Chapter Four
Max walked through the back door of the old building on Fourth Street. The painted sign on the brick said Fourth Street Gym, but everybody called it Pops’ Gym. Pops was the cantankerous old man who owned the joint and held a very special place in Max’s heart. If it hadn’t been for the old man, Max would have probably headed down the wrong road as a teenager. It had been Pops who had taken the time with him, and given him a direction and goal, way before Jameson had opened up the tattoo shop—long before Brothers Ink became the glue that held them all together. No, back then, it was Pops who was the guiding hand that steered Max in the right direction.
Pops had come into his life at a time when Max had just lost both his parents in a tragic car accident. Suddenly, it was the four brothers all alone in this world. They had no one but each other. Jameson, who was just eighteen at the time and was supposed to head off to college that fall, had immediately given up all of that and stepped up, fighting tooth and nail against the legal system to keep his brothers from being split into different foster homes. He made sure the family stayed together. He’d worked his ass off, shoveling feed at Ryerson’s Feed Store all day, then apprenticing at night with a local tattoo artist until he was able to learn the craft, hoping it would be a marketable skill with which he could support his brothers.
Max, being the second oldest at fifteen, did his part as well, making sure the two younger boys—Liam who was ten and Rory who was seven—were taken care of while Jameson worked. Max helped them with their homework, cooked them dinner, and put them to bed.
But in his free time, he had plenty of opportunity to get into trouble. At fifteen, it was easy to rebel against all that responsibility, especially with the anger that brewed inside him over losing his parents. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. He’d been tempted by the wrong crowd, tempted to take up petty theft—five-finger-discounts, they called them. He and some other rowdy boys from town got into their fair share of scraps, too, fighting openly in the back alleys of downtown. Until one day, Pops saw them and broke the fight up. He told the boys if they wanted to beat each other to a pulp, they’d might as well come inside and do it in his gym.
They took him up on his offer, and everything changed for Max that day.
Slowly, but surely, Pops’ brand of tough love seeped into the edges of Max’s hardened heart. Through the art of boxing, the old man taught him respect, discipline, how to rise above failure, and that working hard toward a goal made it that much sweeter when you finally achieved it.
He gave Max simpler things, too, like a place to go after school, and a place to hang out other than the street. He gave him attention, something Max craved, and he gave him a strong adult role model… Not that Jameson didn’t strive to be one, but he was barely older than Max was himself.
The old metal door banged closed behind him as he entered the dark cool gym, and the familiar smell of stale sweat hit his nostrils, shaking him from his memories. Max glanced over to the teenage boys taking a mixed martial arts class. That wasn’t part of the offerings at Pops’ back in Max’s day. Back then they’d learned boxing. But last year, Max had talked Pops into giving it a chance and hiring a guy to teach a few classes. It had turned into a success. Then Max had talked Pops into giving the boys off the street free classes over the summer, a time Max knew when idle hands could get a boy into trouble. There’d been quite a response, and now some of those same boys were so hooked on the sport, they worked afterschool jobs in order to pay their way for advanced classes.
Max moved to the metal staircase in the back and headed up to the small office Pops kept on the second floor. He pushed open the door without knocking. The old man was kicked back in his chair, dozing.
Max grinned. “Go home, Pops. I’ll lock up.”
Pops startled awake. “Huh. Oh, Max.” He ran a hand over his face. “I was just resting my eyes.”
Max chuckled. “Right. Go on home to Eleanor.”
He looked at the time. “Gotta close the place up. They should be done soon.”
“I can take care of it. Go home and get some rest.”
Pops nodded and stood, pulling his jacket on, his motions slow.
The old man looked tired, his age showing more and more recently. And Max knew the reason. “How is she?”
Pops looked off at the small window as raindrops began pelting against the glass. “She’s doing as well as can be expected. She’s starting to need more and more help, though. We’ve got a nurse comin’ by twice a week now.”
“I’m sorry, Pops.”
He nodded. “Been thinkin’ about takin’ her down to Florida. Our Katy is there. She’d be a big help.”
“What about the gym?”
Pops huffed out a breath. “Close down, I guess. I don’t know who’d want an old busted down place like this anymore. What do you call ‘em? Millennials? They go to the fancy places now, the ones with saunas and spin classes and all that crap. They don’t want to go to an old school place like mine.”
