Page 25

Maxine folded her arms tighter, chin raised in defiance, eyes locked on mine.
She was daring me. She was always daring me.
“What are you doing here, Fed?” Her voice was cool—too cool. A blade disguised as a question.
I met her stare, steady and unreadable.
“I’m glad you’re home, Maxine.”
The second the words left my mouth, my voice gliding over her name like a caress, she stiffened. Because anyone standing within earshot couldn’t possibly miss the air of familiarity between us. Her reaction was probably one she’d hate herself for.
Brando blinked, frowning. “What’s he talking about, Max?”
Silence. She didn’t answer. Her jaw locked so tight, I swear I heard her teeth grind. Her pulse flickered at the base of her throat, a rapid, barely contained drumbeat. She was waiting. Waiting for me to say it. To acknowledge it. To spill out the ugly, raw truth between us, right there, under the fluorescent lights of that goddamn hospital waiting room.
I didn’t. I stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell her perfume, something light, floral, deceptively soft. A scent so completely her.
I lowered my voice, slow and steady. Dangerous.
“I kept you alive,” I told her. “You know that.” Her breath hitched. “And if I had to do it again,” I continued, “to keep you from getting carved up by Kadri’s men, I fucking would.”
Her lips parted—just slightly. But she didn’t speak. For a moment, we just stared at each other. The air was thick with unspoken words, regret, resentment. She hated me for leaving her there. And I hated myself for not saving her. For fucking her and then walking out that door. For never going back.
Then, she shoved past me. Her shoulder knocked into mine, a little too hard, just enough to make a point. I didn’t stop her. I didn’t turn around. I just stood there, my jaw tight, my fists clenched, as her footsteps faded down the hallway.
Brando let out a long, slow breath. “Jesus.”
I didn’t answer.
I just turned toward Shelby’s door, my mind still on Maxine.
I couldn’t go back and fix the past.
But I could damn well make sure Shelby didn’t end up another name on my list of regrets.
Lucky cleared his throat beside me, subtle but strategic, like he was trying to let the tension drain off just enough to keep the walls from cracking.
Mia slipped into the edge of my vision, her small hand landing gently on Brando’s arm—his anchor. His steadying point.
Meanwhile, I slid my hands into my pockets and turned slightly toward Lucky, keeping my voice calm, casual, but clipped.
That’s when I saw him. Mason Ironside. Stalking toward us like a loaded gun with a vendetta. And that was my cue to leave.
I satin my car long after the engine was off, knuckles white against the wheel, replaying it in my head on a loop.
Her face.Her fucking face.
She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Maybe I am one. I sure as hell feel like one most days. Haunting rooms. Leaving damage.
What the fuck was I thinking, going to the hospital?
But I went there because I knew she would be here. Because I wanted to see her. Because I wanted to hurt.
She hadn’t left my head in months. She lived in the part ofmy brain where sleep should have been. She was in the clench of my jaw, the twitch in my trigger finger, the phantom pressure of her body under mine when I’m too tired to pretend I’ve moved on.
And seeing her today?
She was still so fucking beautiful. Hollowed out, but glowing. Eyes wide and haunted, but burning like embers that refuse to go cold.