Halos and Heroes - 6. Chapter 6

"Nothing is as frustrating as arguing with someone who knows what he's talking about.

—Sam Ewing

BEN had come back to my room after I’d already turned down the soft sable and green printed duvet cover and started to get settled in for the night. I’d been surprised and thankfully had downplayed my delight, because unfortunately, his visit hadn’t been motivated by a change of mind about joining me in bed for a very personal tuck in. He’d handed me my jacket, which he’d retrieved from the living room, then informed me that he’d tossed the rest of my clothing in the wash tonight, so they could go into the dryer first thing in the morning. One of those slow grins of his had preceded the brief brush of his thumb skating along my jawline before he’d wished me goodnight and closed the door behind him. Just that one, tiny interaction had swept away that last of my liquor induced mental cobwebs.

After I’d washed my face, I’d checked my messages on my cell after removing it from my jacket pocket. There’d been two missed calls from Max, one from Sofia, and another from A.J. None of them had left voicemail messages, but Max and A.J. had texted.

Max had left three, A.J. only one There was complete radio silence from Sofia, making it clear whose shitlist I had the most priority on. I wasn’t surprised, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

Max’s first text had apparently come in while I was still at the bar, toward the beginning of my night, which was probably why I hadn’t heard it. It was quick, simply saying,

–I know your day must’ve been hell. I wish I was there to piss on his headstone with you. Call me–

That text had been followed with another, about 2 hours later; probably right around the time just before Ben had arrived to pick my drunk ass up. That one indicated that sometime between me getting absolutely wasted, and the time Darcy had called Ben to come and get me, Ben must’ve reached out to Sofia to fill her in. He had told me that he’d called her, but apparently, she’d the called Max. There was no other way he would’ve known what had happened tonight. But from his message that tore me a new asshole with the no holds barred fervor reserved for people who’d been friends for most of their lives and for whom that would never change even when the occasional ass kicking happened, Max was relatively up to date.

–What the hell were you thinking man? You know better Sam. If you’re going to get that drunk, then you take someone with you. Since right now I’m not there, and neither is A.J., and you sure as fuck can’t take Sofia because at least one of you has to be a responsible adult with two kids in the house, that means no drinking. I know you’re upset, but going home with some random guy is bullshit, even if he is a friend of Sofia’s. I love her, but she married your brother, so her opinion of men who aren’t you or me has always been questionable. And all I’ve got is a name; Ben Santiago? She wouldn’t tell me much more because she was upset which means I’m extra pissed. 1.) because you know I can’t handle a woman in tears, 2.) because it doubles the hassle of calling in favors for a stat background check. Call. Me. If you don’t, I’m going to assume that your ringer’s off, which annoys me because you’re apparently stupidly drunk around a stranger who could dice you into little pieces for lunch. If you’re just deliberately ignoring me, I’m REALLY going to be pissed off. So fucking call me, man. I need to know you’re okay. All this novel-length texting is making me feel like I’m growing a fucking fishwife’s uterus, so stop being an asshole and pick up the goddamned phone. –

Normally, Max’s messages followed a concise format like my own did; just who, what, where, when, why. He wasn’t a soldier, but military doctors saw their own share of emergency situations requiring speedy action, so he was a master of concise texts, albeit ones that were usually punctuated with a ridiculous overuse of emojis. If Addie ever stopped hating me long enough to text—even if actually speaking to me was still a work in progress—I’d have the weird art of teenage communication through little representative doodles on lock.

Max was a fan of the eggplant Emoji; one I hoped to God Adelyn didn’t know. It’d sadly taken me longer to catch onto that one then the more obvious hot dog and banana. I still couldn’t string emojis together like Max could, even though he’d given me a little dictionary of emoji meanings last Christmas.

Ever the smart ass.

A.J.’s text was next. I briefly wondered how the fuck I’d missed all of these calls and messages, before my mind flashed to what Max had said in his previous message. I glanced in my settings and realized that I’d somehow turned off all of my ringtones and notifications. Wasn’t sure how I done that, but drunken texting was a thing. And apparently the clumsy fingers situation that led to typing out wholly inappropriate messages of inebriation that horrified you when you were sober and regretful the next day, also affected basic fine motor skills.

Sighing, I reset everything, then read A.J.’s message. He kept it simple; a habit left over from his military days, just like my default was. A.J. had retired as soon as his tour had been up, 3 months after that God awful night…

–Hang in there, brother. Hooah. –

Max’s third message had come in nearly at midnight, which meant it’d been after 8:00 am in Afghanistan. He’d probably have been either on his way to the hospital, or already there. This third message was just as uncharacteristically long as his second one had been. Which meant he was pissed, and us being on opposite sides of the world was all that was saving me from him handing me my ass in a display of tough love. I feared that less than Vera and the orange and lavender lotion softened palm of her hand against the back of my head. If someone had included Vera in the ‘Sam-needs-an-intervention,’ train at some point, I was fucked.

–Call me when you get this, Sam. Sofia called me with an update, so now I know you’re so trashed that you’re spending the night at one Benjamini Santiago’s place. Thirty-eight years old, coming up on 39 because he’s a Gemini, born and raised in Miami. Never married, no kids. Currently a priest, though his previous work history was pretty non-existent even though he had his own bank accounts. Then again, his name was also linked to shared bank accounts with one Charles Jameson. Didn’t get a detailed workup on him, other than the fact he had more money than God and was very gay. Now deceased. There was no marriage license, just a lot of shared properties and deeds in both their names. Lots of dots to connect there, though sugar baby to priest seems like a stretch. Past that, he purchased a few more properties in his own name, including one that’s a legit halfway house for at-risk teenagers. -

Maplewood, I thought almost absently to myself as I kept reading. This was through enough that I’d have been impressed if I wasn’t so irritated. Not at Max for meddling because frankly in his place, I’d probably have done the same thing. I was more annoyed that Max apparently had connections almost as good as mine. Male pride was a stupid reality.

-Other than that, no parking tickets, no jail time. Pays his taxes and he seems like a genuinely good human being. Those are rare in your life, so you possibly lucked out with him as an impromptu, one-time roomie. But if you’re there, it means you’re not home to receive the special care package I sent you via express delivery. The delivery date was unexpectedly updated so it’s going to be there sometime in the morning. It’s a good one, so get your shit together and call me, motherfucker. Love you. –

My brain had been throbbing by the time I finished reading all of the messages. I plugged the phone in and laid it on the nightstand. I was tempted to put it on silent, but I didn’t.

My lips twitched as I turned down the sheets to get into bed and replayed Max’s message in my head. In a text there was no tonal change so I couldn’t hear Max’s slow, deep drawl, but after knowing one another for twenty years, I could hear the hard drop of his word endings even though he’d spelled every single word correctly. His verbal diction and his written one were always at odds.

