Chapter 30 Is That Better?
Is That Better?
Eli
Every time it feels like Max and I are finding our footing, some rhythm, some version of normal I might actually be able to live inside, I go and ruin it. Not deliberately. Not even consciously. But it happens anyway.
I slip. Something snaps. And I expose a part of myself I’ve spent years locking down and burying deep.
I used to be better at it. But ever since she showed up, I haven’t been the man the world knows.
Not the controlled one. Not the measured one.
Max has a way of stripping the armor without laying a hand on it.
Around her, I’m raw. Reckless. Laid open in ways that feel unwelcome, but necessary all the same.
She’s necessary.
My knuckles are still buzzing with the memory of the impact. My brother’s jaw. The heat of it still running through my veins. And worse than that, the way Max looked at me afterward. Like she wasn’t sure who she was standing next to anymore. And I hate myself for it.
I didn’t mean for it to happen. But I couldn’t stop it either. He was too close to her.
At first, I didn’t even register his face. Just the posture. The way he leaned in. The way he took up space like it belonged to him. Like he owned the room.
Like he owned her.
And then I heard her laugh. Then the little hiccup that follows when she’s trying to be polite while clearly uncomfortable.
I know that laugh. I know her.
Then everything in me went red.
It didn’t matter that we aren’t official. Didn’t matter that we agreed to boundaries.
For five fucking days, she’s mine.
Her laugh.
Her mouth. Soft lips I’ve tasted more times than I should’ve, and still want like the first time.
The hiccup when she’s nervous. The way her fingers fidget when she’s overthinking. The way she tilts her head when she’s studying me like I’m something she hasn’t solved yet.
All of it.
Mine.
Even if she doesn’t know how long her essence will stay with me once she’s gone.
Even if part of me can see her never leaving at all.
Even if I don’t have the right to claim it out loud.
Even if I’m the one who keeps her at a distance—out of fear, out of pride, out of a warped instinct to protect what I’m already losing. None of it changes the truth pounding in my chest.
She captures me.
And the second I realized it was Elliot standing there, looking at her like she was something to be won, everything else dropped away.
I don’t even remember crossing the room. One moment I was across the way in the record store, staring at vinyls and pretending I could think my way out of this entanglement. The next, my fist was connecting with his jaw, instinct taking over before logic ever had a chance.
All I could think was get the fuck away from her.
The silence stretches between us like a held breath. Heavy. Loaded, pressing against my ears.
“Are you okay?” she asks quietly.
Of course I’m not.
I stare straight ahead, hands tight on the wheel, jaw set, doing what I do best—holding it together.
Her hand settles on my thigh. “Bear,” she says again, quieter now. “This isn’t me trying to fill space because I’m nervous.”
She’s right. No hiccup.
“I need to know you’re okay,” she continues. “And if you’re not, I can hold it for you. I can be strong right now. Burden me.”
I don’t talk about Vanessa.
I don’t talk about Elliot.
I don’t talk about how I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, or how I use my company to fill the gaps in the environment I know I’ll never be able to close. How the idea of losing this pitch makes me feel like I’m letting everyone down.
Those are the burdens I told myself I buried years ago. Burdens I don’t trust anyone else to hold.
Obviously, I didn’t get rid of them. I didn’t bury them deep enough. I just avoid them both like injuries that never healed clean, because I know exactly why they still get under my skin.
I thought I had it all. I thought I was building what my father said men were supposed to have—businesses with integrity, relationships that matter, and a family that looked up to you. And they… Elliot… blew it all up.
My focus fractures, the road blurring at the edges as my mind drifts somewhere it shouldn’t go. Somewhere I swore I wouldn’t revisit.
“Eli!”
Her voice cuts through it—sharp, panicked—and I jerk back into the moment just in time to correct the wheel. My heart slams against my ribs as I pull over, ice crunching under the tires.
I cut the engine and get out without a word.
Cold air hits my face. My chest. I need space. I need movement. I need to bleed this out of my system before it turns into something uglier.
