Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“I thought it would be nice to have dinner with Garrett and Clementine again. And you and Max later this week. Just to go over everything you’ve done and make sure we’re all set with this project.”
And to decide on Date Night.
The clock keeps ticking. Louder and louder still. “Of course,” I say quickly, then brace myself for Elias to invite himself.
And on the count of three…
“I’d love to come too,” he offers.
“That won’t be necessary, but thanks for the offer,” Zaire says, and I fight off the world’s biggest grin.
When we arrive at the senior center, Max gathers the meals from the back while Elias snaps more pictures of him taking out the food. Once inside, Max drops them off in a community room that’s bustling with older San Franciscans. I hang back near the entrance, staying out of the way as the once grumpy goalie chats with nearly each person there, saying hi to some women knitting, asking questions of a couple guys doing a jigsaw puzzle, and making small talk with some men playing cards. Max said he wasn’t naturally affable, but here he seems most at ease. I bet it comes from how he helped take care of his grandfather. As he moves from table to table, it looks like his cup is full. Like this is more than part of his image makeover. Like this is The Real Max Lambert.
It’s a good look, and I’m seriously proud of him.
A man with wispy strands of hair who’s hunched over his table calls Max over. The older man tilts his face toward Max and asks him something. Max shakes his head and replies. The man keeps asking questions and Max’s expression turns more concerned, more worried. I wish I could make out what they’re saying. It looks like Max is trying to reassure the man but doesn’t know how. Soon, a woman who works at the center comes over and intervenes.
With tension in his jaw and sadness in his eyes, Max heads for the exit where I’m standing with Elias. He swallows roughly, uncomfortably too, then mutters as he passes us, “Excuse me.”
And Elias has the audacity to snap another picture. But as Max turns into the nearby men’s room down the hall, I wheel on Elias, raising a finger. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” It’s asked so innocently.
“Don’t use that picture.”
“Why not?”
“He’s obviously upset.”
“It’s a real-life picture. It shows Max has feelings.”
Elias has no idea. “No,” I say firmly, standing my ground.
He gives me a look like I’m a Pollyanna. “This is the stuff people love, Everly. Seeing the real side of an athlete. I know it because I played sports.” Of course he went there. “And I know because I interact with the real people at every game,” he adds.
And he went there too.
“And I know that part of the job in PR is to protect our players. This is personal. Please delete it,” I say, standing my ground. I don’t care what Elias suspects about me. He’s not posting a photo of Max visibly affected like that.
Annoyed, Elias stares at me for several seconds then relents. “Fine.” He makes a show of deleting it.
“Thank you.”
Max comes out of the bathroom, dragging a hand through his hair. It looks like he’s been hit with bad news, and I want to run to him and comfort him.
But I can’t.
When we get to the car, I tug him back, a few feet away to quickly ask. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“That man was asking about his son. If he was coming to visit. And I tried to talk to him, but then the woman who came over, she said his son had already visited and—” He stops like there are stones in his throat, then he pushes on. “This is how it started with my grandfather. The forgetting.”
My throat swells. My eyes sting. “Max, I’m so sorry.” He takes a small step toward me before he must think the better of it.
I can tell he wants to hold me as much as I want to be his shoulder to lean on.
Instead, I have to wait till later that night, when he comes over for our movie night that he invited me to. It feels like an endless wait, but as I curl up in his arms, I try to believe that soon we’ll have more than stolen moments.
One more night.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself. That’s what Max tells me on Thursday evening as we get ready for dinner together at my place. I feel antsy but in a whole new way. In a Christmas Eve kind of way. Once we make it through dinner, I can devise a proper plan for talking to Zaire. One that’s thoughtful. One that shows this relationship with Max is serious. One that shows how much I want the promotion or at the very least to stay in my job. If she doesn’t make an exception to the unwritten rule, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I know I’m strong enough to handle it.