"Mom." My voice softens. "I love you. But I can't be what you want me to be. I have to live my own life."
Gerald steps forward. "Claire, this is ridiculous. You barely know that man. He's damaged goods, a broken soldier with nothing to offer you."
"He's the man I love."
The words surprise me as much as they surprise Gerald. But the moment I say them, I know they're true.
I love Max Reaves.
Not because of childhood memories or grief or some misplaced need for safety. I love him because he's strong and broken and beautiful. Because he makes me laugh. Because he looks at me like I'm the most precious thing in the world. Because he sat with me in the dark and didn't try to fix me.
"I'm staying," I tell Gerald. "And if you ever come near Max again, if you ever try to poison his mind with your lies, I will make sure everyone in your precious congregation knows exactly what kind of man you really are."
Gerald's face goes red. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
I turn to my mother. She's crying now, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Come with me," I say softly. "Leave him. Start over. It's not too late."
She looks at Gerald. Then at me.
"I can't," she whispers.
It hurts. But it doesn't break me. Not anymore.
"The offer stands. Whenever you're ready." I press a kiss to her cheek. "I love you, Mom. Even if you never find the courage to choose yourself."
I walk out of the room without looking back.
The drive to Max's shop takes five minutes. It feels like hours.
When I push through the door, he's standing in the middle of his workshop. Like he's been waiting. Like he knew I'd come.
"Claire."
"You don't get to push me away." I cross to him, plant my hands on his chest. "You don't get to decide what's best for me. You don't get to carry the guilt of my father's death forever."
"Claire..."
"I love you, Max. Not because of who you were to my father. Not because of childhood memories. Because of who you are. Right here. Right now."
His hands come up to cover mine. Those scarred, beautiful hands that have brought me so much pleasure.
"I talked to Logan," he says quietly. "He came after you left. Said some things I needed to hear."
"Like what?"
"Like Marcus would want his daughter with someone who'd burn the world down to keep her safe." His voice roughens. "Like I've spent ten years punishing myself for surviving, and it's time to stop."
"Is he right?"
Max pulls me against his chest. Holds me so tight I can barely breathe.
"Yeah," he murmurs into my hair. "He's right."
Then he's kissing me, and nothing else matters.
