Page 117 of In Your Wake

“Never. That’s a keeper.”

While she tries to wrestle it from my grasp, I wrap an arm around her to hold her back, keeping the phone out of reach. Her chest presses against mine, sending blood rushing to my extremities. Finally, she stops fighting, pulling back and settling her hands on my hips. She giggles, looking up at me from under those light lashes. But all too suddenly, she stops, quickly dropping her hands and stepping back.

“Whatever. Keep it. Not like anyone wants to see it.”

“Trust me, I would,” I answer, my voice low, my heart still beating frantically.

She gives me an eye roll before grabbing the wrench and then crouching by the radiator to twist a knob.

“Why are you so hard on yourself?” I ask, stepping up behind her. I watch her work, her toned arms tensing as she grips and turns the wrench.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You still don’t think you’re worthy of being ogled. You worked your ass off on this place, kept it alive, and somehow you’re only now realizing it.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She stills and turns her head, but doesn’t entirely glance at me over her shoulder. “And don’t presume to know anything about me.”

“Ah, come on, Max. I know you better than you think. Always have.” Reaching down, I slip her red hair off her shoulder and let my fingertips graze her bare skin. She leans into my touch, but then swiftly stands, facing me.

“What are you even doing here?” she spits, pointing the wrench at me. “I told you I could handle this. You’re checking on me, aren’t you? Making sure I don’t blow up the room because there’s no way poor, stupid Maxine could—”

“Would you shut up already?” I explode, gripping her shoulders, nearly shaking her out of her little rant. “I would never think you’re stupid.”

“So, then trust me. I’ll fix this.”

“I don’t doubt it.” I drop my hold. “And I do trust you.”

“Then why don’t you just… leave?” she asks. Her voice cracks with desperation, and I realize she’s not talking about me leaving this room.

I sink into one of the nearby forest-green high wingback chairs. “You mean Oakwhite?”

Without answering, she turns toward the radiator again and her silence is all the answer I need.

“Max…” I begin, but pause and take a deep breath.

Here we are once again, in a room together, uninterrupted. This is it, my chance to get things off my chest.

“I know we’ll never get those years back and that we did some dumb stuff. Stuff we could have fixed if we hadn’t been too proud to admit we were wrong.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I’ll admit I was arrogant, and I convinced myself I couldn’t trust you. That I shouldn’t be near you. But they were all lies I told to protect myself.”

I can’t see her face, but she drops her head and shoulders, and I hear a faint sniffle. That need to pull her into my arms returns, but I look away and stare at the empty fireplace instead.

“Since I’ve been home, all I’ve wanted is to be around you. Even when I couldn’t stand you, I wanted to be near you.”

She remains so silent and still, I worry I’ve stepped too far. That I’ve revealed something I can’t take back.

I go on. “I’ll be gone in a few days. Do you think we can forgive each other?”

She gets down on the floor to sit. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lower lip quivers. As she lifts her gaze to mine, the dim light catches the sheen in her eyes, and she smiles sadly.

“I never despised you, Mitch. Not even when I knew I should.” Her voice trembles and sounds so tiny and fragile; it breaks my heart.

“Neither did I.” I return her sad smile. “Not even when I knew I should,” I say, echoing her words.

I release a quick exhale, as if our honesty has punched me straight in the gut, knocking the air from my lungs.

My surprise soon turns to anger, not toward her, but toward myself. I drop my head into my hands, my fingers digging into my hair.

“Fuck,” I growl.