Max grinned. “Old school is cool, Pops. Haven’t you heard?”
Pops chuckled. “Yeah. Right.”
***
Malee secretly watched from the shadows of the corner of the gym as her brother’s MMA class finished up. She’d followed him down the two blocks from the restaurant, like she often did, and snuck in the door. But it wasn’t really the MMA class that held her interest or had her coming down here every week. It was the big man from the tattoo shop. The one named Max. He had enthralled her from the first minute she’d laid eyes on him. But he’d been missing the last few times she’d snuck down here. And as she looked toward the punching bag hanging in the corner, it appeared he was a no-show again.
The class wrapped up, and the students headed to the locker room in the back. The big cavernous space with the boxing ring in one corner, the MMA area with its large matted floor, and the exercise equipment in the other corner seemed dark and still.
Malee eyed the punching bag as the frustration in her simmered. Her eyes darted around, seeing no one. She moved quietly toward it as thoughts of all that had transpired that day rolled through her—the encounter with the customer, the accident with Kiet, her father’s disappointed look. Then on top of everything, she missed getting to see Max. It was a stupid crush, she knew, but still, it had become one small highlight she looked forward to every week. Disappointment melded with frustration, and she pulled her arm back and punched the bag. It felt good, and soon she was pummeling it, her arms swinging hard and fast, her face tight with anger. She let it all out, releasing the flood of feelings until the torrent of emotions rolling inside her boiled over, and she found herself clinging to the bag as she burst into tears, her shoulders shaking silently as the bag swung slowly.
It was then that a large hand appeared just above her head, steadying the bag. Her eyes moved from the hand up the strong muscled arm, and her head twisted to see the face that haunted her dreams.
Max.
Startled, she took a step away.
He smiled down at her. And then the smile faded as his eyes swept over her cheeks, wet with tears. But then he did the most unexpected thing. His hand lifted, and he began to sign to her. Just letters. Slowly made, as someone who was just learning the skill would do, spelling out the words.
You okay?
She was so shocked that she could only stare at him through her tears.
And then that same hand lifted to her face, and his thumb gently brushed the wetness from her cheek. His eyes searched hers as he signed again.
Tears. Why?
She covered her cheeks and turned her back to him, embarrassment flooding through her. She was mortified he’d seen her crying.
She felt his hands close softly over her shoulders, turning her back around. He cupped her face, tilting her unwilling eyes up to his. When she finally looked up, she saw the questioning expression on his face as she read the word on his lips, why?
For some reason, the fact that he was showing her any sympathy had her breaking down again, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
He looked a little out of his depth, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the silly girl who was falling to pieces right in front of him. But then he surprised her. Almost as if it was an instinctive reaction, he reached out and pulled her up against him, his arms wrapping tightly around her in the shadowy corner. They stood there a long time, until her sobs faded away.
She had time to realize all sorts of things. Like how comforting his arms were, how good he smelled, like the wind and rain, and some manly soap combined with his own scent. She was cuddled up against this man she barely knew, as if she belonged there. He was warm beneath the soft fabric of his shirt, and she could feel the vibration of his heart thudding under her ear.
His hands were soothing as they smoothed up her back. She’d never had a man touch her like this. His touch was calming and tender. She didn’t want to lose the feeling as she stood there with her face buried against him and her hands pushed under the warmth of his arms. She felt safe, protected, sheltered, in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe ever.
But then she remembered she barely knew this man, so she pushed back away from his body, and he let her go, but his hands still held her arms lightly. She looked up at him, studying his face. It was dimly lit in the cavernous room, but she saw the genuine care in his eyes and the question there, too. He still had no idea why she was upset.
Just a bad day, she signed. She tried to laugh it off and then, daring to admit her attraction, she signed to him. You haven’t been here in a while.
He shook his head in confusion, not catching all her signs, so she tried a simpler version. She pointed to him. Then signed three letters N O T. Then pointed to the floor.
That had a smile pulling at the corner of his beautiful mouth. Her gaze dropped to his gorgeous lips for a moment before returning to his eyes as he tilted his head and signed slowly.
You noticed.
She nodded shyly.
