29. Dean
DEAN
Itry Michelle again. It goes straight to voicemail, just like it has every other time today. I leave a message anyway. “You need time. I get that. But you know where I am. When you’re ready.”
It’s past midday, and I haven’t done a thing. I spent the morning lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything. I didn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was her face in my office.
She’s done with me. That much is obvious.
Michelle’s been let down by everyone she ever trusted. Now I’m on that list. I told her there was nothing else, and then she found out I was still holding something back. But I didn’t mean to lie. I forgot.
The surveillance never felt like a big deal. At the time, I told myself it was necessary. I didn’t think about it again. But watching her realize what I’d done made it clear how badly I crossed the line.
It was wrong. I can see that now. I wanted her, so I watched her. I made sure the guy she was seeing got out of the picture. I told myself it was for us, but it was for me.
I keep looking for a way to fix this. But some damage is permanent. I schemed to get into her life, and in the end, my scheming gave her every reason to walk out of it.
The buzzer jolts me up. I’m out of bed before I even think, my heart hammering. For a second, I let myself believe it’s her. I know it’s not. I look at the screen anyway.
A white Range Rover sits at the gate. Max is leaning out the window, staring up at the camera. My first thought is: how did he find me? Only one person has this address. Michelle told him. Which means she’s talked to him.
I buzz him in, then go to the front door. A minute later, he pulls up and gets out. He takes a slow look around before heading up the steps.
“She was right,” he says. “You are a liar.”
“I prefer to think of it as selective withholding,” I say, as he steps past me into the house.
He ignores me. His gaze sweeps the room, taking everything in. After a moment, he makes a vague gesture at the space around us.
“Okay, this is…cozy. But you said you lived downtown.”
I shrug. “I don’t like unexpected visitors.”
Max’s expression shifts, just enough to see the hurt beneath it.
“Got it.” He starts for the door.
“Wait.” I stop him. “You’ve spoken to her?” I pause, forcing my voice to stay level. “How is she?”
Max stops. The pause stretches, knotting my chest.
“Just say it,” I snap.
“Alright.” He holds up his hands as if to settle the air. “She’s a mess. She cried all over me. Said she quit. Said you lied. Something about Vinnie stealing her clients…”
“What do you mean all over you?”
Max looks down, his fingers brushing the back of his neck. “She was upset. I hugged her.”
I don’t like that, but what I hate is what it means. Michelle doesn’t break down. She doesn’t cry and certainly not with someone like Max. And quitting? That tells me exactly how deep the damage goes. How much Vinnie hurt her, and how much I did too.
I sink into the nearest chair. The weight of it hits all at once. My chest tightens in a way that feels new and unsettling, and for a moment I don’t know how to move.
Max stays where he is. He doesn’t rush toward me or try to fill the quiet. He just waits, like he understands that this is something I need to reach on my own. That patience is what finally cracks me open.
“I messed up,” I say. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t fix this.”
“You can totally fix it,” he says, easy and confident, like we’re talking about a flat tire.
I look at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious. “You don’t even know what I did.”
“Then tell me.”
I press my hands to my face and breathe. A week ago, if you’d told me I’d be sitting here asking Max for advice, I would have laughed. I’d take Henry’s pontificating or even Will’s lectures over this. But Max is here. And right now, I don’t have anyone else.
“She wouldn’t give me the time of day, so I had her followed. She was seeing someone, and I made sure he backed off. She gave me a chance to come clean. I didn’t take it.” I pause. “I didn’t even remember.”
I drop my hands and look at him. “I wasn’t trying to lie. But maybe I wouldn’t have mentioned it anyway. How do you explain that without sounding completely unhinged.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah...I wouldn’t tell a soul I did that.”
After a long pause, he exhales. “Okay. You can’t erase it, and no apology’s going to work, so stop trying.”
I shake my head. “Oh, don’t try. Perfect advice, Max,” I say, my voice flat with sarcasm.
He lifts his head. “I’m serious. Lean into it.”
“Into what?”
“So, you stalked her a little,” he shrugs. “You weren’t trying to hurt her. You were trying to be with her. So tell her the truth. You wanted you so badly you crossed every line. And you’d do it again. That’s who you are.”
I don’t answer.
“Look,” he says. “If she doesn’t want that kind of devotion then that’s her loss.”
As ridiculous as it sounds, Max isn’t completely wrong.
I didn’t do any of this to hurt her. I did it because, from the beginning, I knew she was it for me.
I crossed lines because I love her. I lied, yes, but it wasn’t like what her ex did.
Maybe there’s still a way forward, if I can make her see the difference.
“You should also get the agency back for her,” he says.
“Obviously,” I reply.
“Right. Problem solved.” He grins. “You can name your firstborn after me.”
He opens the door, then pauses with his hand on the knob. “Oh. One more thing.”
I look up.
“Just so we’re clear,” he says, “if this works out and she mentions crying, I gave her a very respectful, completely non-sexual hug.”
I narrow my eyes.
“That said,” he adds, clearing his throat as he edges toward the door, “I might have misread the room. Briefly. Like half a second. Maybe less.”
“What?”
“It was nothing,” he says quickly. “She shut it down before anything happened. Completely my fault.”
And then he’s gone, moving fast.
I stay where I am, jaw tight, heat climbing into my chest. A part of me wants to drag him back by the collar. But not today.
First, I get Michelle her agency back. Then I tell her the truth she asked for. All of it.
If she needs space, she can have it. If she wants silence, I’ll give her that too. But I’m not disappearing. I’ll keep showing up for as long as it takes.
It would probably take a restraining order to stop me. And even then, it wouldn’t.