Chapter Sixty-Eight Max
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Max
I learned to leave love out of my vocabulary. I didn’t chase it. I didn’t want it taking up space in my life again. I had everything I needed.
Then Gemma blazed in and derailed all of it.
Now, after seeing how terrified she is to let anyone in… All I want is to love her back to life, back to herself, back to believing she deserves to be cherished so completely. But I can’t.
For the first time in my life, I finally understand what the songs and poems are about. What drives men to madness.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to believe in love again. It was that I had been waiting my whole life to find the woman worth giving it to.
And now I’ve lost her.
“Clear. You can come through, sir.” The gentleman at airport security ushers me through.
My steps feel as heavy as my heart.
I slip my hand in my pocket, double-checking my passport and ticket are together. I collect my bag and head through the bustling terminal to my gate.
Heathrow Airport is chaotic, teeming with travelers.
An announcement echoes through the departure lounge. “Final boarding call for British Airways flight two-seven-eight to New York, gate thirty-three.”
It’s my flight.
I adjust the strap of my carry-on and head toward the gate. I’m in the worst mood.
Last night can’t be how it ends—I can’t erase the image of her, bereft, from my mind. Those sad green eyes will haunt me.
My phone feels like a dead weight in my pocket. Ten missed calls. Nine unanswered texts. The fact that she refuses to speak to me hurts like hell.
How do you convince yourself it’s time to walk away from the person you love? That you need to accept that they aren’t coming back?
Even now, as I’m about to put an ocean between us, I’m not sure I have the strength to admit it.
After a short walk, my gate comes into view and I see there’s still a queue of passengers waiting to board. Families headed on holiday, people returning home, workers checking their emails—life just… goes on.
I’m about fifty meters away when I hear a shouting behind me, and it’s growing louder.
“Ma’am, you cannot pass without proper documentation—”
“I’m telling you, my brother’s in there!”
Hold on. I know that voice.
Anna.
I turn and jog back into the terminal, my eyes scanning the crowd. Sure enough, about a hundred meters away, she’s in the middle of a full-blown altercation with airport security.
She’s yelling and swinging her handbag around like a mad woman.
What the fuck is she doing?
She spots me from a distance.
“For Christ’s sake, he’s right there. MAX! Maxwell Browne, you posh prick!”
“Ma’am, if you don’t have a boarding pass—”
“I don’t need a bloody boarding pass!” she shouts. “I need to stop my emotionally constipated brother from messing up his entire life!”
And that’s when I see it. A blonde flash in my peripheral vision, darting around security unnoticed while Anna carries on behaving like a complete nutter.
Gemma.
She’s running.
“Max!” she calls, her eyes scanning wildly. “Max!”
Behind her, Anna makes a break for it, dodging security’s grasp and bolts full speed out of the terminal.
But I’m frozen. Because she’s here.
Face streaked with tears, breathing hard. Her hair is unruly and—is she wearing two right shoes?
My bag drops to the floor with a heavy thud.
She doesn’t slow down.
“Gemma!” I call, my body moving before my mind catches up. “Gemma!”
Her eyes lock on mine and a jagged sob breaks loose as we book it toward each other.
I stop just a few feet away, but she doesn’t. She launches herself at me, full speed.
I catch her, my arms closing around her as she wraps her legs around my waist, burying her face in my neck.
“You can’t leave,” she murmurs against my skin. “You can’t just leave,” she pleads.
I’m holding her so damn tight, I’m probably crushing her, but I can’t loosen my grip. I can’t let her slip away.
“I’m not letting you go,” I promise, my voice breaking.
She pulls back, cradling my face in her hands. “I’m an idiot. I’m such a bloody idiot—”
I lower her to the floor gently and she doesn’t let go.
“No. No, you’re not, sweetheart,” I say, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“I’m so scared I won’t be good enough for you,” she whispers, her eyes closing.
“Do you even know me, Max? You see the confident Gemma who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to take it.
But that’s not all of me.” She peers up at me.
“I’ve pushed people away because they couldn’t handle what I need.
I need to feel alive. I need someone who meets my intensity and doesn’t make me feel like a freak for wanting more. ”
“I love every version of who you are. I’ve seen your intense side and I’ve seen your soft side. Both are real and both are beautiful. They’re what make you, you.” I search her eyes. “You feel this?” I take her hand and place it over my heart. “You feel that?”
She nods.
“That’s for you. That’s what you do,” I tell her. “You’re not just good for me. You’re the reason my heart remembers how to beat properly.”
Her breath hitches. “Max…”
“I choose you, Gemma. Always.”
“I choose you too,” she whispers.
Her thumbs brush across my cheekbones. “I should have let you explain. I should have trusted you. But I saw her hands on you and I just…”
“You always run,” I say, pressing my forehead to hers. “You can’t run, baby. You have to talk to me.”
“I know.” Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. “I’ve spent years running, but I can’t anymore… you’re the first person who’s ever made me want to stay.”
I swallow thickly.
“I love you,” she says, her voice quiet. “I love you so much.”
I take her hand and gently kiss the back of it. “Then let me love you back. Properly.”
She nods and rises to her toes. I don’t wait. I meet her in the middle, slamming my mouth against hers.
The airport intercom crackles above us. “This is a final boarding call for Mr. Browne on British Airways flight two-seven-eight to New York, departing from gate thirty-three. Aircraft is ready for departure.”
We break apart, chests heaving, pupils dilated.
“They’re waiting for you,” she says.
“Let them wait,” I say, cupping her face in my hands. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But your flight—” she starts.
“Fuck the flight.”
“Max, your job—”
“I’m not going. I told you, I’ll figure it out.”
“Will Grayson be pissed?” she asks, wincing.
“Livid,” I confirm.
She blows out a long breath, rubbing the back of her neck. “Max—”
“I’m staying.”
“I might be a bad girlfriend.”
“You won’t be,” I say without hesitation.
“I don’t ever want children.”
“I don’t either,” I return quickly.
“I’m emotionally unpredictable. I panic. I might shut down.”
“I know.”
“I’ll probably push you away if things get hard,” she warns.
“I’ll still be here.”
“I don’t cook. I’ll forget anniversaries,” she says.
“I’ll cook and remember important dates for the both of us.”
She lifts her chin. “I’ll never give up my work.”
“I would never ask you to.”
“I might get overwhelmed at times.”
I step closer, cupping her jaw. “I’m not going anywhere, Gemma. You’re mine.”
The announcement repeats.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
Her face splits into a grin. “What happens now?”
“Now,” I say, pulling her closer. “We go home, and I show you exactly how much I’ve missed you.”