Valentine Shepherd: Retribution Part 18

"I didn't tell you because-"

Because it wasn't any of your business. Because I didn't want you to pity me. Because I didn't want you to freak out. Because I didn't want to ruin your perfect life.

"Because I love you." The words tumbled out, and the dam broke. "I love you and I can't stop loving you. I tried to move on like you had, but I couldn't. It's divine irony, I guess, since I'm the one who pushed you away. But I was weak and I couldn't deal with the knowledge that there would always be people watching us, waiting for us to have children that would be ripped from us." Val wiped away tears that had escaped down her cheeks. "And you seemed happy with your new life. I meant it when I said you deserve to be happy. I didn't want you to lose that, because of me. But I guess I'd misjudged how happy you actually were." She glanced around the mental ward, full of fake comfort. "So...so I can't help but think that if I hadn't pushed you away in the first place, none of the stuff with Lucien and the Blue Serpent and...this place would've happened. We might've saved Margaret together." She took a trembling breath. "I can't do this anymore. I'm tired of flailing through life. I feel lost, like I want to go home."

Val looked at him then. She'd told him everything, even the things she hadn't been able to admit to herself until that moment. His pa.s.sive frown was gone, and though he wasn't smiling, his eyes had come alive with a dozen different emotions. He didn't just look at her; he looked into her as she bared her soul to him.

"Come home, Max." She touched the top of his hand with her fingertips. Goose b.u.mps popped up around his hospital bracelet. "With me."

A savory warmth spread through her body at allowing herself this simple, honest contact. Finally, she offered him everything she had to give. She should've done it months ago, in his hospital room after Sten had shot him, when she'd laid her head down on his chest and realized she truly loved him.

Max looked into her for a long time, the new flood of emotions making his face unreadable. Desperation crept into her heart. She'd experienced a lot of terrible things in her life and come out the other side battered but still standing, even if just barely. But if he decided to stay in the psych ward, it would truly break her.

His arm moved, and for a frantic second she thought he might yank it away as he'd done at their first meeting in Wicked Brew. Instead he turned his hand over so his bandaged palm faced up and pressed against hers. His fingers slid across the inside of her wrist and gripped her tight; she gripped him back. Then he smiled, an upturn of his lips so slight it might've gone unnoticed to anyone else, but she saw it touch his eyes.

"Okay," he said.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Max told the doctors whatever they wanted to hear. Most of it was a lie: I accidentally overdosed. I've never had a drug problem before. I didn't like my father, but I was sad when he died. No, nothing else in my past is worth mentioning. Some of it was the truth: I became addicted to pain pills after I was shot last year. My fiancee and I had a fight. I was upset. I overreacted, but I'm better now. Val visited him in the hospital every day for as long as they'd let her stay, and though they never talked about anything too serious-they were never really alone, after all-he felt his mood drastically improving, his will to live returning. After three more days of psychotherapy and observations, the doctors told him he could leave. They needed his bed for someone with real problems, not a rich guy piddling away his dad's inheritance on expensive drugs.

Michael brought him some regular clothes to change into so he didn't have to walk out the door wearing the tuxedo he'd been brought in with, now covered in blood, sweat, and vomit. Max tossed the suit in a trash can next to the vending machine, not at all sad he'd never wear it again. The hospital was nice enough to let him leave out a semi-secret exit, one they reserved for celebrities-usually rock stars-who needed to sneak out the back. Paparazzi stalked the front entrance, waiting for him to emerge so they could shove cameras in his face and scream questions at him. They knew about the fight at the museum, his arrest, the split with his fiancee (an anonymous source confirmed, of course), the emergency trip to the hospital, the extended stay at the psych ward. It was a story too salacious not to relentlessly pursue. And if they saw him leave with Val, the PI he'd hired last year when he'd been suspected of murder...The Internet explosion would reverberate for weeks.

