Iwant to be this for her too.
Not instead of this—never that—but alongside it. To build a place where she can lay her armor down and know she’s held. Where rest isn’t borrowed. Where she doesn’t have to earn peace.
With me.
Her mother looks me over, slow and thorough, then smiles wide. “So this is the coochie-kidnapping Canadian, huh?”
Max groans, only seeming half embarrassed for real. “Mommy!”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “Well,” I say, leaning down to kiss Ms. Tonya on the cheek. “My mother would absolutely adore you.”
She winks, staring right into my eyes. “I like him already. You want something to drink, baby?”
“Water’s perfect,” I say.
She nods approvingly and motions us toward the sitting area. We barely get settled before she turns to me again. “So,” she says, eyes gleaming, “tell me how you two met. And how you got that nickname, Bear.”
“Oh no,” Max mumbles under her breath, but her mom just keeps going.
“Max has said it at least twice since she’s been back and I’ve been too fascinated with the other stories to ask!”
I tell the story. About the elk. The rescue. The way Max initially annoyed the absolute hell out of me every time she called me Bear. And then, how somewhere between the sarcasm and the sexual harassment, she managed to work herself under my skin.
I don’t dress it up. I don’t pretend I was immune.
I tell it straight: I didn’t stand a chance.
Her mom snorts. Loud. “Ohhh, I thought it was because you had a bear of a—”
“Mommy!” Max yells.
I’m still laughing when the front door opens and a young woman walks in like a storm.
She looks like Max, but taller. No glasses. Her hair isn’t curly. It falls long and layered, styled the way women on social media seem to master effortlessly. She’s beautiful. Striking, even. But she isn’t Max.
And I see the difference as soon as I look between the two.
“Well damn,” a voice rings out, stopping us short. “I miss a few family dinners and y’all bring home a whole man?”
I feel Max tense up beside me instantly. It’s like a physical current of electricity shoots through her, turning her posture into a jagged line of defense. Without thinking, I gently move my hand to cover hers, trying to ground her before she bolts.
“Jussie. Justine. This is Maxine’s…Eli,” Max’s mom stutters, and I can tell she wasn’t prepared for this little reunion.
Neither was Max.
I stand and greet her sister like the gentleman my mother raised me to be, offering a steady presence in the middle of their storm. “Eli Shaw,” I say, reaching for Justine’s hand.
“Nice to meet you,” she drawls, a hint of a Southern accent curling around her words as she looks me up and down.
“Pleasure,” I reply shortly. I sit back down, trying to draw Max back into the fold, but the damage is done.
The silence that follows is intense, vibrating with years of unspoken resentment. Within a minute, Max is on her feet, giving everyone whiplash as she heads for the front door. I don’t wait for an invitation. I follow her.
The Georgia air isthickcompared to the crisp Canadian mountain breeze, but the tension rolling off Max is colder than any frost I’ve been exposed to. It’s…biting.
She walks fast, her arms wrapped tight around her middle like she’s trying to hold herself together.
“Max,” I call out, catching up to her on the sidewalk. “Talk to me.”
