Chapter 28 Bears Can Be Dangerous
Bears Can Be Dangerous
Eli
It’s Thursday, and on a normal day, I’d be headed into the office. But since Max is here, and I want to make sure she has all the girl stuff she needs for this weekend, I decided to take her on a little shopping trip. Like playing sick to stay home from school.
We’re driving to the city, the sun filtering through the pines and Max is quiet beside me, curled up in her seat, scrolling her phone.
I glance at her, and some strange part of me rests easier when she’s near.
Even if it’s just sitting next to me in this truck, not saying a word.
Or when she’s sleeping yards away on the other side of my house.
I like her there.
I like her with me.
I clear my throat, my voice a little rougher than I mean it to be. “I want to stop by my mom’s on the way. She’s got a few things that need fixing. Won’t take long.”
Max looks up from her phone. “I like your mom.”
I glance her way, a slow smirk pulling at my lips. “Yeah? Pretty sure she likes you too.”
And she does. My mother has never been the type of woman who believes no one is good enough for her sons. She doesn't measure people that way. She has always used a simpler metric: whether someone makes us sink or makes us soar—whether they pull out our best, or our worst.
Vanessa definitely made Elliot worse, and initially, my mother couldn’t stand to be around her after what she did.
But I can't quite grasp why her attitude toward Vanessa seems to have softened lately.
Perhaps I'm simply not around enough to understand how she was able to forgive so easily.
I'm trying not to ruin her good spirits, so I smile through the updates she gives me about my brother and avoid as many conversations about them as possible.
Especially now that there’s a baby on the way.
That is going to be one big-head ass baby.
My father wasn’t around much. We didn’t have a typical father-son relationship; he never made it to my debate matches or Black History Bee competitions. But whenever he was home, we talked.
He was a business consultant who traveled the world solving supply chain issues.
He’d tell me about how wasteful these companies were and how his solutions made a global impact.
That’s where my passion for sustainability started.
My dad didn’t teach me about the birds and the bees, but he taught me what it meant to protect their habitats.
Elliot wasn’t really interested, not the way I was.
But still, it didn’t stop us from being inseparable.
When my father was away, it was the three of us—my mother, Elliot, and me—against the world.
We were best friends in our own unique way.
He had the confidence and swagger, I had the grades.
Yet, our competition wasn't destructive.
We constantly challenged each other, making us both sharper and better.
And while the competition between me and my brother has never been over a woman, it feels like he’s choosing a side because of one. Like he’s choosing to keep our family fractured because he can’t see the truth about the woman he’s climbed into bed with.
I glance over again and smile to myself.
Because none of that seems to matter with her here.
I’m better when Max is around. Even when she’s clear across the house, tucked away in the guest wing, there’s this…
settling that happens in me. Like something finally clicks into place.
And I hate how much I’ve started to depend on it.
How I wake up already expecting that feeling to be there.
What if I stopped assuming I already knew how this ends? Stopped reaching for self-preservation like it’s the only move I know. What if I didn’t manage the fallout before it ever happened, and didn’t preemptively let her go?
What if I slowed down and let myself fall for her without mapping the escape route first? What if—just once—I was vulnerable enough to ask her to stay? To be my partner, not just in this pitch. Not just in the quiet, private spaces we keep to ourselves.
I want to hear her call me her Bear. Again.
And again.
For as long as we both—
Shit.
That thought alone should scare the hell out of me.
But it doesn’t.
It thrills me.
I glance over at her, eyes glued to whatever’s lighting up her phone. “What are you looking at? What’s got you so focused?”
“Working on a little project for my boss’s app,” she says casually, not offering another detail. Which only makes me more curious.
“How’d you get into tech?”
I leave out the part where I’ve practically stalked her socials and LinkedIn like a man possessed.
The woman’s got degrees and certifications in things I can’t even pronounce.
Tech ninja. Paralegal. Hell, probably could moonlight as an assassin if she wanted to. The combination almost makes me laugh.
“Growing up, I wasn’t drawn to the same toys other girls were.
I got more satisfaction out of taking things apart—cracking them open, rebuilding them just to understand what made them work.
