Page 45 of Max

“Sure,” Max traced random patterns on my shoulder. I didn't think he was even aware of what I asked him.

Something had him distracted.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he dismissed my question.

He never did that.

It had to be something big.

“Tell me what happened!”

I pushed up, put my hand on his chest, and pressed down.

“I signed the last papers for my retirement at S.W.A.T today.” His voice sounded defeated.

“Are you sure you want to stop working there?” I asked cautiously.

He sure didn’t sound like he wanted to.

“It’s not that I’m regretting my decision, I just didn’t expect it to feel so,” he paused. “Final. That job left so many scars, mental ones that now that it’s over, it’s weird. It feels like my limb went missing from the moment I gave my badge to the captain.”

Red lights started flashing when he said scars. I know a lot about scars, especially mental ones, but I wasn’t sure I should ask.

Barely above a whisper, I did. “Scars?”

“It’s nothing to worry about, Bean. They’re a job hazard.”

I decided to wait for him to start talking. I knew one thing, and that was that Max shared.

I wasn’t wrong at that time, either.

“We all have scars, Skylar. And every single person thinks their scars are something hideous. But they admire the scars of others. They say that those same scars are beautiful. They say that person is stronger because of them.”

It was time that he answered me. I knew to the very center of me that losing his father was not the only scar he had.

“And what about your scars?”

“Mine? You know what mine are.”

“Not all of them,” I could see he didn't want to tell me. He was ready to turn the conversation to something else. But not this time. If he wanted to have all of me, he needed to give all of himself to me. “Tell me.”

Silence.

“Please, Max, tell me.”

He sighed, and I tensed. I was sure he would push me away and throw the covers off him. He didn’t. Instead, he pulled me closer, and when he started talking, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“It was bad, Bean. I still can't figure out the guy's motive in all of it.”

With each word, his grip tensed. Not knowing how to help, but also not wanting to interrupt him, I pressed my palm to the center of his chest, trying to give him some comfort. It was a good decision because his grip loosened a little, but he still didn't look at me.

“We were called out. It was a hostage situation. The guy had a family at gunpoint and had killed the father in law already. Unfortunately, it was something we did almost daily. You wouldn't believe what people are capable of doing for money.”

He looked at me then, almost in surprise. I gave him a small, sad smile in answer and patted his chest. We were both aware that I knew very well. In fact, it was what led me to him, to this bed.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, going back to looking at the ceiling. “We got there, spread out, and waited for the negotiator to give us the signal. The situation was beyond tense. The husband kept wailing that he didn't have the money, that it was his father that owed, and this was the first time he saw him in ten years. The wife went into labor from shock and the kid... Shit, Sky, there was a three-year-old kid with them in that living room. Can you imagine? A Sunday morning, you enjoy it with your family, and because of a fucked-up decision of a man you barely even know, everything turns to nothing.”