The whole express care package had me stumped, because it had to be something Max had planned at least a few days ago. Even expedited shipping to the USA wasn’t overnight, and it definitely wasn’t cheap, so it had to be something important. Then again, when it came to Max, it was impossible to know what was important enough to be considered a ‘special care package.’ Over the years of our friendship, I’d received gifts of all kinds from him; Everything from a stainless-steel money clip engraved with a depiction of the mythological Cerberus, to fuzzy American Flag printed socks, a Fleshlight—which was still in its original packaging as were the fuzzy socks—to the brushed stainless-steel St. Michael the Archangel pendant that he’d gotten me for no specific reason or holiday other than it been a month after I’d survived that night in Afghanistan. I never took the necklace off unless I was on a mission. It was the single most sentimental gift that Max had ever given me. Neither of us was big on going to church, unless we happened to be around his parents on a Sunday, but I knew that Michael was the patron saint of military and law enforcement. And though Max and I didn’t do the sappy thing often, he hadn’t left my side while I was at the military hospital unless he’d had to start his rounds after he’d gone back to work after taking a week off to be with me. I’d gotten the meaning; keep your ass alive. AKA, don’t do this shit to me again.

And I had stayed alive and was living my life. Not necessarily my best one since sometimes it felt like I was holding it together with shoelaces and chewing gum, but Ben had made it a little easier tonight. I just didn’t want to linger on just how much easier because my head hurt too much for that level of deep contemplation.

When I slid between the smooth coolness of a good thread count and closed my eyes, I’d never expected to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I’d also never imagined that I’d sleep fitfully and nightmare free for the first time in months. Apparently, I’d done both, because when I finally opened my eyes, it was with a lazy sense of awareness, not sweat soaked hysteria.

I blinked, trying to work the morning bleariness from my eyes. I scrubbed the heels of my hands lightly over my face and after a few seconds, the deep hunter green of the walls of Ben’s guest room came into focus. Soft looking, sandy brown curtains weren’t nearly thick enough to effectively block out the brightness of a fully risen sun despite their opaque appearance. Beneath their hem, the light seeped into the room as a cheerful reminder that even when you spent the night in the home of a holy man, the god of hangovers wasn’t a kind god.

I groaned low in my throat, feeling the vibrations rattle uncomfortably in my head when I rolled over in bed and the entire contents of my skull somersaulted. My brain pulsed in time to the percussion from the brass band holding court in my head. What I needed was an old Irish fix—another shot of whiskey and a glass of water. Somehow, I doubted Ben would go for that particular observance of cultural traditions.

Ben.

I swore beneath my breath. We hadn’t slept together but considering how much I’d shared with him last night, I felt naked and exposed. I’d have been more comfortable wearing only my birthday suit and preparing to slink out of the bedroom to begin my walk of shame instead of still wearing the clothing he’d lent me that still smelled like his detergent, even though they’d been on me all night.

Though I'd never actually spent the night at any man's place other than Max and A.J., grunting at a one-night stand over a cup of coffee as you pulled your pants on, then went hunting for your shirt and shoes seemed like it'd be an awakward, but a quick in and out. Having a civilized conversation over good espresso with a guy I could easily find myself getting stupidly attached to—so long as he didn’t get to the sugar before I did— after having allowed him into my head, was a completely different animal.

An aggravated growly noise escaped my throat. I didn’t even know Ben’s damn address since he’d driven last night, so it wasn’t like I could just call a cab to come pick me up. Thinking of calling the cab, reminded me to check my messages again, just in case. I’d left all ringers and notifications on, but I’d also slept like the dead, so I could’ve missed an earthquake followed by a few tornados, much less my generic message notification sound.

I ignored my protesting head and unplugged my cell from the charger so I could scroll through any missed calls or texts.

I had two. One from Max and another from A.J. A.J.’s had come in a few hours ago. Max’s text was from less than an hour ago. At 8:00 EST since the digital numbers in the upper right hand of my cell phone said it was currently 8:55 am.

Crap. I was surprised that Ben had let me sleep this long, but maybe he needed the rest as much as I had. We’d spent a good portion of the night talking and, I didn’t know how well he slept. Insomnia was a condition that plagued a ridiculous amount of the human population because there was always something worth worrying over, or just inconveniently causing you stress.

I was currently leaning toward the latter as I read A.J.’s message.

–Max’s pissed at you. Says you need to get to Sofia’s place to receive your special surprise. Make sure you do, so he calms the fuck down. He’s like a rabid NYC squirrel on speed right now. It’s all those damn microwaveable Chef Boyardee things he eats. Red dye’s worse for you than processed sugar, and that shit’s worse than cocaine. And by the way, back it the fuck up. You slept with a priest? My man! – The words were followed by that damn eggplant and a smiling emoji with a halo.

For shits sake. Apparently, my radio silence was turning all of my normally concisely articulate friends into wordsmiths.

I sighed again and read Max’s message which was a little shorter, but not anymore encouraging than A.J.’s.

–I’m home from work, so give me a call when you wake up. Not going to ask if you’re okay or say that I’m worried about you because I don’t need to grow a set of ovaries to go with my new fucking uterus. Just fucking FaceTime me. –

The door to the guest room was closed, but when I strained my ears, I couldn’t make out any movements on the other side of the door. I decided to triage my phone calls situation first. Ben would have to be ok with temporarily taking priority below brushing my teeth, taking a piss, then washing my hands so I could return messages and make calls.

I had a really long list of people to whom I owed apologies, explanations, and/or updates. At the top of that list was Sofia’s name.

After I’d gotten all my morning routines done, I picked my phone up again and checked the time. It was now 9:17am, and the sun was creeping further into the room with the accusation of a police spotlight. I was usually awake before 6:00 am. The military believed early rising was the only way to be effective, but I hadn’t slept past 6:00am since I was a teenager, even before Connor and I had joined the Army. In high-school, I’d gotten up that early because I liked to be out of the house before my parents woke up. I’d preferred to avoid seeing the new bruises on our mom’s sallow skin that hadn’t been there the previous night. I also liked avoiding having to potentially get between Connor and our father’s explosive throw downs if Connor was in a mood and went after him. He always claimed he was defending our mom. Occasionally, he might’ve been. But most of the time, he just wanted an excuse to take a swing at our dad and unload years of childhood trauma because wed surpassed him in height by the time we were 15.

Our dad’s soul was a kerosene-soaked mess, just like Max had said. Connor was always a dependable match, ever ready to be struck, so everything would go up in flames. He’d always been easier to set off than I was. He lived for that shit. I prefer to embody a cheap plastic gas station lighter; sometimes the fact that the suckers could take forever to actually catch worked in your favor. Slow burns got the job done eventually, but they also gave you plenty of time to extinguish them before they could become a true issue.