He signed some more, his fingers fumbling slowly over the motions.
I had work.
It seemed he had a lot he wanted to say to her, but signing every letter was slowing him down. She knew the frustration he felt. She felt it every day, trying to communicate with the hearing world. But he was making the effort. She couldn’t believe he’d actually learned the alphabet. Had he done it for her? Because when she’d delivered lunch that afternoon several weeks ago, he hadn’t known any sign language. The thought that he had done it just for her had a thrill of pleasure shooting through her. It had been a long time since anyone had done anything like that for her, put actual effort into something like that, just to be able to say hello to her if he ever chanced to see her again.
He held up a finger, indicating to wait a minute.
She frowned as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, his thumb moving over the screen. She assumed he had a call or text come in, but when he didn’t put it to his ear, she knew there’d been no ring that she couldn’t hear. After a moment, he turned the phone toward her to see.
She looked at the lit up screen. He’d pulled up his notes app and had typed out a message to her. She grinned at his ingenuity and read the words.
Are you okay? Why were you crying?
They began passing the phone back and forth.
It’s nothing. Just a bad day. You learned sign.
Just the alphabet.
Why?
So the next time I saw you, I could say hello to you.
That had her face lighting up as she pointed to her own chest and mouthed, for me?
Yes, ma’am.
Thank you.
You’re welcome. Are you waiting for your brother?
She shook her head, her eyes darting to the locker room as she stepped back.
Max frowned and typed out a message.
What’s wrong?
He doesn’t know I snuck down here.
Snuck?
I’m not supposed to be here.
Why?
My father is very strict.
Oh.
I should go before Kiet sees me.
Max looked over his shoulder as the locker room door opened, and he heard voices. He pointed at a door behind Malee and opened it. He motioned for her to enter and held his finger to his lips, signaling her to remain quiet.
She nodded and stepped into the storage closet. He closed the door, but left it ajar an inch so she could peek through. He moved away, waving to several of the students as they exited the gym. She saw Kiet leave the building with the last of them. Then the class instructor came out. He shook hands with Max, and she could see their mouths moving as they spoke to each other, then both smiled and laughed.
The teacher went outside. With the door opening, Malee could feel the chilly night air sweep into the building and with it the clean scent of the rain she knew was now falling outside.
When the students were all gone, Max moved to check the locker room, then came back and motioned her out.
He typed another message to her.
They’re all gone. Do you want me to show you how to punch the bag correctly?
She read the message, and her wide eyes flicked up to his. Her first instinct was to shake her head no and run home, but she didn’t want her time with Max to be over. So she gathered her courage and looked over at the bag.
He held the phone up for her to read, the dare in his eyes plain. Or are you afraid of me?
That had her chin coming up. She’d never been one to shy away from a challenge, so she did the only thing she could do. She shook her head, gestured to the bag, and spoke, forming the words carefully, “Show me.”
His eyes sparkled at her response before he stepped away to fetch a pair of gloves. He helped her slip them on, patiently lacing them up for her. She watched, mesmerized by his callused fingers and strong hands as he worked.
His eyes flashed up to hers, and he smiled. Warmth spread through her chest, and she couldn’t help the answering grin that broke across her face.
With big gentle hands on her shoulders, he positioned her in front of the bag. His hands closed over her forearms and brought her gloves up to jaw height, tucking her elbows in. He demonstrated with his own hands, making fists tight to his face, indicating that she should keep her hands up, close to her face.
She mimicked him, and even as she did so, she couldn’t help letting her eyes drift over his bulging biceps. They were covered with the most beautiful ink she’d ever seen, that scrolled up under the short sleeve of his T-shirt.
He bounced on his feet, dancing toward the bag and away, pivoting right and left and jabbing at the bag to show her. Then with a lift of his chin, he indicated for her to try it.
She bounced around on her feet and swung at the bag.
He grinned and shook his head at her pathetic attempt.
She didn’t take offense, and they both laughed.
He moved behind her, and she felt his hands close over her hips as he repositioned her stance, his heat upon her back and his breath on her ear as he reached around her to take her wrists in his grasp. He guided her movements, making the punching motions with her in slow motion. With every jab at the bag, he made sure she touched her jaw with the opposite free hand, indicating she needed to remember to keep both hands up at face level. Then he stepped back and nodded for her to try it.
