B.N. Toler - To Have It All

TO HAVE IT ALL Copyright © 2017 Brandy Toler www.bntoler.com All Rights Reserved

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.

Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Acknowledgments About the Author Other Books by B.N. Toler

To my brother, Brett. Thanks for always being the best big brother in the world.

The first light of dawn was just leaking into the room as I drifted toward his bed. He’d just closed his eyes, and if he’d had a choice, he would never open them again. But there was still time. Lying beside him, I stared up at the ceiling, contemplating what I should do. The man had thrown chance after chance away. He’d pushed aside any chance of happiness and love that had ever come his way. They thought him cruel. And he was. He’d spent much of his life in raging pain, like a caged animal lashing out. He wanted others to hurt as he did. He’d become a walking, talking imitation of his pain. He was ugly in all the ways a man could be, except physically. I had known him before he became this twisted soul. I knew him as a boy with a heart of gold that wept as he held the hand of his dead mother. I knew the boy that was forgotten by his father, yet put upon to be perfect. In his life, the one’s he loved most either left or forgot him. He was rare to me, and I couldn’t give up on him, though I knew I should. There were only a few I’d felt tied to, and that I fought for, the rest got what they deserved. It was not his life I wished to save, but rather his soul. Only this time, I was limited in what I could do for him. Choices were made. He had chosen to die. Another had chosen to give his life to save him. Both men deserved my attention; one my favor, the other my wrath. I knew he’d just been scared. I don’t think he even knew why; he just saw fear. That’s why he did it. That’s why he’d left the man that saved him to die. We all have our reasons—our excuses. That didn’t make it okay. If it hadn’t been for me and my inability to give up on him, his life would’ve been very different. Just because I understood him, didn’t make his actions justified, and like a mother who loves her child with all of her being, a mother must still do what is hard, teach her child to do better by punishing him. Rolling toward him, I stared at his face, his nose and jawline chiseled as if he was crafted by God’s very hands. He was a man with youth, beauty, and wealth, yet he was miserable. “Oh, my darling,” I whispered. “What am I going to do with you?” For a race so advanced, it still, after eons, shocks me when they fall so tremendously short when it comes to expanding their minds; to believing in what is beyond their comprehension. If they cannot see it, touch it, dissect it like a frog in a high school science lab, they label it with titles deemed preposterous such as religion, superstition, miracles, or even the devil’s work. And those who do dare let their minds reach out and brush their fingers against the preposterous are cast as cultists, fanatics, or even crazy. There is magic in this world beyond any explanation. It exists only because a scale steadies the universe, and it is the unknown that keeps the balance. The human race needs miracles; it needs the unthinkable to happen because without it, hope would not exist. And that’s where I come in. I am the eyes that watch your every move, the invisible mouth that whispers in your ear, urging you to do what is right. I am the ultimate scorekeeper. I’m known by many names, but most know me as karma—the bitch. What goes around comes around.

You reap what you sow. You will get what you deserve. The expressions are endless that describe what I deliver. I could go on for days. There is no bad luck. Bad things happen because of the choices made by one person, and that choice is like a rubber bullet; it bounces. It ricochets from person to person, connecting everyone. A simpler term would be cause and effect. One choice sets into motion a series of events that reap other choices. I’m a referee of sorts. I watch, I wait, and from time to time, I interfere. I can give you joy or earth-shattering pain. I find immense pleasure on both sides of the coin—bringing the wicked to their knees or giving hope to the kind are equally fulfilling for me. But in cases like this, I find no joy. Sitting up, I kissed my fingers and ran them lightly across his lips. “I am going to let you think about your choice a bit longer,” I whispered. “Perhaps watching someone else have what is yours, you will see it differently.” Behind closed eyes, he would not find peace and darkness. He would watch, powerless, as another man took over his life—the man that had saved him. And in the end, because I loved him so and wanted desperately for him to wake up a changed man, I would let him choose. His life would be tied to another man’s as well as his fate. He would choose if they lived or died. Standing, I went to the bathroom and checked myself in the mirror after I changed form. Straightening my name tag, I walked back into the bedroom and looked at him one last time. “Choose well, Maxwell.” With a snap of my fingers, it was done.



The 24th of August When I opened my eyes I knew something was wrong. I didn’t recognize the room, but it wasn’t just that. It was more. It was a dreadful feeling that threaded around my soul; something whispered inside me, prepare yourself. There was so much more to the whispered words and dreadful feelings. The last thing I remembered was pain—immense, debilitating pain, but it was gone now. I never wanted to experience that kind of pain again. But there was something else—something more. It wasn’t until I sat up and rubbed my face with my hands, finding the course scratch of a few daysold-beard that I began to realize something was definitely wrong. Where was my full beard? I hadn’t shaved in years. Slowly, as I darted my eyes down my body, more realizations dawned: smooth, clean hands, massive muscular thighs, and abs. This was not my body. Flipping the covers back I flew out of the bed. My feet met cool hardwood floors as I gaped at the lavish bedroom I was standing in. The walls were painted dark gray, and the windows were big, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. It looked modern and elite; like nothing I would choose or like. “Where the hell am I?” I croaked, jerking at the sound, seizing my throat with one hand. Even my voice was different. My heartbeat whooshed in my ears as the panic set in. Was I drugged? Was this just a dream? Rushing to the first door I saw, I tore it open and found a walk-in closet filled with suits and shiny leather shoes. Those definitely weren’t my clothes. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d put on a suit. I shook my head in disbelief as I flung open the next door. The bathroom. Fumbling blindly in the darkness, sliding my hand up and down the wall, I finally managed to hit the fancy high-tech sensor light switch just right and illuminated the room. The giant mirror above the granite double sink revealed a handsome, muscular man, wild-eyed and clad in red silk boxers. He even had abs most men would kill for. His hair was disheveled, his shoulders bunched up, his mouth gaping open. He looked as freaked out as I felt. I raised my hands to rub my face again, to wake myself from this dream, and . . . so did the man in the mirror. “What the f—?” I sputtered in pure disbelief. I spent the next five minutes making motions; jumping jacks, weird facial expressions, hand gestures —the man in the mirror mimed everything I did. I slapped myself several times, harder and harder. The man in the mirror still mimicked my every move, his face getting as red as mine felt from the slaps. “Wake up!” I yelled, only to have the voice I heard panic me even more. “This isn’t me,” I told the

man in the mirror. “I’m not you.” I stood frozen, my feet planted to the cold tile of the bathroom floor, yo-yoing between confusion and panic. What should I do? I was in another man’s body. Who do you call when shit like this goes down? If I called the police they’d tie me up in a strait jacket and send me to the nut house. That definitely wasn’t an option. Yanking the navy terry cloth robe off the hook by the shower, I slipped it on and left the bathroom quickly. When I hit what appeared to be the living room, I froze. Was this place for real? One of the biggest flat screen televisions I’d ever seen hung just above a marble gas fireplace, the couch and love seat were black leather, and the coffee and end tables were glass. Everything looked new and incredibly clean. The main room was big with a huge open floor plan. The kitchen was separated by a wall, but the dining room was open. What really impressed me was the view. The floor to ceiling windows offered an amazing view of the city. Who was this guy and how did he afford this spread? I scavenged the apartment for photos, bills, anything that might tell me who this body I was in belonged to. In the kitchen, I discovered a junk drawer, although it was far less junky than any junk drawer I’d ever seen. In my house growing up, we had four junk drawers filled to the brim, and the contents ranged anywhere from tools to retainers to five hundred expired coupons for Kentucky Fried Chicken. The only things in this drawer were a set of keys, a lighter, a pack of gum, and a photo. A photo of him. The man whose body I’d somehow stolen. My hand shook as I held the photo, a feeling of dread consuming my senses. In the picture, he stood next to a beautiful woman, his arm draped over her shoulders. While he stared at the camera, his perfect grin beaming, she looked at him, a soft and loving smile on her face. She loved him. I could tell. Frowning, I tried to push aside the envy I felt. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had looked at me like that. “Shit,” I breathed. Glancing at my left hand, I sighed with relief—no ring. He didn’t appear to have a wife. But I couldn’t rule out a girlfriend. At the very least he had a woman in his life judging by this photo. When a loud ring sounded out, I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was a cell phone—his cell phone. Like a mad man, I stumbled through the apartment until I found it on the charger next to the couch. The name Waverly lit up on the screen. I stared at it like it was a snake coiled up, ready to attack me. Should I answer? When it stopped ringing, I let out the breath I’d been holding, but then it started ringing again. Waverly was calling back. It must’ve been important. What if I didn’t answer and she came over? I didn’t want to risk that as I was having a brain melt over the fact I was in another man’s body and had no idea who he was. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. God help me, I was going to answer. “Hello.” I winced. My voice was way too deep; I sounded like James Earl Jones. I hadn’t had a chance to talk much since I’d awoken in this body. This guy’s voice would take some getting used to. “Wow,” a woman snickered. “I can’t believe you actually picked up. Are they calling for snow today?” I barely contained the snort I wanted to let out. Whoever she was, she was a smartass. It was summer; they definitely weren’t calling for snow. I opened my mouth to say something—anything, but what? I had no idea who she was or what she wanted. I didn’t have any idea who I was. That’s why you

shouldn’t have answered the phone, dumbass. Anything I said could cue someone that knew him well that something was off; I needed to tread lightly. I didn’t want to end up being dragged to a psych ward. “Are we still meeting at The Mill at six tonight?” she continued. The Mill I did know. It was a fancy restaurant downtown that I’d never been able to afford to eat at, even in the best of times. Even if I’d had the money, I wouldn’t have wanted to. A guy like me wasn’t meant for a place like that. I was a worn barstool at a hole in the wall kind of guy. Run down bars were my forte. I was too rugged for a place like The Mill. But seeing as how I wasn’t exactly me right now, or at least physically me, I supposed all bets were off. “Uh . . .” I didn’t even have any money. How could I meet her for dinner? But then again, how could I not? She knew who I was . . . at least she knew who this body belonged to anyway. It would probably help to find out as much as I could about him. I could fake a sore throat, that way I’d have a reason for not talking much. Maybe she’d offer to pay. Or maybe he had a wallet somewhere. In my panic thinking about how to pay for the meal, I forgot to answer her. “Please don’t cancel again, Max,” she added, her tone annoyed and defeated. “I only need ten minutes of your time and then you’ll never hear from me again.” Whoa. She didn’t sound like this guy’s biggest fan. At least she gave me his name—Max. Knowing his first name didn’t help much, but it was a start. It was only a tiny step forward, but still a step. “Okay,” I coughed, letting my voice rasp slightly. Had to make a sore throat believable if I chose to feign being ill at dinner. “Six it is. Do we have reservations?” There was a long pause before she replied, “Yeah. They’re under Torres. See you at six.” The call ended and when the screen cleared it revealed the date. It was August 24. “Shit,” I gasped as I leered at the tiny screen. It was five days later . . . That’s when it all hit me. The screams, the sirens—the pain came rushing back twisting my stomach. I crashed to the ground and lay on my side, holding my belly. Physically I wasn’t hurt, not in this man’s body anyway. It was the memory that knocked me off my feet. The memory of it all was so real, so intense that it felt as though it had just happened. I’d died. But I didn’t. I was still alive. But I wasn’t me. I was Max. The man whose life I’d saved.



The 19th of August I’d been homeless for ninety-three days. I’d never had much money. Living paycheck to paycheck was my way of life. I hated it, of course, but there never seemed to be any way out of it. New York is hella-expensive, and a mechanics salary only gets you so far, but I’d always had enough and I loved my job, which was worth more than any amount of money in the world as far as I was concerned—or so I had thought. I learned the hard way that passion doesn’t equal stability. Falling down a flight of stairs and breaking my left arm and right hand taught me that when it left me jobless. Two surgeries with months of rehab and physical therapy cost me my savings and my job. A mechanic kind of needs their arms and hands. I applied for other jobs, anything ranging from fast-food restaurants to cashiers at grocery stores. But again, these jobs required full use of hands and arms, which I didn’t have. My bad luck snowballed from there as my bills quickly added up, and before I knew it my landlord was posting eviction notices on my door. One day, I came home to all my possessions piled up in front of my building. I had to leave almost everything in used grocery boxes in front of my rundown apartment building. I could’ve left them at my sister Helen’s house, but I was too embarrassed to ask. Plus, she’d insist on me staying with her, and I refused to do that. My pride seemed more valuable than anything at the time. I was an idiot. I went from a small apartment full of furniture, clothes, and personal belongings to nothing but the clothes I was wearing and a backpack with what I could carry. With great pain, I sold my most prized possession—my Harley Bobber. My best friend, Lenny, bought it, promising to keep it until I could buy it back. He did me a huge favor buying it. He didn’t need another bike, but he knew what that Bobber meant to me. I’d had that bike for over a decade. It wasn’t worth much monetarily, but it held great sentimental value. The money Lenny paid me from the sale kept me sheltered in a cheap motel for a bit, but eventually, that money dried up. From that point on . . . I was on the streets. I kept thinking it couldn’t get worse, that things would turn around if I was just patient and didn’t lose hope, but life continued to prove me wrong when it dumped me on the streets and kept me there. It can always get worse. By the time my hand started to heal after the surgeries, I had regained use of it, but not enough for mechanics work. It would take time for it to heal fully. When I continued to apply for other jobs, anything, no one would hire me because with over a decade in mechanics they knew I wasn’t likely to be a long-term employee and I’d eventually go back to that. As I said, my sister would have let me crash at her place, but it seemed the longer I stayed away from Helen—optimistic that things would turn around for me—the more impossible it seemed to go to her for help. I couldn’t bear for her to see how far I’d fallen.

Rock bottom. Most people think they’ve been there before. For me, I wasn’t just there—I’d set up house. “Where’d you sleep last night?” my friend Pearl, a middle-aged lady that’d been on the streets for three years asked. “Bench in the park,” I grumbled as I plopped down beside her next to the small diner letting my back thud against the brick wall of the building. Every Wednesday we met at the Quick Stop Diner because one of the waitresses, Mary, always bought us a sandwich to split. Mary was kind to us when most people only curled their lip at us as they passed by. Pearl was one of the first homeless people I’d ever met. I’d stopped a couple of punks from bullying her, and she’d treated me like a saint ever since. I’d seen plenty of bums as they held their cups out to me, begging for money which I slipped them whatever spare change I might have in my pocket and felt good about it, but I’d never known one, personally. What a joke. If it hadn’t been for Pearl, I might have starved to death. Every day, she fought for food, for survival, but she chose to share with me. Mary had bought Pearl a sandwich every Wednesday for a year. It was her only guaranteed meal each week, and now Pearl gave me half. It’s funny how sometimes people with the least give the most. “Have you seen Murry?” she asked, raising her brows in hope. The thing about Pearl was she was as sweet as they came, but she wasn’t all there upstairs. Murry, for all I could tell, was an invisible pet cat that only Pearl could see. Sometimes, Pearl would sit for hours with her hand moving as if she were petting him even though there was nothing there. The elusive Murry apparently had run away recently and she’d been looking everywhere for him. “I haven’t seen him,” I told her, doing my best to play along. “I’m sure he’ll show up soon.” My situation was unfortunate, and bad luck had dumped me in shitville. As lousy and hopeless as I felt, I hoped that maybe I’d make my way back to some normalcy someday with a job and a roof over my head. But people like Pearl, she was sick. The mentally ill and poor really got the shaft. No one wanted to pay to take care of them, and everyone treated them worse than just your stereotypical bum. “Damn cat,” she griped, shaking her head. “Feed him, love him, protect him . . . and this is what I get? He just leaves me?” I patted her leg. “I’m sure he’ll come back.” I’d listened to Pearl prattle on day after day about her missing invisible cat and how she used to live in a nice house in Jersey. It was the same story over and over, but each time she talked about Murry, I noticed it eased her. So day after day, I listened. I felt a deep obligation to this woman, and it wasn’t only because she had fed me. My grandmother, at the end of her life, suffered from Alzheimer’s. It was a truly heartbreaking time in my life when I watched one on the strongest people I’d ever known diminish before my eyes. Pearl, in a distant way, reminded me of my Grams, but unlike my Grams, she was alone. So I took on the duty of checking on her every day, and when she told me the same story over and over, I listened. My grandmother, before her Alzheimer’s was bad, once told me, “God gave us a mouth that closes and ears that stay open for a reason.” Sometimes people didn’t need advice or kind words, they just needed someone to listen. When When Pearl hung her head, clearly worried and sad, I decided listening wasn’t helping much today and tried to change the subject. “Where’d you stay last night?” “That homeless shelter a few blocks down on Main again,” she informed me. “Don’t usually like that