Dragging Connor with me to the Melone’s for breakfast most mornings, even before we’d emancipated ourselves and officially moved in with them, had helped. Vera made the best blueberry pancakes with actual berries worked into the batter, and fresh compote and whipped cream on top on top. Even then I hadn’t been big on sweets, but I was grateful for any food because there’d been too many times growing up when Connor and I’d been lucky to get one meager meal a day, let alone three. Connor had always had a sweet tooth most as bad as Ben’s, so the promise of pancakes was an easy way to entice him away from home. They also kept his mouth shut for as long as it too him to scarf down an entire half stack. It was a win-win for everyone.

I’d had the same teenage boy appetite, but I’d also always been more aware that feeding three teenagers who were almost 6 ft tall by that point, wasn’t cheap. I’d cut down on my portions whenever Connor’s manners had temporarily disappeared at a meal or two. It never mattered. Max’s mom had always found a way to sneak an extra sandwich or snack into my backpack once she realized what I was doing. She’d been there for us, especially for me, because unlike Connor, I’d willingly accepted that unconditional maternal love she offered. I’d have eaten a pile of ash if she’d put it down in front of me.

I’d loved my own mother the same way that I’d loved Connor; with a dogged sense of loyal obligation. She’d given birth to me and when she’d been well our mother had done the best she could to protect Connor and me. Of course, leaving our fathers abusive, alcoholic ass would’ve been the best option, but she never even tried. I’d resented her for that as a kid. Connor had hated her for it. Now as an adult, I saw things a bit differently. It didn’t make her not getting us out of there okay, but experience in my own adult life had taught me that sometimes we make stupid decisions because other options seem limited, or completely out of reach.

I didn’t hate Kate Trammell. She’d been a sad, damaged woman who'd done the best she could, and she’d been my mother.

But she wasn’t my mom. Vera Melone was.

Which of course meant me still being half in love with her son was a little incestuous in the PornHub way, but I wasn’t concerned, because other things were more important. Like the fact that there were only seven people on the entire planet who’d I take a bullet for. Two were related to me and called me Uncle Sam. Sofia was part of that package deal. AJ was the fourth person. Max, the Colonel and Vera rounded out to seven. That was it.

And, plus one, makes eight.

I tried to ignore that mocking little voice that my mind had somehow manifested into the lilting singsong song of the puppets from Disney’s Small World ride. Apparently, my previous safe, small small world, wanted to add a sexy priest to the mix. One who thought I was,” adorably stupid,” and who apparently had a kinky streak a mile long.

I snorted. Leather cuffs as supple as a concubine’s ass… either Ben had been punking me, or there was a lot more to the man than met the eye; a theory possibly supported by Max’s text. I wasn’t sure I could even handle what was on the surface, so God help me if there were deeper and darker aspects to Ben that might suck me into an entire erotic Wonderland.

But first, time to get my mind back into the game and focused on my priorities. I had three people to reach out to before any interactions with Ben even could come into play.

I started with Sofia. There was so much I had to say to that woman, but I had no idea where to start. There was a cavern-wide spectrum between guilt and embarrassment that I had to cover with a proper apology. She deserved it in person, not through an awkward phone call, but not knowing how long it’d be before that happened, I made do with a text. The lack of tone wasn’t ideal, but it was something she could at least have in writing to refer back to later when she might be less pissed or needed to hold my own words over my head.

–Hey, I’m at Ben’s. I’ll be home in a couple of hours. I need to talk to Ben, then figure out a cab situation. He lives in the marina life version of, ‘The Hills have Eyes.’ –

I paused, then added ­–I’m sorry, Sof. I know I screwed up, and that I need to do better. I’m working on it... we all deserve that. –

I reread the message and after a brief hesitation, I hit send. I hated writing long sagas via text, preferring quick phone calls to save time when solidifying plans or relaying important information, but girls needed more than two-word responses or emojis if they were past their teen years.

Sofia’s response it up my screen almost immediately. My now vocal notifications pinged with cheerful accusation.

–I know. You’re making it up to all of us by cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner for a month. –

I felt my eyebrow lift– the right one this time, because that message deserved a proper WTF? Sofia had known me since before we were old enough to boil water for ramen noodles. She knew the extent of my cooking abilities. She’d also eaten one or two of my ‘sunbathing turtle’ pancakes too. The fact that she wanted me to cook made me wonder if she might have imbibed a little last night. I hadn’t checked out her liquor cabinets, but they did still sell peach schnapps and the girls hadn’t been home. I wouldn’t have blamed her.

–Is that a punishment for me or for you? –

–You were a military badass. Google All Recipes or Pinterest and MacGyver it. And I didn’t say that it had to be for a month straight. Just 30 days total. If you mess up even one meal in a day, it doesn’t count, and you need to start over. I recommend a lot of practice otherwise Emma might get her wish and have you around for Christmas. By then you might actually make some decent Christmas cookies. –

I felt my lips twitch slightly. Some of the tension in my shoulders eased because I could hear the snark as clearly as if Sofia had been in the room with me. She was annoyed, but she hadn’t written me off yet.

–We’ll keep Poison Control on standby. Love you, Sof. –

Apparently my previous use of the nickname I'd saddled her with years ago hadn't sent her into homicidal fury, so I did it again. It felt oddly natural even after all this time m

­–I love you too, stupid head. Come home soon. Max…sent you something… Something that Adelyn is very interested in, so it’s in your best interest to get to it before she tries to claim it. Tara is here too. –

Everyone I loved was killing me with this cryptic shit, but I sent her a thumbs up emoji. I laughed out loud when Sofia sent me one flipping me off followed by a sweetly smiling one. Message received.

I called AJ next, but after it went straight to voicemail, I just texted him. –Got your messages. Going to FaceTime Max now. What the fuck is this damn surprise everyone’s talking about? –

I waited a few minutes, but when I heard nothing back, I made the bed neatly with military corners out of habit. Then I stacked the pillows so that I could half recline more comfortably as I dialed Max’s number for the FaceTime call, focusing on my miniscule image in the lower left corner so it was less distracting when Max’s handsome face came into view.

He was wearing an old gray t-shirt I’d given him years ago that said, ‘I’m currently unsupervised. I know, it scares me too, but the possibilities are endless.’ The last time we’d FaceTimed, he’d been wearing the red one I’d given him the year after that, which said, ‘I licked it, so it’s mine.’ His light brown hair, just one shade too dark to ever achieve any hope of being described as blonde, was carelessly mussed and looked lightly damp, instead of styled with appropriate modern edge when he was working. I must’ve caught him fresh out of the shower.