For a second, she stays in the truck. Then—
“Eli,” she calls after me. “If you’re going to walk off into the woods, at least put on your coat.”
I stop.
Because even now, even like this, she’s looking out for me.
I turn back just long enough to grab the coat from the seat and shrug it on. My hands are shaking. My pulse is still too loud. I need to get home.
I need to break something. Split wood until my arms are screaming and the edge finally dulls. Until whatever violence is roaring through me runs out and leaves me with something I can control again.
I told myself I’d take this frustration out on her later. Burden her like I promised I would.
But at this very moment, I don’t trust myself to be careful.
And if I know Max, even a fraction of what I think I do, she won’t want the version of me that’s been filed down and made safe. She’ll want all of it. The heat. The rough edges. The parts I’m trying to grind down so I don’t hurt her.
She won’t accept softness.
She won’t take restraint.
And she definitely won’t take no for an answer.
So I need to calm this inside me, just a little bit, before I burden her through the fucking mattress.
I thought she stayed in the truck.
Then I hear her behind me, soft footsteps crunching against snow, light but determined.
“Max,” I call without turning. “I just need a minute!”
“I know,” she says easily. “But I’ve got this annoying little habit.” A pause. Then, closer. “I meddle when I know my man isn’t quite himself.”
My chest tightens at that.
Her man, eh?
I turn just enough to look at her. Her hands are tucked into her sleeves, shoulders pulled in against the cold, eyes locked on me with the quiet certainty of someone who’s already decided I’m not getting out of this.
“How long?” she asks.
I sigh, dragging a hand over my face. “How long what?”
“How long have Elliot and Vanessa been together?”
I hesitate. Long enough for him to have figured out she’s Satan in satin. “Almost two years.”
Her mouth presses into a thin line. “Did you know she was pregnant?”
“Yes.” The word comes out clipped.
She studies me for a beat, then nods like that answer's more than I said. “Okay.”
I turn back toward the trees. “Max. Please. Just—give me a minute.”
I hear her moving and assume she’s heading back to the truck.
Then something smacks into my shoulder.
Cold. Sharp. Explosive.
I spin around just in time to see her lowering her hand, snow still clinging to her fingers. She’s smiling. Wide.
“Did you just—” I start.
She shrugs, my girl is innocence and menace wrapped into one tiny package.
Then I bark out a laugh before I can stop myself. A real one. Hearty, surprised and entirely against my will.
“Oh, you did not—”
She’s already backing away, grinning. “What are you gonna do about it, Bear?”
I lean down, scoop snow into my hand and fire back. She squeals and ducks, nearly losing her footing as she takes off across the clearing. I chase her, boots slipping, breath burning, the tension cracking open with every step.
She turns just as I catch her, momentum taking us both down into the snow in a tangle of limbs and laughter. I land half over her, one knee between hers, palms planted on either side of her shoulders.
We freeze.
Her laughter fades into breathless silence. Snow dusts her lashes. Her cheeks are turning rosy from the cold. For a second, the world narrows to this—her beneath me, my pulse loud, all fight and fury drained clean out of my system.
She swallows, eyes searching mine. “Is that better?” she whispers.
I don’t answer right away. I lean down instead, forehead brushing hers, breathing her in.
“Everything is better with you,” I admit—quiet, unguarded. To her. And to myself.
She pulls my face between her wet palms and kisses me. And for a heartbeat, I feel young again. Giddy, like a kid stealing a kiss after school with nowhere else to be and nothing to lose.
I kiss her back once more, deeper this time. Urgent. Because one will never be enough, and I don’t think she realizes that yet.
I stand and help her to her feet. “Come on,” I say, brushing snow from her coat. “Let’s get you back to the car.” I promise hot cocoa on the way home, and she smiles like that’s exactly what she needed to hear.
As we walk back to the truck, I lace my fingers through hers and send up a quiet thank you—for this woman, this beautiful enigma I found on the side of the road.