Finding Home (Complete)

13. Giving In.

Present Day

I pace my kitchen, relieved that Liam is at work and Taylor was over her mother's again for the night. There is a note that she has to take her mother out of town for an appointment early in the morning and that she has dinner in the refrigerator for me. As sweet as the sentiment is, the last thing I need right now is anything in my stomach.

The still by still replay of what just happened in the Starbucks parking lot between Max and I keeps my mind hazy and racing. My emotions are at war with my unforgiving mind that's constantly screaming that I'm with Nicholas; that what happened is totally wrong in every possible way. If I found out Nicholas was pinned up against his car, doing the opposite of stopping a kiss the way Max kissed me.... I'd hate his guts. I hate my own for not only allowing that to happen, but actually kissing him back. If that wasn't bad enough to swallow, I enjoyed it, a lot.

I open the fridge, looking for a bottle of water as the hard, concrete lump that's been in place since Max flew out of the parking lot still expands. It's only acting as a constant reminder that it all is real.

I spy a bottle of sweet red wine Taylor has shoved behind the milk and iced tea, and silently contemplate pouring myself a glass to settle my nerves. Imagining how the bitter taste of alcohol would feel like silk on my tongue after nearly three years of sobriety.

I quickly slam the heavy door, knowing that my guilt is getting the best of me. I rest my head against the overhead cabinet doors above the sink, filling up a glass with water from the tap to avoid seeing the wine again.

As I shut off the tap more aggressively than I anticipated, I hear my phone beep with an incoming text. I hold my breathe, physically shaking from short list of people who could be texting me right now, all of which wouldn't make my mood any lighter. It very well may be Nicholas who would unknowingly stoke the guilty flames burning in my chest. It could be Liam, who's friend I nearly dry humped against my car, but in all reality it was most likely Max.

I let the held breathe out harshly as I turn my phone towards me so I can finally face who it is.

:// Max: We need to talk. Please?

Christ.

Part of me wants to squash this and talk to him to get all the cards on the table. Do I trust myself though? I already bent way more in the heat of the moment than I ever expected to. The image of him gunning it out of his parking spot, his face unwilling to offer me a passing glance as he sped by. His jaw was taut like stone and still visible, probably from a mile away. He was mad. And I don't know if I can even think of sleep tonight without knowing if that anger is directed at me or himself.

:// Me: Ok.

No sooner does my shaky finger hit send do I hear a heavy, frantic knock on my door. It sends my heart into my a frenzy and my short steps to the door feel like they take years, as if my shoes are made of quicksand. I slowly open the door, letting my eyes fall to his dark, silhouetted frame pacing ruts into the front porch. 

I take advantage of the moments that he hasn't noticed me yet to really study his movements. For the short time that's passed since I saw him last, he's transformed into a ball of uneasiness. Max is one of the calmest, laid back people I've ever met, and seeing him so distraught tugs at the reservations I have about what happened. I can tell he's been beating himself up like I have the past couple hours. His hair is free from the hat he was wearing earlier and it looks like a wreck as I'm sure he's been close to pulling it out while nervously raking his fingers through the loose strands. My tongue subconsciously wets my lower lip, as the urge to run my fingers through the locks washes over me.