“Hey,” I said.

“You’re an asshole,” was his response.

I grinned. “That’s a pretty straight across the board, unanimous consensus. Not a surprise. What is fucking amazing is how literary you and A.J. both got with all the texts. I’m surprised my phone didn’t explode from the way you two blew it up. And what’s with running a background check on a friend of Sofia’s? You’re a doctor, not a covert information operative.”

“I’m a doctor who’s fucked a lot of very obligin’ law enforcement and information gatherers in both the public and private sectors. I kiss all their boo boos and happily offer free prostate exams involvin’ their asses and my dick whenever we feel froggy, so I get requested information on people when I need it. I don’t call in many favors and they leave my bed bow-legged, so it’s a fair trade for all.”

I snorted as he added, “Baby, I’d run a background check on anyone in your life you went home with who’s a rando to me. You never spend the whole night with a guy other than me or A.J. And he’s so damn straight, he makes architect’s lines look crooked.”

I just rolled my eyes, because Max knew who and what I had been for the last 6 years up to just a week ago. Protesting by pointing out I could probably kill a guy with a fucking paperclip under pressure, was just a little too dick swinging, action hero cliché for me.

“Look, when you’re in full GI Joe mode, no one’s disputin’ you could probably kill a guy with a fuckin’ spork. That’s a feat in and of itself, because God knows those are a creation of the devil. They’re only good for squishin’ your food, not actually pokin’ and scoopin’ like a real utensil. But when you’re drunk off your ass on what were probably premium alcohol shots— if the bartenders had eyes and you were wearin’ any of your t-shirts that fit you indecently because they’re so damn old—that’s a different story entirely. You didn’t get your nipples pierced yet right?”

Thankfully, I managed to refrain from rolling my eyes because my headache was still a low-level throb, and I didn’t need to further aggravate it. “No, I didn’t get my nipples pierced.” I didn’t ask where the seemingly left field question had come from, because knowing Max, there was some connection in his brain.

“Because you don’t want to anymore, or just haven’t had time? Because I did make you a few promises involvin’ them and my mouth once you get them done. Promises that will be a lot better than anythin’ a horny bartender could offer when they see those little bars beneath the afore mentioned t-shirts. Keep that in mind and stay away from the booze.”

I could hear the subtle note of strain in Max’s tone even as he teased. There was a tension beneath his usual ball busting. I wasn’t sure what exactly had instigated it because God knew we’d both been plenty stupid before. At least I’d gone home with a priest and not the guy who’d shafted Max on his part of a hotel bill once.

“I’ve been a little busy. Maybe next week. I’ll send you photos. And Ben’s a good guy, so I’m fine. Hungover, but alright.” I paused as I readjusted against the pillows. Max’s expression was neutral, but I’d noticed that every so often, the image would bounce. Since I was sitting still, I knew he had to be fidgeting in his desk chair. Max was always restless when he had to sit still, but this was more along the lines of the time he’d had three Red Bulls in a 4-hour period, then had to sit through an advanced algebra class in high-school.

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “But you obviously aren’t. What’s going on? This can’t just be about me getting hammered.”

“You gettin’ hammered was fuckin’ stupid without a wingman.”

“Completely agree with you. But since I’d never actually act out any version of the joke that starts with a priest walking into a bar, I’ll have to wait till you come home to have one of those Godawful light beers with you. Now tell me what’s going on. No bullshit.”

Max’s jaw ticked, but then he sighed as he ran the long fingers on his left hand through his hair. Had his mother had her way, they’d have been the hands of a pianist, but the hands of a surgeon weren’t a bad alternative. He inhaled deeply, and his exhale was the noisier one only people in his inner circle got to hear. That level of external exasperation was one he preferred to downplay out of habit of growing up as a military brat with a high-ranking military official as a father.

“Worryin’ about you was the cherry on a shit-cream sundae. We had a rough night here. A bomber came to the hospital yesterday. "

Cold tightened my heart at once. Since it was a face time call, I was sure Max could read the tension in my own expression as the tables of concern were turned, but he was bitching and nagging at me, so he was ok. I hadn’t given much thought to the pronunciation of the bags beneath his eyes till now, having written them off as just a side effect of long hospital hours. But with this new information, they suddenly seemed darker. Haunted. It broke my heart a little, but if he could feel all that, it meant he was alive and was all that mattered,

I’d told Ben last night that I wasn’t sure how I felt about God, but right now, I was thanking Him that Max was still on this plane of existence. If I’d lost him on top of everything else…

I wasn’t going to think about that because Max was shaken, no matter what he said. It was my turn to be his rock. My voice was even when I spoke. Another miracle.

"What happened?"

Max fidgeted again. “We got a few people in at once from a major car accident just outside of the hospital. Family of 3 in the car, and a guy on a moped. We were tryin’ to triage the situation, and I was focusin’ on them, not the boy who walked up to us on crutches. He didn’t look like a threat, just your average fourteen- or fifteen-year-old kid with a sprained ankle.” I saw Max’s throat work as he swallowed hard. “We didn’t know he had a vest on under his shirt until he started chantin’ in Farsi and pulled a gun on one of the nurses. Security was too far to get to him when he dropped the crutches and tore upon his shirt to show he was strapped, but I…I had the shot.”

I could see the pain in Max’s eyes before he closed them. He wasn’t a supporter of violence. Oh, he’d handle shit when it was started, and he’d definitely end a problem he saw happening before it could go anywhere, but he’d always tried to deescalate things with jokes and a round of beers on him if he we were at a bar before he resorted to fists. He’d always had my back, and he didn’t judge what I’d had to do most of my adult life in the military when things went sideways. He also didn’t have a problem being armed like the Army required all their military doctors to be when they were in hostile areas, whether those were actual combat zones, or “safe” places like hospitals and schools which were too often seen by enemies as soft targets. I’d taken him with me to the range every chance I could. A.J. had retired years ago and started his own security firm out in Alabama, so when Max and I had last visited him a year ago, he’d put us both through the entire course he trained his guys with. Max had insisted on doing it twice, citing that living in an area where bullets routinely flew at his ass, meant he wanted to be more prepared than the military officially required. All that was to say that I knew he was a good shot with a variety of both handguns and rifles, but I also knew that he’d never drawn on anyone outside of a gun range dummy, or a range paper silhouette.

I felt my expression softening as I saw him trying to work it out in a logical, pragmatic way that made sense. You could prep your entire life for the time you might have to pull that trigger, but doing it was a different story. If I could’ve reached through the goddamn phone, I’d have pulled Max through it and into my arms. It might’ve been a little awkward since I was in Ben’s guestroom, but sometimes loyalty was more important than avoiding an awkward situation.

