Make It Right (13 page)

Max nodded, and Cam trotted up the stairs.

Based on what Cam said, it all came down to trust, right? He thought he’d gotten somewhere on the date when she opened up about the accident. When she’d broken down in his arms. He’d let her hold her, comfort her, be a man for her. And he wanted that again. For once, he’d felt necessary and he’d felt he’d been right where he was supposed to be.

With her. By her side. He was going to have to figure out how to get her to trust him again.

Soft footfalls drew his attention to the stairs. Kat smiled as she reached the bottom. “You okay? I heard a crash—”

Max waved his hand. “It’s fine.”

She walked past him on her way to the kitchen, and Max’s mouth moved before his brain caught up. “Can I ask you something?”

She cocked her head, then walked around the coffee table, sitting on the edge across from him. “Sure. What’s up?”

Max bit his lip as he floundered for the words.

“Spit it out, Max.”

He huffed. “How . . . do you think it takes a lot of strength to . . . to . . . trust . . . someone?” His words came haltingly, and he flushed red because this was such an odd conversation to have with anyone, let alone his ex-girlfriend.

Kat looked down at her hands twisting in her lap.

“You don’t have to answer—”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Yes, it takes so much strength.” Her blue eyes were open and clear and so full of heart, in a way he’d never seen them before. It hurt a little that he’d never seen that side of her, and a part of him flared with jealousy that Alec got to see it. But more than anything, he wanted dark chocolate eyes under a fringe of bangs to look at him like that.

She took a deep breath. “I thought I was being strong, keeping everyone at a distance, but when I met Alec, I realized I was just hurting myself. It took so much out of me to trust him, but the reward for that strength is incredible.”

God, he wanted that reward. “I don’t mean to be negative but do you worry what would happen if . . .” He let the sentence trail off, but she nodded in understanding.

“I can’t think like that anymore. I did and I was miserable.”

Max winced, and she smiled wryly. “No offense.”

He shrugged. “We weren’t right together, and that’s okay. I’m glad you and Zuk found each other.”

She smiled. “Me too. But Max, it’s worth it. It’s worth every hurt and misunderstanding and leap of faith. It’s all worth it.”

Wayne chose that moment to jump up on the couch turn in two circles and plop down on a cushion in a dramatic sigh.

His eyes on his cat, he said softly, “Thanks.”

She rose and gave him a hug. Her citrus shampoo surrounded him but he longed for the coconut scent of Lea. “Take care.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Kat retreated to the kitchen. Max looked down at Wayne beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Dropping the pan was an accident. And so was the swearing.”

Wayne shifted his front paws.

“Treats will be cool soon and then I’ll cut ’em. A little snack tonight. What d’you say?”

Wayne blinked, licked his lips, and then his broken-engine purr started. He crept forward, nudging Max’s outstretched hand with a wet nose. Then he curled up to Max’s thigh, and Max leaned back and closed his eyes.

Chapter 13

L
EA
HAD VISITED
three grocery stores, one market, and two bakeries, until she finally found a tiny, shack-like roadside stand that had a shoofly pie.

Because ever since Friday morning, she had felt off balance. She wanted to do that morning over. Except this time, she’d kissed Max good morning. They’d had coffee and waffles and crawled back into bed, where she let Max take control—this time.

But she hadn’t done that. She’d turned on him and then let two days go by.

So the only thing she could think of to make her feel better was a load of molasses and sugar in a piecrust.

And now that she had it, she wasn’t even hungry. What a waste.

When Lea walked in her front door, she smelled something sweet and heard pans banging, followed by a few cuss words. “Dan?” she called, dropping her coat on the couch and heading into the kitchen.

Danica stood at the counter, her purple hair streaked with white blonde pulled into a messy knot on top of her head, wearing her hot pink apron that said, in bold letters, I
DIDN’
T WASH MY HANDS
.

She furiously stirred a bowl of batter, face scrunched.

Lea set the pie on the counter and peeked into the bowl. “I . . . uh . . . think it’s well mixed now.”

Danica turned to her, blew a strand of purple hair off her face and plunked the bowl down on the counter. Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Danica stress-baked. It was to the point that Lea barely liked cookies anymore because they reminded her of a pissed-off roommate.

Lea took the bowl from Danica and began pouring the batter into the lined cupcake tin. “Sit down. What’s going on?”

Danica eyed her and then dropped down into a chair at the table, her chin in her hand. “I told Monica I don’t want to go home with her to meet her parents.”

Lea almost dropped the bowl of batter but she recovered quickly. “And?”

“She . . . said she didn’t want to see me anymore.”

Danica typically didn’t talk much about Monica. Didn’t let on how much she cared about her, but Lea knew, in the way Danica pressed her lips to the shorter girl’s forehead, in the way she looked at her, brushed her silky hair off of her shoulder. “And?” Lea said again, looking up.

