Chapter Twenty-Three
It was late when Max got back to the old farmhouse. Liam and Rory offered to go with him, but he insisted they stay. He’d told his brothers he was done for the night and just wanted to be alone.
The pine floors creaked as he walked across the kitchen, through the dining room, and to the living room. Ava was asleep on the couch, an afghan thrown over her.
A fire burned low in the stone fireplace. Max had brought in firewood earlier. It sat in a stack by the hearth. It was wood he and his brothers had cut and stacked by the side of the house at the beginning of fall.
He pulled on the big gloves that lay by the hearth, opened the fire screen and quietly set a few more split logs on top. The red coals of a log burned down to embers broke and shattered into a hundred flaming pieces, sending up a crackling, hissing sound.
He took the poker and adjusted the new logs until the flames flared up, licking over the fresh wood. When he set the poker down and tossed the gloves back to the stone hearth, he heard movement on the couch. Twisting his head, he saw Ava sit up, tucking her feet under her and stretching her arms over her head. His eyes moved over her now large belly.
“Sorry if I woke you,” he said.
She yawned. “I guess I dozed off waiting for Jameson. What time is it?”
He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “After eleven.” Headlights flashed across the windows as a truck pulled in. “That’s probably him now.”
Max stood watching the fire, one palm resting on the mantel, his long-sleeve thermal shirt and plaid flannel pushed up to his elbows, revealing his muscular, tattooed forearm.
“Are you okay, Max?” Ava’s voice was quiet.
“No. I don’t think I am.”
“You haven’t wanted to talk about your breakup. But, Max, it’s been weeks. Will you tell me now what happened between you?”
He hesitated a long moment, staring at the fire, before quietly confessing, “I asked her to marry me, Ava.”
“Oh Max, I had no idea. What did she say?”
Max shook his head, his eyes still on the flames, not sure he could even form the words.
“Please, Max. Tell me what happened.”
“We went to tell her parents. I wanted their blessing, you know? Her father forbade her from marrying me. Said if she walked out that door, she no longer had a family.”
“I’m so sorry. What did she do?”
“I held my hand out to her. I expected her to choose me. She didn’t.”
“Oh, Max,” Ava whispered.
“I’ve waited for weeks for her to come to her senses.”
“Have you talked at all?”
“She came to see me. Wanted to continue as we’d been, sneaking around behind her father’s back.” He turned to look at Ava then, his hand dropping from the mantel. “I can’t do that.” He shook his head. “Not anymore. That night, when she didn’t come with me, when I had to walk out of there alone… something broke inside me. I can’t go backward. And if she doesn’t want to move forward with me, what is there? What do we have left? There’s nothing.”
“Max, I’m so sorry. Maybe if you give her time, she’ll realize…”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. Not after tonight. I think I just need to give up that dream. I need to move on. Decide what’s next for me.”
Jameson walked in. He bent to kiss Ava and then straightened. He must have felt the vibe in the room, seen the concern on his wife’s face. His eyes moved to Max.
“What’s goin’ on? Everything okay?”
Ava reached up to slip her hand in her husband’s, but her tear-filled eyes were on Max.
“Brother, you okay?” Jameson tried again.
“No.” Max shook his head. “But I will be. I’m thinking of going up to the bluff.”
“When?” Jameson asked.
“Tonight. Now. I just need to get away and think. It’s a good place to do that.”
“Tonight?” Ava asked. “But it’s so late.”
Jameson studied his brother, and then his eyes dropped to her. “He’ll be okay.”
“But it’s so cold.”
“I’ll put on a warmer coat,” Max said.
“You should take one of the down sleeping bags if you’re planning on staying up there all night,” Jameson suggested. “I’ll go get one for you.”
Ava pushed aside the afghan and stood. “I’ll make you a thermos of coffee.”
Max went outside to his pickup and stood for a few minutes, bracing his hands on the cold metal edge of the truck bed.
The dirt road stretched before him, deserted and black; far in the distance, past the trees, he could see where the land began to lift up to the ridge, up to his and Malee’s spot.
The screen door behind him creaked, and the sound of boots on the porch steps carried to him. Jameson tossed a sleeping bag in the bed. Max turned as Ava passed him a thermos.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He gave her a hug.
Jameson handed him a flask. “Here’s something to put in it.”
Max grinned as he took it. Then Jameson pulled him in for a hug and a couple of pounds on his back. “Stay warm, bro.”
With that, he climbed in the cab and headed off. A dirt trail led out of the back of their property and up toward the bluff, up to the place he and his brothers had gone many times as boys, up to the place he now thought of as he and Malee’s special spot.
He parked near the tree he’d carved their initials in, dropped the tailgate, and hopped up on it. His legs swung as he uncapped the flask and took a hit. The stars sparkled overhead, and the lights of town glittered in the cold, crystal-clear night.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean mountain air and letting it out slowly as he reflected on everything that had transpired.
When he’d first met Malee, he’d worried that perhaps he wasn’t good enough for her. Now it dawned on him that he felt that way about a lot of things throughout his life. He’d always felt his ink wasn’t as good as his brothers. He’d worried he wasn’t good enough to fight MMA. Recently, he’d let feelings of the like hold him back from buying the gym from Pops, thinking that maybe he wouldn’t be able to run it.
Ava’s words came back to him from that day at the shop months ago; she’d told him not to let anyone tell him he wasn’t good enough to have what he wanted. He’d brushed her words off at the time. Now they sunk in.
Goddamn it, she was right. He had to stop thinking that way and letting those negative thoughts stand in the way of getting what he wanted.
He’d worked at Brothers Ink since he was barely out of high school. It probably wouldn’t have been his choice, but it was a way Jameson felt he could support the family after their parents’ death, so naturally Max had gone along with it. And for the most part it was a fun job.
No, it more than a job; it was the family business, and he knew in his heart, that no matter what problems there sometimes were between he and his brothers, he would never leave the business. It would always be home to him.
But lately, he’d wondered if there wasn’t something more—something with a deeper meaning, more fulfilling to his soul. Oh, he knew he helped people with his art; he knew he helped heal people who were suffering loss over grief or illness or any of a myriad of life’s trials. But helping the kids at the gym? That filled his soul in a different way, a way he needed.
So, was that his future then? Did he have to face the fact that it was time to let go of the dream he’d had of a life with Malee, of building a family with her? Was it time to look to a new dream? Perhaps taking over Fourth Street Gym was the new dream he needed right now. It was something to look forward to, something to give him meaning and direction, because if he just stagnated now, he’d spiral down into a deep depression.
He loved Malee; he’d always love Malee, but he’d come to realize that wasn’t enough to save a relationship. She had to want it just as much as he did for it to work.
He glanced over at the tree, the heart barely distinguishable in the moonlight. He’d had visions of them making a life together, having children, creating a family all their own. But sometimes dreams didn’t work out the way you want them to; sometimes you have to let them go.
It tore at his heart, as he took another sip off the flask, closed his eyes, and let that one go.