one because they won’t let you have pets, but with Murry missing it wasn’t a problem.” I stayed in a shelter one night, and I swore, short of it being arctic cold outside, I wouldn’t do it again. The place was filled to the brim, and two people tried to pick through my bag while I was sleeping. But for someone like Pearl, I was grateful for places like that. “You need a shower, Liam,” she divulged to me as she scrunched up her nose. “You smell ripe.” The other thing about Pearl, she was filter-free and brutally honest. If you smelled like shit, she was going to tell you. If you were an asshole, she’d tell you that, too. After raising my arm and taking a whiff of my underarm, I winced before letting out a defeated sigh. She was right. I stunk to high heaven. When was the last time I’d had a shower? Three days earlier? And even then, it wasn’t a shower. I’d used the hand soap in the restroom of a fast food restaurant to wash under my arms and my lower region. It was better than nothing. I supposed. Before I could respond, Pearl perked up and pointed. “There she is.” Mary, the kind waitress, was hurrying toward us in her white sneakers and handed me the paper bag. “Honey, you look thinner. You been working yourself to skin and bones?” Pearl asked as she gave Mary a thorough once over. Mary smiled sheepishly, her cheeks blanketing with the slightest shade of pink. Apparently, she was shy. Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat ponytail and her lips shined as though she’d just applied gloss. “No more than usual.” I hadn’t ever really looked at Mary, no more than meeting her eyes briefly to say thank you. Most days, I tried not to look anyone in the eyes hoping that if I didn’t, maybe they wouldn’t notice me. I wished shame equaled invisibility. “Have you seen Murry, Mary?” Pearl asked, her tone thick with hope. “He’s my cat, all black and has big yellow eyes.” Mary glanced at me, a moment of understanding passing between us—she knew Pearl wasn’t all there, too—before she shook her head. “I’m real sorry, Pearl,” she apologized. “I haven’t. But I’ll ask around and keep my eyes peeled for him.” “God bless you, hon,” Pearl murmured. “I just hope he’s okay. He’s never been on the streets by himself.” “It’s going to be really hot out here today, so I put two bottles of water in there for ya’s.” Holding her hand up to block the sun from her eyes, Mary added, “You guys try and stay in the shade if you can.” I smiled up at her from where I sat beside Pearl on the sidewalk, embarrassed, realizing how worthless and pathetic I must’ve looked to her. “Thank you, Mary. I swear, I will repay you some day.” I’d promised her this every Wednesday since the first Wednesday Pearl brought me there and come hell or high water it was a promise I intended to keep. Someday, somehow, I would repay this woman. And every Wednesday she looked down at me, her mouth curved somewhat like she was smiling and frowning simultaneously and said, “You don’t owe me a thing. I’ll see you guys next week.” “Thank you, Mary,” Pearl called around the bite of sandwich in her mouth as Mary hustled back inside. Pearl had already torn into the bag and gotten her half. We watched Mary rush to the front and round the corner. Mary is on her feet working all day, but takes time out of her busy schedule and money out of her own pocket to bring us a sandwich. My stomach

grumbled as I looked inside the bag wishing like hell I wasn’t so desperate to eat this sandwich. It’s hard to describe the feeling of being immensely grateful and tremendously ashamed at the same time—it was truly humbling. When I took a big bite of my sandwich, I looked at Pearl who had just finished hers. When we met, it had been two days since I’d eaten. I was too proud to beg for food. In my mind at the time, I would rather have starved. But Pearl wouldn’t have any of that. A loud engine roared, drawing our attention. At the red light, a man sat on a motorcycle. The Road King he was driving was badass with a 26-inch spoked wheel. I could tell the man had put some time into it just looking at it. The fuel tank was stretched, it had a custom paint job, and he’d added drag bar handlebars, side covers, and saddle bags. My chest tightened as I stared, a hint of jealousy seizing me as the thought I’d never own a bike again, let alone ride on one, skittered through my mind. “Sure is a pretty bike,” Pearl noted letting out a husky laugh. I frowned, wondering if she had a cold. It was summertime, so it probably wasn’t allergies, but I didn’t get a chance to question her about it because she added, “You stare at motorcycles like most men stare at women.” I snorted a laugh at her words. She was right. “I’ve worked on those,” I told her before shoving my last bite of sandwich in my mouth. When I finished chewing, I added, “They’re pretty badass bikes. I wouldn’t mind having one.” “You’ll have one someday. Someday, Liam, you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted. A guy like you won’t stay on these streets for long.” I appreciated her words of encouragement, but as the Road King zoomed off, I feared it had taken all my hope with it. I’d never considered myself a man that needed a lot, and I’d never dreamed of great wealth, but I’d hoped for enough money to get by and hoped someday I’d find a woman I could settle down with and start a family. A guy like me Pearl had said. What was I? I was nothing. “I wish I believed that,” I muttered. “You’ll see, Liam,” she murmured. “You’ll see.” After brushing the sandwich crumbs from my clothes, I dug in my pocket and found the crumpled up twenty-dollar bill I’d been holding on to. Taking her hand, I pressed it into her palm. “It’s not much, but somebody left it on me while I was sleeping last night.” Pearl looked up at me, her eyes seemingly searching my face. “This is all the money you’ve got, Liam,” she said softly. “I’ve got more,” I lied. “Don’t worry about me.” Her narrowed gaze said, bullshit. It was bullshit. She was no dummy. “I’m not taking this,” she insisted and moved to give it back, but I hopped up and grabbed my backpack before she could. “Nope. It’s yours,” I insisted. Shaking her head, she cut me a look that said: “Thanks, but you shouldn’t have.” Then her gaze darted from me to something behind me, her eyes flashing with what looked like familiarity, but quickly morphed into something else. “Look at that.” Pearl pointed, her eyes widening with appreciation. Following her line of sight, I found a tall man dressed in a tailored suit, standing at the

corner of the café, talking on his cell phone, his free hand was in his slacks pocket. It’s not like we hadn’t seen a hundred suits every day, but this man stood out. He was handsome, for a dude, seemingly wealthy, and looked like he didn’t have a care in the world as he chuckled at something the person on the other end of the line must have said. Watching him, I couldn’t help but compare myself. I was never a suit and tie kind of guy and most days my hands were stained, and my nails were caked with grease. My body was covered in tattoos, and from what I could tell, this guy had no ink. He was a big guy, but physically I was larger. At least I used to be, before my life went to shit town. The streets had stolen more than my hope, taking their pounds of flesh. In better days I’d been broad and muscular, just like him. Not the waste of skin and bones I was now. “Bet he has it all,” Pearl wagered. I nodded in agreement as the guy turned and caught us watching him. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his Aviator sunglasses, but the way he leered at us, complete with his lip curling up said it all. We disgusted him. “Asshole,” I murmured as he began walking away. “Asshole with it all,” Pearl chuckled. The way people looked at us, their disgust, didn’t seem to faze Pearl in the least. She was used to it after years on the street. For me, I had a harder time brushing it off. If people wanted to walk by me, a worthless bum, and pretend they didn’t notice me, I could live with that. But to look at me like I was shit on the bottom of their shoe . . . that was a jagged pill to swallow. Shaking my head, I sighed and said, “What I’d give to have it all.” With a small wave goodbye to her, I headed to the street corner where the asshole who ‘had it all’ was waiting to cross, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He must have sensed me because he turned his head and sneered again when he saw me approaching. Apparently, being close to a homeless person was too much because the dumbass, in his haste to get as far away from me as possible, didn’t even look before stepping out into the street. It all happened so fast; the bus barreling toward him, the horn blaring. I didn’t think, I just reacted and jumped behind him, shoving him out of the way. After that, all I remembered was the screeching of brakes, the feeling of my body slamming into the pavement, screams, sirens, and unrelenting, insane pain. I’m dying, I thought as the sound of my slowing heartbeat whooshed in my ears. The thought wasn’t so terrifying given my current circumstances. I was a homeless bum with nothing except my sister and my nephew, David. I hadn’t spoken to them in months, the shame I felt about my situation kept me from contacting them. But as I lay on the warm concrete, the summer sun beaming down on me as I fought to stay awake, the images of Helen and David looped endlessly through my mind. Helen would have to identify my body. I hated that thought. I also knew she’d be equally angry with me for hiding from her as she would be devastated about my death. In the quick span of seconds before I closed my eyes, I realized for months I had hated my life; hated my circumstances. Being homeless and hungry was a hell of sorts, but even I knew, as hopeless as I’d felt, that things could get better—one day. Now I feared I would never know. I didn’t want to die, but as my eyelids grew heavier, my breaths growing harder to take, I feared it was too late. I wanted to pray, to beg God, but how? How did I ask him to spare me when I’d taken so much for granted? Just before I gave in—before I let the last bit of my life seep out of me—I watched the asshole who

‘had it all’ stand up and brush off his suit, giving me one glance as I lay bleeding in the street. I thought he’d come to my aid; that he’d rush to my side like any decent human being would do. Hell, even if he’d pulled that cell out of his pocket and called the police, that would’ve been something. But he didn’t. When our stares locked, I didn’t see remorse in his intense gaze, but I saw fear. Glancing down, he spotted my backpack a few feet away. It must’ve flown off my shoulder from the impact. Picking it up, he stared at it a moment before clutching it to him. Then he spun around and sprinted away. I’d just saved this man’s life, and that’s all I got? My bag was stolen and a quick glance before he hightailed it out of there? Apparently, that asshole was Max. Now I’m in Max’s body. I’m the asshole.



I paced Max’s apartment for hours, with no idea what to do. I’d died and taken over this man’s body somehow. As I searched through his things, my mind was riddled with darker thoughts. I wondered how my sister had taken it. Was she okay? Had they had my funeral yet? The thought was surreal. Somewhere out there my body was possibly already rotting in a casket, yet here I was in this man’s perfectly healthy body. The thought enraged me as I remembered Max fleeing the scene, leaving me like I was nothing. Shaking my head, I told myself to remain calm. Letting myself fall into a blind rage wouldn’t help anything. No matter what, I had to meet this Waverly woman even though she seemed less than excited to see Max. I continued to dig through drawers, reading mail—mostly utility bills—inspecting keys, looking for clues as to what they may go to. There was a laptop on his desk which was password protected, so I couldn’t access it, but I did find his wallet right beside it. A filing cabinet in his office offered a few insights to his life. He was insanely rich, which was pretty obvious judging by his gigantic New York apartment and fancy clothes. Looking over some of his old bank statements, I discovered he had millions. As I rifled through his paperwork, I couldn’t find anything that would tell me where he worked or if he even had a job, for that matter. Maybe he was just rich. “Must be nice,” I’d mumbled to myself. Other than his wealth, I didn’t discover much else, but I now knew I possessed the body of Maximus Greyson Porter III, and that Max had a fetish for Asian porn judging by the charges on his bank statements. A notepad sat on the table by his bed next to an empty bottle of scotch and a highball glass with only a sip in it. Picking up the notepad, I thumbed through it, but all the pages were blank. When I opened the nightstand drawer, I found an empty pill bottle for painkillers. I wondered if he took these for some kind of pain or injury, or maybe recreation. The fill date was a little over a week ago, before I saved his life, and the bottle was already empty. “Please don’t tell me you’re some kind of addict,” I mumbled to myself. That’s all I needed right now. The thought caused me pause, and I had to inhale a steadying breath. “Keep it together, Liam,” I told myself. “Losing your shit won’t help.” With every moment that passed I felt more and more panicked. I was in this man’s body with no idea who he really was. I didn’t know if he had family or if he had medical problems. Was he a drug addict? But the biggest question, the one that was really eating me alive, was why in the hell was this happening? Tossing the bottle aside I opened the drawer further, finding condoms, a black silk eye mask and some folded bills in a clip. “Six thousand dollars?” I gaped after a quick count. Who the hell keeps that kind of cash in a drawer? Staring at the bills, I twisted my mouth wondering if I should take the money. Was it stealing if I was Max—at least in the physical sense? I mean, it’s not like I stole his body. In fact, I’m the only reason his body still existed at all and wasn’t stuffed in a body bag somewhere. I decided to take some of the cash, just in case. I wouldn’t spend much but I thought Max owed me a few drinks at the

very least. And at the very least, I could pay for dinner with Waverly if I needed to. When four o’clock rolled around, I decided it was time to get ready for dinner with Waverly. The Mill was high class, but whether I was in Max’s body or not, suits just weren’t my thing unless I was attending a wedding or a funeral. Luckily, after quite a bit of digging through suits and jeans that looked like they were bedazzled—were dudes really wearing this shit?—I found a semi-normal looking pair of jeans and a black shirt that fit well. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I gave a nod. It made this unbelievable situation a little more tolerable dressing more like myself. Rubbing the bit of scruff on my face, I momentarily wondered if I should shave, but decided against it. I had enough to worry about—a few day-old beard was the least of my worries. I assumed Max would understand, where ever the hell he was. When I rode the elevator to the lobby, I timidly stepped out onto the polished marble floors, glancing around. This place was hella-nice. I was wearing a T-shirt and jeans—some real expensive name brand shit too—because Max didn’t seem to be the kind of man to buy clothes from places a man like me would. Even wearing the finest of his over-priced casual clothes, I felt like white-trash as I walked through the lobby. People, Max’s neighbors I assumed, stared at me like I was a fly in milk—like I didn’t belong. I momentarily second-guessed my decision to dress down. Was that why they were staring? Because they’d never seen Max wear normal people clothes? Or was I imaging it all because I felt like the fact that I was inhabiting Max’s body was that transparent? I felt like the proverbial sore thumb—I stuck out. Shaking it off, I snickered to myself as I imagined the judgmental stares they’d cast at me if they’d seen me less than a week ago, in my own dirty body, clad in dirty street clothes. “How are you today, Mr. Porter?” A short gray-haired man removed his hat and bowed slightly to me as if I were royalty. Was he for real? I’d seen doormen before, mostly as I passed by nice buildings where they were opening car doors for residents, but I had never really spoken to one. Did they all bow? “Uh . . . I’m good,” I paused and glanced at the shiny metal name tag on his uniform, “Braxton.” Then I cut my gaze to his. “Your name is really Braxton?” Braxton the doorman? It sounded like something out of a movie. He chuckled nervously, his eyes filled with what looked like confusion. “Name given at birth, sir.” I almost smacked my forehead as I realized I had just asked his name. Max would have known his name. Right? Or maybe rich people wouldn’t care about their doorman’s name. Damn, this was frustrating. Realizing I must’ve sounded like I was insulting him, I quickly added, “Good name.” I cringed internally. I sounded like a dumbass. What dude gives a shit about another guy’s name? Keep it together, Liam, I reminded myself. I had to learn to be more observant. Otherwise, I’d make Max look like he was losing his mind. “Are you okay, sir?” he asked in a hushed tone. “You don’t quite seem like yourself.” My head reared back a little. “I don’t?” Shit. So it wasn’t just me. I really was sticking out like a sore thumb. I imagined I must look like a clay humanoid, awkward, as I navigated Max’s body around. Patting my arm, his mouth twisted into a smile. “You’ll be fine, sir. Maybe you just need a little fresh air.” “Yes, I think I’ll take a walk, Braxton,” I sputtered. “Thank you.” Braxton stared at me a moment, his mouth seemingly trying not to curve into a smile before he jerked suddenly and bobbed his head once. “Very well, sir. Have a nice afternoon.” He scurried off behind the

desk and answered a ringing phone. As I headed out into the hot New York afternoon, I wondered if this would be how everyone I approached as Max would act—like they could tell I was a fraud? “I hope not,” I mumbled to myself.



As soon as his eyes met mine I could tell something was off. If the way he smiled nervously and how he wiped his hands on his jeans as if his palms were sweating weren’t enough to clue me in, the way he was dressed certainly did. Expertly fitted black shirt and jeans that were perfect—but not his usual suit or designer get-up? The lax outfit paired well with the bit of scruff on his face which was also unlike him. He looked . . . good. I mean, Max was a handsome man, no doubt about it, but once you got to know him, his physical attributes were quickly tarnished by his egotistical and selfish character. Unfortunately, I was young and foolish when I met him and fell hard. I believed I could change him. What happened was I ended up wasting part of my life with a man who would never love anyone more than he loved himself. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself. “All you need is Max’s signature,” I mumbled quietly to no one. As I approached the table, he stood quickly almost knocking his chair back. Swinging an arm back, he caught it just in time and righted it, giving me an embarrassed smirk. I stared at him blankly. “Max,” I said, giving him a curt nod. “Waverly.” When he said my name, it sounded odd like he was questioning it more than stating it. We stared at each other for a moment before he widened his eyes and sighed loudly as if he felt awkward. “You look . . .” he paused and haphazardly waved his hand up and down my body before clenching his eyes closed and grumbling, “nice?” Again, it sounded like a question. Once again, I stared at him blankly. Nice? I looked nice? Was he serious? I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be kind or if maybe he was . . . nervous? But why would he be? He’d ignored me and made it clear he hadn’t wanted anything to do with me in years, so why bother being nice now? Narrowing my eyes at him, I pressed my lips together, stopping myself from saying something shitty. Snarkiness was a forte of mine; a double-edged sword as it had proven useful to me in moments of discord with others. However, it could also leave me looking like a giant ass with my foot in my mouth, too. I’d learned to reel it in as I’d aged, learning there was a time and place for it. Besides, I refused to stoop to Max’s level. He was the kind of man that could easily get you caught up in a pointless argument. He knew how to push people’s buttons. I’d spent a great deal of time choosing the right outfit and doing my makeup and hair to meet him tonight, a classic I look amazing while not looking like I tried too hard. Trying to look good before meeting him felt like a low point for me because he didn’t deserve it, but the last time I’d seen Max I’d looked like a train wreck, and I felt the need to erase that image from his head as much as possible. I wondered if he could tell the effort I’d put in. You look nice? He probably thought he was being funny, complimenting me. Asshole. “Allow me.” Moving around me, he pulled my chair out and waited for me to sit. It was a kind and gentlemanly gesture. Max was messing with me. Keep it together, Waverly, I told myself. Just get his signature, and you never have to see him again. Barely containing the eye roll I so

badly wanted to make, I sat and waited until he sat again. “Merlot,” I told the waiter when he approached. “Would you like another whiskey, sir?” he asked, Max. “Yes,” Max practically groaned, almost as if he were desperate for one. “Keep ’em coming.” I gritted my teeth, but kept it together. Was seeing me that stressful for him? I hadn’t bothered him in almost two years except to set up this meeting. When the waiter walked away, I gave Max a sideways glance. “Since when do you drink whiskey?” Hello snarkiness, my old friend. I nearly bit my tongue off for asking, but the words flew out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. I didn’t want to ask him personal questions. I didn’t need to know anything about him. Now I’d asked, which made it seem like I cared, which was the farthest from the truth. His gaze shifted down as if he wasn’t sure how to answer, his hand holding the highball glass. Clearing his throat, he gave a slight shrug and wheezed, “Trying it out.” Before taking the last sip. “My throat’s a bit sore. Heard whiskey helps.” He was so ridiculous I wanted to laugh. His voice had been completely normal moments before, now he was hoarse and had a sore throat? I refused to comment further on it. I’d already asked more than I should have. If he felt the need to feign a sore throat, why did I care? Pulling my large purse into my lap, I took out the folder containing the papers I needed him to sign. “I won’t take any more of your precious time than I need to, Max. Once you sign these papers, you’ll never hear from me or us again.” His blue eyes shot up and met mine. “Us?” he questioned. I wanted to reach across the table and smack him across the face with the folder—sometimes my snarkiness felt like getting physical. “Pimberly and me,” I clarified. His gaze never left mine, and my anger ebbed for a moment as his facial features contorted to something that looked like shock. “Pimberly?” he questioned. Now I knew he was messing with me. Why did he always have to act like such an asshole? “Yes, Max,” I replied, my words clipped. “Our daughter. Pimberly. Remember? The little girl you didn’t want?”



