Chapter 12
April
The bathroom door creaks open, and Max steps out in a cloud of steam—and shirtless.
Completely, unapologetically shirtless.
His damp hair is pushed back, and a towel hangs loose at his waist, every inch of him looking like some kind of deliberate emotional sabotage.
I wasn’t ready for any of this.
He’s not bodybuilder buff—but he’s carved. Broad shoulders, defined chest and the kind of abs that have survived real stress. Water drips down his abs, into the light trail of hair leading to his groin. I-
I look away because if I don’t, I’ll say something incredibly inappropriate.
He crosses the room and tosses his phone charging cable onto the nightstand. He’s not showing off. The worst part is, he doesn’t have to—just existing is enough to make him impossible to ignore.
Which somehow makes it worse.
He grabs a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from his bag and disappears into the bathroom. Seconds later, he reemerges fully dressed and climbs under the covers.
I’m still pretending to stare at the ceiling, trying to get my heart rate under control.
“You okay over there?”
he murmurs.
“Totally,”
I lie.
“Thriving.”
He chuckles, shifting beneath the blanket. I hear the soft tap of his phone being set down and the room goes quiet again.
It’s not awkward, it’s just… electric. Like something unspoken is sitting between us, waiting to be invited in.
I shift under the covers, eyes glued to the ceiling.
“I’ve been thinking about what I asked you,”
I say, my voice soft but steady.
“And how you answered me honestly, without deflecting or making a joke or pretending it wasn’t personal.”
He turns his head, watching me now.
“So, I think I owe you something back. One honest answer for another.”
He’s quiet for a beat, then whispers in the dark.
“What’s your biggest regret?”
I inhale slowly, not needing to think. The answer has lived inside me for several months now.
“Not taking more pictures of my mom. She hated the camera on her. Said she always looked tired. Said she’d take some next time, and I didn’t push her. I figured we had plenty of time.”
I swallow.
“She passed away last year after battling breast cancer. We didn’t catch it early, and when we did, it was already aggressive.”
My throats clogs, but I force myself to keep going.
“I was twenty-seven when she got diagnosed. I had just accepted my dream job, but when I found out, I turned it down. I packed up everything and moved back home to take care of her… and my sisters.”
I look over at him, half expecting pity, but his face is calm, focused, present.
“It didn’t feel like a sacrifice at the time. She was always the kind of mom who showed up for everything. She was a single mom, working full-time, and she still made it to school plays, always had time to bake birthday cupcakes, so I had to do the same for her. I didn’t even think about it. I just… went home.”
I breathe out slowly.
“She fought for almost two years. Hard. But in the end, it was just too much. And after she passed, it was just us—me, May, and June. We promised each other we’d stick together. No matter what. We’re close, closer than ever now. But this job?”
I pause.
“This interview in LA? It’s the one I walked away from back then. It’s my second chance to finally do what I was meant to do and to start my life.”
He doesn’t speak right away, and that silence—quiet, steady, safe—is the kindest thing I’ve received in a long time.
“Thank you for telling me that,”
he says, voice low.
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It’s not, but it’s the truth.”
“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
My eyes sting, but I blink the feeling away, pressing my cheek into the pillow.
“What about you?”
I ask.
“Someone you’ve lost?”
He shifts slightly, folding his arms behind his head as he looks at the ceiling.
“I’ve had a few very big losses in my life, but I just lost my grandfather last year.”
“Were you close?”
“Very. He was… everything. I spent every summer with him growing up. My grandma died relatively young, and that’s when he started traveling—road trips, mostly. Said he and my grandma used to dream about seeing every inch of the country together. So after she passed, he made it his mission to visit every place on their list and take her with him. He traveled with her urn in the car everywhere he went”.
“That’s beautiful,”
I whisper.
“It was. And he brought me along. Every summer, we’d pick a direction and just drive. He would say that every trip was a love letter to her, but for me, it became something else. It became my freedom, my sense of adventure. The only time I felt like I could breathe.”
I face him fully, the room dim but his features still soft in the low light.
“You miss him.”
“Every day.”
And just like that, we're two people lying in separate beds, talking about the ghosts we carry of the people who built the bones of who we are, and that makes the space between us feel... less like a gap and more like a thread.
I blink open my eyes.
There’s something about the morning—soft, golden, quiet—that makes it hard to pull myself out of sleep. My brain floats somewhere between dreams and awareness, and for a minute, I forget where I am.
Then I blink at the beige motel ceiling.
Right. Texas.
The road trip. The layover. The man in the next bed who asked about my biggest regret and admired me after hearing it.
I shift under the covers and glance across the room. His bed is empty. The sheets are half tucked, like he got up carefully so he wouldn’t wake me. Then I smell it.
Coffee.
Not cheap gas station coffee, either. Something stronger. Richer. Real. I sit up, pushing the blanket off my legs, and there on the night stand between our beds is a paper cup wit.
“GOOD MORNING”
scribbled on it in black marker. All caps, a little messy, definitely his handwriting.
I pick it up and revel in the warmth in my hands. A second cup sits next to it, marked with the letter M, still steaming.
The motel door creaks open a second later, and Max walks in—T-shirt slightly wrinkled, a paper bag in his hand.
He smiles at me, soft, sleepy.
“Good morning. I brought breakfast.”
“You brought coffee.”
I beam, holding it up.
“So you’ve basically secured your spot in heaven.”
“That was the goal.”
He sets the bag down on the dresser and shrugs.
It’s not nothing.
He didn’t have to wake up early, didn’t have to leave, didn’t have to think about me, but he did, and I feel it.
“How’d you find a decent coffee shop in the middle of nowhere?”
“Nico,”
he says, grabbing his own cup.
“He texted me about this place a few miles down. Swore the reviews said they had good beans and kolaches, and it seems like the reviews were right.”
“I’m starting to like this Nico character.”
He smiles into his coffee but doesn’t say anything else. I settle back against the headboard, sipping slowly, letting the caffeine do its job.
“Thank you,”
I say after a beat.
“For this. For… everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do, because you didn’t have to care.”
His expression softens—the faintest crease easing from his brow, his mouth tugging at the corner like he’s caught between a smile and something heavier. Just enough to tell me he means it.
“Of course I care.”
Then, before the moment stretches too long, before either of us can fall too far into it, he shifts, clearing his throat and handing me the bag.
“So… I’ve been planning the route.”
I blink. “Yeah?”
“There’s this town in New Mexico called Cloudcroft. Small, cool mountain air, good food, kind of a hidden gem. We’d make it there by the afternoon if we take a few breaks.”
“Okay... sounds cute.”
I smile, touched in ways I can’t quite say out loud.
This man? He thinks ahead, plans rest stops, brings coffee, softens the silence without filling it, and manages to look like he’s not trying at all.