Max waited inside by the window next to the secret exit. He clenched his eyes shut as a wave of nausea came and went. Though withdrawal symptoms still plagued him, they eased with each pa.s.sing day. The achiness throughout his body subsided, nausea came less often, and the pill cravings ebbed. He'd kicked a serious heroin habit in his early twenties, so he knew he could get through it if he was motivated enough. And now he had a reason to face his demons once more instead of ignoring the problem.

Through the window, Max saw Michael's black sedan drive up to the curb. He pulled his baseball cap down over his face and hustled out the door, slipping into Michael's pa.s.senger seat without spotting any reporters.

Michael clapped Max on the shoulder and smiled. "Free at last."

Something like that. Max returned his smile with a weak grin. He was out, but not content, not until he went home. And home was wherever Val was.

He heard a familiar whining and looked in the backseat. A small suitcase sat on the driver's side, filled with what Max a.s.sumed were clothes and toiletries to tide him over until he bought new ones or went back to his condo on his own. Behind Max, Toby spun in circles inside a dog carrier. Through holes in the side, Toby's dark eyes met his, and the dog barked. The carrier began to vibrate with the strength of Toby's wagging tail.

"He tried to bite me when I picked him up," Michael said as he pulled away from the hospital. "Mean little b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Abby didn't want him?"

"She said he was your dog." Michael snickered. "I believe it."

Max looked at his hands, both palms covered with a large Band-Aid. He hadn't needed st.i.tches, thankfully. Keeping his head down not so much out of fear of reporters as out of shame, he asked, "How was she?"

They turned onto the highway. "Not happy, but not terrible. She didn't lay into you as badly as she could have. She's strong, she'll move on. I don't think she'll bad-mouth you to the press."

Max didn't care about what she said to the press, but it did a.s.suage his guilt a little to know he hadn't crushed her. Maybe she finally realized what a terrible boyfriend and fiance he'd actually been.

"I'd be worried about her father, though, if I were you. You know how us moneyed types are-vindictive."

Max suppressed a laugh at the thought of Patrick trying to ruin him. He imagined Abby's father shaking his fist and vowing to take every penny Max had in revenge for his daughter, not knowing it wasn't possible. Max was almost tempted to let him, just so Patrick could feel some kind of satisfaction and move on. Abby would know it was useless, though. Max's ability provided him with essentially infinite money. It was all he had-that, and Val.

And Val. Max lifted his head and let the sun warm his face. He closed his eyes and smiled. I have Val. Well, he also had Michael-and Toby, too, for whatever that was worth. At that moment the world didn't seem so bad, and he felt stupid for trying to leave it too soon.

Michael spoke again. "Also, remember when I said the job offer from the board was good for as long as you needed to think about it, or until you got arrested? I was joking about that second part, but then you actually got yourself arrested, so..."

Max's mouth twitched into a crooked smile. "That's all right. Walmart's always hiring."

"But here's the deal-they still want you, but they don't want you to be a public figure in the company again. On the books, you'd be a regular Joe Schmo financial a.n.a.lyst, but paid about ten times more than normal." Michael glanced at Max, saw his c.o.c.ked eyebrow. "They still want your magic, just not the liability."

Michael hadn't asked him why he attacked Lucien, or about his drug addiction, or his time in the psych ward. But he'd helped Max anyway, and hadn't asked for anything in return. It didn't seem normal.

"What do you want me to do?" Max asked.

"I want you to get better."

"I mean about the job."

"I mean I don't give a rat's a.s.s about the job, Max. You need to focus on fixing whatever is wrong inside of you."

For a moment Max wondered if Michael could be part of the cabal of people Val swore conspired to manipulate them. Lester had pulled Max's strings all his life, using his familial loyalty to trick him into accepting things no sane person would tolerate. He wouldn't fall for it again. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

Michael threw up a hand, palm up, exasperated by Max's stubbornness. "Because you need a father."