Oh shit. Max had a daughter. I stared at her dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open, as I tried to digest the fun fact she’d just dropped on me. Max was a father. As if this situation couldn’t get any worse, now this. I’d have given anything to switch with him right then and there, no matter what that meant. This guy had a kid, and I was in his body. That was just so messed up I didn’t even know how to process it. “I just need your signature,” Waverly continued after clenching her eyes closed as if she were frustrated and using every bit of her strength to keep her composure. “Just sign them, and we’re done.” When she slid the paperwork toward me, the waiter just happened to be placing our drinks on the table. Mutely, unsure of what to do or say, I dropped my gaze to the folder and opened it. At first glance, my eyes caught on one line amidst the massive amount of verbiage, leaving me unable to thank him. Voluntary Termination of Parental Rights My heart froze in my chest when I read it. She wanted Max to sign over rights to his daughter? Was she serious? What kind of dickless asshole would just give up his kid? “Shall I bring menus?” The waiter asked. “We won’t be eating,” Waverly informed him. “In fact, go ahead and settle the check please.” When I glanced up, she was handing him her credit card. Man, this woman didn’t waste any time. This was a fullon assault; a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Max, wherever the bastard was, didn’t stand a chance and I sure as hell didn’t either. From the moment she walked in, I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. I’d immediately recognized her as soon as I saw her. She was the woman from the picture I found in the junk drawer at Max’s apartment; the one where she was smiling at him while he was smiling at the camera. Looks wise, she was a beautiful woman; curvy and petite. Her hair was dirty blonde, tied up in a ponytail, and although she was dressed in sleek business looking attire, her makeup had said something different. Her makeup wasn’t heavy or bad, it just gave her a pin-up girl look, which was hot as hell. Let me just say, it’s not easy finding a woman attractive while in another man’s body; the effect felt similar to what I would’ve experienced in my body, but unnatural because I was in Max’s. I momentarily wondered if my attraction to her was solely my own or if maybe some of it was Max; maybe somehow because I was in his body I was drawn to her more because he was. At least, he had been at some point. “I can pay,” I blurted, fumbling for the cash I took from Max’s nightstand in my pocket, but stopped. I didn’t want to pay yet. For starters, I needed to buy myself some more time to figure this out. More so, though, I was going to need a hell of a lot more whiskey. “Hold off on the check,” I informed the waiter, yanking her card from his hand and sliding it back to her. “We have a lot to discuss.” He drifted away as Waverly glared at me. Judging by how quickly her brown eyes turned murderous, I could tell she didn’t like my stalling, but I needed time. Maybe Max wouldn’t want this, right? What if I

signed this and he lost all chances of seeing his kid, and it was all my fault? While I was busy contemplating the enormous decision before me, I didn’t realize just how angry Waverly was. “You lying sack of shit,” she gritted. Whoa. She had a wicked little mouth on her. My mouth dropped open with her words. My reaction didn’t faze her because she continued. “You said you’d sign them. These papers are what you wanted.” My stomach dropped. Max had told her he’d sign them? Shit. I was fucking this up. Or rather, Max had fucked it up, and I was left to deal with the consequences. He was going to give up his kid? How . . . just how could a real man do that? Maybe Max really was a total loss. Maybe he really was a dickless asshole. I mean, he left me for dead after I saved his life. That pretty much screams dickless asshole. After seeing that with my own eyes, was it really that far of a stretch to think he’d sign over rights to his daughter? “I just . . .” What the fuck could I say? Maybe Max would have signed them. And a large part of me felt like I should do my best to abide by his wishes as this was his body and all, but the other part of me . . . the part that knew even though I was in Max’s body, I was still me. And that part of me wasn’t sure I could fulfill Max’s wishes. I couldn’t be the man to give up rights to a child; a man who’d let a little girl go through life wondering why her father didn’t want her; wondering why her father gave her up. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t mine. I wasn’t a dickless asshole. “I’d like to take some time to read over the papers. Can I have a few days?” I managed after a beat. Picking up her wine glass, she threw it back, gulping down the contents. Leaning forward, she clutched her purse to her chest. “You never wanted her,” she seethed. “You’ve made that very clear. I’ll be in touch.” With that, she stood and looped her arm through her purse strap and walked out. I sat back, my hand holding my whiskey glass as I watched her hail a cab through the front window. With her left arm in the air, watching the traffic, she nearly jumped when a short man tapped her shoulder. His clothes were dirty and riddled with holes, and he wore a beanie pulled down over his long greasy hair. He said something to her, and she smiled, attempting to hide her frustration as she opened her purse and pulled a few dollar bills out, handing them to him. He bowed his head in thanks, and she nodded, waving it off before he scurried away. When a cab stopped, she climbed in, and it drove her away. I don’t think I moved for a solid five minutes as I continued to stare out of the window wondering what in the hell I’d done to deserve this?



“That fucking cock sucker,” my brother Matt, bellowed from where he sat at the kitchen table. “Matty,” I hissed, scolding him. “Language.” “Oh, Jesus, Pim’s been down for hours,” he brushed me off before taking a long swig from his beer. He wasn’t happy about the news, and I couldn’t blame him. His brow was wrinkled, and his mouth was ticked up on one side—his famous, ‘I’m pissed’ look. Our biggest fear for so long had been that Max might wake up one day and change his mind about wanting to be in her life; about wanting to be a dad. But more so, what happened to Pim if something happened to me? Max would have first rights to her, and that was something that terrified Matt and me. Slipping my heels off my feet one at a time while I sat across from him, I chucked them at the community shoe pile by the back door. They thunked against the wall before landing on pairs of Matt’s giant Nike’s and work boots and Pim’s toddler-sized Disney-themed shoes. “Why the hell did you wear those to meet with that douche anyway?” I rolled my eyes. Not because his question annoyed me or that he was being ridiculous, but because I was ridiculous. Why did I wear heels to meet with Max? “It was stupid,” I admitted. “I guess I just wanted to look good, ya know? Make him suffer . . . if that’s even possible.” One side of his mouth quirked up, but he was fighting the smile. When Matt was angry, he wanted to stay angry. “You look like the most successful social worker in New York,” he joked. He’d never been a fan of my career choice, but he’d always been supportive. He was the best that way; he only wanted me to be happy. He also knew, deep down, my desire to help others came from our childhood, a time when our mother had bailed and left is with our father who, try as he did, could never make ends meet. There were times when we didn’t have heat or shoes that fit. I wanted to help people like that; good people that didn’t just want a handout but needed a hand up. I was the modern day Ronald Reagan. I smiled even though Matt was teasing me. I must have been insane to think becoming a social worker was a great career path, but one more year of college and I’d have my degree. I may never be successful financially, but I’d be a successful human being and that meant something to me. Probably worried he’d hurt my feelings when I didn’t respond, he quickly added, “You were the best thing to happen to that asshole.” I snorted and smirked a little. My brother thought that about every guy I’d ever dated. Growing up, our father had worked two jobs which kept him away from home a lot. With two absent parents, Matt took it upon himself to look out for me, protect me. So, of course he thought any guy I’d dated was an ‘asshole.’ It just happened to be true when it came to Max. “Not just look hot,” I clarified. “I wanted to look like I was doing well; that my life is good.”

“Did it work?” he asked. I twisted my mouth in thought. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “He definitely isn’t the Max I remember. He seemed . . . different. But I’m not sure if that was a reflection of him seeing me or if he was messing with me.” “Doesn’t sound so different to me,” Matt snuffed. “He didn’t sign the papers even though he said he would. Sounds like the same lame shit he always pulled.” I couldn’t argue with him on that one. Max was never one to make anything easy. If he didn’t feel he was in complete control of a situation, he’d dig his heels in and make it as difficult as possible. Sometimes he did it simply by ignoring me; stonewalling. Grabbing Matt’s beer, I took a long swig before sliding it back to him. “I’ll give him a few days before I call him again.” Matt shook his head. “He’s had enough time. You need to push harder.” I’d thought about that, too. I had worried pestering and pushing Max would only make him resist more because he’d enjoy torturing me. Lawyering up and taking him to court had always been an option, but Max was wealthy. I had no doubt if I had tried taking him to court he’d assemble some legal dream team and annihilate me. I needed to think about that, but at that moment, I was beat. Walking around New York City in heels, plus over an hour on the metro, and Max refusing to sign the papers had siphoned the energy right out of me. “You excited about your trip?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. Matt and his girlfriend Alice were leaving for a two-week tour of Europe. They’d been saving for the trip for years. Matt bobbed his head a few times. “Ready for some time off from work, that’s for sure.” I frowned. Matt worked so hard and had a serious girlfriend, but still found the time and energy to help me with Pimberly. “Can you guys pack Pim and me in your suitcase so we can go too?” I joked. “I wish you guys were going. I’ll be worried about you two the entire time.” “We’ll be fine Matt,” I assured him. “You deserve the best vacation. Do not worry about anything here at home.” He grunted, his way of agreeing to disagree. I knew no matter what I said, there was no way he wouldn’t worry about us. “I’ve got an early class tomorrow,” I yawned as I stretched, reaching my arms above my head. I was exhausted. “I’m gonna head to bed. Pim’s lunch for Ms. Patty’s is in the fridge and don’t forget tomorrow is show and tell.” “She’s not even two,” Matt snickered. “What the hell is she going to take for show and tell?” “Her giraffe, of course.” Pim slept with it every night and took it everywhere with her. “Ms. Patty just wants the kids to have fun. Show and tell is fun.” “Yeah, yeah,” Matt muttered. “Ms. Patty’s a nice lady, Waverly, but I just think she’s got too many kids under her watch.” “That’s how in-home daycare works, Matt. Besides, Pim loves her, and Ms. Patty watches those kids like a hawk.” And my biggest defense for Ms. Patty was the price; daycare centers were astronomical. And since my only income was from student loans, I had to save every dime I could.

“Anyway,” I added before he could argue. “I’m wiped. Night. Love you.” I waved as I exited the kitchen. “Night,” he called. “And try not to worry, Waverly.” My eyes teared up, but he didn’t see because I had already walked in the hallway outside the kitchen. I hated that Max could still do this to me; could still hurt me. Seeing him that night, begging him to sign over rights to our daughter had been more emotionally trying than I had thought it would be. Though I fought like hell to stop it, it came anyway—the memory. The first one in a painful series. The beginning of one of the worst times in my life. Everything looked perfect. The entire apartment was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, a bottle of champagne sat on the counter beside the two Waterford crystal flutes Max’s boss had given us upon news of our marriage, and the decadent aroma from the lamb I’d prepared wafted in the air. The setting was perfect. My tummy grumbled in hunger as I checked the clock for the ten-thousandth time. I was starved, and he was an hour late. His new job was requiring him to stay later as he worked hard to impress his boss and peers. So I understood his tardiness, and I would wait. This was a special occasion. When he finally arrived, I greeted him at the door wearing my red fitted dress that bared my shoulders. It was a favorite of his. “Max,” I beamed as he slipped off his suit jacket, his gaze darting around the apartment. “What’s all this?” he asked as I took his coat and hung it for him. “This,” I preened as I took his hand and led him forward, “is for us.” Cutting his eyes to me, he let them rove up and down my body, one side of his mouth quirking up. “And who’s that sexy dress for?” He knew exactly who I was wearing it for, but he enjoyed hearing me say it. With a playful wink, I bit my lower lip. “The dress would be for us, but what’s underneath would most definitely be for you.” Grabbing me, he yanked me to him and kissed me hard. Harder than I enjoyed, but I took it as passion; that his desire for me made him aggressive. And thinking of it that way made it romantic . . . At least, in my mind his urgency was sexy. He smelled like cigars and had the faintest taste of brandy on his tongue. He hadn’t come straight home from work, apparently. The thought bothered me, but I refused to let it spoil our evening. Tonight was a celebration, and I wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that. Pushing it aside, I met his kiss and embrace with equal gusto. “I have to get the lamb,” I mumbled against his lips as his fingertips glided up my sides, making me squirm. I was ticklish and hated it, which made him love tickling me all the more. When he released me, I rushed to the oven and popped it open. “I’ll pour us a glass of champagne,” he volunteered. “Just a little for me please,” I called out to him after I heard the cork pop. After a few minutes, I had our plates prepared and set on the table. Max pulled my chair out for me as we sat, something he rarely ever did, before taking his seat.

“This looks excellent,” he noted as he rubbed his hands together. I beamed a bright smile, a warmth spreading over me from his compliment. “Before we eat, I have a present for you,” I announced, my tone edged with nervousness. “You didn’t knit me another scarf, did you?” he began. “I appreciate the thought, Waverly, but knitted scarves just aren’t my style.” My face heated with embarrassment. Max was a wealthy man, and wealth was something I’d never had. Gift giving with him was a nightmare. His gifts for me were always extravagant and expensive. When I couldn’t afford to give him nicer gifts, I tried heartfelt ones; gifts with thought that involved time and effort. It took me two weeks to knit that damn scarf, and I was so proud of it. Of course, the moment he opened it, I could tell he hated it. The lame attempt he’d made to appear like he liked it could hardly be classified as an attempt at all. “No,” I said, as I darted my gaze down at my plate, brushing away the hurt feelings. “I think you’ll really like this gift.” Handing him the small square box I’d wrapped in beautiful silver wrapping paper, I smiled. Slowly, he untied the ribbon and unwrapped the box, giving me a wolfish grin as he popped the top off the box. When he looked inside, his grin fell, and his features went slack. He was surprised. Smiling, I said, “Surprise, Daddy.” Nothing. He said nothing. He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. Okay, that didn’t go as planned, I thought to myself. Clearing my throat, I decided to clarify a few things. “That’s the first ultrasound photo. I’m about ten weeks. The baby is due in February.” Tossing the box on the table, he grabbed his glass and chugged his champagne down. Standing, he took the champagne bottle and poured himself another glass before chugging that down too. Every ounce of excitement and happiness I’d felt moments before had evaporated. Max wasn’t happy. He was pissed. “I thought you’d be happy,” I managed after a beat. He laughed haughtily. “About what? That the woman I’ve known for five seconds and married in front of an Elvis impersonator is pregnant? Are you serious?” My mouth dropped open, my heart feeling as if it had thunked to the floor next to my shoes. Our romance had been quick, a whirlwind really, but it had seemed like a fairytale to me. I thought he’d felt the same. Hadn’t he? “I don’t understand,” I choked out. “I know it’s soon, but . . . we’re married. We conceived on our honeymoon. It’s kind of romantic if you think about it.” Again, he laughed, the sound laced with disdain. He thought I was ridiculous.

I could barely form words and what words I managed to squeak out, Max wasn’t hearing. So I sat quietly, waiting. He obviously needed a few moments to process the news. “I’ll make you an appointment with a clinic tomorrow,” he finally spoke, his gaze fixated on something to the side of me. “I’ll pay for everything. It’s still early so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Could someone knock you off your feet from simply using words? I’m positive if I hadn’t been sitting, I’d have crumbled to the ground. I was speechless. I was in shock. “I have to get out of here,” Max muttered. At the door, he grabbed his suit jacket. “I’ll text you with the appointment information in the morning.” When the door shut, I sat frozen, my mind physically locking me in place. He didn’t want our baby. What in the hell was I going to do? I’d tried so hard to work things out with him at the time. I’d obliterated my pride and dignity. I had tried so hard, but it never swayed him. Not even a little. He had rejected Pim and me, and never looked back. And now that I had finally moved past it all and had accepted he wouldn’t be a part of our lives, he refused to sign the papers. It didn’t make sense. The lack of control I had over it infuriated me, and when I couldn’t unleash my the rage I felt, my anger and hurt turned into tears. Every. Damn. Time. As I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, I glanced at a few of the photos hanging on the wall of Matt and me as kids. In the world of siblings, my sibling won first prize. When things fell apart with Max and me, Matt took me in and helped raise Pim since the day she was born. He’d be such an excellent father one day, and for all intents and purposes, he’s one now to Pim. He’s the only father-figure she’s ever known. Matt shared in all the work, the sleepless nights, the diaper changes, the feedings, and so much more. I couldn’t even imagine Max changing a diaper. He’d probably need a hazmat suit before he’d even think about doing it. Peeking in Pimberly’s room at the top of the stairs, I could see her through the crib railings from the doorway. Her little mouth was shaped into a pout and she was snoring faintly. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It broke my heart she had a father that didn’t want her; that chose to miss out on this amazing little person because he was selfish. Because a baby and the work in raising one was too much for him; would cramp his style. I smiled a little, the hurt fading slightly, imagining his face if Pim spit up on one of his dress shirts or spilled juice on his fancy couch. I’m sure all his dates he brought home would love the fingerprints and smudges all over his glass and windows. And that’s when it hit me—an epiphany. A wide grin spread across my tear dampened face as a plan began to formulate in my mind. “Don’t worry, baby girl,” I whispered. “He’s going to sign those papers . . . one way or another.” Closing her door, I headed to my room with my chin up. Matt was right. I’d have to push Max. And I knew just how to do it.



