Page 62 of Risk It All
Chapter Twenty
Max
Iline up the third miniature bottle of liquor next to the other two on the bedside table. I contemplate downing the fourth.
“What the hell.” I pick up the fourth bottle without reading the label. It doesn't matter what it is or if I get drunk, as long as it numbs. In fact, maybe getting drunk will stop the pain of my heart splitting in two, even if just for a little while. Of course, I know deep down that not even a tanker of tequila will dull the pain, but I'm willing to try anything.
I twist the lid off, tossing it on the bedside table. I down the drink in a single gulp, line up the bottle next to the others and wait for the liquid to burn away the pain. I feel a little thickheaded, an indication that the booze is doing something. But it doesn't cure the ache in my heart. I blow out a breath and decide to go to bed. I stand to take off my clothes when there's a knock at the door.
My first thought is that it's Madeleine. Who else knows where I am? But I push down the hope that tries to rise. I think about ignoring it, but having nothing better to do, I decide to see who it is. Not bothering to check through the peephole, I open the door and feel an immediate emotional punch in the gut.
Madeleine.
There she is, with red-rimmed, yet determined eyes. Even so, I don't allow myself to hope she's changed her mind.
She shifts uneasily. “It wouldn't work if you moved to New York.”
The fact that my heart drops proves I'd been unable to keep hope from welling. I curse at myself for being so weak and needy.
I hold up my hand up to stop her from saying anymore. “I've heard all your excuses about why we won't work. If you've come here to sing the same old song, save your breath.”
I start to close the door. Her hand shoots out, slapping against the door to prevent it from closing in her face. Her eyes narrow in anger and annoyance. At one time it fascinated me that when she should be chagrined, she always got angry. Now it just irritates me.
“You barged into my parents' home and were allowed to speak. Now it's my turn.”
“I don't want to hear your excuses, Madeleine.” I wonder if she's trying to hurt me on purpose.
“Shut up and listen,” she snaps. “The reason your moving to New York won't work is because I'm moving to Los Angeles.”
I blame the alcohol for the slowness with which my brain processes what she's saying. It sounds like she's moving to L.A., which would certainly make it easier to see each other. But then again, L.A. is closer to Mexico and probably Tibet, so maybe it's a matter of being closer to her work.
Madeleine
I swallowhard as I watch Max's face. Doesn't he understand what I'm saying? “I know I've hurt you and I have no right to ask for a second chance.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Why do you think I'm here?” Why is making up so hard? I had thought I'd see him, tell him I want to be with him, and he'd sweep me off my feet. “Less than an hour ago you were telling me you love me. Has that changed?”
He shakes his head. “Less than an hour ago, you . . . destroyed me.” He runs his hand over his face and I realize he hadn't wanted me to know how much I hurt him. And in reality, until that moment, I didn't realize just how much I had. Emma was right, he looked broken.
He spent a lifetime wanting to be loved and what did I do? I pushed him away, just as others had, I'm sure. My guilt increases, weighing on my chest like an anvil, and I hope I have the chance to make it right.
“I destroyed me too, Max.”
“What do you want, Madeleine?” His voice holds no affect. He's a shell of a man. I did that to him.
“I want you.” Then I realize I haven't told him the most important thing. “Max. I love you.”
He stares at me and I'm not sure he heard me. Or maybe he's decided I'm not worth the risk after all. I can't hardly blame him. But I know now that my future happiness, our future happiness, will depend on my convincing him that I'm all in.
I step closer to him, stare into those glassy blue eyes. He's been drinking, which I also can't blame him for.
I press my palm to his cheek, relieved when he doesn't pull away. “I'm so, so sorry I hurt you, Max because I love you. I want to keep loving you, if you'll give me—”
My last words are lost on a muffle as he hauls me into his arms. One arm bands around me, while his other hand slides through my hair, cradling my head against his shoulder. I savor him holding me, relief flooding my body.
“Tell me again,” he demands.