If I’d been there with Max in his apartment right now, I’d have made him come to bed with me and pressed up against his back before sliding an arm over his midsection. He’d pretend to be asleep, so he didn’t have to protest about me, ‘babying him,’ same as I would’ve if our roles were reversed. But then his body would’ve tucked back against mine more firmly. I’d kiss the back of his neck when I felt him go pliant for me, and his soft exhale would ruin the pretense of him not being awake. We’d both still have pretended though, then fallen asleep just like that. Unfortunately, none of that was possible right now.

“Are you alright?” I knew he wasn’t, not emotionally, but I couldn’t see any physical injuries.

“Yeah, I caught one in the right shoulder before he went down. A straight through and through. We match now,” he said with a small, crooked smile.

“But there were no casualties other than the terrorist, thank God. The nurse, Stacy, and I were both sent home to decompress and get some sleep. Me, till my shoulder heals, and her till she gets herself back together mentally. She’s a mess, but she has a boyfriend out here, so he’s with her now. She’ll be ok. The hospital was put on high alert.”

I didn’t ask if he had someone with him. Fucking almost anything that moved was Max’s MO for a good time, but when he was vulnerable, he deliberately turned into a monk unless I was in his bed, or he was in mine.

Max turned a little when he saw my questioning look that was followed by a silent ‘turn around,’ gesture with my pointer finger. Max obediently moved back in his wheeled computer chair so that I could see more of him in the wider frame. I’d missed the sling on his right arm earlier because he’d deliberately sat so close to the screen that it‘d been blocked.

“How bad does it hurt?

“Enough that I should probably take the painkillers I was prescribed, but I’m as stubborn as you are, so I’ll probably just have a beer and revisit the cigarette habit I always tell my mama I dropped years ago.”

My slight smile matched his. I knew I’d probably get some snark over ‘fussing,’ and considering my unusual situation with Ben, the offer I was about to extend might make things even weirder. Max had never had a problem with a consensual threesome. According to him, triangles were the strongest shape. Ben didn’t strike me as the type to be into either a menage trois or a love triangle of any kind, but I was going to ask anyway. Max was my best friend, and he’d have done the same damn thing for me. But before I could ask him to come home to recover, to come home to me, he spoke after he released his breath in a noisy puff.

"He's dead, Sam. I'm supposed to fix people not kill them, but I had to shoot him… I know I followed protocol, but… he was just a kid."

‘Protocol,’ meant he’d emptied his magazine, because as badass and competent it looked in the movies to take down an assailant with one perfect shot, in a real-life situation where an armed combatant was fully strapped and completely willing to take themselves out along with everyone they intended to make a victim, the objective was to get them down, and make sure they stayed down. Being pumped full of fifteen hollow point rounds from an extended magazine was sure to do that. But it also meant fifteen holes to haunt Max.

Ben would’ve said he was sorry Max had to experience that, maybe offered a hug since compassion was his immediate default, even if he was mildly jealous of Max. But neither Max or I were like that. We both got squirmy when we were off our game. We didn’t hide it from one another like we did from other people. We just respected one another not to poke too hard unless we were given the green light. So, instead of assuring him God still loved him or worse, ‘poor babying’ him, I said, "You did what you had to, Max. Kid or not, he was aiming to kill a lot of fucking people. You followed protocol and that saved Stacy, and whomever else was there, including yourself. You did your job. You’re a doctor, but you’re also a member of the U.S. military and that means you protect just as much as you fix. You handled it right."

"I know." That was all he said, but I could practically feel his emotional turmoil through the screen. He exhaled again, then his face went carefully neutral. Not shutting me out, but getting himself into ER surgeon headspace while he pulled himself together. I’d seen him do it before, so I let him.

“How'd the funeral go?"

“Mmmm I didn’t get myself arrested for punching an asshole protestor in the mouth because Ben is friendly with the local police. They handled it, and I got a one-time free pass.”

From Whelen the fucking weenie.

“Then I drove the girls and Sofia home. The kids had a sleepover at a friend’s house because Emma wanted to go. Adelyn hates me, so she was happy to take her there, then hang out overnight with the older sister who is her age. Sofia went to bed early, and the walk I took to get some cigarettes and clear my head led me to that bar we used to go to all the time. They’ve really cleaned it up. Jacked up the prices, but the leather booths are nice. You know the rest.”

“Yeah…I know the rest.” Max sighed. “Just a typical day of dysfunction at the Trammel household."

I shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Father Benjamin Santiago?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean what’s the deal? He came to rescue my drunk ass, and wouldn’t let me take a cab back to Sofia’s place. In hindsight, it was the right thing to do. She didn’t need to deal with my shit last night.”

“Reeeaally?” Max usually drawled ninety-fiver percent of his words, but that one he dragged out so hard it was a very deliberately made point. “That was his justification? He kept you there for Sofia’s sake?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said. Well, it hadn’t originally been like that. “The bartender wouldn’t put me in a cab because fucked up, isn’t a strong enough description for how bad off I was. I accidentally broke my beer bottle, and cut up my hand when I got stuck in my head…” I paused, knowing Max would know exactly what I meant because he’d been there for plenty of similar times. I shrugged when he nodded slightly, his eyes fixed on me like he was trying to read me through the computer screen. In person, his bullshit detector was top notch when it came to me, but he had to work harder at it when we were on screens like this.

“Darcy fed me a lot of free whiskey shots. You’d have liked her. She’s pre-med and spunky.”

"Sounds like my type for sure. But back to Mr. Angels-on-High. I told you the Cliff Notes I got on him. He seems to be a decent human being, but a priest, Sam? That’s not going to end well. The whole holy vows of chastity and all.”

"He’s Episcopal, not Catholic. Apparently different rules apply."

Proven by the fact we kissed in his living room last night till my lips were on fire.

I kept that to myself for now. Not because I thought Max would be jealous. But he was protective towards me about certain things and since he couldn’t personally vet Ben face to face yet, I knew telling him that Ben made me feel off-kilter would make him worry. Considering the new bullet hole Max had in him, he didn’t need that additional stress right now.

Max made a noncommittal sound as he swept me with another assessing look as best he could from his side of the screen.

“What?” I said, sounding more exasperated than I wanted to because he’d perfected that look after learning it from his mother.

"I’m just tryin’ to figure out the situation between the two of you…”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talkin’ about the fact you spent the night with a man wh—”

“I spent the night in his guestroom,” I clarified, ignoring Max’s soft snort.

“Tomato fucking tomato. The completely valid point I was tryin’ to make before I was so rudely interrupted, is that the only person outside your family I've ever known you to trust enough to spend an entire night alone with, to let down your guard around, is me.”