After Waverly left, I had two more drinks and an order of steak fries. I read through the paperwork, still lost as to what to do. Legal documents were not my forte, but I was smart enough to know what I was reading. Max signing these documents would abolish any rights or claim he had to his daughter. I wondered if Max had really thought this through when he said he’d sign them. I just couldn’t imagine doing it . . . Giving up my kid? I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing my child was out in the world somewhere believing I didn’t want them. I could choose to sign or not sign the papers. Or, I could do nothing. That seemed to be the choice I was leaning toward—doing nothing. At least for now. On the way back to Max’s apartment, I took the long way, hoping to find Pearl. Since the day we’d met, I’d always made it a point to find her and check in with her. I knew most of her usual spots, but sometimes she switched it up, or found a shelter to crash in for the night. I found her off Broadway leaned against the wall of a store. With her cardboard sign propped up beside her, she held her cup up as people passed by and called, “God bless you,” to each of them. No one put anything in her cup; hell, they didn’t even look at her. As much as Pearl actually needed money, the cardboard sign sitting beside her didn’t ask for it. Missing. Black Cat With Yellow Eyes. And under the writing, she’d drawn a picture of a black cat that looked like it’d been created by a kindergartener. From a distance, I watched her for a moment. I wanted to talk to her so badly like we usually did, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t me anymore . . . at least not physically. A feeling of powerlessness consumed me making me want to hit something. How was I supposed to do this? Was I supposed to give up all the people I loved and cared about? Just forget about them? How was I supposed to be Max Porter? Walking up to her, I pulled the folded bills from my pocket, but as I started counting them out, intending to put a few in her cup, she shrieked, “Murderer!” I stumbled back as she pushed herself slowly off the ground, continuing to yell, “You left him to die you animal!” “I—” “He saved your life!” she went on, jabbing my chest with her finger hard enough to make me step back. Her eyes were wide with rage and her body shook. She was talking about me. Or rather, talking about Max and how he left me for dead. All I’d wanted to do was give my friend some money, but I’d forgotten one huge thing—she’d watched me die. And not just watched me die but watched me save Max’s life and watched Max get up and leave me dying on the street without a second thought. She continued to yell at me, pushing me, tears streaming down her dirty face. People passing by swerved around us, glancing our way, but no one seemed to care enough to stop and listen to her.

“Pearl,” I said loudly, grabbing her wrist, stopping her from shoving me. “You don’t understand.” “He’s on life support, you asshole!” she bellowed, slamming her fisted free hand against my chest. “The doctors say he probably won’t make it!” Then, so overcome with emotion, she fell into me, collapsing against me. I pulled her up and helped her to the wall where she slid down it until she was sitting on the sidewalk before she covered her face with her hands. I watched her for a moment, my eyes wide, my heart pounding. I wasn’t dead. I mean, I existed inside of Max’s body, but my body was still alive, albeit barely according to Pearl. How did this happen? As one thought connected to another, my knees buckled. I slid down the wall and sat next to Pearl as she moaned, her face still covered. If I was in Max’s body, did that mean that Max was trapped in my body? Could Max really be inside my body, comatose? I wanted to try and explain to Pearl what had happened; tell her even though she was looking at Max —the man that left her friend for dead—that it was me, Liam. But how could I? How could I explain? The answer to that question was I couldn’t. Not without sounding insane, and given that she was a pretty mad hatter herself, it was impossible. No person in their right mind would believe me. Concluding that my presence, or rather the sight of Max was upsetting her, I decided it was best I leave. Before I stood, I shoved the folded bills in her cup and stood. “I don’t want a damn dime from you,” she hissed, pulling the money from her cup and tossing it at me. A few of the bills flew away, but with some quick shuffling, I managed to get most of them. With the cash balled up in my hand, I bent down to her and begged, “Please take it. You could get a hotel room tonight.” “Get away from me,” she growled, turning her body sideways. “You killed Murry.” My head dropped. She was mixing me up with Murry, the infamous missing black cat, now. I needed to get her some help, soon. I let out a long defeated breath. Shoving the money wad in my pocket I rushed off, feeling ashamed for some reason. I know Pearl was mad at Max, not me, but having someone you respect and care for so much despise you felt like shit. Two of the first three people I’d seen as Max hated him. Waverly was definitely not his biggest fan. And now Pearl. I doubted Braxton was a big fan either. Would it be this way with everyone? Pulling out Max’s iPhone I’d brought with me, I googled the nearest hospitals. Luckily, since I was in Max’s body, his thumbprint allowed me access to his phone. I called three hospitals and finally found where they’d taken me. I hailed a cab, no longer caring about trying to be conservative with the money I’d taken from Max’s drawer. Max was an asshole. His body was perfect and healthy while mine was most likely mangled, barely hanging on to life. They’d taken me—or my body rather—to one of the lower-end hospitals. Makes sense. I was a homeless man without insurance. I was lucky I could even get medical attention. After speaking to the front desk and getting the room number where my body was, I trudged the halls slowly. I wanted to see what happened to me; what I looked like, but then again . . . I didn’t. How could I watch myself die from Max’s body? And what happened if I did die? There’s no way they could keep me on life support very long; my sister wouldn’t be able to afford it. How ironic was it that I was trapped in the body of the man whose life I’d saved and who left me for dead?

When I finally reached the room, I peeked through the small rectangular window on the door and stopped breathing as I felt the blood drain from my face. I knew seeing my body in such a state would be difficult, but nothing could have prepared me for this. Tubes were coming in and out of me everywhere, and I was on a ventilator. Quietly opening the door, I walked in, staring at my still body, my heart pounding in my chest with disbelief. “Damn,” I mumbled under my breath. “You look like shit.” My body looked like a hollowed-out carcass covered in tattoos. My face was bruised and swollen, dark circles hung under my eyes, my skin looked sickly and pale. Getting hit by a bus certainly didn’t do me any favors looks wise, but this was more than that. This was a man that had been hungry and homeless . . . A man that had been hit by the bus of life, dragging him with it like a rag doll after it ran him over. With that thought, shame lodged in my throat as the limp, lifeless shell before me gave me a real visual of just how far I’d fallen. Looking down on myself, I wondered if touching my arm would somehow switch us back. Slowly, I reached out and held my hand over my body. If we did switch back, I would be in a coma, trapped in my lifeless body. Is that what I wanted? “If it happens, that’s what’s meant to be,” I told myself. With a deep breath, I squeezed my eyes closed, preparing myself, before taking firm hold of my wrist and squeezing. Nothing happened. Releasing my grip, I roughly rubbed my face as I let out a groan. This was really happening. I was standing inside another man’s body looking at my body on its death bed. Rounding the bed, I sat in the chair beside it and leaned in so I was closer. “Max?” I whispered. “Are you in there, Max?” I don’t know what I thought would happen. Of course he wouldn’t just sit up and answer me, but I thought maybe the heart monitor would spike, or a finger or toe would twitch in response. But again, nothing happened. Resting my head on the bed railing, I let out another growl. “I don’t know why this is happening, Max. I can’t make any sense out of it, and there’s no one I can talk to about it.” Raising my head, I added, “You left me for dead on that street, man. You’re a real asshole, by the way.” “Uh, excuse me,” someone snapped. Whipping my gaze to the door, I found Helen, looking mad as hell. Her red hair was tied up in a messy knot on top of her head, her eyes had dark circles under them, a tell-tale sign she hadn’t slept in days. “There a reason you’re in here calling my comatose brother an asshole?” Just the sight of her overwhelmed me, more so than I would’ve thought it would. I hadn’t seen her in so long and my day had been utter hell. All I wanted to do was hug someone I loved. Without thinking I jumped up and rushed to her, grabbing her in a big bear hug. She immediately fought me; squirming, but I squeezed harder. Holding onto her was like trying to bathe a cat. Finally, she grunted and shoved me away. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she raged. Stumbling back, I got a good look at her, and my jaw dropped. She had the slightest start of a round belly showing. “You’re pregnant, Hel?” I gasped in disbelief.

Her face twisted as she looked at me like I was insane. “Who the hell are you?” “Who’s the father, Hel?” I continued. My sister hadn’t had a serious boyfriend in years. I go three months without seeing her, and she’s knocked up? “I’m calling security,” she moved toward the bed and took the patient call phone. “No, Hel, wait,” I pleaded as I grabbed her arm, trying to stop her. When she whipped around and slammed the phone against my head, I fell back and landed on my ass. “Fuck!” I hissed, holding my injured head. “That hurt, Hel!” “You touch me again, and I’ll bash your damn skull in with this thing,” she warned as she jabbed at the buttons on the phone. She always was an ornery little thing. She was small, but her strength was mighty. It’s one of the reasons I called her Hel—short for Hell Cat. “Will you just hear me out please?” I begged. “I promise I’m not a crazy person.” “Who are you?” she shouted. “I—” I stopped speaking abruptly because who was I? How did I explain this? Fuck. It was impossible, but I had to find a way. I needed someone to know what had happened. Scooting away from her to make her feel less threatened, I leaned against the wall. “Okay, Hel,” I began. “I know this is going to be hard to . . . understand, but will you please promise not to freak out and let me say everything?” Narrowing her eyes at me, she tilted her head. “You his boyfriend?” “What? No!” I shook my head adamantly. “I’m not gay, geez Hel.” “There’s nothing wrong with it if you are,” she snapped. “I know,” I groaned, “but I’m not gay, Hel.” “Why do you keep calling me that, huh?” she asked, her frustration evident in her tone. “That’s Liam’s nickname for me. I don’t know you.” “Hel,” I began again. “I know this is hard to believe, but I’m Liam. I’m . . . trapped in this guy’s body,” I pointed to Max’s chest. “I saved his life the other day by pushing him out of the way, and I got hit by the bus. He left me for dead and when I woke up, I . . .” I paused, holding my hands up. I already felt defeated. There was no way in hell she’d believe this. “I was this guy.” She stared at me blankly, her gaze never leaving mine. Keeping her body still, she reached one arm slowly toward her purse resting on the table next to the hospital bed. “Real subtle, Hel,” I snorted. “You think I can’t see you reaching for your bag so you can pull that dainty little pistol out? You’d have to shoot me point blank to have any stopping power.” Her shoulders sagged, and she frowned. “You went through my purse?” “No,” I snickered. “I just know you’ve carried it with you ever since Grams passed and you found it under her mattress. You better not get caught with that, Hel. They’ll charge you.” “Liam must have told you about it,” she tested, ignoring my warning. “I am Liam, Hel. Ask me anything. Anything at all.” Hugging her purse to her chest, she stared down at me. “When’s my birthday?” “March 20, first day of Spring.”

“Mother’s maiden name?” “Windsor.” “What did I name the cat I found when I was ten but Grams sent her to the pound because she had fleas?” “She was also pregnant, and you named her Hell Cat, Jr.” She grilled me for the next ten minutes, asking me question after question. And even when I got every answer right, she still looked at me like I was a con-artist. “High school sweetheart?” she asked. I rolled my eyes. “Benny Cartman. He was a tool, but he was better than Ron Billings who you gave your V-card to.” Her mouth dropped open, her head whipping toward the bed where my body lay. “You bastard,” she gasped at my still body. “You swore you’d never tell.” “I didn’t,” I insisted. She still didn’t believe me. “I know this because I am Liam, Hel. I am. I know it sounds fucking crazy, but it’s true.” With a defeated sigh, she collapsed in the chair beside the bed. I could tell by the way she kept shaking her head she was trying to talk herself out of believing me, no matter how many right answers I gave to her questions. Finally, turning her head toward me, her gaze met mine and she asked, “If what you’re saying is true, and your Liam trapped in this body,” she motioned her hand at me where I sat on the floor, “then who is in your body?” Pushing myself up from the floor, I exhaled loudly. “His name is Max. And I believe he’s in my body.” As anyone who was asked to believe something impossible would do, she asked me a hundred questions about why this happened, and it didn’t make convincing her I was Liam any easier when I didn’t have any answers. “There was no witchcraft or alien abduction,” I told her. “It just . . . happened.” She sat quietly for a moment, her brow furrowing more and more the longer she sat. Then, looking up at me, her eyes welled up. “The prognosis isn’t good, Liam,” she said my name awkwardly. I guess looking at me as Max and calling me Liam felt weird. “They say you’re brain dead.” Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths. It felt good to hear her call me Liam, for someone to know who I really was, but her words were brutal. Not just because of what she was saying, but because of how much pain was in her voice. “I don’t have any insurance, Hel. You can’t keep me on life support forever.” Pressing her lips together, she attempted to stop herself from crying, but it didn’t work. “You asshole,” she finally said as she whimpered and wiped under her eyes. “I’ve been worried sick about you, wondering if you were dead; what had happened to you. Then I get a phone call, and my worst fear came true.” My stomach knotted with her words and the emotion in her voice. “I’ve been ashamed,” I admitted remorsefully. “I didn’t know how to face you like this.” I motioned a hand toward my bed-ridden body. “You know I’m always here for you.” Her gaze was fixed on the machines. “You could have stayed

with us.” “I’m the older brother, you shouldn’t have to take care of me.” “That’s bullshit, and you know it,” she wailed as she cut a sharp look at me. I swallowed the lump in my throat but said nothing. She was right. I was an asshole. After a few moments, her eyes fixed on the floor as if she was lost in thought, when she asked, “So what happens if we pull the plug?” I turned my back to her and rubbed my face. Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? “I don’t know.” Turning back to her, I shrugged. “If we take you off support, and you . . .” she closed her eyes and swallowed hard because whatever she was about to say was going to be difficult. “If your body dies, then . . . does he,” she waved her hand at me, “die?” she could barely finish. “That’s my best guess,” I surmised. “Or maybe . . .” She looked up at me, giving me a moment to finish. “Or maybe we switch back, and I die with my body. I don’t know.” “This is crazy,” she said more to herself than me. “I want to believe you so badly. That you are Liam, but what if I’m just so desperate for my brother to be alive that I’d believe anything to have that? And if what you’re saying is true, there’s a good chance you’re going to go anyway.” “I didn’t ask for this. I just made a fast choice to save this guy’s life,” I defended even though she wasn’t attacking me. “I didn’t want his life, or to put you through this.” Taking a deep breath, I worked hard to control my frustration. This wasn’t Helen’s fault, and the fact she was even still speaking to me at all was a huge step. I needed to accept she may need some time to really process this and believe it. “I understand your apprehension,” I told her. “And I know you don’t understand . . . I don’t understand either. Just give me some time to prove it. You know me, Helen. Better than anyone. If I can’t convince you, I can’t convince anyone.” She bobbed her head a few times, a deep frown on her face. “They won’t let me keep you on life support for long. No insurance aside, you’re not showing any signs of brain activity.” I growled, frustrated with the unknown and complications of this situation. If they took my body off life support, Max might die with my body. Or we could switch back and maybe I’d go with my body. There were too many unknowns. I needed some time to think about it. I didn’t want to hinder Max’s life in any way, or make a decision that could harm him. Yeah, the guy really was an asshole, but I wasn’t. Being the bigger and better person is a choice. If there was a chance he could die in my body, I had to try to stop that from happening. If there was a chance my body could be saved through some medical miracle, then he owed that chance to me. “He’s a millionaire,” I stated. “I can access his money. Max could foot the bill to buy us some time. Maybe . . . maybe there will be a miracle. Maybe my body will miraculously heal and wake up?” I didn’t believe it and judging by the deep frown still seated on her face, I knew Helen didn’t either. “Let’s give it a couple of weeks. See what happens.” She nodded a few times before standing and fussing with the blankets over my body. “You don’t need to be here every day. Okay?” She nodded again.

I think at that exact moment, she truly believed me, but a small part of her thought it was too good to be true; that her brother, although in another man’s body, was alive. I hugged her. It was awkward at first because she just leaned against me, her arms limp at her sides, but after a few moments she embraced me and sobbed into my chest. “Everything is going to be okay, Hel,” I said, but I didn’t quite believe it myself. I had no fucking idea what was going to happen. We talked a bit longer. I gave her Max’s address and called her phone from Max’s so she had the number. When we walked out of the hospital together, she punched my arm. “Don’t freaking disappear again,” she warned. “Ow,” I mocked pain. It hurt. A little. My sister was no sissy. “I won’t,” I promised. “By the way, who is the baby daddy?” She snorted, amused by the way I asked the question. “His name is Brian. He’s an insurance salesman. He’s very nice.” I raised one eyebrow in question. “He good to you?” Smirking, she bobbed her head up and down as she glided one hand over her belly. “He’s real good to me. Won’t even let me work now that I’m pregnant. Wants to get married before the baby is born.” “You want that?” Her sad gaze met mine. “As soon as my big brother can walk me down the aisle.” I worked hard to control my expression, not wanting her to see how much her words had hit me. Grabbing her head, I pulled her to me and kissed her temple. “Everything is going to be okay, Hel.” It might not have been true, but maybe if I kept saying it over and over again, I’d believe it. Later, after walking around listlessly, I entered the lobby of Max’s building, Braxton perked up from behind the desk. “Evening, Braxton,” I called and gave a small wave. He stared at me. The same blank look he’d given me earlier. Did I do something out of character for Max? Did he not even offer a simple goodnight to people? “Evening, Mr. Porter,” Braxton eventually replied, tipping his hat to me, the same blank look on his face. “Oh, by the way,” he chirped, rushing over to me. Leaning in, he informed me in a hushed voice, “I found it.” “Found it?” I questioned. “Yes and had it shipped to the shop as you instructed. It arrived there today. I wanted to tell you earlier, but you seemed to be in a hurry.” We stared at each other a moment, and it occurred to me he was waiting for me. Maybe I should tip him for whatever he did. You’re supposed to tip doormen, right? Or rich people do anyway. I wasn’t sure. I was out of my league here. “What do I owe you, Braxton?” I finally asked as I reached in my back pocket. He held his hands up. “Not a thing, sir. I was happy to help you make your dream come true.” Dream? I wondered what a man like Max could dream of when he seemed to have everything. I had no idea what in the hell Braxton was talking about and I worried questioning him would just send up flags that Max was not himself. “Okay. Well, thank you.” I smiled and gave him a hard pat on the

back, causing his eyes to widen. “Good job.” His features were contorted with uncertainty, but he bobbed his head once. “Good night, sir.” Whatever he was talking about I figured would come to light eventually. Right now, I had too many other things to worry about. When I reached Max’s apartment, I went inside and stood in the middle of the living room. The city lights shone through the tall windows, dimly illuminating the room. Living on the streets was scary, but in the cover and safety of Max’s home, I was more scared than I’d ever been in my life. On the street, I knew who I was, and I knew my lot in life, but here I knew nothing. I didn’t know who Max really was. I didn’t know why this had happened, and I didn’t know what would happen. The unknown is a scary thing. There were so many nights that I lay on park benches or streets, wishing I were anywhere else; a warm, safe place, but now I’d go back in a heartbeat. This was not my home. This was not my body. This was not my life. Why was this happening? Was I being punished? With a heavy sigh, I meandered into the bedroom and plopped down on the bed. It was soft, and the sheets were silk, and I should have relished the feeling of a warm comfy bed for the first time in what felt like forever, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. After tossing and turning, I gave up and lay down on the floor on my side. Maybe Max lived in a fancy apartment and had plenty of money—what most men wanted and strived to accomplish in their lifetime— but I wasn’t Max. Which meant even though I possessed his body, these things were not mine. I was still Liam. I was still no one.



