Make It Right (7 page)

“Did I stutter?” Jack turned, his dark eyes pinning Max to the back of the couch.

He gulped. “Nope.”

Jack faced the TV again.

Another half hour and Max was home free, climbing into the truck with an empty cookie container. He tapped his phone on his chin and thought about checking on Lea. But he didn’t have her number. And if he did, he didn’t know what to say.

In her mind, what did he do exactly? Just give her a ride? Is that all she thought?

Because that visit took a lot out of him. He hated hospitals. The smell alone made him nauseous.

But Lea’s concern for her cousin reminded him of Alec’s mom. When he was in eighth grade, he and Alec were climbing trees. Max grabbed a weakened branch and it cracked. He fell with a crash of rotted wood and dried leaves right on his arm, breaking it.

Alec’s mom didn’t baby him, but she showed concern. She allowed him to whimper in pain, she gave him ice and wrapped it on the way to the hospital. Alec rubbed his shoulder to ease his aching muscles.

And when Max’s dad met them at the hospital, he thanked Alec’s mom and told her he had it from there. And then they sat in the emergency room while his dad joked about Alec’s mom “babying” Max.

He loved Alec’s mom, but he’d been sure not to get hurt in her presence again.

His brothers might have shown him some comfort if they’d all grown up in a different household, but under Jack Payton, showing concern was weak.

You took pain like a man, without complaining. Without flinching. And heaven forbid you cried.

But Lea didn’t know that.

Before he could change his mind he dialed Kat.

“Hey,” she answered cheerily. She’d never been that happy when they dated.

“You with Lea?” He thought it was a good chance, and he didn’t have her number.

Pause. “No. Why?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask for her number, to hear that musical voice and make sure she was all right. But he chickened out. “I wanted to check on her. And ask how Nick is.”

“Oh. Well that’s . . . nice of you.” Max fought to roll his eyes at her pause before
nice
. “Nick was released today and she’s doing well. And . . . she really appreciated what you did.”

That warmed him more than he thought it would, so he only grunted in response.

“You want me to tell her you called?” Kat asked.

Max knew he was chickening out before he said the words. “Nah, that’s okay.”

M
AX WATCHED
W
AY
NE
scarf down his dry food. It looked gross—little star-shaped kibbles the color of red clay—and smelled worse. Like if a cow and a tuna had a baby and then a monkey farted on it.

Wayne didn’t seem to mind. The foul-smelling food was probably gourmet compared to trash or flea-infested rats.

But just because his cat didn’t mind eating trash didn’t mean he had to, right? Max furrowed his brow and walked out to the living room, sinking down onto the couch and digging his laptop out of his bag.

He typed “homemade cat treats” in his Internet browser search bar and scanned the results. He clicked on a blog and scrolled through a woman’s mile-long blog post featuring a dozen professional-quality pictures of her long-haired cat in various positions, in some sort of soft light. The cat looked like it was fed sushi-grade tuna and brushed with a comb made of solid gold and extinct rhinoceros horns.

Max glanced over at Wayne, who had followed him and sat in front of him licking his paw and running it over his shredded ear.

“You’re just as good-looking to me,” Max grumbled. Wayne deserved as much as this stupid cat in the pictures with its pink sofa. So Max would make him special cat treats. He was a good cook. As the youngest boy, he’d been relegated to kitchen duty most of his life. He perfected his chocolate-chip cookie recipe—the secret was to melt the butter and let it sit until it came to room temperature before adding it to the batter—and these cat treats didn’t look hard to make.

Of course, on his rare Sunday off, he should have been writing a paper for macroeconomics—a class he hated with a passion—but his cat came first.

He grabbed a pen and jotted down the ingredients.

“Be back, buddy,” he said, bending down to scratch Wayne under the chin, his favorite spot.

It started raining on his way to the grocery store, and his wipers were so rotted on his old truck, he could barely see anything. He made a note to buy new ones. Luckily, he could do basic car maintenance himself. That was one thing he could thank his dad for.

He parked and ran inside the grocery store, then grabbed a small cart. He realized halfway down the first aisle that his had a bum wheel and it rattled over the tile floor so it sounded like he was dragging about four chains behind him. The Ghost of Nine Lives. Fucking cart. He always got a bad one.