Max waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't, and then the words sank in. You need a father-one in the cla.s.sical sense, Leave It to Beaver style. One that cared. The concept was so foreign to Max he wasn't sure how to react. But a key part of loving someone, he was beginning to realize, is that you told them the truth. So he started there.

"If the board thinks I'm some kind of financial prodigy, they're wrong," Max said. "I can see the future-literally."

Michael gave him the side-eye. He probably thought he misunderstood.

"Specifically, I can see pieces of the future, mostly financial information. That's why Carressa Industries did so well when I worked there."

Michael opened his mouth to say something, but his jaw hung instead. His eyes stayed glued to the road. He didn't know what to say, and Max didn't blame him. No one ever believed him at first.

"I know I just came from a mental hospital, ironically, but I'm not insane. I'd prove it to you, but the mechanics of it are, uh, complicated. I'm telling you because it's an important, if unfortunate, part of who I am." He choked out a mirthless laugh. "G.o.d, it's pretty much defined my entire f.u.c.king life."

Michael nodded slowly, his eyes still on the road. "Okay," he said like a man trying to placate a crazy person.

"You don't have to believe me now. Just promise that if something happens to me, you'll look after Val. She'll need your help, like you've helped me." He took a breath, and hoped to G.o.d he wasn't wrong to trust Michael. "Because she can do it, too."

Now he'd really spilled the beans. Michael looked at him, a.s.sessing, measuring, judging. A deep frown pulled his face down. "I promise I'll help Val if something happens to you."

If I get committed to the loony bin again, he meant. At least Michael didn't immediately turn around and take him back to the psych ward. It was the best reaction he could've hoped for under the circ.u.mstances. He flicked on the radio. "So...how about them Mariners?"

Michael's somber face broke and he laughed.

After a few more miles they left the highway and cut through a swath of suburbia until they reached a public park. Michael drove toward the back, to the head of a running trail dense with evergreen trees, out of sight of the main road. A jolt of antic.i.p.ation shot through him when he recognized Val's blue Honda Civic parked at the end of the lot. This was it, finally.

Michael parked next to Val's car. A quick look around didn't reveal any obvious reporters or paparazzi who might've followed them. The dog howled in his crate. Max got out and retrieved Toby from the backseat. Holding the crate to his chest, he filled his lungs with sweet pine air. He'd only been in the hospital for four days, but it felt like he'd been trapped in a hole for years, only now reaching the surface.

"Sorry about the other night, Toby," he said. He wiggled his finger inside one of the crate's holes; Toby licked it.

Val and Michael emerged from their respective cars at the same time. She nodded at Michael, then looked at Max. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, framing a delicate face dominated by steel-blue eyes. Her lips parted, and already he felt them against his, tasted the coffee she drank for lunch, smelled the apple shampoo in her hair, heard the high-pitched, breathy moan she made when he touched her the way she liked- Toby whined and thrashed in his crate, pulling Max out of his reverie. He'd been staring at her, and she at him, he realized. He felt himself blush, like they were awkward kids at a high school dance.

Michael turned to Max and opened his arms, and Max lowered the crate to his side so he could give his surrogate father a hug. "Get better, boy, I mean it," Michael said as he crushed Max against his chest.

"Thanks for everything," Max said. "I'll call you soon."

That made Michael smile; calling was something Max needed to be alive to do.

Michael grabbed Max's suitcase and dropped it into Val's trunk, then swept his hands from Max to Val. "Over to you," he said to Val. She gave him a hug, and Max saw them exchange hushed words, some of which probably had to do with Max's confession on the ride over. Val nodded, and Michael gave her a weary smile as they pulled away from each other.

Max walked forward and stood in front of Val. Every inch of his skin tingled with the need to embrace her, but he didn't trust himself not to cause a scene. He clutched the crate instead, an excuse to keep his distance. Michael clapped Max on the shoulder one more time, then stepped away as Max shoved the dog crate into Val's backseat. Max climbed into the pa.s.senger side and waved at Michael a final time as Val drove out of the parking lot.