The doorbell rang ten times with no pause between. I jumped up from the floor, momentarily disoriented, my heart pounding from being woken up so abruptly. The sun blanketed the bedroom, causing me to squint. After a few seconds, I got my wits about me and realized I was still in Max’s apartment. I was still in his body. Nothing had changed. Ding! Ding! Ding! “Shit,” I grumbled as I clumsily rushed toward the living room, jamming my shoulder against the bedroom doorframe. “Damn,” I muttered, rubbing my shoulder. The doorbell continued to chime as I tripped over my own feet. “Hold on a damn minute!” I yelled. My voice—or rather Max’s voice—sounded husky with sleep. That didn’t stop the person from ringing it ten more times. By the time I got the locks flipped and ripped open the door, I was prepared to lose my mind on whoever was on the other side. In fact, my mouth was open and ready when I saw . . . them. With eyes wide from shock, I managed not to say anything, which wasn’t difficult because I had no idea what to say. “Max,” Waverly smiled, though it didn’t seem quite authentic. In fact, it looked downright maniacal. Her hair was in a ponytail just as it had been the night before, but this time she was wearing jeans and a gray shirt that hung off one shoulder. Was there anything she didn’t look hot in? Her outfit wasn’t what had stunned me, though. No, what had me tongue-tied was the chubby baby girl propped up on her hip with her head resting on Waverly’s shoulder. “So this is Pim,” Waverly began, her grin widening, when I didn’t speak. Apparently, my reaction brought her great joy. “Pim,” she went on, “this is your sperm donor, Max.” Snapping my mouth shut, I blinked a few times as my discombobulation from the abrupt wake-up began to let up. This child was his daughter. Max’s daughter. Shit. The memories of the night before hit me in the gut. This toddler is the daughter Max had abandoned. “So,” Waverly continued, “she ate breakfast at seven, and her next nap isn’t until noon.” Lifting Pim from her hip, she kissed her cheek several times and said, “Be a good girl for Max, baby. I love you.” When she thrust the baby at me, it was pure reflex when I took her. Pim immediately began wailing, reaching for Waverly who turned and stepped away. “You’re leav—” Before I could ask, she returned pulling a large wagon behind her, filled with baby gear, a suitcase, and toys. Pushing by me, she hauled the wagon in until she reached the center of the living room. Putting her hands on her hips, she looked around and snickered, shaking her head. I wasn’t sure

what she was snickering about, but it didn’t seem positive. “I have classes until two. I’ll be back around 2:30.” Walking toward me, she wiggled her fingers as she made a silly face at Pimberly who was squawking and practically jumping out of my arms to get back to her mother. “I love you, I love you,” she repeated to her, over and over again as she kissed Pimberly’s little hands. Pimberly was fighting hard to get back to her, and I felt like I was wrestling a bear cub just to keep her in my arms. Then, looking up at me, Waverly smiled. “You two have fun today.” She scurried by me and out the front door. I looked down at the baby in my arms, red-faced and sobbing, trying to understand what was happening. “Wait!” I yelled as I rushed out the door into the hall. Waverly was at the elevator, waiting, arms crossed casually as if she didn’t have a care in the world. When she turned to face me, her features lifted in surprise. “You can’t just leave her with . . . me,” I asserted. “She doesn’t even know me.” This was true; Pimberly didn’t know Max, and I was not Max, so she double didn’t know me. Arms still crossed, she shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, since you seem torn about signing rights over to the daughter you have never spent time with, or contributed to her life in any way, I thought you should spend some time together. You see, you don’t get to keep rights to her while pretending she doesn’t exist. So here she is, Max,” she said. My brows furrowed. Goddamn you, Max. Why are you such a fucking asshole? I really didn’t want to keep Pimberly. I didn’t have anything against kids; quite the contrary. I loved kids. If I’d met the right woman I would probably have had a couple already, but Pim wasn’t mine, and I wasn’t sure it was right for me to keep her, but it’s not like I could explain the situation to Waverly. Not to mention, I understood her point. She was fed up with Max’s bullshit and was playing hardball now. Shaking my head, I moved Pimberly to my other side and started patting her back, trying to calm her. “Does she have any allergies?” When I watched my nephew David many years ago, he’d had an allergic reaction to peanut butter. His face swelled up, and he had welts everywhere. It was one of the most terrifying days of my life. Waverly wasn’t impressed by my thoughtful question. She looked at me, her eyes narrowing in anger. Her plan hadn’t worked. She was convinced Max would cave and sign the papers right then and there to avoid having to spend time with his kid. The real Max, from what I could tell, would have, but I wasn’t Max . . . and I just couldn’t. “No.” Lifting her chin, she inhaled deeply through her nose, displeased with my reaction as the elevator doors opened. “Call me if there’s an emergency.” Pimberly wailed loudly as the elevator doors closed. Still patting her back, I began humming as I carried her back to the apartment. What in the hell are you going to do, Liam?



As it often happened in life, my sneak attack on Max didn’t go as planned. I was convinced he’d sign the papers right then and there. Damn. Damn. Damn. I just left my daughter with a stranger—at least to her, anyway—who happens to be her father and wants no part of her life. “And mother of the year goes to . . . Waverly Torres,” I said to myself in my best imitation of an announcers voice. The people waiting for the elevator as I climbed off gave me a strange look having just witnessed me talking to myself like a nut job. Ugh! I hated Max. Why? Why was he doing this? Why wouldn’t he just sign the damn papers? Climbing back in the Taxi that brought Pimberly and me, which was a fortune, I instructed the driver to take me to school wondering if I shouldn’t go back right now and get her. What if something happened to her? What if he got busy doing something and she fell and hit her head? Shit. I had to go back. My cell phone rang, and I quickly yanked it from my purse, positive it was Max already throwing in the towel, begging me to come back and save him from parenting our child. Instead, Matt lit up on the screen, and I twisted my mouth, unsure if I wanted to answer. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. I’d left him a note on the kitchen counter that morning explaining my plan because I knew if I told him face to face he’d probably kidnap Pim and run away with her to stop me. He was a very protective uncle that way. “Hel—” “Are you at his place yet?” he interrupted. “I’m on my way to get both of you. What in the hell are you thinking, Waverly?” “Matt,” I paused unsure of how to defend myself. He was right. I was fucking nuts for concocting this plan, and on top of it, it backfired. He took her without a fight. I reminded myself that I knew Max. I knew he would fold; he would be so overwhelmed he’d be begging me to come back any minute, and he’d have those papers signed, waiting for me when I got there. Putting Pimberly in this situation is what was most wrong—deep down I knew that. Max may have been the king of deadbeat dads, but I knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He was an asshole, not a monster. She’d survive a few hours with him. So, inhaling deeply, I prepared for the backlash that was coming from Matt. “She’s already there,” I explained calmly. “I need you to trust me.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” he boomed. His voice was so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “I trust you. Although,” he snorted, “this move today definitely makes me question your sanity, but it’s him I don’t trust. Where is she? I’ll pick her up now.” “Matt,” I said, my voice firm as I clutched my cell phone a little tighter. “Let her be. I’m her mother, and this is my decision.”

The phone was silent for a long moment until finally, he replied, “And I’m just what, nobody? Haven’t I been a parent to that little girl? I don’t get to be a part of the decisions that affect her?” My heart dropped to my stomach. I’d hurt his feelings and offended him in one fell swoop. I could now add sister of the year to my mother of the year title. “That’s not what I meant,” I pleaded. “Of course you do. But you have to trust me.” “Whatever, Waverly. I just hope you don’t get that little girl caught up in his bullshit. Do you really want to set yourself up to be rejected by him again?” When he hung up, I stared down at my phone wanting to call him back, but the car stopped in front of my building and I’d already taken this leap. Now, I needed to see it through. My plan would work. Maybe not as quickly as I had originally thought, but it would. I was positive it would. Max would sign the papers. Paying the driver, I climbed out. “It’s just one day, Waverly. One day,” I told myself.



She’d been crying for twenty minutes. TWENTY LONG, EXCRUCIATING MINUTES. I was pretty sure my brain was on the verge of melting to mush. I’d made silly faces, bounced her on my knee, pulled out all three hundred of her toys Waverly packed, but nothing worked. Panicking, I pulled out my cell and called Helen. She said she’d be there in an hour. So what the hell did I do in the meantime? In desperation, I pulled up the internet on Max’s phone. Maybe a YouTube video would distract her? What the hell were kids watching now? “Do you like motorcycles, Pim?” I asked her in a sing-song voice. I pulled up a video of two sports bikes racing at the drag strip. As soon as the engines revved, her crying ebbed as she stared at the small phone screen, tilting her head in curiosity. “You like bikes?” I chuckled, grinning widely. “You’re pretty awesome, kid.” After five bike videos, the doorbell rang, and I sighed with relief. Helen to my rescue. Opening the door, I said, “Thank yo—” A blur of red hair was all I saw as Hel flew past me, without so much as a hello, Helen rushed into the living room where Pim was seated on the couch, still holding my phone. I’d pulled the coffee table away from the couch and placed pillows and blankets all around it. The kid seemed to be able to sit up well, but the last thing I needed was for her to face-plant on the floor. “Oh my goodness,” Hel gushed, clasping her hands in front of her. Twisting her neck, she looked back at me. “She’s gorgeous.” “This is Pimberly,” I acknowledged. Taking a few steps, Hel bent and picked up Pim. “Come see your Auntie Helen,” she cooed. “Okay Helen,” I intervened, holding my hand up as if to stop her. “Don’t go getting attached and telling this kid you’re her aunt. Because you’re not. This is Max’s kid, and he doesn’t even want her.” Helen scowled at me as she pressed Pim’s head to her chest, covering her other ear with her free hand. “Shh,” she hissed. “Don’t say that in front of her.” I drew my eyebrows together. My sister was losing it. It was only yesterday she was bashing my head in with a hospital phone and barely believing I was her brother in another man’s body, now she was trying to be this little girl’s aunt. “She’s a baby,” I said, dryly. “She doesn’t know what the hell I’m saying.” Helen lifted Pim up so she could get a better look at her. Then in a squeaky baby voice she said, “That’s not true, is it Pim? You’re a smart girl. Auntie Helen can tell.” “Hel,” I groaned. “Easy with the Auntie stuff, okay?”

“Oh, Liam,” she hushed me with a dramatic eye roll. “So what if I’m not technically her aunt.” “Not just technically, Hel,” I interjected. “Not at all. You literally just laid eyes on her two minutes ago.” “So what?” she tsked. “No baby ever got hurt from a little extra love in their life.” I let out a growl as I ran a hand through my hair. “What happens if we switch back, Hel? What happens if we get her attached to us and then we just disappear and she’s left with the real Max, the asshole that doesn’t want her? Helen frowned, but didn’t say anything. She knew I had a point. Even if I didn’t, I could tell she didn’t want to discuss the unknown—the what if. For now, at this moment, all she wanted was to gush over this cute baby girl and forget the elephant in the room. Pim giggled at my phone as Hel took it out of her chubby hands. “Motorcycle racing?” she questioned, arching one eyebrow. “Really Liam?” “She likes the speed and the sound,” I defended. “Been watching ’em for twenty minutes. It was the only thing I could find to get her to stop crying.” Hel shook her head with the faintest of a smile as she spun around and took in the apartment. “You weren’t kidding. He’s loaded. Look at that view,” she gasped when she finally noticed the windows. “Yeah,” I agreed. “Question is how does he have money? I can’t seem to figure out what he does for a living. If he’s not showing up to work, he might get fired.” “Did you Google him?” “Uh . . . no,” I admitted feeling stupid for not having done that already. “Just looked through his file cabinet and desk, but that’s a good idea.” Tossing me the cell, she directed, “Look him up. I’m going to change this little princess.” Grabbing the diaper bag, she scurried off into the bedroom with Pim in tow. Pulling up the web browser, I entered his name and found a few links. From what I could tell, Max wasn’t employed. There wasn’t much to be found on him at all except for an obituary where he was named as a survivor of his father. Apparently, his father had been one of the first men to invest in natural gas, and he’d made a fortune. That explained Max’s wealth—he’d inherited it. “What did you find?” Helen asked when she brought Pim back in. “Seems to be unemployed at the moment. His father passed away a year ago and left him a fortune.” “Must be nice,” Helen snorted. “What’d we get? A collector’s set of Miller Lite glasses and a living room set with five thousand cigarette burns.” “Don’t forget the funeral expenses,” I added. No, no one would ever call Hel and me heir or heiress. Our father had passed away from cancer when we were teenagers; a product of Agent Orange and Vietnam. Our mother died from a broken heart a year later. That’s what we called it. In reality, she’d basically drank herself to death. Our parents didn’t leave us much, but our Grams tried to fill in as much as she could. Somehow, on her piddly social security income, she’d managed to leave us each a CD with a thousand bucks and a few sentimental things. It was more than she should have ever done, she’d given us so much before she’d passed. “Oh, before I forget,” Helen interrupted my thoughts. Grabbing her purse, she yanked out some papers. “You need to fill these out for the hospital since you . . .” she paused and rephrased, “since Max is

assuming responsibility for your hospital bills.” “Great,” I huffed. “More papers.” “What does that mean?” she inquired. I explained the situation with Waverly wanting Max to sign over parental rights and Waverly pushing hard for it. “That’s why she brought Pim here today. She’s trying to overwhelm Max into submission and make him sign.” “From what you’ve told me, I can understand why,” Helen voiced. “What are you going to do?” Shaking my head, I sighed. “I don’t know. I’m still reeling from waking up as Max, and trying to figure out how to navigate in another man’s body. Now, I’ve got his estranged child and pissed-off ex on top of it.” Helen laid a hand on my arm. “We need to take this one step at a time. We won’t figure it all out in one day. First, let’s get the hospital forms filled out so we can keep your body on support, then we can make a plan.” I nodded, appreciating her leveling me out. It was easy to get lost in the why’s and how’s of it all. There were so many questions, but if I ever hoped to find answers I needed to ensure my body would be kept alive so I could get them. After I filled out the paperwork, which took forever because I had to rifle through Max’s files to get his checking account information and social security number, we played with Pim and laughed at all her quirky little ways. She was fast, but a bit clumsy. Sometimes she’d get so caught up in laughing she’d trip over her own feet as she walked. There were several times I wished we’d had some kind of baby helmet to put on her. Kids could scare the shit out of you. It was like we were watching this tiny, adorable little girl doing everything possible to hurt herself without even trying. “Uh . . . what is this?” Hel asked waving a small vile when she returned from using the bathroom. Squinting my eyes, trying to see better, I asked, “What? I don’t know.” Pressing her lips together, she gave me a concerned look. “What, Hel?” I demanded as I walked Pim around while she held my finger with her tiny hand for balance. “I think they’re steroids, Liam.” I froze on the spot and stared at her hand. “Are you sure?” Huffing, she tossed the vile at me. “Look how cut you look, Liam. You think Max looks like that without juicing?” Max’s body was cut and lean, that I couldn’t deny. I had wondered if he ate nothing but lettuce and worked out five hours a day. I’d felt bad about eating that plate of fries the night before, like maybe I was sabotaging him, but damn if they didn’t taste good. I figured Max’s lean body could handle the cheat meal. Then something else occurred to me, something I wasn’t sure I wanted to discuss with Hel, but who else could I talk to about it? “His balls are kind of small,” I blurted out, immediately cringing when I realized what I’d said in front of Pimberly. “Sorry, sweetie,” I whispered. “Balls,” she babbled causing Helen to burst into laughter.