But he was tired and wanted to get back, so he kept pushing his obnoxious cart and ignored the looks from other shoppers. He needed some essentials. His dad threw him a couple of bucks for working on the weekends, but most of it went to his “debt” for his dad paying for his school. And he made some spare change at his job at the rec center. He grabbed some milk, bread, chicken breasts and frozen vegetables. Then he ran through his list for Wayne’s treats and pushed through the aisles to gather what he needed. His cart held a random assortment of products—baby food, rice, eggs, and rice flour. The recipe called for parsley, which Max had at home. He used it to make chicken picatta, a recipe he gleaned from that Italian chick on the Food Network. He’d started watching her because she was hot and had great tits and always wore low-cut shirts. But then he started making her food and now he was a little bit in love with her.

But he did need salad ingredients, so he rattled his loud-ass cart over to the lettuce. A bag of chopped romaine went in the cart, then a container of grape tomatoes. Next were cucumbers. He grabbed one, threw it in and without looking up, reached for another. His hands closed around the width, but when he tugged, it didn’t budge. He glanced at the cucumber, only to see a hand on the other end. A rather dainty, feminine hand. His eyes followed the thin wrist with delicate, protruding bones peeking out from the cuff of a pale purple sweater, up to a shoulder covered in a cascade of dark hair until he met the dark irises of Lea. He hadn’t seen her since he dropped her off at her house two nights ago.

Her eyes, normally so round in her small face, were widened in surprise, as they both gripped opposite ends of a rather large cucumber.

“Umm . . .” Max mumbled. “Hey Lea.”

She blinked, those long lashes fluttering over flushed cheeks. “Hi Max.”

Neither moved, still gripping this cucumber between them like they were passing a baton in a race. A baton held at his crotch, which sorted his mind into one track. And because Lea made all his good sense and flirting knowledge fly out the window, he resorted to teasing her. In the library, he’d noticed the teasing coaxed Lea out of her shell. Instead of ignoring him or clamming up, she focused all that energy on him, even if it was to blast his ego to bits.

“You want this one?” He jiggled his hand, and her arm vibrated with the movement. His lip twitched involuntarily. “It’s kind of big. You sure you don’t want something smaller?”

One slow blink, and then those dark eyes flashed and narrowed. Her lips twisted in a wicked smile. “Oh, I like them big. Just so many more uses for them when there’s some girth, you know?”

For fuck’s sake. That smile. Those red lips, now wet from one swipe of her pink tongue. And he was hard. In a grocery-store produce aisle. While holding a cucumber.

Could he get arrested for that?

“Oh, of course, but do you know what to do with one this big? I mean, it can be a lot to handle. You don’t want to waste any of it.”

That tongue peeked out again. “Oh, I never waste cucumbers. I make them last a loooong time.” She drew out the word, curling her tongue on her upper teeth on the
l
and emphasizing the shape of her mouth on the
oooo
. And then she chuckled, a deep sound that traipsed along his spine like fingers. “I’m not sure you’re used to cucumbers this big, so why don’t I just take this one? Hmmm?”

She tugged. And he tugged back. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Trust me, doll, I know exactly what to do with a big cucumber.”

And that’s when Lea lost it. She let go of the cucumber, threw her head back, shiny dark hair flying, and howled in laughter. She had a deep, husky laugh that settled into his gut like a cup of hot chocolate. He wanted to drink and drink and drink. Because he loved that he could make her laugh, especially in light of what had happened to her cousin.

When her laugh subsided, she eyed the cucumber in his hand and shrugged, giggles still escaping from her lips. “You can have that cucumber. There are plenty other big ones I can use.”

Then she winked.

And he wondered if he had stepped into some alternate universe and this was a porno, because he wanted to say,
the only big cucumber you’ll be using is mine
, and grab her and devour her mouth. But that was corny, and creepy and probably illegal in twenty-four states. So instead he threw his cucumber in his cart and bit the inside of his cheek.

Lea carted another cucumber—which was smaller than the one he had, he noted with a silent grunt—and looked at his cart.

“Baby food?” She raised her eyebrows.