That curiosity stuck. It pushed me toward tech, toward the idea that systems could be reimagined, repurposed.
Used for bigger things like causes and cures. ”
“Wow,” I say, and it isn’t filler or politeness. It lands honest. Earned.
“Why are you so content with the way you live when it comes to women?”
I guess it’s her turn to be curious.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She shrugs, thinking it through out loud.
“I don’t know. You move like this sensual superhero sent to fill women up like a human charging station, and you don’t seem bothered if feelings get involved.
” A pause. “You have to understand—coming from someone obsessed with how things work—you’ve got me completely confused. ”
I smile, because honestly? I confuse myself more often than I’d like to admit.
“I’m not some jilted gigolo,” I say. “Despite what my mother and Drake would tell you. I’m simple in that I know myself.
I know what I like. I don’t deviate from that.
I’m complex in that I feel everything deeply—but I don’t hold people hostage to my feelings or my needs.
” I glance at her, reaching over and placing my hand on her thigh—the connection sparking and settling.
“And I’m passionate in that I believe every woman who has the privilege to share space with me should leave having gained something unforgettable. ”
I can hear her eyebrow lift. “Every woman who has the privilege to share space with you?”
I smile, but there’s no ego in it. “I protect my peace and my energy harder than you’d believe. I don’t let anyone close who doesn’t carry the same intention. And I can usually tell pretty quickly when a woman won’t…fit.”
“And me?” she asks softly. “Do I fit?”
I shake my head. “Not even a little.”
Her mouth curves. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s the worst part,” I admit. “Because knowing someone doesn’t fit is usually what keeps me detached and able to walk away from a beautiful woman without losing myself.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “First of all, I said beautiful. Second—keep up, Lil Mama.”
“Sorry,” she says lightly. “You were saying? About me being beautiful.”
I meet her gaze and decide to be honest. One week. I’ll share my full truth with her.
“You’re someone I never saw coming,” I say. “You frustrate me. You fuel me. You unsettle things I thought were locked down.” A beat. “And maybe I’ve got more tech nerd in me than I realized, because Maxine fucking Palmer—I want to take it apart. Understand it. Interrogate why you do this to me.”
I don’t say the rest.
That a week won’t be enough.
But I don’t believe in holding people hostage to my need. I won’t make her responsible for what I want or what I feel. So I give her the space to leave. I’ll release her when the time comes.
It’s the only way this works.
It’s the only way I don’t start expecting more. Hoping for more. Letting myself reach for something I already know I can’t keep.
“Did you always want to work for a start-up?” I ask.
She smirks. “No. Originally, I thought I wanted to work for Timantha’s start-up because I figured I’d get hooked up with a billionaire bad boy or something.”
I arch a brow. “And that’s no longer the case?”
I know the answer. I just want to hear her say it.
“No. I’m partial to bears,” she says sweetly.
I grin, but I don’t let on how much those words hit. How much I crave knowing that she desires me.
“Bears can be dangerous,” I remind her.
“They can also be cuddly,” she counters.
I’d love to pull this truck over right now and prove her right.
Cuddle the fuck out of her.
We pull up to my mom’s house, and it’s exactly as it always is—something straight out of a damn fairytale. The cottage is small but sturdy, its walls whitewashed and half-covered in ivy. The other half is just pure beauty. That’s how my mom has always been. A little bit magic, a little bit heart.
I get out, open Max’s door.
“Wow,” Max breathes, taking it all in. “This place is…enchanting.”
I lead her inside, where the scent of lemon balm and vanilla hits us immediately. The house is warm, cozy, every corner filled with small treasures. Shelves lined with jars and glass bottles, bundles of herbs drying from the beams overhead.
Mom comes bustling in from the back room, apron tied at her waist. “Oh! I wasn’t expecting both of you. Come in, come in!”
She kisses my cheek, then turns to Max almost immediately. “I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee on and muffins almost ready to come out the oven. Would you like to help me bottle some oils? Just finished a fresh batch.”
Max practically beams. “I’d love to.”
I shake my head, already knowing they’re going to be thick as thieves before this is over. It’s written all over their faces. But damn if it doesn’t sting. Because my mom’s falling for her, too.