“Nice, Liam,” she chortled. “So Max has small . . .” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Man bits,” she finished. “Balls,” Pimberly giggled. Helen’s face lit up as she grinned, almost on the verge of laughing, but stopping herself when I gave her a stern look. “So . . . they’re small?” I growled, frustrated because she knew exactly what I was talking about, but was going to enjoy torturing me. Then I wondered if I was really so annoyed or if I was going through withdrawals; maybe the change in hormones was getting to me, making me cranky. “Yes, they’re small, Hel,” I stated plainly. “Got down there and gave it all a good inspection, did ya?” she chuckled as she plopped down on the couch. I rolled my eyes. I shouldn’t have told her; I knew she’d bust my balls about it . . . or Max’s little balls anyway. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact I’d given everything downtown a good look. It was weird. Whenever I pissed, I had to hold another man’s junk. As if being in his body wasn’t already awkward and uncomfortable, touching his genitals was the icing on the cake. As immature as it sounds, I was relieved to find his Johnson was on par with my own—size wise, though I wagered mine was slightly bigger. If, for some reason, I ended up being stuck in Max’s body forever, having a small dick would’ve made things a lot worse. The only reason I even noticed his testicles were small was that when I showered, I’d felt them while washing. At the time, I thought he was just a guy with small nuts, but now it made sense. He’d been juicing, and juicing can shrink a dude’s cojones from lack of testosterone. Helen continued to laugh, but I decided not to respond to her question. Obviously, I had checked out the equipment. As if anyone in my position wouldn’t have. There was no need to defend myself. “So on top of being in this prick’s body,” I seethed, “I’m dealing with the carnage of him abandoning his kid, the wrath of a woman he’s scorned, and I now have to endure the symptoms of steroid withdrawal?” Helen’s face was red, and she was laughing so hard no sound was coming out. “This isn’t funny, Helen,” I insisted as I lifted Pim to my hip. Covering her mouth with one hand as if it would blind me from the fact she was laughing her ass off at me, she held her other hand up in apology. It took her a few moments until she could speak. “Have no fear, big brother. Looks like he was prepared,” Helen interjected, wiping the tears from under her eyes. “There are supplements in there for coming down.” “How do you know so much about this stuff?” Helen shrugged. “I watched a documentary on ESPN with David. With him in football and baseball I wanted to horrify him to make sure he never uses them.” The doorbell rang and my heart about leaped out of my chest. I’d planned for Helen to leave around 1:30 p.m. so she’d be long gone before Waverly returned. It was only noon. “Shit,” I whisper-yelled. It couldn’t be Waverly. She wasn’t supposed to be back for over an hour. Moving across the floor like a ninja, I made it to the door without making a sound and peeked through the peephole before letting my head drop. It was her. “Shit,” I mumbled to myself. “Shit,” Pim mimicked in her adorable little baby voice. My eyes about bulged out of my head. “Shit,” I said again without thinking, drawing the word out,

realizing I’d just taught this baby girl how to say a bad word. “Liam!” Hel scolded, her eyes widened. “Shit, fuck, sorry,” I apologized to Pim. “Shit,” I said again, realizing I kept repeating the word and added another bad one to boot. Working in a mechanic shop most of my life didn’t exactly encourage a demure vocabulary. Clearly, I was going to have to work on this, or I’d be responsible for children everywhere getting their mouths washed out with soap. “Is this really happening?” Hel asked no one in particular, in disbelief I had just cursed so many times within a few seconds. “Don’t say that word, little one. Your mother will have my balls on spikes for teaching it to you.” “Balls,” Pimberly babbled in her cute baby voice. I smacked my hand to my forehead in frustration. “Liam!” Hel scolded again as she took Pim from me and placed her on her hip. The doorbell rang again, only this time we were back to ringing it sixty times in a three-second time frame. Waverly was an impatient one. I stood, frozen in place, for some reason unsure of what to do. All I could do was stare at Hel, my eyes wide in panic. Waverly was here. What the hell should I do? “Go get the door, idiot,” Hel whisper-yelled, flinging her hand out in emphasis. “Right. Good idea,” I agreed, snapping to. Hurrying to the door, I whipped it open, causing Waverly to jump on the other side waiting, seemingly surprised. “Hi,” I rasped. “You’re early.” “Uh, hi,” she responded awkwardly. “Class got canceled, so I got back early.” Standing on her tippytoes, she peeked over my shoulder. “How did it go?” Standing aside, I opened the door more to let her in. She walked by me and stopped as soon as she caught sight of Hel holding Pim. Twisting her neck, she looked back at me, narrowing her eyes in obvious anger. “Who is holding my daughter?” she asked, her mouth tight. There was no missing it in her tone—she was pissed. Damn. I hadn’t thought of how to introduce Helen. She was supposed to be gone before Waverly got back. “Uh . . . this . . . is . . .” I stopped, officially stumped. It was obvious I had no idea what to say. “I’m Helen,” Hel jumped in, reaching her hand out to shake Waverly’s. Helen was tense, jittery even. We were both having to wing our way through this mess, and it was no cake walk. Waverly took Helen’s hand, but only for a second before she snatched Pim from Hel’s arms. “I’m a friend of . . . Li . . . I mean Max’s,” she corrected herself. Walking past Helen, she started picking up Pim’s things and tossing them in bags. “You couldn’t make it a few hours without calling one of your girlfriends in, Max?” “Oh . . . ew,” Helen gagged. “No. Definitely not a girlfriend,” she hemmed and hawed, moving her body like she was about to regurgitate her breakfast. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Waverly continued packing Pim’s belongings not acknowledging Helen. Leaning over, quietly, I said to Helen, “That wasn’t over the top at all. The gagging bit had a nice affect.”

Closing her eyes, she bobbed her head once, acknowledging she’d just looked and sounded ridiculous. “She just ate,” I told Waverly. “She’s got a good appetite on her.” Silence. Waverly said nothing in response. Darting my eyes to Helen, I widened them in silent question, What now? Helen bit her lip, a look of uncertainty on her face, obviously equally uncomfortable with the quiet before blurting, “She pooped about an hour ago. Good amount and great consistency.” Cutting my gaze to her, I twisted my features into a, Why the fuck are you talking about her poop, look. Helen rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in defense, her own look back to me saying, At least I said something, asshole. “Mom’s need to know about the poop,” she exclaimed. “If they don’t go or it’s too hard they could be constipated or if it’s loose or runny, they might be dehydrated. Poop matters,” she rambled on, awkwardly. Raising my hand, I rubbed my forehead. This was a freaking train wreck. Waverly probably thought Helen was insane. “Thanks for the info,” Waverly snipped. “Do you have children, Helen?” “A son,” Helen told her, her mouth quirking into a smile as she thought about David. “He’s thirteen. And,” placing her hand on her small bump, she added, “Got one on the way, too.” If a look could spray venom, I’d be blind, dead, or burned. Waverly’s dark eyes fixed on Helen’s bump before moving to my eyes with such anger I had to take a step back. “Nice, Max,” she seethed. “You going to ditch this baby, too?” Chunking a bag in the wagon, she grabbed the handle and yanked it forward, bulldozing through Helen and me. “Unbelievable,” she griped as she headed to the front door, Pim still on her hip. Helen jerked her stare to me, eyes wide as she pointed a firm finger at her belly. “She thinks this is your baby.” I didn’t mean to sneer, but this was my sister. It didn’t matter if I was in Max’s body or not, the thought was gross. Helen smacked my arm, bringing me to my senses. “Max’s baby, Liam. Go after her, idiot!” Twisting me, she began pushing me toward the door to catch Waverly at the elevator. “And say what? She hates me.” “She doesn’t hate you. She hates Max. You can fix this.” I stopped dead in my tracks causing Helen to grunt as she attempted to move me without success. Spinning around, I said, “Helen. I’m not Max. I can’t do anything that could alter his life. What if we switch back and I’ve fucked everything up for him?” “Well, at the very least you know that this is not his baby, Liam. You can fix that. Don’t let her leave thinking this deadbeat asshole ditched their kid while moving on to play daddy to another.” Clenching my fists, I groaned. I hated this. I hated being Max. His life was a web of selfishness that made everyone feel like shit. Now I had to figure out a way to calm Waverly down while still preserving his assholishness.

“Waverly, wait!” I yelled as I sprinted into the hall. She was already at the elevator, the doors having just opened when I found her. When she saw me, she jerked the wagon inside and hoisted Pim up further on her hip before she started repeatedly hitting the close doors button. I barely made it in time, and just before they closed, I stuck my foot out and stopped them. “Really?” I questioned, almost out of breath from running. “What, Max?” she snapped. “My taxi is waiting.” “That’s not my baby,” I sputtered, jabbing my thumb back toward the apartment. “Definitely not my baby,” I reaffirmed as the thought of it once again made me shiver. “Oh?” she snorted. “Planning on disowning this one, too?” Her dark eyes met mine, a look that said she was somewhere between believing me and thinking I was a bold-faced liar before she looked away. “I swear. The baby really isn’t mine.” It didn’t occur to me at that moment to realize that I was the one swearing to her, but it was Max she heard and saw. His promises didn’t mean shit to her. Shaking her head a few times, she took a deep breath. “I don’t care,” she answered, her eyes fixed on the buttons. “Now move.” I stared at her a moment. Should I just let her leave? I hated to let her take off when she was angry, but what else could I do? She was hurt. Not just because she thought Helen’s baby might be Max’s, but in general. This was a hurt that had been built over a long time; a hurt that had never been acknowledged, at least not by Max. Somewhere along the way, this man had broken her and somehow she’d managed to exist wearing the pain as if it were as natural as her skin. The way she carried it with such strength had me in awe. Pain isn’t traditionally beautiful, but somehow, it was on her. She was like broken glass; one might react quickly to pick up the shattered pieces, hoping to mend what was broken, only to find themselves cut; there was no doubt a woman like this could make a man bleed. But broken glass isn’t always a risky mess. If someone has the patience to just sit back and wait, they might see that sometimes the light hits the scattered shards just right, and then that broken mess sparkles in a way it never could have before. “I’ll be dropping her off at 8 a.m. tomorrow,” she added just before the elevator doors closed. My head reared back, luckily she didn’t see it. Damn. What was I going to do? Trudging back into the apartment, I slammed the door behind me and ran my hands through my hair as I let out a loud growl of frustration. “How’d it go?” Helen asked from the kitchen where she was sipping a glass of water in front of the sink. “Not good,” I grumbled. Opening up the fridge, I growled again. “He doesn’t even have any food here. There’s nothing in here but cheese and fancy fucking wine.” “Don’t hate on fancy wine,” she tried to joke to ease my frustration. “I’ve conceived two babies under the influence of fancy wine.” Despite my anger, I snorted a laugh. “I doubt it was fancy wine when you conceived David,” I pointed out, still staring into the fridge. “His father probably bought something five bucks or under from the gas station.” “Well, for as young as we were it seemed fancy to me at the time,” she shrugged.

Slamming the fridge door shut, I grabbed my hair with my fists. “I feel like I’m going crazy.” “You’re not,” she assured me. “You’re just hungry. Grab a burger somewhere, and I’ll bring some groceries in the morning for you.” “She’s bringing Pim back tomorrow.” Helen’s features lit up as she grinned widely. “She is?” “Helen,” I warned. “Oh, stop it,” she waved a dismissive hand. “Have you thought about what will happen if you never leave his body, Liam?” I stared at her blankly. I had only let my mind stick its big toe in the pool of that thought; letting it test the water, but nothing more. Venturing too far in that direction could be dangerous. I didn’t want to let myself get attached to Max’s life whether it be his money and fancy place, or his gorgeous ex and precious baby girl—neither of which he wanted. Not to mention his dick was smaller than mine—maybe only slightly smaller, but I didn’t want to get used to that. However, the pool of that thought was getting bigger, and it wouldn’t be long until I might have to jump in and wade around in the water. There was also the reality that if I did, in fact, remain in his body permanently, I would have to make changes from the floor up, starting with his overall selfish behavior. “You could be her daddy, Liam,” Helen added, her tone somewhat sad yet hopeful. “No,” I stated adamantly. “Don’t go there, Helen.” She placed her glass on the counter and stepped toward me. “This is just a hypothetical,” she asserted. “All I’m saying is that yes, this situation sucks a lot on one hand, but if you do get stuck in here,” she jabbed my chest to emphasize the body I was inhabiting, “there is a silver lining.” “And what’s that?” I snickered. “I just assume his identity completely? Pretend to be that little girl’s dad?” “Why not?” she demanded. “It’s not like that asshole wants her.” Grabbing Max’s keys from the counter, I opened the front door, indicating it was time for her to go. I knew her heart was in the right place, she was only trying to show me a bright side, but I wasn’t ready for that yet. “Don’t do that,” I warned her. “Neither of us can get attached here. You understand?” “Liam,” she breathed my name as if I was being ridiculous. “Max,” I told her. “For now you need to call me Max. The last thing I need is to go falling in love with a little girl that isn’t mine, or have her get attached to Max, just to leave her. What would that do to her?” “What if you stay as Max forever, Liam? Are you just going to keep everyone at arm’s length? What good is this situation if you don’t get to live?” “I don’t know!” I shouted, and immediately held my hand up in apology. “It’s only been two days, Hel. Just give me . . . a minute, okay?” She frowned, but bobbed her head once in agreement. “I’m going to see your body, or I guess Max, at the hospital. Wanna join me?” “Nah,” I groaned. “Think I’m going to go for a walk . . . clear my head. You don’t need to go, ya know.”

“I know, but I want to.” Coming up to me, she wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. Then, standing back she gave my face a smack. “What the hell was that for?” I mocked pain as I rubbed my cheek. “Because you really are a pain in my ass,” she chided as she passed by me, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “Try to get some sleep tonight. You look like shit.” I snorted as I watched her leave. “And read the directions on those scripts,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Now that you’re off those steroids, your estrogen levels will be through the roof. I expect you’ll be acting like a little bitch for a while.” Just then, the apartment door closest to the elevator swung open, and an older woman with short gray hair poked her head out, her face twisted in disgust. She must’ve heard Helen’s very lady-like statement about me crying like a little bitch. “Hi there,” I waved, embarrassed that she heard our exchange. With a curled lip, the woman huffed and slammed the door. “Thanks, Hel,” I said sardonically as she stood facing the elevator, her shoulders rising and falling in laughter. Turning as she stepped on the elevator, she crossed her arms and looked me up and down, her mouth twisted in distaste. “Please go get some new clothes,” she deadpanned. The doors shut, and I snickered to myself. My sister. The sweetest little asshole you’d ever meet. With Max’s keys in hand, I went to leave when something caught my eye. It was a tiny white stuffed giraffe; one of Pim’s toys. Picking it up, I inspected it, chuckling a little as I remembered pretending to be the giraffe as I sang to Pim in a goofy voice. The kid laughed her ass off at me. Setting it on the counter, I shook my head. “Don’t get attached Liam,” I grumbled to myself.



Pim and I got home on the early side, so after a long walk around the neighborhood and some time at a nearby playground, she was wiped out. I had just finished feeding her dinner when Matt got home. By the slow way he moved, I could tell he was tired. Maybe he was worried about Pim staying with Max all day, or maybe it had just been a long day in general. Half his shirt was untucked, and he looked like he’d been rolling in dirt all day. Working as a general contractor wasn’t always the cleanest work. He only mumbled a hello to me—clearly still unhappy with me—but managed a friendlier greeting for Pim. Sitting down beside her, I watched him peripherally as he inspected her, lifting her arms and looking at the bottom of her feet. I didn’t know what he thought he was looking for. Did he think Max would beat her with bamboo sticks or something? “She’s fine, Matt,” I murmured. Before he could respond, the back door opened, and we heard, “Hello,” in a sing-song voice. Alice, Matt’s long-time girlfriend traipsed in, a bright smile on her face. “It is so damn hot outside,” she groaned as she kicked her shoes off into the ever-growing shoe pile and hung her purse at the door. “I got all my bags packed, and all we have to do is swing by my apartment on the way to the airport to get them. I think I packed everything but the kitchen sink,” she jested as she fanned the top of her dress to cool herself off. Her hair was pulled back in a clip, and her dress was damp with sweat. “I love summer, but this humidity is . . .” she froze in her tracks, her words also stopping when she finally saw us. Darting her eyes from Matt to me, then back to Matt again, she raised her brows in question. “Is . . . everything okay?” “Why don’t you ask Waverly,” Matt replied snidely, not even looking at her, as he kissed Pim’s hand. Closing my eyes to avoid rolling them, I let out a defeated sigh. “Hi, Alice. Yes, everything is fine. Matt and I are just having a little disagreement.” “No,” Matt intervened. “Waverly has just lost her mind.” “Matt,” I said calmly, remembering that although we disagreed about this, his concern only came from his love for Pim. “You are overreacting.” “Did he sign the papers?” Again, he didn’t look at me. I waited a moment, rinsing the pot in my hands before answering. “No.” I hadn’t actually asked again. I was worried sick all day about Pim and ditched my second class because I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her with Max any longer, only to show up and find that it all went well and he had another woman there doting on my baby girl. A woman that was pregnant to boot. I guess I believed the baby wasn’t his, but only because he never denied Pim was his—he just refused to be a part of her life. “So your plan didn’t work?” I could hear the I told you so in his voice. Turning to him, I wiped my hands on a dishtowel. “No, but it will.”

