Chapter 58
Chapter Fifty-Eight
WHAT HAVE I DONE?
Celeste
I'm trembling in Max's arms, our bodies still slick with sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs like it might break free. The afternoon light catches the flush on his skin. We’ve been devouring each other all afternoon, desperate and ravenous, our bodies slick with sweat, the sheets twisted beyond recognition beneath us, neither of us willing to come up for air.
Max loves me. The words exploded from him at the height of our passion, and even now, hours later, they echo in my ears, drowning out every rational thought.
This morning and afternoon wasn't just sex—this was a revelation, a seismic shift that's left me raw and exposed.
I've never felt so utterly consumed by someone, like he's invaded every cell of my body.
I've been fighting it since that first meeting when fury and attraction collided like lightning striking water.
I've been drowning in him ever since, pretending I could still breathe on my own.
It was always this—this devastating, terrifying love that's been growing like wildfire inside me.
But it changes nothing. He has to leave—now—before I weaken again. If Michael's life implodes because of us, I'll never forgive myself. I've already betrayed Michael by letting Max through my defenses. I shouldn't have surrendered, not even for this.
My fingers tremble against the dark hair on Max's chest. "This afternoon was a mistake," I whisper, my voice catching. "We can't—"
Max grabs my wrist, his eyes blazing as he presses his finger against my lips.
"No." The word comes out like thunder. "We're done running.
We're going to rip this wound open right now.
" His jaw clenches. "Something drove you away that night, and it wasn't lack of love.
I see it in your eyes every time you look at me.
" He pulls me closer, his breath hot against my face.
"And now you know I'm drowning in you. Every.
Single. Day. I love you until it physically hurts.
Never thought I'd be the man begging, but here I am.
" His voice breaks. "I never believed in this kind of love until you shattered everything I thought I knew.
So tell me what's really happening, because I swear to God, I will burn down the world before I let you walk away from us again. "
My heart slams against my ribcage like it's trying to escape.
Michael or Max? The choice tears me apart.
When Max discovers I've been secretly rehabilitating the father who destroyed him, while not telling him that I knew for weeks that Michael was back, he'll see nothing but betrayal in the one person he finally trusted. And I’ll be betraying Michael, as well, because I don’t know if Michael is yet ready to come back to his family.
I’m caught in an impossible vise: betray the broken man I helped rebuild, or keep lying to the man I love so desperately I can barely breathe when he looks at me.
My hands shake as I realize there's only one way forward.
The truth will shatter everything we've built, but I can't live another day with this poison inside me.
I'll confess everything and pray that what we have is strong enough to survive the wreckage.
I blink and shake my head. Oh, god, this will be impossible. But I have to get through it.
“Max,” I say as gently as I can. Then I take a deep breath. “Your…” I shake my head. “Let me start from the beginning. No. Wait. I..”
Max puts his hand on my shoulder to steady me and then looks me in the eye. “Go on. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it.”
I nod. God, I’m so nervous. “Your father…”
“My father…” His face looks completely confused. “How does he figure into this?”
That answers my question about Michael reaching out to Max.
Clearly he hasn't. I fumble for my phone, swiping through unanswered texts and emails.
God, I've left Michael hanging for weeks.
My stomach twists with guilt. Is he thinking I've abandoned him too?
I picture him alone in his motel room, or worse—back in a bar, ordering that first drink.
And for what? Because I couldn't drag myself out of bed, couldn't see past the fog of my own misery long enough to respond to a simple message. But, yes, now that I look on my phone, I see that he has sent me message after message. I can’t look at them right now. They’ll break my heart.
I try again. "Your father, he's..." The words dissolve in my mouth.
Michael trusted me with his secret, made me promise to let him approach Max in his own time.
My phone buzzes in my pocket—probably him again.
For weeks I've ignored his texts while I've taken to my bed, mindlessly binging Real Housewives marathons.
Just the other night, I binged 10 episodes of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, watching Lisa Vanderpump's perfectly orchestrated takedowns, then switched to Atlanta just to see NeNe read someone to filth. I’ve watched women flip tables in New Jersey, throw wine in Beverly Hills, and scream across dinner parties from Miami to Dubai, all while Michael's messages pile up, each one probably more concerned than the last.
“He’s….”
“He’s in town.” There, I said it. “He’s in town, Max. He’s…”
Max's expression shifts from confusion to disbelief.
His eyebrows knit together, then rise toward his hairline as my words sink in.