He looked down at his cart. “Oh, uh, that’s for Wayne.”

She blinked. Then shook her head. “You’re feeding your cat baby food?”

“Well, kind of? I’m, um, making him cat treats.” Was that a bad thing to confess to a girl you wanted? At least his boner had gone down.

“What?”

He took a deep breath and plunged in. “Well I saw pictures of these fancy cats on the Internet with homemade food and thought, why can’t Wayne have that? Just because he’s probably eaten junk all his life and is okay eating junk doesn’t mean he has to. So, I’m making him some treats.”

Her lips softened, the smirk morphing into a smile. She cocked her head and said quietly, “You’re making your cat treats.”

He nodded. Didn’t he just say that?

She peeked into his cart again. “What else goes in the treats?”

He pointed to the ingredients as he listed them. “Well, I have some ingredients at home already, like eggs, water, oil and parsley. So I bought rice and baby food and some rice flour. The recipe said it makes a thick paste and then I spread it on a pan, bake it, and then cut it into bite-sized pieces. They are chewy treats, which I thought would be good for him. He eats dry food, which I read is best to control tartar. But I want to give him a treat, you know?”

Lea stared at him. Fuck, he was rambling like a nut job about his cat.

“Tess eats dry cat food, too. I give her canned tuna as a treat. She hears the drawer open where I keep the can opener and comes running.”

The gears in his head clicked into place. “You have a cat, too?”

“Well, at home. Not at my apartment because Danica is allergic. I miss her though. She’s a little tortoiseshell I got at the shelter. Her mom was brought in pregnant so she was born there and I picked her out as a kitten. She’s completely kooky. But I love her.”

He smiled. “Tess?”

“From
Tess of the d’Ubervilles
. By Thomas Hardy. One of my favorite books.”

It didn’t ring a bell. He shook his head. “Never read it.”

She laughed. “Not everyone is a Hardy fan. But I like him.”

“I’ll have to look him up, I guess.” He didn’t read much, but if it was her favorite book, maybe he could make an effort.

She pursed her lips. “Well, he died in 1928.”

Oh. “Oh, so, this is an old book?”

She giggled. “Yeah, the language can be hard to get through.”

Well, fuck that.

“So, uh, I called Kat last night to ask about you . . .”

Lea’s lips quirked but she didn’t say a word.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know, but you gave me a look.”

She widened those eyes, all innocence. “What look?”

He didn’t answer, so she laughed. “Why didn’t you ask Kat for my number?”

“I didn’t want to be pushy.”

She studied his face. “Oh.”

“So, how are you doing? And Nick?”

“Nick was released yesterday. I’m picking up some food to take over to him now. And I’m okay. Glad he’s on the way to recovery now.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

She didn’t look away, those eyes boring into him until he squirmed. “What?”

Lea pursed her lips. “Just trying to figure out which Max is the real one.”

The real one? “I don’t understand.”

“The cocky flirt or the guy who drives me to the hospital and warms me with his blanket.”

He still couldn’t tell what exactly that meant to her. “Can’t I be both?”

She cocked her head. “I guess you can.” Then she lowered her gaze to the floor. “Thanks again. For the ride to the hospital. And for taking me home.”

“Anytime,” he said softly.

Lea grabbed her cart. “Well, I need to run. Talk to you soon.”

She pushed away, her cart running nice and smooth, unlike his. Her limp was slightly more pronounced, and he wondered if her injury was affected by the cold, rainy weather.

He pushed his cart to the checkout and made his purchases.

The rain let up slightly on the way home. He gripped the steering wheel and thought about what Lea had said. He knew he was a flirt. Always had been. But that caring guy? A boyfriend? Nah, he’d never really been that.

With Lea he’d slotted into that role easily. She needed a ride, he drove. She needed a pep talk, he gave it. She was cold, he provided a blanket.

But did she see him as much more than a joke? The thought irked him. Normally he didn’t care. He wasn’t looking for anything serious so he didn’t want the girl getting any ideas. But Lea thinking he wasn’t more than a crass jock didn’t sit well with him. It slid under his skin like a splinter.

Did he want to be more for her? And most important, could he be?

