wrapped his mother in a gentle embrace.

Shelly smiled through the tears as Dad wrapped his arms around them, and eventually she joined in as well.

“Mom? Is a frog a reptile, or an amphibian?”

Shelly laughed and turned to see her son walking into the room. “Max, meet your Uncle Max.”

* * * *

His family had welcomed him back with open arms. Rebecca had tried to tell him they would, but he hadn’t been so sure. His parents had refused to let him offer an explanation until his nephew—Max!—had gone to bed.

When the little tyrant had finally promised all nonhuman animals and insects both alive and dead were outside, he’d been sent to bed.

Max’s parents sat on the sofa with Shelly between them, watching him and waiting. Rebecca sat in a recliner and Max paced the floor. He had to stick to the story. It sucked, but he didn’t have a choice.

Max took a deep breath and began. “I was captured behind enemy lines and held for a long time. When I was finally released, I left without telling anyone. I’ve been in Hawaii since then. I ran a fitness and self-defense center there. I moved to Virginia Beach a few months ago and opened a new mixed-martial-arts training center.”

“You’re lying,” Shelly stated matter-of-factly.

“Dammit, Shelly!” Max looked at his parents and muttered, “Sorry.”

“You always bite your lip after you lie. Just for a second.”

Max blinked at her.
Eleven fucking years undercover, and I find out
now
that I have a tell?
He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Just tell them,” Rebecca said softly. “If you can’t trust your family, who can you trust?”

Max closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared at them for nearly a full minute before speaking quietly, slowly. “For the past eleven-and-a-half years I’ve worked undercover for the government. I can’t tell you any more than that. But I’m done now. I’m out.”

“You were a spy? Like James Bond?” Shelly gaped at him.

“No, I was not a spy. I was…something else.” Max blew out a frustrated breath. Why did everyone automatically think of James Bond? Double-oh-seven didn’t have shit on him. That pussy drove sporty cars and stayed in five-star hotels.

“And Rebecca?” his Mom asked hesitantly. “Was she undercover also?”

“No, ma’am,” Rebecca answered. “I’m a teacher. That’s all.”

Max smiled and watched Rebecca. She was so beautiful, so warm and loving. And that temper…God, he loved it. Loved her. “She’s the reason I quit. The reason I came back,” he murmured.

His dad stood then and shuffled over to Rebecca. He had had a stroke a few years ago and didn’t move as well as he used to.
I should have been here.

“If you’re the reason my son is back, then I owe you everything.” His dad bent down and kissed Rebecca’s cheek with tears in his eyes.

Max felt like shit.

Rebecca accepted the kiss gracefully, then gave him a cheeky grin. “I’d settle for some of those tomatoes.”

“Darlin’, I’ll plant you a field full.”

* * * *

It was late, well after midnight, and Max sat on his parents’ front porch swing with Rebecca. She was tucked into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. She hummed softly under her breath, a song Max didn’t recognize.

“Dance with me?” He whispered.

“Max, there’s no music.” She smiled up at him and his heart clenched.

“You can hum.” He stood and tugged her to her feet. She moved easily into his arms and Max hugged her close to him.

“I love dancing with you.”

“Hmmm,” he responded, too content to say more.

Rebecca hummed softly, the tune familiar now, though Max still didn’t know what it was. He swallowed and tried to force the words out of his mouth, words he wanted to say so badly.

“Just say it.” Rebecca’s voice was muffled against his chest, and she resumed the song.

Max chuckled. She had such an endearing way of getting straight to the point. “Fine.” He breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair and murmured, “Marry me?”

Rebecca lurched out of his arms and looked up at him in shock. “Max, I…” She looked around and his heart dropped.

Rebecca swallowed and said, “Max, I can’t have children.”

Ah. So that’s what it was. He shrugged. “Neither can I. I told you, I had a vasectomy years ago.”

Rebecca frowned at him. “That can be reversed. I…I can’t be fixed.”

Max rolled his eyes and yanked her back into his arms. “So we’ll foster. Or adopt. Or hell, both. We’ll take the kids no one else wants, the ones that have been abandoned by the system.”

“Max, I…I can’t ask that of you.” He heard the tears in her voice and pulled her closer.

“You’re not asking it of me. I don’t want to deal with babies anyway. Shitty diapers and puke everywhere…we’ll just take the older kids that know how to piss in a toilet.” Max tilted her head back and kissed her lightly. “Marry me,” he whispered again.

Rebecca buried her head against his chest again and nodded.

Good enough for him.

The End

Publisher’s Note

Please help this author's career by posting an honest review wherever you purchased this book.

Author’s Note

Friends, I have covered two serious issues in these pages that I simply must address. The first is child abuse. In the United States alone, nearly six million children are reported as abused or neglected each year. That means that every hour of every single day a child suffers. As many as seven children are lost each day as a result of abuse and/or neglect. These numbers are horrifying and completely unacceptable. It is our responsibility, as adults and human beings, to report these things when we see them. If you suspect or know of a child who is being abused, please don’t wait. Another second and it could be too late. Call the National Child Abuse Hotline at 1-800-4-A-CHILD (1-800-422-4453). This number has someone available 24/7. You can make a huge difference simply by making a phone call.