I watch them disappear into my mom’s workshop area. “I’ll be in the back,” I say, grabbing my toolbox, but they don’t even seem to care.
Mom’s front door frame needs fixing. The kitchen faucet’s been leaking for weeks because Elliott can’t be bothered to lift a damn finger. The thought makes my jaw tighten. She lets him off the hook too easy—always has—while expecting the world from me.
There are times I’ve tried to make sense of it—how we came from the same house, the same woman, and yet ended up with two completely different relationships with her and value systems. But anytime I ask, she never gives me a straight answer.
Just that soft smile and the same damn line: “Mothers give their kids what they need. And every child requires something different.”
Yeah. Well, sometimes I think she gave him too many passes and left me with all the weight. But it’s something I’ve said far too many times and she’s refused to address it just as many.
By the time I’m done, I wander back to the living room and stop at the doorway.
They’re sitting side by side, laughing and chatting like old friends. Max is asking about oils for cramps, and my mom is listing off a whole damn apothecary—where to rub what, which ones are better for mood, digestion, skin.
I linger in the doorway for a bit, arms crossed, watching them work.
The sight makes me feel like I’m seeing two parts of my life that should’ve never collided, blending seamlessly.
Max is perched on a stool, sleeves rolled up, measuring oils with a focus that makes my mother beam.
Their laughter floats through the air, easy and warm. It stirs something deep in my chest.
After a few minutes, I clear my throat from the doorway. “You two done with the trade secrets yet?”
They both glance up with matching smirks.
My mom waves a hand, not the least bit rushed.
“Oh, hush, Eli. We’re almost finished. Besides, Max was just telling me about all the drama she’s causing, pretending to be your girlfriend for the news.
I’ve been seeing you two getting talked about on social media. ”
I let out a breath, leaning against the doorframe. “How did you hear about that? I didn’t think you paid much attention to the tabloids, or I would have given you a heads-up.”
She just laughs, the sound bright and motherly. “One of the ladies from church sent me a screenshot. She said her daughter practically cried when she heard you were off the market”
I roll my eyes. “Still, I’m sorry I didn’t give you the courtesy of a heads-up. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. At least it’s contained to local news only.”
I shouldn’t be shocked at how easy-going my mother seems to be about all this, but it’s sort of hard keeping a straight face.
“Besides,” she continues. “I wasn’t the least bit surprised, considering I already walked in on the two of you in the buff. Body parts just a-swinging and—”
“Mom!”
She waves me off. “You need to relax, Eli. Max told me it was all a ruse and that once she’s gone, it’ll all be cleared up.”
I catch the flicker in Mom’s eyes as she says it. There's a quiet shadow that tells me she already feels the sting of Max leaving, too. She isn't just losing a houseguest; she's losing the woman she’s clearly already claimed as hers. Like me.
I shake my head and lean there, pretending not to be affected by how natural this all feels. Like this could be...real.
Like it could be forever.
I haven’t given Drake’s tabloid leak much thought lately.
Mostly because I can't stand looking at those photos on social media—at least, not for the reason I should. In the shots, we look like we’re actually enjoying each other.
We look like a hell of a lot more than just business alliances or like she’s just a consultant.
The truth is, I genuinely love those stolen moments Drake caught, and I’ve caught myself staring at them longer than I care to admit. To keep my head straight, I’ve had to shut the whole thing out. I tell myself once Max is gone, the headlines will disappear right along with her.
And, quite frankly, it sucks.
Eventually, the bottles are sealed and set aside. Mom wipes her hands and turns to Max, who’s already rising from her seat.
Max steps in, hugging her tightly. “Thank you so much for letting me help. I had the best time.”
Mom hugs her back with the kind of warmth she usually reserves for family. “Come any time, sweetheart. I mean it.”
I swallow down the knot in my throat and motion toward the door. “Come on, Lil Mama. We’ve still got another stop to make.”
Out at the truck, I walk Max around and open her door, helping her in. Before I round to my side, I turn back, lean down, and press a kiss to my mother’s forehead.
And that’s when I hear her whisper, soft but clear. “She’s a good one, Lee. I like her.”
I can’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth as I kiss her cheek in return. “I know, Mom. Me too.”