Danica shrugged and picked at her nails. But her face was etched with sadness and it broke Lea’s heart. “Dan—”

“I just don’t want to do it, okay? I don’t want to meet her parents so they can act all weird but yet tell all their friends how accepting they are of their lesbian daughter’s
lifestyle
.” She spit the word out of her mouth like it was poison. “I don’t want this expectation that because I met her parents, we’re going to be together forever. I just don’t want any of it.”

Lea leaned on the counter. “That’s a lot of assumptions there.” Danica didn’t answer, so Lea continued. “Right? That’s what you’re doing is making assumptions about people, which isn’t fair, because you don’t want them making assumptions about you. How do you know her parents aren’t genuine? How do you know Monica has long-term relationship expectations?”

As she turned and popped the cupcakes in the oven, she heard Danica mutter.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

Danica shot her a glare. “I said, ‘I don’t know.’ ”

“And if you’re stress-baking and wearing your mean apron, then clearly you’re upset about the breakup.”

Danica straightened. “Okay, fine, I’ll call her and talk it out, all right? Now let’s talk about you and why I found a condom in the bathroom trash Friday morning.”

Lea froze, her fingerfull of batter halfway to her mouth. Couldn’t Max have been uncaring about the status of her plumbing and flushed the damn thing?

She sucked the batter off her finger, crushed a chocolate chip between her molars and turned to Danica. It was hard to talk to her roommate about guys. Danica didn’t see their appeal to begin with and despised Max. And Lea sometimes had a hard time standing up for herself in the face of Danica’s domineering personality, because Danica could be persuasive. When shopping for the apartment, Lea, in a rare moment, put her foot down about that vulva-like pillow and the three Georgia O’Keeffe paintings.

Looking at Danica now, she decided to get it all out quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “It was the best date ever and then we slept together and then the next morning I kicked him out,” she said in one gust of breath.

Danica’s eyes widened, then she blinked a couple of times. “Let’s start at the beginning: What did you do for the date?”

This time Lea took her time, explaining the ice rink and decorations, and the crying on Max’s shoulder. She skimmed over the sex, and then described in detail how she acted the next morning. Danica winced while she told it.

“So,” Danica said. “Let me get this straight. He treated you like a queen, then you had awesome sex, and then you kicked him out.”

Lea nodded.

“You know I’ve never been a Max fan, but . . . he really put a lot of effort into this. Did he seem really hurt the next morning when you kicked him out.”

“Yes,” Lea whispered.

Danica placed her hand on Lea’s arm soothingly. “So why’d you do it?”

“It just felt . . .” Lea searched for words. “Too much. Too soon. How can that be possible? That we go from sniping at each other to being so into each other?”

Danica shrugged. “I think you always were into each other and that’s where all that fire came from when you were at each other’s throats. So when you finally stopped arguing with each other, you were then at each other’s pants.”

Lea rolled her eyes.

Danica laughed and scooped out some batter on her finger. “I’m serious!”

“I just don’t know if I can trust him. If I want to trust him and let him in.”

Danica licked the batter off of her finger. “I get that. I totally do. But you’re giving up before you even got started. No one’s saying you have to plunge in head first and give each other promise rings and declare your undying love and shit. Just give the damn guy a chance.”

Lea chewed her lip. “But you don’t even like Max.”

Danica shrugged. “No, I don’t. Although I’m starting to change my mind. But I think you do like him. And that’s what matters.”

S
HE TWISTED THE
plastic bag holding the shoofly pie in her hand as she walked up the front-porch steps of Max’s townhome. After her talk with Danica, she’d gathered her courage and came to apologize, armed with a smile and pie. She hoped Max was back from working at his dad’s. She took a deep breath and knocked.

A deep voice sounded inside and when the door opened, she first saw the side of Max’s head, because he was speaking to someone inside the house.

He turned his head and jolted when he saw it was her.

She swallowed and waved weakly. “Um, hi.”

“Lea,” he said, his voice full of confusion until he pulled down a mask of indifference.

“May I come in?” she asked.

He let go of the door and retreated into the house toward the kitchen. She followed and when she walked in, she saw Wayne hunched on the floor eating off a plate. He looked up at her and hissed. She stopped and whipped her head to Max.

He grinned sheepishly. “Oh, uh, he’s protective of his treats right now.”

The whole house smelled like . . . chicken. “Are these . . . the ones you made?”

He nodded, his eyes on hers. She smiled. “That’s great, I’m glad he likes them.”

Max shrugged but his eyes lit up when he looked at Wayne.

“Anyone around?” she asked.

“Kat and Alec just left.” Max gestured toward the ceiling. “Cam is upstairs. He says he’s studying, but I’m sure he’s just playing video games.”

She nodded and watched as Max leaned down and scratched Wayne’s shredded ear. She was going to give this up? Not give a chance to a man who made treats for his cat and decorated a whole ice rink for her? What the hell was wrong with her?

She set the shoofly pie on the counter and turned to Max. Drawing up as much courage and strength as she could, she said the two simple words she thought he needed to hear most. “I’m sorry.”

Max stared at her, the only movement of his body the clenching and unclenching of his fists at his sides. His eyes flicked between hers, and then he licked his lips. “What are you sorry for?” His voice was barely a whisper, a touch of raw vulnerability to it. She didn’t feel like he was putting her on the spot. She felt like he really needed this answer.