She did, and he nodded, mouthing, yes, good.
She knew it was a small thing, but his praise lifted her spirits, and she felt something blossoming inside her. A radiant smile burst across her face. It had been a long time since anyone had paid her such attention. A long time since someone really seemed to enjoy her company, rather than just tolerate it.
He worked with her on technique for a while, showing her how to jab and how to follow through with several shots. He was a good teacher, extremely patient and encouraging.
A flash of lightning lit up the rain-streaked windowpanes pulling her attention. She glanced up at the clock, high up on the wall. It was getting late, and she needed to get home before someone missed her. She gestured toward the window.
Max frowned, not understanding.
With her hands in the gloves, she couldn’t sign or type on the cell phone. She was forced to use her voice. It still embarrassed her, the way her voice must sound, but she made herself do it, speaking slowly. “I have to go home.”
Max nodded. Okay. He reached for her hands, and she turned them wrist up so he could undo the fat gloves.
She waited patiently until he tugged them off, but when she turned to go, he caught her arm, stopping her. He held up a finger and began typing a message.
It’s raining. Let me drive you home.
She shook her head, then took the phone and responded.
I can’t. If my father saw us together…
I could drop you off at the corner or in the alley behind the restaurant.
She glanced toward the window. The rain was coming down pretty hard. Reluctantly, she turned back and nodded to him.
He typed a message, holding the phone out.
Why don’t you use your voice? I can understand you.
She licked her lips, debating, and then formed the words, “I sound funny.”
You sound fine.
She read his words, and her eyes flicked to his. She found only sincerity there, but still she bit her bottom lip. She’d been teased so often as a child that she had just stopped trying. Now he had her rethinking that.
He typed again.
You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable. Only if you want to.
They stared at each other. She wanted to trust him, but she knew if he, of all people, ever teased her about it, she’d be devastated.
He typed again.
My truck is in back.
Then he jerked his head toward the back door, and she followed him, waiting while he turned out the lights. She stood beneath a small overhang as he locked up, and then hit a button on his key fob, and the headlights to his big black pickup flashed on as he unlocked it. They darted out into the rain, and he opened the passenger door for her, helping her inside.
She liked the courtesy he showed her. No one had ever held a car door for her before. It felt nice. It felt special. She grinned. He definitely earned some points with that move.
The interior of the pickup was like a warm cocoon against the stormy weather outside, and she had a few seconds to glance around. A person’s vehicle told a lot about a person. Max’s truck still had that new-car smell. It was obviously a late model with all the bells and whistles. She also noticed it was immaculate on the inside, no clutter or fast food wrappers or empty soda cups. That showed he respected his belongings and took care of them, just as holding the door for her had shown he respected her.
The driver door opened, and the truck rocked as he hoisted himself inside. Raindrops sparkled on his shoulders as he started the engine and cranked up the heat.
She had on just a light jacket and rubbed her hands over her arms. He noticed and reached in the back, grabbing a black fleece jacket. He tucked it around her like a blanket and mouthed the question, warm?
She nodded, smiling, and realized it wasn’t just the jacket that made her warm; it was the way he cared for her. Once she was cuddled in the soft fabric, he reached across her and buckled her seatbelt.
She breathed in the scent of him that clung to the fabric as he threw the pickup in reverse and headed out. It smelled of some delicious scent, like a woodsy soap that blended with his own manly aroma, one that she was instantly addicted to. She knew that smell would be imprinted on her brain for a long time, maybe forever.
He rolled down the street and made a right. A thought suddenly had her straightening in the seat.
She unburied one arm and reached over to tap his shoulder. He turned his head.
“Do you know where I live?” she asked, forming the words slowly.
He signed back, above the restaurant?
She smiled and nodded. “Not too close.”
He made the okay symbol with his hand and then patted her knee with a grin.
They didn’t have far to go. Her family’s restaurant was on Main Street, just a couple of blocks from the gym, but Max drove a block out of the way and came up on the Main Street intersection two blocks down from the restaurant, stopping at the red light. Malee glanced down toward her family business in the distance. Main Street was pretty much deserted at this hour of the night. The lights were out at Thai Garden, but she knew her parents were probably still back in the kitchen cleaning up and preparing for tomorrow.
