Page 20 of On The Run

I didn’t know how everything went so wrong. Up until my meltdown, the date was amazing. Best date ever. Not that I had another one to compare it to, but I didn’t need one. Max was absolutely perfect. And, holy fuck, did he look scrumptious in his jeans and Henley. I loved his usual preppy dad look, but this . . . Yeah, this was a winner. He should wear jeans more often.

I shook my head in disbelief, causing a wave of water to drip across my face. Why would it matter to me what Max wore? I could never face the man again. I was going to have to ask Margie to switch my shifts. Even if he’d be willing to see me, it was just too embarrassing. I’d miss the shit out of Gray, but he was a resilient kid. He’d be fine. I was only his barista anyway.

Fuck, how was I going to explain what happened to Pops? Or Anna because I knew her nosy ass would interrogate me the second I walked through the door. I couldn’t even explain it to myself, really. I didn’t have much rational thought after Max asked me on a second date. My fight-or-flight kicked in, and of course I fucking flew.

For an instant, I was thrilled a man like Max asked me on a second date. Me. How lucky could I be? I had rationalized the first date thinking he’d come to his senses and realize dating some stupid kid who never even kissed a guy before was a waste of his time, so he would let me down gently. It would break my heart, but it was the best possible outcome. No hurt feelings and I still got to imagine a life where I could date a man like Max Campbell.

But then he’d gone ahead and asked me on a second date and I imagined it. I did. For a split second, a future entered my mind where I agreed to the date, and then a third, and then I met Gray in the capacity of Max’s boyfriend. A future where the two of us fell in love and then became a little family with Gray. Maybe a dog. And then reality hit and hit hard.

One second, future me was sitting on the floor and playing with Gray, and the next the door got kicked open andhewasthere. I was doing everything I could to protect Gray fromhim, but he was stronger than I was. He was always fucking stronger.

Within seconds, all possible futures flashed before me, like I was Dr. Strange. I saw all of them and they all ended one way—with the asshole finding me and hurting Max and Gray and destroying my happy little family. Because he always found us. Always. You’d think after all this time, he’d give up and move on, but the psychopath wouldn’t stop. It was a thing of principle now, and I knew I would never be safe until he was dead. Jail wasn’t even enough. The bastard always found a way, and I seriously doubted some metal bars and prison guards could stop him forever. Hell, I was sure he’d have the guards eating out of the palm of his hand in days. He was always like that. I couldn’t subject Max to that. He and his son deserved more.

It was all too much and I needed to get out of there. I didn’t think about anything but escaping. I should have never agreed to letting Max drive to the restaurant. At least if I had my car, I’d be dry now. Nah, who was I kidding? I’d still have run.

As I walked back to my house, all the ways I should have handled this ran through my brain. Fuck, poor Max. The guy was such a sweetheart. I knew he’d be worried about me, wondering what happened. I couldn’t message him yet. I was just too raw. I knew it made me the biggest asshole, but I just couldn’t bring myself to pull my phone back out of my pocket and let him know I was ok.

As I finally made it to my street, I was grateful I was at least wearing my boots and not Chucks like usual. Wet socks were the fucking worst.Really, A? Do wet socks really matter right now? The rest of my body is soaked, but hey, at least my feet are dry. I need to get a fucking grip.

The light was still on in the living room when I walked up our little gravel pathway. When I unlocked the door to the house, I heard sounds coming from that room. I had no idea what time it was, but I was surprised Pops was still up. How was I going to explain this? I was hoping I’d be able to sneak out early and get an Uber to the car before Pops noticed.

The TV was on, and I saw the back of Pops’s head leaning against the couch. Maybe he fell asleep and I could at least get dry before he saw me?

Pops then lowered the TV and turned toward me. Damn. “Hey, A, how did it go—oh my god, what happened?”

I was still standing right on the other side of our front door, unable to move a step forward. I couldn’t even imagine what I must look like. I felt like shit as Pops jumped to his feet and hurried toward me as fast as he could manage. Great, now I was worrying him too. Still, I couldn’t get myself to move another inch.

Pops cupped my face in his hands, worry clear in his eyes. “Aiden, what happened? Did he hurt you?”

At first, I thought he meant the sperm donor, the words so familiar. And then I realized Pops was talking about Max. My brain jumped back online. I couldn’t let him think those types of things about him. The man was all the good in this world.

“No! No, nothing like that, Pops. I swear.”

I knew Pops didn’t believe me. He took a step back, his eyes narrowed as he took in my sorry state. “A, you’re soaked to the bone. He didn’t make you walk, did he? Where’s your car?”

I finally moved and walked past him. I needed to get changed. Pops followed behind me. I knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until I could give him some explanation. “No, he didn’t make me walk. The car is still at the café.” I looked back at Pops, guilt in my expression as I neared my bedroom door. “I’m sorry. I’ll Uber to it in the morning. I just couldn’t—”

Pops waved me off. He pushed past me and started to rummage through my drawers. I guessed I was moving too slowly for him. “I’m not worried about the car, Aiden. I’m worried about you. Let’s get you dry first.”

Now that I was in the relative safety of my home, the adrenaline began to wear off rapidly. By the time Pops found me some black and white marbled sweats and the matching hoodie, I was standing still in the middle of my bedroom, dripping on my neon-green rug, and shivering uncontrollably.

Fuck, the look on Pops’s face right now. It was that look that devastated me more than anything. All that sadness and concern shone through his dark eyes. I never wanted to be the cause of that expression.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said quietly, and my throat tightened up. He hadn’t called me sweetheart since I was a little kid.

“Let’s get these clothes off you.” His voice was soft and gentle as he helped me remove my soaked clothes, including my underwear. I hoped the sweater wasn’t ruined. I really liked that one. I was in a daze and barely helping Pops. I didn’t know when he got a towel, but suddenly, he was drying my hair and body and wrapping me in my warm sweats. Then, Pops took my hand and led me to the couch. He sat me down, wrapped me in the blanket from Nona, and kissed the top of my head before leaving the room. I could hear Pops rummaging in the kitchen, but I didn’t have the energy to turn around to look.

I felt guilty, but not enough to move. Pops shouldn’t be taking care of me. He had his next round of chemo in a few days, and he should be focusing on that, not his hot mess of a son. But I didn’t think he’d appreciate it if I said that, and truthfully, I just needed my pops right now.

I wasn’t sure how long he was gone, but when he came back, he had two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. I wrapped my hands around the warm mug and breathed in the sweet scent of chocolate, marshmallows, and whipped cream. Pops made the best cocoa, and it’d always been a comfort drink for both of us. We drank so much of this stuff the first week we got Pops’s diagnosis.

Luckily, he didn’t question me at first and gave me time to decompress. Once I had some of the sweet drink in my system, I started to calm down enough to realize just how bad of a mess I made of this situation. Embarrassment was starting to become the strongest emotion.

I felt absolutely mortified as I finally looked up at Pops. “Pops, I messed up.”

“What happened, A?” Pops asked calmly, but I could hear the steel behind his words. I knew he still thought Max must have done something, and I needed to remedy that as quickly as possible. Pops was a little leery when I told him I was going on a date with someone fourteen years older than me. I got it. It was the same age difference he had with the sperm donor. I was able to convince him it was fine, though. So now, I was sure he was imagining the worst.

I told Pops everything. I always did. I told him how Max was such a gentleman, how we bonded over punk music. I even told him about my meal, which was delicious. I needed him to see how this so wasn’t Max’s fault. I didn’t know why that was important to me, but it was. I was the screwup, not Max.

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