“I got freaked out. The date was amazing and being with you was . . . amazing. And too much.”

“What was too much?” he pressed, eyes narrowed, studying her in a way she hadn’t realized he was capable of.

“You just . . . surrendered, and it was too much. I never expected that.” This apology was going all wrong. Why wouldn’t her mouth stop moving?

His eyes widened, and his body jolted forward, like he wanted to crowd her, but he held himself back. His voice was low, but unmistakably laced with anger. “Oh no. No you don’t. Do not put all this on me. You were the one who cried in my arms and took me into your bed. You might not have expected it, but you asked for it. It’s not okay to wrap your fist around my heart and squeeze and squeeze until I’m drained dry and then blame me for opening up my chest to you.”

Her eyes pricked and she pursed her lips, willing the tears to stay at bay. Because Max was flayed open in front of her, those warm eyes now dulled with hurt. Sure, he’d opened his chest but she’d taken the liberty with what was inside, hadn’t she?

But he wasn’t done, his words like the ocean crashing the shores of her sanctuary. “That’s your problem. You don’t want to trust anyone. You want to live on this lonely little Lea island.”

She flinched. “You don’t understand—”

“You’re right, I don’t. Because you think it’s okay to sink your claws into me while you keep on your armor.”

Was that how he saw her? She didn’t want to be like this. And what she learned in the days since she’d kicked him out of her apartment was that while she was scared, she wanted to try.

“You’re right, Max. And I’m sorry. I’ve been burned in my life, and so it’s not easy for me to trust. And,” she took a step closer. “You make me want to trust you. You pull at everything inside of me, like you’re one giant magnet and my whole body wants to give in to the pull, but my head . . . my head tells me to stay detached. I felt it all weekend and I’m tired. Tired of resisting and acting like I don’t care. It’s never been this hard for me before. I’ve never felt this pull. Not with anyone but you.”

And there it was. All laid out at his feet. And she waited to see if he’d give the last tug, send out a pulse of energy and suck her in the rest of the way.

Max didn’t say anything for a moment. He licked his lips, his eyes softening, and she got the feeling he was about to leap without knowing where he’d land. “Will you try to trust me?” His voice wasn’t pleading, but it was earnest.

And that was the last tug she needed. The words she wanted to hear, that showed he was willing to try if she was. She took a step toward him and his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and pulling so she smashed into his chest.

She peeked at him from under her lashes. “So, I’m forgiven?”

He shuffled closer, so his bare feet bracketed hers. “Doll, it’s okay.”

His thigh leaned in to her bad leg and she sucked in a breath. He looked down and grimaced. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head and reached down to rub her knee. “It’s still sore from the date and . . . after.”

His eyes widened and he lifted her onto the counter, his warms hands caressing her thigh. “Why didn’t you say anything? Are you okay? Do you need something? I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about—”

She put up a hand. “Max. Stop.”

His mouth snapped shut and that grip he had on her heart tightened. “This is not your fault.”

“But the date was my idea and—”

“Max. Please.” She sighed at the forlorn look on his face. “My leg is also still sore from skating, which I wanted to do, and . . . ahem . . . do the other things we did. Those were my decisions and the pain is my consequence.”

His mouth tightened. “Angel and the devil.”

She nodded.

“But—”

“Max!” This time she shouted and he reared his head back, brows raised at her outburst. “You know, it’s not always about you.”

His eyes darkened, face hardened and he moved to back away, but she put a hand on top of his shoulder. “Stop, please listen.”

He obeyed with a grunt of discontent.

“It’s not your fault. Friday morning, I acted toward you because of
me
and what I was going through. Not because of you.”

He didn’t look like he was breathing, his chest still, his eyes unblinking. She raised a hand and ran it through his hair, stroking the strands at his temples. His breath hitched and he blinked, leaning in to her touch. “Max, sweet Max. You worry so much about everyone else. Just be you, okay? You can’t control anyone else.” She drifted her hand down and ran her fingers along his jaw. “You can only control how you let them affect you.”

He shook his head, stepping into the vee of her legs. “After . . .” his voice trailed off and he looked at his hand resting on her right hip. “After what happened with Kat I told myself I’d pay more attention to how I treated people and just . . . try harder, you know?”

When his eyes met her, they were pleading. For what, she wasn’t sure. Understanding? Acceptance? Reassurance?

“Max,” she whispered, dragging her thumb across his chin, then tugging. And he came to her with an open, eager mouth, devouring hers, the force of his weight catching her off balance. But he caught her with a strong arm slashed across her back, keeping her upright until she grabbed his face and fought back, plunging into him, showing him she saw him just as he saw her in the best way she knew how.

And then hands were everywhere, the calluses of his palms catching on the rings in her nipples, tugging and forcing a moan from her lungs into his mouth. She tugged at his sweatpants, shoving them down so she could get two fistfuls of his high, plentiful butt that looked so amazing in the worn jeans he always wore.