His eyes study my face.

“She’s more like you than you could begin to imagine. She’s feisty, strong, frustrating, and so fucking beautiful it hurts.”

He swallows hard.

“And she deserves you in her life, Max. It was never my place to decide you couldn’t have that.”

“You made a choice, and it was probably a fucking smart one.”

I stare at him, really studying his face. “If you really don’t want to be in her life, I’ll leave, Max. I’ll see my mother out, and then I’ll go back to my life. But I want you to be sure about that, because while you’re living in pain, that little girl is wondering who you are. I’ll let you decide if she gets the chance to know you.”

With that, I turn and walk to the door.

“And Max?” I say when I get there.

He looks over to me, his eyes so full of pain.

“You never had to be scared of snuffing out the light in my eyes, because in case you didn’t know . . . you were the reason that light was there.”

I walk out to the sound of his pained groan.

He gets me.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THEN – MAX – AFTER THE ACCIDENT

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks since that little girl was taken from this world in the cruelest way possible. Two weeks since her little life was cut short.

I went to the funeral and watched from behind the trees as they said goodbye to a family that seemed to have very little love. There were only five people there. Five. In all their lives, they only have five people that loved them. Nobody should live without that kind of love. No one. Not even the scum of the earth.

“Hey.”

I lift my head from the coffee mug I was staring at, and see Belle coming in. She smiles at me, and it takes everything inside for me to smile back, but I do. I’ve been smiling at her for weeks, trying to get on with life. We’ve been trying for a baby, and I can see the happiness in her eyes. I make her happy. I’m everything to her. I’m her husband – I swore I’d protect her and that’s what I’m doing.

“Morning, Blue Belle.”

“How’d you sleep?”

Shit. Horrible. I don’t sleep.

“Awesome. You?”

She beams. “Awesome. You want more coffee?”

“Nah, I gotta run. It’s time for work.”

She frowns, but walks over and tilts my head up, kissing me softly. “I packed lunch for you last night. Will you be home earlier?”

I look up into her eyes, trying to keep the pain out of mine. “Yeah, baby.”

“I miss you when you’re gone.”

I kiss her and stand. “And I miss you, Blue Belle.”

I wrap a hand around the back of her neck and kiss her forehead. She sighs into me.

Then I let her go and leave.

Empty and numb.

I can’t handle it anymore.

I’m trying. It’s too hard.

Not even the alcohol is numbing it tonight.

It’s been four weeks, and I’m trying too hard to act normal, to act like I don’t see that little girl’s face in my dreams every night. I can’t get it out. It hurts so fucking much and I’m drowning. I’m drowning faster than I can swim.

I’m trying to keep my wife happy, to not let her see me breaking apart. I spend more time here than at home, just to stop her from seeing the mess I’ve become. I think she knows, I can see the concern in her eyes. I don’t know how to fight it anymore; I don’t know how to make it go away. There are times I think taking myself out of the picture would be easier. I’m so tired of trying.

Tonight I stop trying.

Tonight I’m drinking at my bar, swaying from side to side as the pain keeps finding its way inside. Nothing will take it away. Nothing will make it better. I’m suffering in complete silence. I’ve shot back so much alcohol I can’t even feel my own legs, but the pain in my heart isn’t leaving. It just won’t fucking go. Why the fuck won’t it go?

“More,” I grunt to the bartender, sliding my glass at him.

He studies me with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure about that, sir?”

“Do I fucking own this club?” I bark.

“Yes, but you’re not in a good way tonight and . . .”

I can’t take it. I can’t.

I stand and lift the stool I was sitting on, hurling it across the bar. The bartender ducks, and it narrowly misses him. It hits the wall behind him and bottles of alcohol explode from the shelves. I’m sprayed with glass and alcohol. It soaks into my shirt and I don’t care. People start gasping and chattering, or going completely silent.

“I own this club!” I roar, launching the glass at him next. “If I want a motherfucking drink I’ll have one.”

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t . . .”

“Stop treating me like I’m a fucking broken toy,” I bellow. “Stop looking at me like I’m a fucking pathetic man.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You shut up! If I’m talking to you, you shut up!”

“Max.”

A hard hand curls around my shoulder and I turn, fighting as hard as I can. It’s one of my security guards. My vision blurs as an emotion I’ve trapped for a full month comes bursting forth, like the poison it is. It constricts in my throat until I can’t breathe. Everyone has stopped, and they’re all staring at me as if I’m broken, as if I’m pathetic.

“Come on, cool it.”

“Don’t tell me to fucking cool it!” I roar.

“You’re losing your shit. Calm down.”

“I can’t fucking calm down.”

Her face keeps flashing in my head, over and over, over and over, until I snap. I launch my fist into his face, over and over. Before I know what’s happening, my club is cleared out and there are so many arms holding me back. There’s blood on my fists and I’m screaming bloody rage, thrashing and just wanting it to stop. A team of security members drag me to the locker room, and I start slamming my fists over and over into them.

“Max, you’ve got to calm down buddy, or I’ll call the cops. Do you want that? Do you want Belle to see you like this?”

It’s my security guard, which one I can’t tell because my vision is blurring. It hurts. It hurts so fucking much. Why won’t this pain leave my heart?

“I don’t fucking care anymore,” I bellow, grabbing my hair and tugging it.

“You do care. Whatever happened, there is always a way to fix it.”

“There’s not,” I hiss, tearing my own hair out. The pain is a good distraction. “There will never be peace. I saw her die. I saw her die in front of my eyes and I didn’t stop it.”

“Who? Who did you see?”

“The little girl. The accident. The car threw her out and she...I tried to help her. I fucking tried. I couldn’t help her. I moved her and I shouldn’t have. I didn’t call the ambulance quickly enough.”

“Buddy,” he says, his voice full of pity.

“No,” I howl. “Don’t you feel sorry for me. No more. No fucking more.”

It’s all too much. I’ve lost it. I can’t take it any more. I just can’t be this person a second longer. I’m sorry, Blue Belle. I tried.