The light changed, and they rolled through the intersection. Max turned right into an alley that ran behind the businesses. He pulled to the end where it came out at the cross street. If he continued across and drove farther down the next section of alley, her parents’ restaurant would be the third one down on the right. She could see the green dumpster that sat beside the back door. Her brother’s red Kawasaki Ninja bike was parked next to it.
Max put the truck in park and cut the lights. They were tucked back from the street, nestled on the narrow alley between two brick buildings. In the dark of night, no one would notice them. The only faint light was the glow from the dashboard. She shot a glance over to his hands on the steering wheel. One reached to turn a knob on the stereo, probably turning down a song she couldn’t hear. She noticed the size of his hands. They looked powerful, but they had been gentle when he’d touched her. She hadn’t expected that gentleness from someone as big as he was.
She tore her eyes from his hands and looked out the window, trying to think of something other than his hands and how they might feel if they touched her bare skin.
Breathe, she told herself.
Rain pelted the windshield, and with the wipers turned off, it soon became a mottled glaze of streaks that turned everything into an abstract watercolor. Down to the right she could see the stoplight on Main, changing for an empty intersection. There was something forlorn about a stoplight that changed for no traffic. She could see it from her bedroom window and often watched its blinking colors late at night. She could also barely make out the Fourth Street Gym from her second floor window that sat at the corner of their building. The gym was down two blocks, but she could make it out. What she couldn’t see from her bedroom window was the tattoo shop where Max worked. She’d tried, but it was too far east, and there were trees in the way. Sometimes she heard the motorcycles roar past, though—the ones that often stopped at Brothers Ink. She’d memorized everything about the colorful shop since meeting Max. It fascinated her, but not half as much as the man himself.
And now there she sat, alone with him in the dark of his truck. It made her stomach knot up. She didn’t have much experience with men, and she wasn’t sure what to do.
He tapped her knee, drawing her attention from her passenger window to the phone he held up to her.
I’m glad I met you the day you delivered our food.
She smiled and replied to him. Me, too.
They traded the phone back and forth.
I’m glad you came to Pops’ tonight.
She nodded. I was hoping I’d see you again.
You can always come to Brothers Ink.
I don’t leave the restaurant very much.
If I order food, would you deliver it?
She shook her head. My brother does the deliveries. My father doesn’t like me to leave the restaurant.
Why?
She shrugged and looked away, not wanting to talk about it. He must have sensed it. After a moment he tapped her knee and, she looked back.
Can I get your phone number? You have a phone, right?
She shook her head.
No, I can’t have it?
No, I don’t have one.
He frowned. Why?
She pointed to her ear. My father thinks it would be a waste of money.
But you could text.
She shrugged. It’s expensive.
Max nodded, not pressing her on the issue. I like talking with you. Can I see you again? Will you come to Pops’ next week?
She bit her lip. Maybe.
Will you try?
She smiled and gave him a saucy look. If I can.
He chuckled, then his grin faded as he studied her. Why aren’t you allowed to go anywhere?
Malee sobered and looked away for a moment before typing her answer. My father is strict. It’s for my own safety. He thinks it’s better if I stay close.
Is it because you can’t hear?
She nodded, and could feel Max studying her as if he wanted to say more, but in the end, he stayed silent. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was getting late and she needed to get inside before her parents came upstairs from the restaurant to the apartment above and found her missing. Her older sister would probably cover for her, but she didn’t want to risk it. I should go now.
Max looked to the back door of the restaurant and gestured toward it. Will you get in trouble?
Not if I can sneak in. She waggled her eyebrows at him, and he grinned.
She undid her seatbelt and reached for the door handle, but he laid a hand on her arm, stopping her. He searched her eyes, and then slowly signed with his hand. Can I kiss you goodnight?
She couldn’t stop her eyes as they dropped to his lips in the shadowy truck. She thought about the way it felt when he’d pulled her up against him, and she’d fit like she’d belonged there. Her hand dropped from the handle, and she nodded once.
