Page 11 of Property of Max
“No thanks needed,” Max says, stepping back out of the van. “Just glad we could help. Do you have someone at home who can help you get him out of the van?”
For a second, I want to lie. I want to say yes. That my big, strong alpha male husband is waiting with open arms. But the truth slips out instead. “No. But it’s okay. I can get him out of this chair and into the one we use at home.”
“You sure?” His brow furrows. “What about this chair?”
“Oh, I can plug it into the van,” I explain. “It’ll take a few hours to charge enough to move, but once it’s hooked up to the house, it’ll be fine. Really, we’ll manage. Thank you again. For everything.”
“No problem, ma’am,” Tank says with a grin as he gently sets Bree into the back seat.
“That was fun, Tank,” she laughs. “You’re as tall as an airplane.”
Tank chuckles, ruffles her hair, then leans down to say goodbye to Micah before stepping back. “I’m heading out. You coming back to the compound tonight? I’m grilling steak.”
“Nah,” Max says, shaking his head. “Just gonna head home. But I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”
“Better be,” Tank warns good-naturedly. “Maverick says he wants our help with something.”
“Well, that’s a first,” Max mutters.
“Skip’s over the moon excited,” Tank laughs. “He’s been trying to figure the Outlaw out for years. See you in the morning, brother. Nice to meet you three.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I say, smiling. “Thanks again.”
Tank nods and turns away, leaving us in the quiet hum of the van.
I smile and turn back to Max. He lingers by the side of the van, thumb tucked into his pocket, broad shoulders blocking outthe late afternoon sun. He looks steady in a way that makes something in me ache.
“Well,” I murmur, smoothing Bree’s hair as she buckles herself in, “I guess we’ll be heading home. I need to get Micah to his other tablet. I don’t want him feeling detached from the rest of us for too long.”
Something flickers in Max’s eyes at that, respect, maybe even admiration, and for just a heartbeat, I let myself wonder what it would feel like to be looked at that way all the time.
“You take on a lot,” he says softly.
The words nearly undo me. People usually say,You’re so strongorI don’t know how you do it. Lines that sound more like distance than comfort. But the way Max says it… It’s not judgment. Not dismissal. Just truth.
“I don’t have much of a choice,” I answer, forcing a small smile. “Micah and Bree need me. And they come first. Always.”
He studies me for a moment, and I feel laid bare under that gaze. Like he can see past the tired smile, past the careful strength I wear like armor, and into the parts of me I keep locked away.
Don’t look at me like that,I think, panic stirring in my chest.Don’t make me wish for something I can’t have.
Because I do wish. God help me, I want someone to stand beside me, to hold me when the exhaustion wins, to tell me it’s okay to need instead of always being needed. But I won’t risk Micah and Bree’s happiness or stability just to soothe the hollow ache in my chest. I won’t pull a man into this life and watch the weight of it crush him until he walks away, too.
“You shouldn’t have to carry it all alone,” Max says after a long silence. His voice is low, rough, but there’s no judgment in it. Just conviction.
My throat tightens. “But I do. And I will. Because that’s what family does. You show up, even when it costs you everything.”
Something flickers in his eyes then, something I can’t quite name…recognition, maybe. Like he knows what it means to give everything and still feel like it’s not enough.
I look away quickly, pretending to fuss with Micah’s straps. Anything to keep from drowning in the pull of those dark eyes.
“Thank you again,” I whisper, my voice steadier than I feel.
He nods once, but his gaze lingers on me like he’s memorizing the shape of me. And for reasons I can’t explain, I already know that this man has impacted me in ways I can’t explain.
Maybe it’s longing. I crave touch. Not the desperate kind, but the kind that anchors you. Being held. Being seen. Being comforted.
I bite the inside of my cheek and force my eyes away.That kind of wanting is dangerous. Dangerous because it whispers that I could have more. That I deserve more. And I can’t afford to think like that.
