“Yes. No, I mean—”
“I heard you,” I assure him. Anger and pain swirl inside of me, the combination too much for me to bear at this moment. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted. “You should go, deal with your meeting.”
“Forget the meeting. I’m not going anywhere leaving things like this.” He runs an agitated hand through his hair, walking toward me. “I’m sorry. Look, I put my foot in my mouth, but you know I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to shut up that moron and…. Jesus, Emilia. You know I want to be here for you, no matter what. Tell me you know that.”
He reaches his hand out to me, but I pull away. “It will wear you down eventually,” I say softly.
“What?”
“All my problems.” I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, unable to look him in the eye. “Your life is beautiful and easy, and mine is not. You’ll resent me one day. I don’t want that.”
Max sets his jaw, training his eyes on me. “Because of what happened today? You can’t be serious. I’m sorry for what I said, but I want to be next to you.”
“For now.” My voice is weak, undependable, and I hate it. “But if it happens again and again, it will eventually wear you down, and you’ll want someone with no cares.”
He looks at me stunned. “I’m not your father, or that asshole ex-fiancé of yours. You’re projecting your fears on me, and it’s not fair.”
“Maybe I am,” I admit, “but the possibility of them becoming true is high, so it’s just better if—”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Don’t raise your voice. You’ll wake up Grams,” I say angrily. “And don’t call me stupid.”
“I’m not,” he says, now equally angry. “You can’t expect me to stand here in front of you and take all of this with a shrug. We have a good thing—”
“Stop it, Max, please. Don’t make this hard.”
“I sure as hell don’t plan to make this easy.” He paces around the kitchen, fuming.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I ball my hands into fists, digging my nails deep into my palm. “Please go, Max. You being here already cost you millions of dollars.” Men have walked away from my life for much less.
Max stops pacing, snapping his head to me. “You heard that?”
“That Anthony guy wasn’t exactly quiet.”
“Fuck Anthony and the millions. I don’t care about that. I care about you. There will be enough deals. There is just one of you.”
“Stop, Max,” I say stubbornly. “Please go.”
“You know what? I will go. I’m sorry for putting my foot in my mouth, but you’re not being rational. Call me when you calm down, and we’ll talk again. And I swear to God, if you don’t call, I’ll drive here and knock down your front door.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Emilia
The second Max leaves the house, a deep sense of loss takes up residence in my stomach. I almost run after him, but stop myself. Cold shivers overtake my body and tears stream down my cheeks.
I need a warm shower, and then everything will be better. But the dreadful feeling of having made a huge mistake doesn’t leave me even after I finish the shower. The hot water did nothing to calm down my shivers, which have now turned into tremors. Was Max right? Was I really projecting my fears? I must have. My father left me in Grams’s care after Mom died. Paul ditched me when Grandma became sick. There was a time when I believed every man I cared about would eventually leave.
Except Max. My sweet, loving Max, who drops everything to be by my side when I need him, but hearing him say he didn’t want to deal with all this shit hurt. I know his heart is in the right place, even if his mouth isn’t, but I’m still pissed. Still… pushing him away the way I did….
When I spent that first night with him, I made him and myself the promise to put my fears aside, which I did. But seeing my father opened that age-old wound, made me bleed insecurities and fears, left me vulnerable. Turned me into an idiot.
I hurry out of the shower, searching for my phone. It has no battery, of course. My heart leaps to my throat in the time it takes the phone to jolt to life after I plug it in. With trembling fingers, I pull up Max’s number and call him. No answer. Drawing in deep breaths, I tell myself that he must be in his meeting by now, trying to salvage it.
Emilia: I need to talk to you. Please call when you have time.
Max doesn’t call though. I try not to panic on my way to the clinic. He’s probably still in the meeting after all. But by the time two hours have passed, the skin on my entire body feels as if I have needles stuck in every hair follicle. I check my phone obsessively the entire day, even calling Max three more times in between patients, but he doesn’t answer, or write back. I chew the inside of my cheek until I can taste blood in an effort to withhold tears. What if he’s changed his mind? He must have, why the radio silence otherwise?