Max would be here any second. I had no music playing—because I was distracted and jumpy and still experiencing that dread.
But I was prepared to fight, not only for Max to trust but to fight my own inner fears clamoring to be heard. Clouded by lust and hormones and happiness, it had been easy to silence that voice of reason. The voice of reason that shamelessly compared Max to every other guy who had just fucked me then dumped me.
There was—literally—not a comparison between Max and the string of useless men who’d come before him.
The thing about voices of reason, however, was it wasn’t always about reason. It was about protecting my heart. Being afraid to leap.
When Max knocked on the door a few seconds later, the dread intensified as soon as I saw his face. His bag was packed at his feet, and he looked pale and withdrawn.
The kiss he gave me was chaste.
Oh, no, my brain yelled.
I didn’t give in. I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him hard. There was a pause, and then he was hugging me back. The voice of reason didn’t know what to do with the fact that this feeling. It defied restrictions and limits.
The second Max let go—and he let go first—I lost the feeling.
“My flight leaves soon, so I have to head to the airport,” he said softly. I wandered over by the couch, caught him staring at the contract.
“I really don’t want you to go,” I blurted out. My fingers twisted in my lap. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to be supportive. I mean, I am supportive. I’m just…” I trailed off.
His shoulders slumped. “Pop said the same thing outside.”
“He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it. I mean it too, Max.” I cleared my throat. “Even though I know you want this job and it’s a great opportunity for you. I’m old enough now to understand you can want two separate yet contradictory things. I want you to be happy. And I want you to stay.”
There. I leapt.
I saw Max reach for me, face filled with pure yearning, but then pulled his hand back.
Oh no oh no oh no.
Instead, he picked up the contract, examined it. “I went to go see my mom this afternoon. She had, of course, totally forgotten about the show. But really, she blew us off because she didn’t feel like making an effort. Kind of a pattern with her, I guess.”
I listened, skin buzzing with anxiety, heart pounding.
“She’s had dozens of boyfriends since she divorced my dad. She leaves them every time. Basically, every time things get a little serious and not as fun, she bounces.”
I leaned forward on my knees. No.
“And even though her divorcing my dad fucked up a lot of shit for us, she doesn’t care. She misses her freedom too much.”
“You do care though,” I said, voice shaking. “You would never leave your wife and child. Ever.”
Max looked at me—gaze hard. It shocked me. “I literally just spent the past seven years doing that, Fiona. Didn’t feel guilty one bit. Sure, I’m more ethical about it than Mom. But I still leave the second things get complicated.”
I steadied my breath. I was a lawyer for fuck’s sake, I could poke holes in this argument. “You haven’t left me, Max. You wanted to try, for me. Are trying. I’d say that makes you different in the end.”
Pain flashed in his dark eyes. “You weren’t living with Pop when all this went down, Fiona. You didn’t see how sad he was, how lost. She’d made promises to him, she’d married him and everything. She still broke those vows. She broke him too.”
I wanted to deflate at his words. But I steeled my spine and held his stare. His throat worked. “You won’t break me,” I said.
“Fiona, just the thought—” He stopped, voice strained. He swallowed again. “The thought of you going through what my dad went through makes me sick.”
“You don’t have to protect me from the future.” I reached for him again, my fingers brushing his. “This is what the trust is for.”
That stupid fucking rational voice inside my head was clamoring for attention, celebrating the words he was speaking. Because they sneakily affirmed my worst fears about trying for Max, that even with his best efforts this life wasn’t for him.
He held up my contract. “Do you still want all of this?”
I lifted my chin, accepting the challenge. “I do. And I’m willing to fight for that person.”
“Is eighteen months still your deadline?”
I searched my body for a stress response but found none. What a relief. “I don’t have a deadline anymore.” I let myself leap again. “I only want you. In whatever way I can have you.”
Now it was his turn to look shocked. He dropped the contract, stepped back from the couch. “Fiona, that’s… you think that I’m…”
“My soul mate?” I said. I remembered crowd surfing, the exhilarating free fall. Time to be brave. “I absolutely do believe that you, Max Devlin, are my soul mate. My entire life, I thought something was broken inside of me. I never felt romantic toward anyone. I never went on amazing dates or had mind-blowing sex. I never experienced this much joy. The second I stepped onto that fire escape and saw you, I knew it. Sparks, chemistry, a connection. Fate, the universe, destiny. It stunned me that night.” I lowered my voice. “Did you feel it too?”
My heart hung in the balance as he stayed silent. And then, like he was forcing the words out, said, “I did.”
I could work with that.
“I denied our connection because of a bullshit idea of who I thought my soul mate had to be. And now you’re pulling away from me because of some bullshit idea that your future is already decided.”
His jaw worked. He pointed at the contract. “I’m not the guy you marry, Fiona. I’m the guy that leaves, every time. Leading you on is worse. Trying when I know I’m only gonna leave, even if I’m happy, makes me a monster. You don’t deserve that. You really want to wait for me to make up my mind while I’m out in L.A. and you’re back here alone?”
“You don’t get to make this call, Devlin,” I said, irritated now. “You don’t get to say what I’m open to or not. I’m willing to try, like we agreed on. I’m willing to be honest.”
“I’m being honest.” His voice was hoarse. “I’m baring everything here, Fiona. It’s ugly, and I hate it, but convincing you I’m something I’m not when there’s only heartbreak in our future makes me the worst kind of liar. Makes me the kind of man I don’t want to be.”
I sat back, crossed my arms. I wasn’t done fighting yet. “Stay then. Don’t take the job. Be this man. The one who runs off into the sunset with me, not on your own.”
I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. It was an unfair thing to ask from someone I’d been dating for a week, soul mate or not.
“Quit your job and come to L.A.,” he argued.
I balked—immediately. “The job I love is here. And the family I love is here. This is my life, my community. And this is your family and community too.”
Hurt flickered through his eyes. I was disappointed in my reaction too. Apparently, I did have some hard and fast ideas I wasn’t willing to let go of yet.