His warm palm reached up and cupped her cheek as he tilted his head and touched their mouths together. It started out as just a soft, gentle press of his lips to hers, before he pulled back an inch, their eyes connecting. Then he went in for another kiss, this time his lips parting, his tongue seeking entry. She opened her mouth, and his tongue slid in to stroke along hers. Her hand crept up, sliding up and around his neck. He took that as encouragement and the hand that cupped her face, slipped around to cradle her head and pull her body closer.
Malee had never been kissed like this before. There had been a few boys in high school, but none kissed like this, and none had ever gone farther than a kiss. They had been boys; Max was a man, and she was finding there was a big difference. She was completely out of her depth here. And it felt wonderful. She didn’t want it to end.
As soon as that thought crossed her mind, he pulled back, his breathing heavy. He typed on his phone, his thumb moving with maddening speed. Then held it up to her. I don’t want to stop, but you’re a sweet girl, and I like you. I want to treat you right. So we better stop.
Okay, she signed.
I want to see you again. Say you’ll come next week.
She read his message, then nodded and spoke the words, “I’ll come.”
He glanced out the windshield. It’s still raining. Can I roll the truck up closer?
She shook her head. He didn’t look too happy with her answer.
You’ll get wet.
I’ll be okay.
His hand closed over the black fleece, and he pressed it toward her. Take my jacket. Cover your head to keep the rain off.
She looked down at the fabric and then back at him. “You’re sure?”
He nodded with a look that told her she was taking the jacket, no arguments.
She took his phone and typed, I’ll bring it to you next week.
He grinned. Deal. Goodbye, Malee.
“Goodbye, Max.” She said his name, like she’d practiced in her room late at night. By the sparkle in his eye, she could tell he liked it.
He leaned toward her for one last kiss. Then she climbed reluctantly out of the truck and dashed through the rain toward the restaurant, holding his jacket over her head. She paused at the back door and looked back. He was still there, watching to make sure she got in safely. He’d turned the wipers back on, but not the lights yet. She could faintly see him through the windshield. She waved and saw his hand lift from the steering wheel at her, returning her gesture. A feeling of euphoria rushed through her as she quietly crept inside and up the back staircase.
***
Max watched her go. He already felt bereft without her, the empty truck feeling suddenly colder. Jesus Christ, you barely know her.
Didn’t make a difference. Didn’t matter one bit. He was sunk. One kiss, one sweet touch of her lips, and he was done for.
He’d known he was in trouble when he’d positioned her in front of the punching bag earlier tonight and touched her hips to get her stance correct. Hell, his big hands had almost circled her tiny waist. Standing so close behind her, he’d breathed in the scent of her long dark hair that hung in a glossy sheet to her waist. It smelled like fresh blooming honeysuckle. When he’d kissed her a few moments ago, and she’d slid her hand to his neck, he was sure she could feel his pulse beating a mile a minute beneath her gentle touch. It spurred him on to thread his fingers into that silky hair, finally touching it, like he’d longed to do since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. If she were any other woman, he’d probably have fisted it in his hand, urging her for more, and taken much more than a kiss. But she wasn’t any other woman. She was like no one he’d ever met before—sweet, a little shy, but with a spine of steel. He’d seen that at the gym as he’d thrown down that challenge, and her delicate chin had come up, her determination and maybe a touch of stubbornness shining through. He had a feeling she’d been beaten down in life a time or two, but he bet she always got back on her feet, always willing to give her best shot. He liked that. He liked all of that.
But he had to face the fact that she came from a different culture. Her family obviously was very close-knit and protective of her. He could tell that much just from the few tidbits she’d shared with him tonight. Duty, responsibility… he knew about those. But he had a feeling it went deeper with her. He had a feeling she didn’t ever want to disrespect, disobey, or shame her family. He’d have to be very careful if this relationship proceeded as he hoped it would. He’d have to treat her with the utmost respect. And another thing he’d have to do was take it slow. He could sense an innocence about her. It was in her eyes, in her body language, and especially in her kiss. That innocence drew him like honey. And he realized he wanted to be the one to change that someday.
He couldn’t wait to see her again next week. Suddenly his Mondays were looking a whole lot brighter. He grinned as he flipped his lights on and put the truck in gear, pulling out onto the street and heading home to the farm he shared with his brothers. It was good to have something to look forward to. It had been a long time since he’d felt this kind of joy and excitement.