When side streets blurred into the highway, Val asked, "Are you-"

Behind Max, Toby howled.

"Are you-"

Toby howled again. Rolling his eyes, Max leaned into the backseat and popped the crate open. Toby launched into Max's lap and ferociously licked his face. Val laughed as Max pushed the dog away.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I can stop and pick up something if you want."

"I'm fine." He forced Toby to sit still and used his shirt to wipe s...o...b..r off his face.

"How'd you end up with the dog?"

"Toby. He hates everyone else."

Val laughed and eyed the dog. "Is that so?" She lifted her arm to pet him.

Max grabbed her hand in the air. "Don't. He bites."

He held her hand for a moment, enjoying the feel of her skin against his, until Toby licked her fingers.

She jerked her hand away. "Ew," she said with a smile. "I guess he doesn't hate everyone. They say you can't get along with anyone, either. Shows how much they know."

"'They?'"

She frowned, looking uncomfortable she'd brought it up. "Oh, you know. The TV."

"So you've been following my latest humiliations in the news." Not like it was hard. Max's embarra.s.sing escapades and the mysterious death of Margaret Monroe dominated the airwaves. At least she knew what she was getting herself into with him.

"No, not only that. I've been following you since...well, ever since I met you, pretty much."

He'd been on her mind this entire time? A slow grin spread across his face. All these months, she'd loved him and been thinking about him, just like he'd continued to love and think about her, despite the lies he'd told himself. Wow, what a couple of idiots they'd been to think they could have lived happily without each other.

He let his eyes linger on her, unabashed, in a way he hadn't been able to before, when he'd been trying to convince himself he loved Abby. She looked a lot better than the last time he'd seen her; healthier. Color had returned to her skin. A little mascara darkened her eyelashes and lip gloss moistened her mouth. She'd put on makeup for him. She didn't need it, but the effort touched him.

Though she kept her eyes on the road, he saw her cheeks heat up. "Stop that," she said.

"You're beautiful."

"I'm trying to drive."

"You know how badly I want to kiss you?"

A blush crept up her neck. "I said stop that."

"Right there." With the tip of his finger he touched the spot where her neck curved into her shoulder. He felt her shiver. "It's been too long."

She chuckled. "You kissed me just a couple of weeks ago, at the Green Door."

"Really? I thought that was a dream."

"It wasn't."

"So then I actually did swim around an underwater grotto with a bunch of mermaids and penguins?"

"I can't say, I wasn't there for that part. But it's probably safe to a.s.sume it happened just like you remember."

He hoped not; much of the night had been terrifying. The strange visions of the future, everything burning...blood running down Lucien's face, a future that came to pa.s.s the night of the museum fight. He expected a call from his lawyer any day now to tell him Lucien was pressing a.s.sault charges. The injustice of it sickened him. Too bad he hadn't managed to kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d when he'd had the chance.

Thoughts of Lucien soured his mood, and he was quiet for the rest of the ride.

It didn't take long to reach Val's home, an una.s.suming two-story house on a suburban street lined with houses all built off variations of the same plan. Her place stood out for its sloppily mowed lawn and flowerbeds overgrown with weeds.

She parked the car and turned the engine off. "Well, here we are."

Max looked past her and frowned. "d.a.m.n."

Val scoffed. "I know it's not as nice as your place, but-"

"No, over there." He nodded toward where he looked, down the street at a nondescript car parked on the side of the road. "Reporters."

Her eyes widened. "Seriously?" She craned her head to get a better look.

"See the glints from their camera lenses? It's a dead giveaway."

"How'd they find out so quickly?"

He let out a dry chuckle. "Welcome to my life."

She puckered her lips in an angry pout, then threw open the car door, retrieved Max's suitcase from the trunk, and stomped up her front walkway as if daring the reporters to photograph her. Max followed, keeping his head down even though he knew it didn't matter; it was obvious who he was. After they went inside, she slammed the door behind them and snapped the blinds shut.