Chapter 28
*Jiselle*
I pushed through Max’s door without a second thought, barely noticing that it hadn’t even been locked.
For a second, I thought I’d find Eva, pacing or sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for answers, waiting to see if he was okay.
But it wasn’t her.
It was just him.
And moon goddess, I almost wished it hadn’t been.
Max sat on his bed, his head tipped against the wall, his eyes closed as if even the act of keeping them open hurt.
The image of him shattered me.
His face was a mess of bruises, his jaw swollen and his bottom lip split open, dried blood crusting at the edges. The side of his cheekbone looked deeply cut, like someone had dug something into his skin and dragged. His knuckles were torn, like he had punched something over and over again, and his clothes-
Blood.
So much fucking blood.
His shirt was ripped in places, his torso barely covered by the fabric, and where it did cling, it was soaked through. Dark, red stains smeared along his chest, his arms, his sides. The cuts were angry, some deep, some only surface wounds, but they were everywhere.
I sucked in a breath, a strangled sob ripping from my throat before I could stop it.
Max’s head snapped up, his body tensing instantly. His eyes flashed, alert for a second before they landed on me.
And then he winced.
The sight of that–of him hurting, of him barely able to sit up straight, of him looking like someone had tried to break him apart and failed–shattered me even more.
Before I could stop myself, I moved.
I didn’t think. I didn’t pause. I didn’t consider if I should. I just ran to him.
I threw myself straight at him, my arms wrapping around his battered body, holding onto him like I could put him back together.
Max winced sharply, his muscles flinching under my grip, and I pulled back immediately, panicked. Shit. I hurt him.
“Shit–I’m so sorry,” I gasped, my hands hovering like I wanted to touch him but couldn‘
Chapter 28
- t.
But Max didn’t let me go.
His arms–strong despite how broken he looked–held me firm.
“Don’t be,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, raw, strained. “I need this.”
He buried his face in the crook of my neck, taking a deep inhale, his body shuddering slightly against mine.
“Goddess, I missed this,” he whispered.
More of my tears spilled over.
I pulled back just enough to look at him again, my hands hovering over his ruined face, not touching, but aching to.
“What did they do to you?” My voice broke.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze heavy–lidded and exhausted, but still, he smiled.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“Don’t.” My voice wavered, thicker now, the weight of the past few days crushing down on me. “Don’t pretend like you’re okay. You’re not.”
His fingers brushed my cheek, my hair, his touch so soft despite how damaged he was.
“I’m okay now.”
A broken sob slipped out as I cupped his face, ignoring the warm stickiness of blood on his skin.
“This is because of me,” I whispered. “They kept you down there because of me.”
His hands tightened around me instantly, his grip unwavering.
“Worth it,” he murmured, no hesitation.
I let out a shaky breath, my eyes burning, my chest aching.
We stayed like that for a long moment as the significance of what had been done to
him, what he had suffered, what he had endured to protect me settling into the space
between us.
Then, finally, I moved.
“Come on,” I said, my voice still tight, still fragile. “You need to get cleaned up.”
Max let me pull him to his feet, his body slow, his movements stiff with pain.
He let me guide him to the bathroom, and when I reached for his ruined shirt, he let me pull it over his head. The fabric stuck in places, peeling away from open wounds, and I winced for him.
He barely reacted.
I turned on the shower, adjusting the water until it was warm but not hot, knowing his
Chapter 28
skin was too raw, too torn for heat.
“Sit,” I murmured, helping him lower onto the closed lid of the toilet while I grabbed a clean towel.
He reached for me, his bloody, bruised hand wrapping around mine and pulled me just slightly closer.
His thumb brushed over my knuckles as he looked up at me, his stormy gray eyes unreadable.
“I’m keeping you,” he murmured, his voice rough.
I blinked, my breath catching. “What?”
He pulled my hand to his lips, pressing the gentlest kiss against my fingers.
“I’m never going to give you up,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, raw with emotion, as his lips brushed against my knuckles. “Because I love you.”
The world stopped.
The air felt thick, the sound of water hitting the tile suddenly deafening.
Max loved me.
The words wrapped around me, sinking in, but my mind refused to fully process them.
No one had ever told me that before–not outside of my family, not in a way that felt
like this.
I stared at him, stunned, shaken, frozen in place, my fingers still gently wiping away the remnants of blood from his chest. His stormy gray eyes watched me carefully, waiting for something–anything.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know how to breathe.
But he didn’t seem to mind that I couldn’t respond.
His grip tightened slightly, his thumb running along my wrist, grounding me in his warmth and presence.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, as if he had already accepted that I wouldn’t. “I don’t need that. I just… needed you to know.”
My throat tightened.
He wasn’t asking for anything. He wasn’t demanding anything. He was just giving.
And I had never felt more undeserving of something in my life.
“I need you to be okay,” I admitted softy, pecking his lips briefly. “So please let me help
you.”
I guided him to the shower now that the water was just right, and stepped in behind him fully clothed. I didn’t care that I was going to be soaked too. I just needed him okay.
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Chapter 28
He winced as the water ran down his body, bit eventually relaxed as blood and dirt ebbed down the drain. I got a better look at the size and depths of the wounds, my stomach twisting as I noticed most were inflicted by silver, which would take days to heal.
“Okay,” I mumbled, more to myself than him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
I met his eyes before doing my best to help him get cleaned. I let him hold onto my shoulder and helped him shrug out of his pants. I washed the remnants of murk from his light brown hair and massaged the knots from his joints under the warm water.
By the time I was done, he didn’t look healthy, but he looked better.
Max held my chin, tilting my head up to meet his eyes again, and I saw no
disappointment for me not returning his words. In fact, he looked at me as if I had said it a million times over.
He pulled me forward, his fingers sliding to the back of my neck, and his lips crashed into mine.
The kiss was hard, rough and unfiltered, and I wasn’t ready for it. His desperation poured into me, his need for me evident in every move.
I kissed him back, my hands gripping his shoulders, careful of the wounds, careful of his bruises, careful not to completely break apart.
But when he pulled away, the promise and intensity in his eyes made me want to bury myself in a hole somewhere and never come out. I didn’t deserve this wonderful man who… loved me. I didn’t deserve him one bit.
Because for just a few seconds during that kiss, my mind had wandered.
To the man down the hall, with calculated, icy blue eyes.
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