A furrow formed between his brows and his mouth quirked up on one side—the famous pissed off look. “It will?” he asked, his tone serious. “I’m taking her back tomorrow,” I answered, my decision to do this solid, but my voice definitely lacked the conviction I needed it to have at this moment. Standing, he lifted Pim from her high chair and kissed her face, not at all bothered by the carrots smeared all over her. Pim giggled as he kissed her, even though she was wincing a little from Matt’s facial scruff. “I’m going to go give her a bath,” he stated curtly. He was pissed and was using Pim as a reason to leave the room. “Matt,” Alice tried to intervene, to maybe step in as a mediator between us. “Not now, Alice,” he warned. It wasn’t rude the way he said it, it was more of a give me some space tone. “Right now, it’s bath time.” “You sure?” I asked, somewhat surprised. “I know you’ve had a long day.” “I’m sure. We leave tomorrow for our trip, and I won’t get to see her for two weeks,” he mumbled as he walked out of the kitchen. I stared at the doorway after he left, an uneasy feeling settling over me. I hated to upset Matt. He was my rock. What unsettled me most, though, was the idea he might be right. What if this blew up in my face? “Wanna clue me in?” Alice asked as she pulled out a chair and sat at the table. She’d been with Matt for five years and knew him as well as me, and she’d become more like a sister to me than just my brother’s girlfriend. “Max wouldn’t sign the papers, so I decided to make him,” I explained simply as if that were explanation enough. I popped Pim’s tray off her highchair and took it back to the sink to wash. “And how exactly do you plan to make him?” Alice queried. “I showed up at his apartment and left Pim with him.” “Waverly!” she gasped as if I were mad. “Please don’t start,” I begged. “I get it. I do, but extreme times call for extreme measures.” Going to the fridge, she grabbed a beer and returned to her seat. “Well . . . how did it go?” This was hard to admit, but I had no choice. “Not exactly how I’d planned, but this will work. It will,” I defended. “Are you prepared for the consequences if it doesn’t?” It was a fair question, even though I hated her for asking it. Truth was, I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t thought much about it beforehand because I was so sure Max would fold day one. Only he hadn’t. “Yes,” I fibbed. “Are you sure putting Pim in this situation is best for her?” “Max is a gigantic asshole, but he would never hurt her,” I defended with annoyance. I got it, they thought it was bad for Pim, but did they believe I would ever put her in harm’s way? Max would never hurt her . . . not physically anyway. This I believed. As far as him being a selfish assface, Pim was young enough that she wouldn’t remember any of it. Alice raised her hands in surrender. “Listen,” she began as she pulled her clip out and let her long black hair billow down. “You are one of the best mothers I know. I know you’d never put her in danger,

but Waverly,” she sighed. “It’s not just her I’m worried about. It’s taken you years to get over what Max did to you, and you’ve been doing great. I just can’t help feeling like you’re putting yourself back in the lion’s den and taking Pim with you.” Setting the tray I had just rinsed off on the counter to dry, I huffed. “Either I make Max sign the papers giving me Pimberly, or he stonewalls me for life. I have to feel like I have some control in this. I know all the sayings, don’t poke the bear or don’t wake a sleeping dog. I get it. You guys are worried I’ll provoke him to do something far worse than just being a deadbeat with rights to my daughter, but Alice,” I inhaled deeply, “It’s not fair.” “No, it’s not,” she agreed. “But life isn’t always fair, Waverly.” When I didn’t respond, she added, “Please, just be careful. I’ll talk to Matt.” Standing, she squeezed my shoulder then added, “But I’m drinking that bottle of Pinot in the fridge, and you owe me another.” “Why is that?” I snorted. “Because getting him to calm the hell down enough to come to reason will involve some oral persuasion on my part.” I shuddered. “Oh . . . that’s . . . yeah,” I winced. “I didn’t need to know that.” “You owe me,” she reiterated. “And just know, I’m always here for you.” “Thank you, Alice.” I loved her. Matt needed to marry this chick asap. “Anytime.” She wandered over to the fridge, putting the bottled beer back on the shelf, and plucked the bottle of Pinot out, grabbing the wine tool from the drawer and a glass from the cabinet on her way to calm my brother. Once she was out of the kitchen, I shut the sink off before drying my hands. Tossing the dishtowel on the counter, I decided not to think about it anymore. The decision was made. It was only a matter of time before Max would crack under the pressure of being a father, I just needed to be patient. When Max did sign the papers waiving his rights to Pim, Matt would be ecstatic. I just needed to give it some more time.



The next morning when I arrived in Max’s lobby, a short man with gray hair greeted me. “May I help you, miss?” he asked kindly. “I think I’ve got it covered,” I informed him. Pim cooed at him and waved with her tiny hand. The doorman smiled and waved back. “Isn’t she precious,” he said smiling down at her. Then looking to me, he asked, “May I ask who you’ll be visiting today?” “Max Porter.” He looked at me like I was crazy. “Is Mr. Porter expecting you?” “Yes,” I informed him a little annoyed with the question. Why was he acting like Max lived in Trump Tower or something and needed his guests fielded? “Very well.” He tipped his hat. “Have a nice visit.” I’d arrived at Max’s building twenty minutes early and chuckled to myself as Pim and I rode the elevator up. “He’s going to be so mad we woke him up two days in a row, isn’t he?” I cooed to Pim in a silly voice. She giggled at me even though she had no idea what I was talking about. When we reached his door, I decided to go with the ring the doorbell 1000 times in thirty seconds bit that I’d used the day before. That would really have him annoyed. Maybe so much so he’d even sign the papers. I’d only made it to three rings when his door whipped open causing me to jump. He smirked at me, raising one brow. The look was playful, almost amused—definitely not what I had expected. “Good morning, ladies. I’ve been expecting you.” Moving aside, he opened the door further and swung a hand out, inviting us in. He was dressed casually in jeans and a white T-shirt. The clothes looked new, but not like anything he’d normally wear. He looked . . . good, but not in the way I remembered him when I thought I was in love with him. Back then, Max seemed so debonair and classy. Now, he appeared more rugged and down to earth. And as much as I hated myself for even noticing, he looked better than ever. Forcing myself to ignore his looks, I rolled my eyes, frustrated that he seemed so chipper as I tugged the wagon filled with Pim’s stuff inside. “I guess the overly-friendly doorman gave you the heads up we were here,” I wagered. “As a matter-of-fact, he didn’t. I got up like a big boy all on my own.” Upon entering the living room, I found the coffee table and end tables were gone. “Don’t like kids

touching all that clean glass, huh?” I chided as I set Pim down on her feet. “Actually,” he began as he bent down and waved at Pim, “I put it in the back room so she wouldn’t fall or trip and bust her head on it. Kid nearly gave me a heart attack yesterday.” I wanted to growl in frustration. What the hell was going on with him? He did something completely unselfish and dare I say . . . father-like? I opened my mouth to ask him just that, but was stopped by Pim going, “Vroom, vroom.” I raised my brows as I smiled. “You making car sounds, baby?” I chuckled, forgetting Max and how I loathed him for a moment. When she made the sounds again, Max laughed out loud, a deep bellowing that made my insides knot. I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard from him laugh like that before. “You wanna watch the bikes, sweetheart?” My heart sunk with his words. He called Pim sweetheart. Did that mean he was getting attached? My stomach flipped as I stared at him in horror. Pulling out his cell phone, he touched the screen a few times and handed the phone to Pim just as a loud engine revved. She immediately plopped to her bottom, the padding of her diaper cushioning her fall, and stared at the screen. Max watched her as he stood, a look of adoration on his face. When he lifted his gaze to meet mine, his wide grin immediately fell, and he shook his head as if waking himself from some dream. “Bike races,” he explained dismissively. “She liked watching them yesterday.” “Since when do you watch bike races?” I asked as I crossed my arms, disbelieving what I was hearing and seeing. He shrugged and inhaled deeply. “Just a . . . hobby of mine now, I guess.” I stared at him, and he looked at anything but me. The room was quiet but for the sounds of the bikes on his phone revving and Pim going, “Vroom, vroom.” There was a part of me that wanted to snatch her up and haul ass out of there, but then I remembered something—Max loved games. He loved getting under my skin, and this was probably just another example of him trying to torture me. He must’ve known my end game; overwhelm him into submission and make him sign the papers. From what I could see, he had embraced the challenge and was taking me head on which sent me reeling. Maybe my plan wouldn’t work, and Matt was right. Max was always good at making me second guess myself. It didn’t help that he, no matter the situation, had this self-confidence that never seemed to waiver. That alone was intimidating. I considered myself a confident woman, but I was nowhere near his level. I, like most normal people, always had doubts and asked myself what if. Max seemed like no matter the situation or potential road bumps, everything would work exactly the way he wanted it to just because he willed it so. On one hand, I hated him for that because it’s not easy to fight someone that is so sure of themselves. It’s intimidating. On the other hand, I envied it; I wished I could be like that sometimes, too. I bit my lower lip as I stared at Pim, an internal struggle waging war inside of me. She looked . . . happy. Her day with Max had gone well the day before. Should I leave her again? Then I remembered the lady that was there the day before. What was her name? Helen? Would she be coming over again? I hated the idea of another woman I didn’t know with my daughter, but then I thought maybe Pim would be better cared for if she were here. Shooting my eyes to Max, I said, “Will Hel . . .” My tongue went limp, and my sentence ended abruptly when I met Max’s hard gaze. He didn’t look angry . . . no, it was something else. He looked . . . No.

I wouldn’t let myself think it. Was he checking me out? I remembered what Max looked like when he was turned on and this look . . . it wasn’t it. This look felt darker . . . this look felt mysterious, like something I couldn’t explain. Jerking my gaze from his, I bent and kissed Pim. I had to get out of there. I could not get caught up in Max’s sultry, sexy stare. The fact I even found it remotely sexy when I knew the person Max was meant I was losing it. “I have to go,” I murmured. “She’s had breakfast. There’s a notebook in the diaper bag for you to write down when she eats, naps, and poops.” Lowering his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, that’s good,” he grumbled. “What time will you be back?” “Three. Call me if you need anything.” Kissing Pim one last time, I gave myself a little pep talk. It’ll be okay, Waverly. Pim will be okay. Max followed me to the door and stood in the doorway as I stepped out of his apartment. Crossing his arms, he smirked, “I’ll take good care of her, Waverly.” Glaring at him, I shot back with, “If you even remotely care about her at all, Max, you’ll sign the papers.” I didn’t look back as I marched to the elevator, my blood pumping hot as I stabbed at the call button. My anger had many facets, not just my irritation that Max hadn’t signed the papers. No, it was much more complex than that. I hated him, and it made me angry that I hated him. I wanted to feel indifferent, no matter how evil I thought he was. When I’d concocted this crazy plan to overwhelm him into submission by making him be a parent, I hadn’t realized the old pain it would drum up; the bad memories it would evoke. I thought I’d gotten past it all, but I hadn’t, not in the least. Max rejecting her was expected. Max doing absolutely anything to not have to see Pim was expected. Him taking her, seemingly without any objection, was not expected. What was happening? I’d begged him, several times, to see her, to love her, and every time he rejected my pleas. Max may have loved to torture me, but even I knew he wouldn’t go this far to do it. So what was it? Could it be that he wanted to be a part of Pimberly’s life? Had he changed his mind? Or was this like a trial run; was he testing his limits? The realization that this situation may not work out positive as far as I was concerned weighed on me now. Max could end up wanting Pimberly as a part of his life, and although in the past, it was something I had wanted—for her to know her father—I’d evolved since then, and I didn’t want that anymore. The fact was, even if he had turned over a new leaf, he didn’t deserve her. Not after everything he’d done. As the elevator doors opened, a tear trickled down my cheek as I rolled into one of the most painful memories of my life. Max had worked at Phelps and Winsor for a little over a year. In fact, the day after he’d received the call from Mr. Winsor, himself, offering him the position was the day he’d swept me away to Vegas, and we were married by an Elvis impersonator. It was a job he’d desperately wanted, and he’d considered me his good luck charm when he got it—hence the fast wedding. The reception area where I sat and waited had shiny marble floors with large windows that revealed the most breathtaking view of the city, but the atmosphere was uncomfortable for me. Not because it lacked beauty; quite the contrary. The office was pristine, the view was epic, and the men and women bustling about were all gorgeous with impeccable ensembles and flawless hair. No, I felt out of place because amidst all that beauty was me—four days postpartum. My belly was jiggly, my

hair unwashed and stringy, and I was still wearing maternity clothes because nothing else fit. I was a thorn among the roses. I’d sat and waited for over an hour while Max was in a meeting. His secretary had told him I was here to see him and politely asked me to have a seat, informing me he’d be with me shortly. Finally, his office door opened, and he led a tall blonde dressed in heels and a pencil skirt out as they both chuckled flirtatiously with each other. He knew I was waiting to see him, yet he did it anyway. As I watched him smirk at the blonde as she adjusted his tie, I thought my heart literally couldn’t take any more hurt—but I was wrong. Max would prove that feeling wrong. When the blonde left, his gaze darted to me and he clenched his eyes closed as if the sight of me annoyed him. With a motion of his hand, he indicated for me to follow him into his office, not bothering to wait for me even though he saw me carrying a car seat. When I made it inside, I closed the door behind me and moved to his desk. “Don’t put that on my desk,” he’d ordered when he saw me lift the car seat to do just that. Something was lodged in my throat as I sat Pim on the floor. Then, I thought it was my heart. Now, I know it was my dignity. I was choking on it. I had convinced myself despite Matt and Alice telling me a million times to let Max go—that he didn’t want us—that if Max just saw her, he’d change his mind. How could he not fall in love with her once he saw our beautiful baby girl? “What are you doing here, Waverly?” he asked briskly, shuffling some papers around on his desk, barely acknowledging my presence. “She’s four days old today,” I answered, getting straight to the point. “She looks like me, I think,” I chuckled nervously as I looked down at a sleeping Pim, “but she has your nose for sure.” “Are you here for money?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with a look of disgust. “How much?” My entire body felt like lead; heavy with hurt and insult. This wasn’t the first time I’d attempted to plead with Max, beg him to reconsider. It was, however, the first time I had Pim to plead with. I was desperate. I’d loved this man, or so I thought. He’d swept me off my feet only to leave me like trash on the streets. My heart and mind were in different places. I knew he didn’t deserve Pim or me, but I couldn’t let him go for some reason. “I’m not here for money,” I managed. “I wanted you to see her, Max. Your daughter. This is your baby,” I emphasized. “Waverly,” he said my name sternly. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the desk, fixing his blue eyes on me. “I didn’t want this baby or any baby for that matter. When you chose to have her, you chose to lose me.” My eyes welled up, my stomach knotting. “Max,” I breathed, his name heavy. “I couldn’t get rid of her. I-I-I couldn’t do that. Not to my baby—our baby.” In a quick, frustrated move, he jerked to his feet and stood behind his desk. “How much, Waverly?” “I don’t want your money, Max,” I cried. “Just look at her. Please. Just one time.” Rounding the desk, he stared down at Pimberly. I waited for a smile, a look of softness that a father looking at his infant child for the first time might create to capture his features, but he showed

nothing. All I saw was a stoic expression. “Take her out of here and do not come to my office again. I will be informing security that you’re not to enter the building.” My face felt numb as the blood drained from it. My child was fatherless. My husband had disowned us. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want me. I was all alone. When I picked Pimberly up, looping the handle of the car seat over my arm, I couldn’t speak a word to him for fear of falling into a mess of sobs. If I was going to make it out of that building with even the smallest shred of my dignity, that couldn’t happen. So I said nothing. Speaking one word would be the demise of the fine thread holding me together. My legs were weak as I moved, my head was foggy, but still . . . I moved, willing my body to go beyond its abilities. Just as I reached for the door handle, Max delivered the final blow. “I’ll sign my rights over to you. Send me the paperwork.” At that moment I realized I’d been wrong. My heart could hurt more. As I climbed into my cab, I looked up at Max’s building, wiping under my eyes. Even that memory, almost two years later, could knock the air out of me. Matt was right. Leaving Pim with Max was wrong. This would be the last day. If he refused to sign the papers, I’d call his father. The last thing Max would ever want is for his father to find out he’d had a baby with someone of my low social class. I wasn’t even sure he knew we were married. This would be the last day.



It had been ten minutes since Waverly left, and I was expecting Helen to show up at any moment, so when the doorbell rang I wasn’t surprised. When I opened the door, though, it wasn’t Helen. It was a guy. A big guy. He looked me up and down, snickering to himself before muttering, “Been a long time, Max.” Even with his Yankees hat pulled down covering his eyes, it wasn’t hard to tell he didn’t like me. Having no idea who he was, I had no idea how to respond. Had it been a long time? “This is ridiculous, Matthew,” a woman said from beside him. I couldn’t see her, but it wasn’t hard to hear the annoyance in her tone. “Stay out of it, Alice,” the man, Matthew, piped back. “She here?” he asked, his stare intent on me. “Is who here?” He snorted and looked at the woman beside him as if saying, can you believe this guy? “My niece,” he grunted. “You know, the little girl I’ve been helping raise because you’re a deadbeat asshole.” Running a wide palm down my face, I fought the groan I wanted to let out. This dude was Waverly’s brother—of course it was. My shoulders sagged as I realized I’d had yet to meet even one person that thought well of Max. So far, all I’d come across were people that thought he was evil, and they weren’t wrong. “We’re going to miss our plane, Matt,” the woman asserted, forcing him aside so she could see me. A tall woman, her mouth quirked in a smile that was anything but pleasant said, “Hello, Max.” “Uh . . . hi,” I managed. Again, I had no idea who she was. “Matt would like to see Pim before we catch our flight to Europe. May we come in?” Whoever she was, she didn’t waste time. She was straight to the point. Glancing back at Pim, I noticed she was halfway to me. Smiling, she let out a few excited gurgles as she waddled her way over. Knowing she was excited to see Matt, I stepped aside allowing him entrance. “My girl,” Matt preened as he whizzed by me. Gone was the macho tough-guy persona from moments before, now he was acting like a teddy bear. That wasn’t hard to understand, Pimberly could make even the manliest men soft-hearted—I knew this from personal experience. When he picked her up, he continued walking further into the apartment away from the door. I guess he didn’t much care if Max wanted him there or not. Alice, cutting a quick glance at me, pursed her mouth, more like saying sorry, but not really sorry.