“And A.J.”

“A.J. is all about the ass only if it comes with a pussy, so he doesn’t count. We’re only talkin’ potential fuckability here. So, I repeat, the only person you’ve ever been able to let your guard down with, to have at your unarmed back before Benjamin Santiago came into play, is me. Not even Devlin ever got close. I love you, man, but you're about as trustin’ as a feral cat."

The affectionate amusement in his voice and eyes took the sting out of the words.

"You like Father Benjamin Santiago."

“He’s easy to talk to,” I hedged. “Father McNally and your parent’s entire congregation would be clutching their pearls if they met him.”

Max arched a silently questioning brow. “Let’s just say he doesn’t clutch his bible to pound us over the head of it like Father McNally did.”

“So, this is you sayin’ you like him ‘as a person ', not as ‘ a sexy as hell man?”

I could hear the air quotes he couldn’t physically make because of the sling, and read between the lines; do you want to fuck him, or is he in the friend zone? I’d been hoping to avoid that direct question, but no such luck.

“I don’t know Max. Like you said... he’s a priest. It could get complicated. Messy.”

“Sometimes messy can be fun.”

“And sometimes safe is better.”

Max’s expression softened. “I have a couple of weeks off while my shoulder recovers enough for me to at least consult on cases at the hospital. I was thinkin’ of goin’ home to see my folks once I get through all the paperwork and whatever shrinky dinky bullshit they’re required to put me through since it’s my first shootin’. Should I come see you first instead? I mean, I already sent you a present that’s an extension of me so you won’t get lonely at night, but if you need the whole Melone medicine cabinet, aka, hands, mouth, dick, that can be arranged. My mama’s patient.”

My snort turned into a laugh like he’d wanted. “You’re my best friend, so don’t ask stupid questions like that. You don’t need a fucking invitation to come home. But you do need to tell me what the hell is in this mystery package.”

“Go home and find out. I think you’ll like it. Like I said, it’s an extension of me.”

“Max, Sofia said Adelyn liked it, so God help you if you made a fucking mold of your dick or something weird like that.”

Max laughed out loud. “Ooooo I have to admit that idea never even occurred to me, but now…totally goin’ to be your next Christmas present.”

“You’ll never get it through customs.”

He just grinned, wheels visibly turning. “Like I said, go home and find out before Adelyn gets attached. It’s somethin’ girls like.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, but I paused in my inquiry as something occurred to me now that our earlier angsty moment had faded.

“Sofia said you kept in contact… that you send the girls Christmas and birthday cards?”

Max didn’t deny it. "They’re my family as much as the Colonel and my mama are yours. I know you keep in contact with them, so why wouldn’t I do the same with Sofia and the girls? We never talked about what happened between you and Connor if that’s what you’re worried about. I just wanted to keep that bridge open for the day your dumbass would walk back over it. They love you, Sam.”

“I know…I’m not angry. Not at you. Thank you,” I said quietly.

Max nodded. “Emma still have the crazy bangs?”

“Yeah. Just got new glasses though, so they’re not black frames anymore. Now they’re some crazy floral pattern that would probably look better in some southern lady’s living room as a throw pillow, or maybe a housecoat.”

Max chuckled. “Sounds about right. She used to be all about the florals. Dresses, rompers. Her favorite stuffed toy at one point was a unicorn covered in a hippie flower patten. Talk about too perfectly precious for a little southern biddie’s collection. How’s Addie-cat?”

“She walks around looking like Goth Barbie, which is fucking ridiculous in Florida because black eats up heat. I have no idea what witchcraft she uses to keep that warpaint eyeliner from melting off her face. She also hates everything about me, and has no problem saying so. Every time I think we take a half step forward she kicks me in my metaphorical balls with her combat boots and we fall ten steps back. She also walks around in clothes that will get me arrested one of these days for killing every teenage boy who asks her what time it is.”

Max whistled. “Ah, the hootchie-cootchie-take-a-lookie-because-I-need-attention, phase. That one’s fun,” he said with a soft snort, before shifting to reach off screen. When his arm came back into the camera frame, he was holding a glass of water that he took a sip from. “My cousin’s kid went through that a few years ago. Good times, and a lot of gray hairs on the heads of her parents.”

“Which one?”

Max was an only child, but I knew most of his extended family from different get-togethers over the years.

“Lottie, my cousin Dana’s kid. She’s a sophomore in college now. Honor roll, datin’ a nice kid. Overall doin’ great, but just a few years prior, Dana was walkin’ around with a measurin’ tape in her back pocket and purse at all times.” He grinned. “It started because Lottie was wearing a lot of old clothing she’d outgrown; skirts, shorts and dresses. They’d still fit her in the waist and hips, but because she has ridiculously long legs like Dana, the hems came up high enough to get an amen had she worn them to church.”

I chuckled. I remembered Dana well, so I could only imagine where this was going. Take no shit had always been her middle name despite her sweet, blonde southern belle looks.

“What happened?”

“Dana and Jeff told Lottie that she needed to wear properly sized clothin’. Bein’ a teenager, she ignored them, so they started finin’ her a quarter for every inch more than two above the knee. Then they made the clothes disappear, probably to the nearest Salvation Army. If Lottie actually bought clothin’ shorter than that on purpose, the fine was upped to an entire dollar, and the clothes still disappeared. Dana and Jeff finally told Lottie she could either save up her literal bucks and buy clothin’ that didn’t show butt cheeks, or let Dana go shoppin’ with her so she could pick up the bill. They said if Lottie went that route, she could save her own money and put it toward her first car, and they’d pay whatever balance was left over.”

Max looked like a lazy cat when his sea green eyes darkened around the irises with amusement “Like I said, she’s doin’ okay now. She’s also a decent driver, so listenin’ to her rant about the, ‘injustices against female empowerment and sexuality through clothin,’ was worth it.”

I chuckled, thinking of Ben and his swear jar. Maybe I could allocate where my personal contributions should go, especially considering how quickly I was racking up a tab. Maybe something fun like a foosball table since I wasn’t a huge fan of sugary snacks. Childhood diabetes was a thing.

And right on the heel of that thought, I caught myself, slamming on the brakes hard. Here I was, inserting myself into a very big aspect of Ben’s life, when I wasn’t even sure I could be boyfriend material to someone I didn’t have a complicated, semi-codependent relationship with. Ben loved the kids at Maplewood. It was obvious in his expression when he talked about them. They were his family. Important to him. I had a feeling he wouldn’t consider a gift from me, someone he was trying to get close to, as anything less than trying to claim a spot in his world.

I exhaled discreetly and refocused on Max to avoid dangerously meandering thoughts.

