Page 10 of Holding On

"Yeah. That had to be his mom. They have the same eyes. I've never met the guy but I saw a picture of him in the paper after the accident."

I remember that picture. He looked like he'd been in a fight. His face was swollen and bruised and he had stitches along his forehead.

"I've never met him either," I say. "But I've heard he never leaves his house."

"He probably can't. Isn't he still in a wheelchair?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know anything about him other than his sport stats, and that's only because Mike insists on telling me about the Laytham football team. And the basketball team. And the baseball team."

She laughs. "He loves his sports."

"Yeah." I smile. "He used to be such a great athlete."

"He could still do those things. A lot of guys with prosthetics play sports."

"I guess, but right now it's not a priority for him. He's working on his blog and trying to get more viewers for his podcast."

"You think he'll get a job someday? Like a paying job?"

"Yeah, but I'm not going to pressure him to find one anytime soon. What he's doing now is part of his healing process and it's what he loves doing."

"I know but, Becca, but you can't support him forever. You've put your life on hold, which is admirable and shows how much you love him, but there'll be a point where you have to move on and do what's best for you. Like finish nursing school."

I nod. "I'll go back and finish, just not yet. Not until Mike's fully recovered. He needs me and I'm not going to abandon him."

"Then at least get some damn insoles for your feet." She smiles as she stands up, holding her hands out to me. "C'mon. Let's get this place cleaned up and get out of here."

We get to work cleaning up the dining room. Max is in the kitchen, singing along to the radio and occasionally shouting out directions to his staff, all of whom are high school kids working here for the summer.

Just before midnight, he sends them home, leaving just the three of us. As Tina and I finish mopping the floors, we hear the radio turn off and Max crooning another made-up song. "Becca and Tina, my two sweetest gals. We met at The Chicken Shack, quickly became pals."

Max meets us in the dining room, grease stains covering his white t-shirt, his baggy jeans belted below his large stomach. "You serve my chicken with a smile." He takes the mop from me and sings into it like it's a microphone. "For you, my sweet, I'd run a mile."

Tina laughs and says to me, "That's a huge compliment. Max hates running."

"Or any activity that involves moving off the couch," he adds. "You guys ready to leave?"

Max always walks us to our cars. He feels the need to look out for us, although he's too out of shape to protect us if we needed it. If a guy ever attacked us in the parking lot, Tina and I would be better able to take him down than Max would. But it's still sweet that he cares enough to walk us out.

"Chicken's on the counter," he says as we're walking through the kitchen.

"That's right. I almost forgot." I grab the large paper sack. "Thanks for remembering," I tell Max.

"No problem. Gotta keep that brother of yours fed. He's too skinny."

Mike's not skinny. He's built like a military guy. Strong and lean. He works out all the time, trying to get his strength back to where it was before he lost his leg. But to a guy like Max, Mike is skinny. Max is always trying to fatten him up.

When I get home, Mike is in the living room watching a movie. He always waits up for me. I tell him he doesn't have to but he still does. He thinks it's his job as my big brother.

"How was work?" he asks.

"It was okay." I set the sack down on the kitchen counter. "I got your chicken. Should I put it in the fridge?"

"No, I'll eat it now." He gets up and comes into the kitchen and gives me a hug. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Oh, and I got your pills. They're on the counter."

He goes over and takes them from the bag, then pops one in his mouth and swallows it.

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