A Bad Boy in my life

Fourty four

POV: MAXON

She swung by once a week, and if I managed to sound convincing about needing her, she'd even show up twice. Truth is, I always needed her, I just didn't spill the beans.

This whole deal went on for about four weeks. Me, the lone wolf type, used to my own company all my life, found myself checking the clock like a teenager, eagerly waiting for her. The highlight of my otherwise crappy week was watching her saunter into the cottage, dressed in that school uniform getup – you know, the blue skirt and blazer combo.

Margo wore many hats, besides just keeping me company. She'd tidy up the place, bring grub and meds, patch me up when needed. I felt like a baby. Sure, I wanted to do stuff on my own, but she had this bossy aura about her. And as embarrassing as it sounds, these days, it's true: she says jump, and I ask how high.

But you know what? I was good with that. Actually, better than good. Her being around somehow made everything alright.

So a few days ago, I ran out of smokes. Asked her if she could toss in a pack next time. Got a big fat no from her, along with the whole "you shouldn't smoke in your condition" spiel. Left me hanging, going cold turkey.

Funny thing is, it wasn't half as bad as I thought. Smoking wasn't some life-or-death need for me. It was more like a source of entertainment, my peace pipe. But no, it wasn't an addiction. Addictions are the kind of thing that makes you think you're gonna kick the bucket without 'em. Cigarettes never had that hold on me. 'Cause I found something else that brought me that sense of calm. Or should I say someone else?

Her. I still can't figure why she stuck around, putting up with my crap when I've been nothing but trouble. That's my track record.

Does it make sense to want her to vanish for good, while secretly hoping she sticks around forever?

Makes zero sense, but you know what? I don't give a damn. What counts is that she's here, doing her thing in a way that only she gets, in a way that... damn it, makes me like her a bit more every single day, like that's even possible.

But the vibe had shifted. We weren't on the same page anymore. Just friends now. And yeah, that's probably how it should be.

Even if friends don't share those lingering looks I keep giving her, I'm smart enough to keep it real. Treat her how she wants to be treated, how she deserves.

Doesn't mean I didn't catch myself thinking about her in different ways. Even though I knew I should give that notion the boot. But like every human being, there are those times when nature calls and you gotta do your thing, just to keep from going crazy. And believe me, it's her face that pops in my head, no matter how hard I try to think of something else. It's like my brain's been programmed or something.

Long story short, I'm wrestling with this urge to never let her go. But deep down, I get it – and I think she does too – that whatever we had was running its course.

After a month, I was feeling pretty damn good, not a hundred percent back but I could've managed without Margo hovering over me. But I didn't want to. Because if I told her I was back in action, she might just call off her rescue mission. And that thought scares me, more than I'd care to admit.

Our time together, it's like sacred ground; just having her around makes everything lighter. Wish I could stretch those mornings out longer, beyond just the a.m.

Today was different, though. She came over to help me ditch the cast on my arm. Tricky business, but that rush of freedom once that thing was off totally worth it.

"Can you move it normally?" she checks to make sure.

"Yes," I rotate my wrist from side to side, "and I want a piece of gum," I say, pointing to her mouth, "I've been smelling the mint scent coming from your mouth since you arrived."