“If Adelyn didn’t wear so much black, I’d toss a red sock into her next wash cycle. Pink used to be her favorite color five years ago, but I have a feeling being forced into a Pretty in Pink world now, might result in bloodshed. Mine. She’s got fucking honey badger energy, man.”

Max snickered. “Lottie did too. So does Dana when she gets her back up. They don’t outgrow that. But Addie might outgrow the rest of the teenage bullshit faster than Lottie did. She’s young, but she’s tough.”

“I know,” I said, with a sigh that sounded more like defeat than I was comfortable with. “Right now, she pretty much gets an infinite number of free passes because I know all this shit’s a lot. Me looking exactly like her father doesn’t help. She’s got so much rage, Max. Mostly at Connor. I think. I hope.” I exhaled slowly. “And I get it. I left, and she was forced to grow up really quick. But she can pull out every Death Metal Barbie stop she has, because I’m not going anywhere until we all figure this out, no matter how long that is. Months. Years. Whatever it takes.”

Max arched an eyebrow at the finite note in my voice, his surprise obvious. “Not that I’m not all on board with this new mission statement, but what changed? Last time we spoke, you were doin’ that ridiculously unattractive—despite you being stupidly hot—mopey thing, and plannin’ to leave. Did Ben flip the light switch of common sense on for you with saintly stealth?”

“We talked about it,” I admitted. “He’s really close to Sofia, and yeah, he thinks it I should stay. But that’s not the reason I decided to make this work.”

Not the only reason.

Max didn’t look convinced. I offered a lopsided smile I could still see in my tiny thumbnail at the bottom right corner of my screen. “Priest or not, I take a lot of what Ben says with a grain of salt and just wait for the sky to open up so fire and brimstone can rain down on me for defying a man of the cloth. He said I needed therapy, so you can imagine my response to that.”

Max’s lips twitched before he took another sit from his water glass since he knew all the variations of ‘hell no,’ that I’d said to him whenever he'd broached the same subject.

“Don’t hold your breath waitin’ for the apocalypse to ride in for you, baby. You’re not the one Father McNally said would end up with his dick fallin’ off for ‘frivolous fornication.’ “

“That’s because you almost seduced that really young nun in training who was visiting from Argentina.”

Max had no shame. “Hey now, I was just askin’ about proper prayer position. Not my fault me on my knees put me close to spots that would’ve let me help her find God in a less traditional way than she was used to.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose to hide my smile before I pulled us back to our original topic. I would’ve preferred not to. What I was about to share sounded too fucking Hallmark to confess out loud, and it made me uncomfortable as fuck. But it was also true, and this was just Max. He’d never judge me, not even when he indiscreetly corrected my bullshit.

“I decided to stay because despite all the drama and angst that may take us years to work out, once I got here, I remembered how much I love my family.”

It was 100% true, but emotional declaration had always been tough for me. Not the immediate, perfunctory response to friends and family who dropped the three words first in casual affection. I could manage those. But the deep stuff… that shit was hard. Not because I was too macho or, ‘boys don’t cry,’ about it. I just hadn’t had a lot of experience with genuine affection growing up, until I’d met the Melone family.

“They’re mine,” I said. Simple. True. To the point. “Heart and fucking DNA, so weirdness be damned. I’m going to fix all the shit Connor and I broke, even if that means boycotting the barber, and letting my 5’oclock shadow tell all other numbers on the clock to fuck themselves. It wouldn’t be the first time I had to dye my hair dark, and Adelyn might appreciate my skill with box dye.”

I shrugged when Max chuckled. “At this point I’ll do anything not to look like the guy in that damn framed family photo that I suspect Sofia holds onto out of guilt. It’s just one more thing that will eventually travel the mysterious route of wayward socks.”

Max looked amused by, but also approving of my gameplan. “So, your solution to fixin’ the problem of looking like your dead, fucked up waste of space brother who also happens to be their dad and Sofia’s husband, is to embrace your old D days look?” His lips twitched. “I mean, it’s definitely hot in a potential, good-time-problem way, but you might also get a few funny looks if you hang around parks or schools.”

His grin deepened enough to flash dimples my way when I flipped him off. “Being slightly unkept is the new trend for sexy. Look at Johnny Depp.”

“You’re a lot hotter than Johnny Depp. Your whole sexily sketchy on the outside, but Leave it to Beaver Cleveresque filling on the inside, really does it for me.”

I flipped him off again. He ignored me. “Jokes aside though, it might help in the meantime until things settle down a little bit more. Emma’s too young to remember Connor, but obviously Adelyn does.”

“With 3D clarity, I agreed.

“I bet it’s the same for Sofia too. Her shithead husband is gone, but his protective, stable doppelganger is back. Good thing she’s been there for your entire evolution into the “I love cock,’ club, or shit could really get awkward. Of course, my care package might help there.”

“Max, I swear to God, if you sent me a sex toy, or any evidence of your proudly toted freak status, I’ll kill you as soon as you make it down here.”

“You have a filthy fuckin’ mind,” he chided, but the fact he was showing me every one of his braces straightened teeth, killed the rebuking effect. “And I love it, but nope, I already told you that I’m saving my DIY cock clone as a Christmas present.” Max snickered as he leaned back comfortably in his office chair. He started to move his arms like he intended to lace his hands behind his head like he usually did when he was relaxed, but he’d forgotten that his right arm was in a sling. He swore as it tugged and went nowhere. It was my turn to smirk. It was hard to pull off the too cool for yourself thing when you were trussed up like a spring hog.

Max grumbled as he readjusted himself to a more upright position. His mom would hate that he’d been hurt, but probably be just this side of inappropriately ecstatic that he couldn’t easily lift the front feet of a chair to rock back and forth while he was sitting in it.

“Just trust me when I say it’s a gift to be enjoyed by all. It’ll temporarily hold a place in your hearts and minds until Uncle Max can home and make all the things better with hugs, giggles, and gifts for the ladies, as well as a very past due, we-shall-test-the-strength-of-the-mattress, fuckin’ for their uncle.”

“You’re such a dick.”

Max grinned lazily, my laughter obviously resetting his usual levels of cheerful smartass. “I’m all about the dick when it comes to you, baby.”

“Don’t start.”

He ignored the warning like he always did when he threw around endearments I’d once wished were actually meant for only me and not just part of his daily vernacular.

“You know you miss me.”

Usually more than you know.

“I miss you when you’re not right in front of me, which technically you are, so let’s kill the call and test your theory.”

Max’s eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue green; a clear color that shifted with his moods and what colors he chose to wear, like ocean sea glass. They almost disappeared into little half-moons when he smiled so hard, the subtle lines at the corners of his eyes deepened.