Chapter 7

L
EA KNOCKED ON
Nick’s door, a plastic grocery bag clutched in her hand. He lived in the on-campus apartments Kat had last year. There were two bedrooms with two guys in each room and all four of them shared a common room.

Shuffling sounded on the other side and then the door swung open. Trish smiled wide. “Hey.”

Lea took a step inside and hugged her friend. “How’s everyone doing?”

Trish’s smile faded slightly. “Okay.”

That was a loaded word.

Nick sat on the couch, casted arm in his lap, wearing sweatpants, thick socks, and a thin white undershirt. “Hey you,” Lea said walking over to ruffle his hair. He looked up at her and she was pleased to see the bruises had faded so they weren’t as angry anymore.

She held up the bag. “Got you a treat.”

His eyes brightened and a smile flashed. “What am I, a dog?”

“Have you been a good boy?”

“I chased the mail truck and got hit by a car.”

Trish sank down beside him and nudged his shoulder gently. “That’s not funny.”

He nudged back. “Really? I thought it was. Lea’s the tiebreaker.”

She scrunched her nose. “Not funny.”

Nick huffed in exasperation. “I need a more diverse sample size.”

Lea rolled her eyes. “Do you want your ice-cream sandwiches?”

He stuck out his tongue and panted like a dog.

Lea laughed and dropped the bag on his lap. “Here ya go, Rover.”

He grinned as he dug into the box and ripped open a wrapper. He took a huge bite and moaned, his head falling onto the back of the couch. “So if I get beat up, it means ice cream delivery service.”

“It’s not worth it,” Lea said.

He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, you’re right. Arm itches like a bitch.”

“Bitches itch?” Trish said. “I never understood that saying.”

“Well female dogs are bitches and—”

“Enough with the dog stuff, Nick,” Lea threatened. “Or I take the sandwiches.”

He glared at her as he took another bite and hunched over his box. But he stopped talking.

“You need anything else?” Lea asked Trish. “I should have called before I left the store, but I saw these ice-cream sandwiches and grabbed them because they made me think of Nick.”

“Nah, we’re good.” Trish smiled.

“So you’re healing all right?” Lea asked.

Nick shrugged. “I guess so. I got this cast for another month or so and it’s awkward as hell.”

She hated to see him in pain and irritated. They’d been best friends as kids, playing cops and robbers in his parents’ treehouse.

“I wish there was something I could do,” Lea said.

Nick tapped his fingers on his knee. “You know, I was thinking about that, actually.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “What if you called Jackie and asked her to help you with some sort of self-defense class on campus?”

Jackie Banner was Lea’s karate instructor. Lea had been a martial student of hers since she was five. She loved everything about it—the discipline, the feel of the crisp fabric of the
gi
on her skin, the firm commands of her instructor.

And it was the one activity she could maintain after her injury. It focused her and she was able to participate and block out the pain in her leg with the moves, which were like instinct. Jackie also taught her how to alter them to relieve the muscles in her leg.

She hadn’t been able to attend a class in years but she kept in contact with Jackie and visited her at the dojo sometimes.

Lea hummed. “I guess it’s worth a shot. I’m sure once she hears about the assaults, she’d be willing to volunteer her time.”

“I think it’s a unique situation. I mean, these are guys but they aren’t attacking just women. I think only one was a woman, right?”

Trish nodded. “Yep, mid–thirties, in town.”

“Right,” Nick said. “So these are a group of guys, attacking men and woman and, so far, this isn’t a sexual-assault situation. This is an I’m-going-to-beat-the-shit-out-of-you-and-steal-your-shit situation.”

Lea’s mind whirled as she thought of all the ways she and Jackie could teach this class. “That’s a good point. We’ll have to make sure the class reflects this specific situation.”

Nick picked at a loose thread in the couch cushion. “I mean, this is no joke. And I’m worried they’re gonna . . . take it too far and really hurt someone.”

“You were really hurt—”

Nick’s eyes shot up at Lea, his brow furrowed, blue eyes flashing. “Yeah, and I got away. What if someone else doesn’t get away?”

Lea sucked her lips between her teeth because yes, she did know what he meant. She just didn’t want to think about it. Especially when she thought about that person being Nick.