He stares at me like I've spoken in tongues, like the mention of his father materializing in town after a twenty-two year absence must be some kind of hallucination.
The muscles in his jaw tighten. His eyes search mine, silently demanding how I could possibly know something about Michael that he doesn't. “I…” He shakes his head. “I mean…”
I put my hand up. “Please, Max, please ask no questions until I explain everything.”
He just nods, stunned. Shocked into silence. But clearly wanting to know more.
So, for the next hour or so, I tell him everything.
How Michael sought me out, desperate to quit drinking and determined not to contact his sons until he was sober.
How I helped him behind Max's back—attending AA meetings, cooking meals, securing him a hotel room.
How Michael improved steadily. How he found work, maintained sobriety, and we celebrated at a restaurant.
How Elody's camera caught us: my hand holding his, my other hand against his cheek, my expression one of pride that could easily be misread as desire.
How she threatened to destroy Michael unless I left.
So I filed for divorce, terrified Michael would suffer the same public humiliation I had endured.
I tell him all of this, and Max just listens.
I clear my throat. "Penny for your thoughts?" My voice comes out higher than I intended, and I twist my wedding ring around my finger, watching Max's face for any hint of the rage I'm sure is building. After all, I kept his father's existence from him. For weeks.
The clock on the wall ticks so loudly I swear it's mocking me.
I might as well start queuing up those Real Housewives episodes I've been saving, because I sense another binge-watch in my near future.
At least I'll finally see if Gretchen and Tamra ever resolve their mess—something I apparently know how to create, not fix.
Max's jaw tightens. "God, Celeste." His voice breaks.
"You risked everything for him—my father—a stranger.
" He grabs my face between his hands, his eyes burning into mine.
"That's why I can't breathe without you.
" The kiss crashes against me like a wave, desperate and consuming, stealing every thought from my mind.
When he finally pulls away, his fingers dig into my shoulders. "Tell me where he is. Now."
My pulse quickens. Is Michael truly prepared for this? I need to check his messages. "Max, I'm not certain..."
"Celeste. Tell me his location. Now."
"Hold on," I say. "I need to... excuse myself for a moment." I dash to the bathroom, phone clutched in my hand, and frantically open the thread of texts Michael has sent throughout these past weeks.
Scanning through them brings immediate relief.
Though disappointed by my silence, he's found temporary shelter in his sponsor Greg's garage apartment while awaiting my response.
His most recent message practically begs for a meeting—he's finally ready to face his sons!
Sixty-plus texts over forty-three days tell the story of a man who's maintained his sobriety and stability.
My lips curve upward. Greg's address is still in my contacts from when he first agreed to sponsor Michael.
I come out of the bathroom. “I know where he is. I’ll take you there, but shouldn’t we get the entire family involved.”
Max runs a hand through his hair. "I need to meet him first. Then I'll gather the family.
" He taps his fingers on the counter. "Though my brothers are all over the map.
Ansel's in Berlin signing some techno DJ.
" His jaw tightens. "Roman's here, but...
" He winces. "Christ. Roman and Dad in the same room?
Recipe for disaster." A wry smile crosses his face.
"Rome's our family powder keg. Pure Sonny Corleone energy—loyal to a fault, but he'll tear Dad to shreds.
Connor would be better—he's in town and has that diplomat gene.
" Max's eyes drift toward the window, calculating.
"And Ash? Probably hovering around some LAMA auction, hunting down obscure art pieces.
" He lets out a short laugh. "Half the time I couldn't tell you where any of them are.
Still, I can probably wrangle two or three of them. It's a start."
She started to say, "What about—"
"Cameron's still treating patients in Kenya. Doctors Without Borders. Won't be back until Christmas, although I think he might be able to get leave.” He shrugs. “Kalen’s in Australia, playing out stadiums. Silas is…in England? Maybe?” Max grabs me, his kiss fierce and desperate, his eyes blazing with a wild, feverish light.
"Oh my god," he whispers, his voice cracking.
"I'm about to see my father. Twenty-two years—twenty-two fucking years—and now he's right there.
Because of you." His fingers dig into my shoulders, trembling.
"And Celeste? If Elody thinks she can ruin this—"
"But Max, she threatened to—"
He cuts me off, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle pulsing.
"I run one of the largest movie studios in the world.
She's nothing but a replaceable face on a screen. If she comes after my father, I’ll destroy her so completely they'll need dental records to identify what's left of her career.
" His eyes lock onto mine, burning. "Now let's go meet my dad. "
Max keeping Elody from making trouble. Why didn’t I think of that?