“I love you Sam.”

“I love you too.”

And there it was, that perfunctory response that always tore my heart out just a little bit. Like always, I masked that sudden burst of emotion that would get us absolutely nowhere by adding, ‘asshole.”

Max leaned forward and the screen was suddenly filled with his handsome face as he braced his good arm on the desk so he could rest his chin on the muscular length. I could see a hint of the caduceus tattoo from this close. If there hadn’t been a computer screen between us, I’d have taken that as an invitation to run my fingers through his hair that was a few weeks past the point of needing a haircut. If luck was in my favor, he’d be tired enough to lay his head on my lap and fall asleep that way like he had in the past.

None of that was going to happen.

“Only the best for you baby. Let me know how you like my surprise and how things go with Mr. Holier than All. I can tell you like him. No BS between us remember?,” he said before I could fall into the old trap of proving truth by protesting too much. “If you didn’t trust him, you wouldn’t have spent the night at his place, no matter how drunk you were. If you didn’t like him, you’d have made this call from a moving cab, not what looks like a really comfortable bed drowning in pillows.” His eyes narrowed like he was trying to peer past me at the room décor. “Who even needs that many pillows?”

I shrugged because he was right. “You’re the one who’s always encouraging me to go out and get laid.”

“Because getting laid is good for stress release. But I don’t equate screwing a priest, with no-strings-attached stress relief, no matter how hot he manages to look on both his driver’s license and his passport. That witchery alone should set off alarm bells.”

“You’re being fucking ridiculous.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you just need to take it a little slower with Mr. Angels on High until you have a firmer grasp on your family situation, and what you really want in this strange new world that’s like the ultimate final frontier."

I took my phone with me to the bathroom, setting it up against the little metal cup on the edge of the sink so I could wash my face. I’d brushed my teeth earlier, but I’d forgotten to wash off the evening’s clamminess. Ben’s place had central air, but it wasn’t on high and the sun peeking through the windows had warmed the room.

“When have you been a supporter of going slow?"

"When it's not with me."

I glanced up, water still dripping down my face as I tried to read Max’s expression. He’d leaned back in his chair again, further from the camera so it wasn’t as easy to make out all the subtle nuances. I slowly rubbed my face dry with an obscenely fluffy towel. I was only half serious when I said "Jealous?"

There wasn't a joke on Max's end when he answered, those ocean clear eyes steady on mine. "Maybe."

The damp terrycloth scrunched between my hands. Teasing me came as naturally to Max as breathing, but all the times I’d asked him to give us a chance, he’d turned me down. Not even during those 8 months a few years ago, when we’d been completely monogamous, had we put a label on things. We’d never talked about it, but I’d known he was faithful, and it’d been great. Until it abruptly ended out, right out of left field, exactly where that comment had come from.

“What?”

"Hush, baby," Max said, dragging out his drawl till it was even thicker than his mother’s, and hers was honey and molasses blended together. "I'm not goin’ to go all Tom Cruise and hop on couches for you. Not my style. I'm just sayin’ I miss you… I want you to be happy with the right guy.”

“And you don’t think Ben could be that guy?”

“I didn’t say that. But for people to really connect long term, they have to have things in common. He’s a priest Sam, and you’re not into the whole church and religion thing. Yeah, you both lead people into the light, but bullets and sermons aren’t exactly the same thing.”

I didn’t take offense because I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me. Max was just pragmatic.

“That life is behind me now. I’m not like A.J. I don’t want to go into private security or anything like that. I just want to start over. I don’t know what that looks like yet, but Ben… He’s a good guy, Max. He… listens.. and he just has this irritating way of getting me to open up and spill out my fucking Shakespearean tragedy of a life before I even realize it. He’s also a stubborn pain in the ass with levels of snark that are monumentally impressive.”

Max was quiet for a long moment. I could see the digital time on my phone push to the next minute before he said, “Look, just forget everythin’ I’ve just said. If you think you can handle this, and that Ben’s worth it, give it a shot. If it doesn’t work, eh, at least you tried. If it does work out for the two of you, your name can replace mine on the gilded weddin’ invitations my mama has planned for years. She’ll be happy with a son-in-law. She’d be happy with a daughter-in-law too, but I’m not ready to give her either."

I grinned. “You being bisexual just doubles her hope."

Max snorted. “She'll be waitin' and hopin; for awhile. I'm determined to enjoy the time I have here on this planet in as many ways as I possibly can, especially after this.” He gently tapped a finger from his right hand against the sling on his left arm. “And, as reluctant as I am to bless a serious union between you and someone… who I don’t know… life’s short, Sam. I can't be there with you right now, so if you're not goin’ to take your meds or go to therapy, havin’ someone in your life with a direct connection to the highest power might be the best-case scenario."

I sighed. "I don't know what I need, Max. Like you said, I should just find someone to fuck me stupid and then get back to operation fix-my-family."

"But?"

"I like the guy? When I'm with him, things just seem doable..."

Max whistled when I trailed off. "Shit, you've got it bad for him. Now I'm jealous."

"Shut up."

"It took you long enough."

"What did?"

"To open your heart to someone after Devlin."

"I was never in love with Devlin. You know that.”

Because I was, and still am, half in love with you, you jackass.

“And I didn't say that I was falling for Ben. I spent one night with the guy, al clothes on, just talking. The time we talked before that, he was saving me from a panic attack that almost set me on my ass in the funeral home. I don’t do Hallmark romance. Fuck, you don’t do them either, so why are you playing the queer fairy godmother card right now?"

As long winded as it was, my answer seemed hasty even to my ears.

Max laughed softly at me. For a moment, I couldn’t read his expression at all. "Sure, baby. Whatever you say. I hope Ben is worth it."

Discomfort made me bristly. "When did you become Mr. Sensitivity?"

“I'm the same guy I’ve always been,” Max said sagely. “One who has a very vested interest in knowin’ how this will all turn out."

"Why?"

"My business."

I rolled my eyes as Max stretched as best he could with just one arm extended overhead. “And on that note, I’m goin’ to take some aspirin and go to bed. Text me later after you’ve enjoyed my love gift for a little bit.”

I laughed, then flipped the blank screen off when Max ended the call before I could.

Fucking brat.

I closed out of the facetime screen and tried AJ again on a normal call. When it went to straight to voicemail, I didn’t bother texting. He’d see the missed calls on his cell. I knew his mornings could be hectic when he had a lot of meetings back-to-back, and he always returned my calls eventually. But now that my morning calls were all handled, there were no excuses left for me not to leave this room and face the music of the sexy, composer who’d started laying out the groundwork for an opus worthy of Mr. Holland himself.

Before I left the room, I quickly crossed myself like Troy had done last night at the bar.