She didn’t talk about how much worse it could have been and Nick didn’t either, but she knew they were both thinking it. And she knew Trish was, too, because she practically trembled on the couch right now, looking at Nick with red, wet eyes.

And then Nick broke eye contact with Lea and looked at his girlfriend. He smiled weakly. “Quit looking at me like that. Eat an ice-cream sandwich.”

“But Nick—”

“I’m here and you’re here and Lea’s here and it’s all okay.”

Trish blinked rapidly.

“Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.” Then she stood. “I’m going to run and grab a soda from the machine. You two want anything?”

Lea and Nick shook their heads.

When Trish left, Nick crumpled his wrapper. “Thanks again, for the treats.”

“You did the same for me after . . . the accident.”

Nick smiled and she did the same, remembering when he brought her packs of Starburst and she picked out the orange and pink, so he had to eat the yellow and red.

His smile dimmed. “So, I want to talk to you about something. About Max.”

His name sent a shiver down her spine and warmed her limbs. She’d never flirted like that in her life, joking about a cucumber’s girth. And the man was making treats for his cat. It warmed her inner cat-lady’s heart. Lea exhaled and focused on her cousin. “Look, Nick, he just offered me a ride—“

Nick held up his hand, silencing her. “I know. I actually want to apologize for getting on your case about him. I . . . he’s not a bad guy. He gave you a ride to the hospital to see me and I have to give him credit for that. And I know you can handle yourself. In fact, if anyone can handle Max Payton, it’s probably you.”

She pursed her lips, and thought about Max’s soothing voice, his blanket, his hand on the small of her back. The way he rambled on about making cat treats. She looked down at her hands in her lap. “Whatever, we’re just friends . . . I guess.”

Nick nodded. “Okay, but I’m sorry. Because you’re right, people can change. Or they might not really be who we think they are.”

L
EA HADN’T BEEN
home for five minutes from Nick’s place when her doorbell rang. She peered through the peephole and then laughed when staring back at her was the close-up of one big, dark eyeball.

She opened the door. “Hey, Dad.”

“La-la,” he said in greeting, leaning in to give her a wet kiss on the cheek, his ever-present stubble scratching her skin. His familiar aftershave conjured up sleepy nights in front of their fireplace, a half-finished blanket over her father’s knees as his crotchet hook flipped and twisted in a blur.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and soaked him in, love and comfort and safety in a five-foot-ten pudgy package. His nickname, bestowed on her when she called herself La-la as a toddler because she couldn’t pronounce
Lea
, settled her.

He ran a hand down the sheet of hair on her back. “How’s my girl?” he said, his lips moving at her temple.

She leaned back in his embrace. “Great, now that you decided to surprise me.”

He hiked the nylon straps of his bulging cloth bag higher on his shoulder, then grabbed a grocery bag she hadn’t noticed from off her stoop. “Well, let me in, then. We’re letting the cold in.”

She moved out of the way as he walked past her and shut the door of her townhome behind him. “So what’s the occasion?”

“Just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop off some things. And I wanted to see your smiling face.”

Lea ducked her head to hide her blush. There’d been years when she was a teenager that she hadn’t smiled much. Answered her parents with grunts or rude answers. But thankfully, she’d outgrown the insecurities that came with her new body and mended her relationship with her parents. Her father never let her forget how grateful he was they were close again. “You don’t have to buy me groceries. I just went to the grocery store.”

He dropped the bag on her island counter. “I know, but I worry my La-la doesn’t keep herself fed well. Look at you. So skinny.”

“I’m not that skinny.”

He sniffed and pulled out a pie. An entire shoofly pie. Her favorite.

“Dad . . .”

“Your mother said the ingredients were on sale.”

“Oh really? Imagine that, just the ingredients for shoofly pie on sale.”

His lips twitched.

“You’re such a liar,” she said, opening up her flatware drawer to pull out utensils. She cut them each a generous slice, then she sat down on a stool at her island to eat. Her dad stood with his back to the counter, plate below his chin.

As a kid, she’d fallen in love with the sweet, sugary Amish concoction when they visited relatives in Pennsylvania. The thick, wet molasses filler coated her tongue and the dry sugar topping clung to her lips. This pie was laughing cousins and napping under a maple tree and playing tag with two normal legs.

And that’s when she realized the date.

“Thank you for the pie, but you didn’t have to do this,” she said, the mass of calories now lying in her gut like sludge.

He placed his plate on the counter. The fork clattered on the blue ceramic. “I know,” he said quietly. “But I also wanted to ask about Nick.”

Her aunt and uncle had visited yesterday and wanted to take Nick home, but he’d refused, worried about getting behind on assignments.

Lea cringed. “You guys are going to smother him.”

“I know, but I told your aunt and uncle I’d at least check in.”

Lea sighed. “I just left there, actually. He’s okay. In good spirits. And probably sick from eating all the ice-cream sandwiches I bought.”

Her dad laughed. “He probably thinks they have magical healing powers.”

Lea smiled.

“So how are you with everything that happened?”

Lea bit her lip and chasing a crumb around her plate. “I’m okay, I guess. It hurt to see him like that. And I’m just thankful it wasn’t worse.”

She looked at her father, pleading silently to change the subject. She wanted to talk about something else. Because she wanted a reprieve before she was alone again, worrying over Nick.

And as always, her dad understood her silence. He bent to his bag sitting at his feet and pulled out a blue-and-brown blanket, crocheted in a chevron pattern. “Here, this is to match your couch pillows.”

She and Danica had had a great time shopping at Pier 1 to decorate their apartment, because they didn’t want it to look like just any college crash pad. Although Danica had tried to buy a pillow with a pattern that looked like a giant vulva.

“Oh Dad,” she said, reaching out her hand to feel the worsted-weight yarn he always used, a mix of merino wool, mohair and silk. “I have like twenty blankets already.”

“I know, but one can always use more blankets.”

She laughed softly, cradling the softness and rubbing her chin over it. “True. This one is beautiful. I love the colors and pattern.” She hopped over her stool, landing none too gracefully on her bad leg, before walking to her couch and laying it over the back. She ran her fingers over the ridges as her father’s scent closed in behind her.

“How do you feel?”

That meant—how’s your leg? What’s your pain level? She should have known her father would make an unexpected visit on the anniversary of the day her body became less than perfect. But for years, he hadn’t been able to mention it, or get close to her, or give her blankets. She’d been an angry teenager. And she knew that he was grateful every day she’d come back from that and learned a little self-acceptance.

But not happier than she.

“I feel okay,” she answered noncommittally, knowing he’d let it go. “You want something to drink? Coffee?”

He shook his head. “No, I want to sit down and talk with my daughter.”

She sighed.

“Oh, don’t act like it’s torture to talk to your father.”

She rolled her eyes and rounded the couch to sit. Her father claimed a recliner nearby, rocking gently, each forward motion a squeak.

“Your mother sends her love.”

“Please tell her the same.”

He paused. “So you were okay, going to the hospital?”

He knew the sight of Nick injured would slay her.

“It was okay. A friend offered me a ride, and he was really sweet about it.”

Her father’s face cleared. “Oh?”

“He lives with Kat’s boyfriend.”

“What’s his name?”

Lea hesitated. “Max Payton.”

He furrowed his brow and tapped his chin, like he was searching his internal Rolodex.

“Dad—”

“Is he nice?”

“I don’t—”

“What’s his major?”

“Um—”

“I want to look out for you, especially after that”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“asshole Jason.”

Lea rolled her eyes. First, because her father still couldn’t swear like a normal adult, and second, because he acted like a young man offering a ride was some form of courting. At least the name Jason barely made her wince anymore. Her dad opened his mouth again and as much as she loved her dad, she didn’t want to hear what he said next, so she held up a hand to cut him off.

“
He gave me a ride
, Dad. That’s it. We’re not getting married or even dating. And I’m a big girl now. So even if I did decide to date him in some alternate universe, that’s my decision.”

Her father blinked, wrinkled eyelids closing over wet eyes. Then he nodded. “You’re right as always, La-la. When did you get so wise?”

“I’m not wise.”

“Could have fooled me with all that talk, telling your old man what’s what.”