Matt wrapped Pim up in a big hug as he held her head to his shoulder. “She’s fine, Matt,” Alice asserted as she ran a soft hand over Pim’s head. “Now say goodbye. We have to go.” “I fucking hate this,” Matt muttered quietly. “Language, Matt,” Alice scolded as she smacked his arm. Hearing Matt curse, I felt some relief. At least if little Pim started babbling the f-bomb, I wasn’t the only one to blame. I stood watching them, my hands in my pockets, as they spoke softly to Pim and each other before Matt noticed me gawking and narrowed his stare at me. “You want a picture or something, Max?” he grumbled. “Matthew,” Alice groaned after letting out an exasperated breath. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring, but I was. Everything happening didn’t feel like it was happening to me, but it was, even though I felt like an outsider looking in. “What? This fucking guy spends two days with her and wants to watch me like I’m some asshole that could hurt her.” Letting out a snort, I decided not to comment. I was feeling defensive, and it made no sense. I wasn’t Max. I wasn’t a douchebag like him, and Matt’s anger was not directed at me. But at the same time . . . I was Max, and someone being a dick to you still gets your hackles up. Just keep your cool, Liam, I told myself. “Can I get anyone water or . . .” I stopped, realizing what an idiot I sounded like. What the hell was I doing? Offering beverages? “No, we’re leaving,” Alice replied quickly. Then looking at Matt, she tugged on his shirt sleeve. “Come on, Matt. Waverly wouldn’t want us here.” Handing Pim to Alice, he kissed the back of her head one more time. “Goodbye, baby,” Alice hugged Pim tightly before setting her on the floor. Matt fixed his narrowed eyes on me, his stare conveying nothing but anger. “I haven’t forgotten, Max,” he growled. “If it were up to me, I’d never let you lay eyes on this little girl ever again.” Pointing a firm finger at me, he continued, “Do us all a favor, Max. Sign the fucking papers. We all know you don’t want her, and you certainly don’t deserve her.” When he barged out of the apartment, Alice lifted her chin in indignation as if telling me she agreed with him before she followed Matt out. Letting my shoulders sag, I stared at the open door. I felt deflated. Bearing the burden of all the hate for Max was becoming a bit too much to carry. How could he live like this every day? “Oh no,” Pim exclaimed, her hands on her cheeks. I snorted out a chuckle as I picked her up and went to the door to close it. “Oh no is right, little sweetheart,” I sighed. “What are we doing here?” Helen asked as she slid in the restaurant booth. After I slipped Pimberly in the high chair the hostess had brought over, I sat across from her, placing the gift bag I’d brought beside me. The truth was, I had a plan. However, I also desperately needed to get out of that apartment. The last

few days had been a whirlwind with this body switch and dealing with Max’s train wreck of a life. I needed something good. Coming to the diner was killing two birds with one stone. “You got a problem with a free breakfast?” I grumbled. “I brought you groceries this morning. We could’ve made breakfast.” “Helen,” I sighed. “It’s a long story. Just drop it.” “Damn, you’re grumpy,” she poked at me. “Just goes to show you can take an a-hole out of the body but you can’t take the body out of the—” she paused and shook her head. When I raised one brow at her, letting her know she sounded like an idiot, she glared at me. “You know what I meant, Liam.” “You have a way with words,” I said dryly. “What’s in the bag?” she queried, changing the subject. “It’s nothing,” I dismissed her, shrugging one shoulder. “Something I picked up last night while I was out.” She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, our waitress, Mary, approached. “Morning,” she chirped, a bright and friendly smile strewn across her face. Wearing her usual uniform with her hair pulled up, she looked exactly as she had the last time I’d seen her. “Look at this little beauty,” she cooed as she bent to Pimberly’s level. Pimberly stared at her, before her eyes fixed on the pad of paper in Mary’s hand and she grabbed for it. “No, no,” I tsked. Mary stood, giving me a wink, waving her hand. “That’s okay. I’ll grab her some paper and crayons we keep in the back.” “That’s nice of you.” The woman was good through and through. “You guys know what you want to order or do you need a few minutes?” I looked to Helen. “Think she’d eat a cheeseburger?” I asked, tilting my head toward Pim. Helen stared at me blankly for a moment before looking at Mary. “Pancakes for the little one,” she began. “And I’ll just have coffee.” Then moving her eyes to me, she mumbled, “Nine o’clock in the morning and he wants to give her a cheeseburger.” She had a point. Twisting my mouth, slightly embarrassed, I said to Mary, “Kind of new to this whole kid thing. I’ll have a BLT please and coffee.” “Anything else?” Mary chirped as she jotted my order down. I couldn’t help smiling at her. She couldn’t know I admired her because she didn’t know I knew her . . . sort of knew her anyway. I knew enough. This woman fed me when I was hungry and never expected a thing in return. Every person in this restaurant only saw a pretty lady in a uniform, but I saw an angel. “That’s it, Mary. Thank you,” I answered after a beat. As she hustled away, I watched her, thankful for people like her in this world. “So. . . .” Helen hinted, drawing my attention. “You got a thing for this waitress or what?” “No,” I shook my head adamantly. “Nothing like that.” Helen smirked in a way that told me she didn’t believe me. “The way you were looking at her says differently.”

“It’s not like that Helen. You’re way off base,” I insisted as I handed Pim a few Cheerios from a ziptop baggie Waverly had packed. “Then why were you looking at her like that?” My sister never let up sometimes. It could be so damn frustrating. “Drop it, Helen,” I moaned in annoyance. “Why?” “Because.” “Tell me,” she demanded. “Because she fed me, Helen,” I growled, keeping my voice low so others around us couldn’t hear, but with enough emphasis to indicate I was angry. I wasn’t angry about her asking, I was ashamed, and somehow it manifested to anger. I didn’t want to have to explain to my sister that I held Mary in the highest regard because she fed her worthless homeless brother food when he couldn’t pay for it for himself. Helen’s features went slack. “Fed you . . . you mean when you were living on the streets?” “Yes,” I snapped, sitting back, clenching my fist under the table as I pressed it to my leg. I was so damn angry, and I hated that. I was a prideful man, I knew this. Pride had kept me away from Helen; I was too ashamed to face her in my circumstances. I never wanted to be a man irrational about his pride; a man that let it make me act like an asshole. Unfortunately, my anger was only partially due to my pride and shame. Mostly it was due to the savage withdrawals from steroids. It was coming to the point that literally, every second of every day, one truth was reiterated; Max was a fucking idiot. I felt like raging one minute and weepy the next. I nearly goddamned cried that morning when Pim got excited about watching bike videos again. What the hell was that about? I thought I was losing my mind. Then, a moment of lust came over me as I watched Waverly bite her lip. She was a gorgeous woman, but even that moment was off; I felt attracted to her, but physically, downstairs, not even a twinge. Apparently, Max was facing erectile dysfunction as well. I really fucking hated Max. With a few deep breaths, I managed to calm myself and try to explain as Helen’s lower lip trembled. She wanted to cry and was trying her damnedest not to. I wasn’t sure if my small anger tantrum had upset her or the revelation of who Mary was to me had, maybe it was both. Either way, I hated to see my sister hurt. “There’s no crush,” I explained, calmly. “I’m not attracted to her. I’m just . . . grateful to her, okay?” When she moved her gaze to her hands where they were joined on the table, I felt awful. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” “Don’t be sorry, Liam,” she murmured just as Mary dropped our coffees at the table. “Food will be up shortly,” Mary informed us. “Thank you,” Helen said softly, her eyes teary as she smiled up at Mary. Poor Mary. She didn’t realize a couple of seemingly whack jobs would be occupying one of her tables this morning. We weren’t crazy . . . not entirely anyway, but anyone taking a moment to observe might believe differently. I was shouting, Helen was crying, and I was trying to feed a baby a cheeseburger at nine in the morning. Mary’s stare darted from Helen to me in question before moving back to Helen. “You okay, hon?” Even as nuts as we seemed, she asked the question with sincerity. She wasn’t judging us at all.

Helen wiped under her eyes and chuckled a little, embarrassed. “Oh, I’m fine. I think my pregnancy hormones are just making me emotional,” she lied. At least her lie looked believable when she rubbed her belly. Mary congratulated her, and by the time she left our table, Helen had told Mary about how her delivery with David had been hell—26 hours of labor—and she was hoping this baby would be a Csection. When Mary finally managed to escape the madness, I had to try and lighten the mood. “Thanks for sparing us the description of afterbirth and not telling her about how you poo’d on the table.” Helen whipped her gaze to me, her stare filled with shock. Tilting her head, she asked, “What?” Holding my hands up, I chuckled a little. “It was just a joke.” She shook her head. “I’m just surprised you remembered is all and, by the way, I didn’t poo on the table,” Helen sassed, cutting her eyes away from me. The truth was, she did. How did I know this? Oh, only because I somehow got stuck being in the delivery room with her when she gave birth to David because his father was a douche bag and I was the only family member alive to be there for her. David was premature, and the whole thing was scary as fuck, and there was no other choice. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but my baby sister needed someone in there that loved her, and I wouldn’t let her go it alone. My eyes were closed for about 90 percent of the delivery, and I remained near Helen’s head the whole time, facing away from the main event, but I do remember the doctor telling her not to worry, it happens all the time as they tore the paper under her away and disposed of it. It was one of those let’s never, ever talk about it things. That and she threatened to murder me in my sleep if I did. “Even if I had poo’d,” she whispered her last word “it’s part of giving birth. It’s all part of the . . . beauty.” She waved her hand haphazardly. I laughed. Loudly. Then Pim started laughing, or more like bellowing too, and I laughed even more. Helen, try as she did, shook a little as she tried to stop herself from laughing, too. Holding one hand up, she blocked her other hand from Pim’s line of sight as she flipped me the bird. “Asshole,” she mouthed. As I said before, we were crazy, just not entirely. After we had eaten, I gathered Pim up and handed her to Helen. “You mind taking her outside so I can talk to Mary for a second?” “Come here, baby,” Helen cooed as she reached for Pim. When Pim looked up at me before nestling her head against my chest, I couldn’t help but grin. She liked me. She didn’t want to leave me. Helen’s mouth quirked up as she rubbed Pim’s back. “Looks like you’ve got a fan.” My throat tightened. Something about that moment felt so good. I felt . . . happy? Or was it sad? I kind of wanted to . . . cry? What the hell was that about? I don’t cry . . . ever. Damn these emotions! Steroids were the epitome of evil. Maybe my reaction was over the top due to the steroids, but that didn’t change that the moment was incredibly sweet, but with that thought came a brutal reality. Pim liked me which meant maybe she was getting attached. Of course, I realized it wasn’t just her. I was getting attached, too. Kissing the top of her head, I told her, “I’ll be right out, little sweetheart. Go with Helen, and then we can play in the park for a bit.”

She squawked a little as Helen took her, but when I handed her some more Cheerios from the baggie, she quieted down as she frantically shoved her entire little fist in her mouth trying to eat them. Helen and I both chuckled. “Better hand me that baggie, just in case,” Helen said. With Pim on her hip and the baggie in her free hand, she headed outside. As soon as they were out the door, Mary came over and began clearing the remaining dishes from our table. When I cleared my throat to get her attention, she set the dishes down and turned to me, a bright smile on her face. “You guys forget something?” “I actually wanted to give you something,” I began. I knew handing Mary a large sum of cash would be met with refusal, so I braced myself. With a quick glance around the restaurant, I checked to see if anyone was watching us. I didn’t want to make Mary a target for some thief because they saw her accept a lot of money. When I felt it was safe, I began. “This is for you.” As I held out my hand with the folded hundred dollar bills, Mary’s smile faded into a confused frown as she realized what it was. “That’s too much for a tip,” she stated, her tone holding a hint of skepticism. “This isn’t just a tip. This is for you.” “What?” I lowered my hand when she didn’t take the cash. “You’re a good person, Mary. I know, every week, you take a sandwich out to a homeless woman. I know you pay for that out of your own pocket. I want to give this to you to maybe help you out with whatever you may need it for.” Mary stared at the cash, a little longingly, but I could tell no matter how bad she needed it, she didn’t want to take it. “It’s nothing, really,” she insisted. “I wish I could do more. Especially when she started bringing the guy with her. I just can’t afford more.” “And that’s why you deserve every penny of this,” I stated, taking her hand and placing the money in it. “You gave even when you didn’t have much to give.” Mary’s eyes got teary. “I can’t take this.” “Yes, you can. Please take it. Please,” I begged. She stared at the money, before glancing around, probably checking to see if anyone else was watching like I had done a few minutes before, before she shoved the money in her apron pocket. “I’ll take it,” she finally acquiesced, “but I’ll use the money to feed them. I’ll tell them to come back a couple of times per week so they can have a few confirmed meals.” It took everything in me not to hug her. People like this were few and far between. “No. This is for you.” I pointed at her to emphasize my words. “This,” I added as reached into my back pocket and pulled out the envelope I’d prepared before we’d left the apartment. “This is for feeding Pearl. Maybe you can give her some of the cash so she can get a hotel room for a few nights.” “You know Pearl?” she questioned, her brow furrowing. “Not personally,” I blurted quickly. “I’ve just seen you feed her and that other guy.” “Liam,” she said simply, with a sad smile. My stomach knotted. She remembered my name. So many of those days I’d wondered if she even saw me. Taking the envelope, she didn’t even open it, just put it in her apron. “He hasn’t been around as long as Pearl, but he’s such a nice guy. I’ve wished I could afford to feed them each their own meal. You can tell he’s got a heart of gold, just a man that’s down on his luck is

all.” I realized she must not know about the accident; that I wouldn’t be coming back for a while . . . or ever for that matter. “They’re both grateful for what you do, Mary,” I assured her. This woman would never know what that meal meant to us. “You know Liam, too?” “No. Just seen you feed them is all. I just wanted to give someone good something good. The money in the envelope is for them.” “How do you know I won’t just keep it all?” “The same way you said you could tell Liam is a good man. Sometimes, we just know. I know you will do what is good.” I wasn’t sure how this conversation would go, but when Mary threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly, I couldn’t stop myself from hugging her back. I hugged her tightly, the embrace meaning more to me than I knew she would understand. I was grateful to this woman in a way I couldn’t explain to her because she saw Max, not Liam. Whether I was in Max’s body or not, there were some things I couldn’t stop, and this was one of them. Physically, I was Max; healthy and well-off, but it was my soul that existed within him, and my soul remembered the days I lived on the dirtied sullen streets, hungry and hopeless. My soul remembered the kindness of a stranger; the kindness of Mary. I’d tortured myself with wondering if giving Max’s money away was right, but in the end, I decided I didn’t care. Max had plenty of it and had Mary not given Pearl and I a meal that day, I might not have been there, and Max’s body might have been the one to end up in a coma, not mine. When we pulled away from each other, Mary wiped at her eyes. “Thank you . . .” she paused, realizing she didn’t know my name. “I’m no one,” I told her. “And thank you. Can you do me a favor please?” “Sure,” she replied without hesitation. Taking the gift bag from where it sat in the booth, I handed it to her. “Will you give this to Pearl?” She looked at it in my hand, her gaze curious. “You can look,” I permitted. Taking the bag, she peeked inside and smiled. “A black cat stuffed animal,” she chuckled. “She’ll love this.” “His name is Murry,” I noted. “Thanks again, Mary.” Grabbing the dishes from our table, she gave me a curt nod. “I’ll make sure they get fed. I promise.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her I, or rather Liam, wouldn’t be there anymore. Instead, I nodded back and waved. Then I left, meeting Helen and Pim just outside. Pimberly practically jumped out of Helen’s arms into mine. We laughed again just as a motorcycle whizzed by, stealing our attention. Pim’s face lit up with a bright smile, and she babbled, “Vroom-vroom,” as she pointed at the bike. “You’ve got good taste, sweetheart,” I told her. “That’s a Harley.” “Vroom-vroom,” she giggled. As I stared at Pim, my face hurt I was smiling so big.

“You’re good with her, Liam,” Helen noted. “Li-ham,” Pim babbled. Helen immediately covered her mouth. “She’s like a parrot, this one,” I huffed. “I’m so sorry,” Helen gulped. “I wasn’t thinking.” “Li-ham,” Pim murmured again. Taking a deep breath, I decided not to worry about it. Maybe if we didn’t make a big deal out of it, Pim would stop.



When I arrived back at Max’s apartment, I’d calmed down significantly and decided I’d be cordial. There was no need to get worked up or argue with him anymore. All I needed to do was get Pim and leave. I’d made a mistake bringing her here; leaving her with him and now it was time to fix it. I would not be bringing her back regardless if Max signed the papers or not. Maybe he would have rights to her, but I doubted he’d ever exercise those rights, so there was no point in pushing him. I rang the doorbell once and waited patiently until Max opened the door. When he did, the blood drained from my face. “Hi,” he rasped as if he’d been asleep. His hair was slightly tousled, and he was squinting his eyes. It wasn’t how he looked that panicked me; it was how Pim looked curled up in his arm, her head resting on his shoulder as she slumbered. “She fell asleep in my arms, and I was afraid if I set her down, she’d wake up,” he whispered. “Guess I kind of fell asleep, too.” With his free hand, he motioned for me to come in before he turned and headed back to the living room. Moving slowly so not to wake her, he sat on the couch. “How was your day?” he asked quietly. “Uh . . . It was fine,” I answered numbly. Was I in some kind of alternate reality? That’s all I could think as I stared down at him holding our daughter. This man was not the Max Porter I knew. It seemed as though someone had literally flipped a switch inside of him. The Max I remembered wouldn’t even look at his newborn baby daughter, let alone hold her for hours while she slept because he didn’t want to wake her. “She was really good today. We went out for breakfast—” “You took her out?” I interrupted him, my voice raising an octave. Raising his brows, seemingly surprised at my anger, he answered, “Yeah. We went to breakfast and the park.” Glaring at him I opened my mouth to yell, to rage at him for taking her out when he barely knew her, but I decided better of it. He would never see her again. There was no point. Snapping my mouth shut, I spun around and proceeded to pack up Pim’s belongings. “Are you angry?” he inquired with one brow raised in confusion. “It doesn’t matter,” I fumed as I chucked Pim’s diaper bag in the wagon. I hadn’t meant it to be loud, but the sound startled her and she jerked her head up, her eyes squinty as they adjusted to the light. “I’m sorry, baby girl,” I apologized as I approached her and rubbed her back. Looking up at me she blinked a few times before she nestled her head back on Max’s shoulder. Normally, she’d fly out of anyone’s arms to get to me, so when she chose to stay with Max over coming to me, my heart felt as

though it hit the floor. It didn’t help that Max was grinning as he turned his head slightly and kissed the top of her head. “We need to get going,” I muttered as I rushed about the room, flinging everything in the wagon. I didn’t bother to bag the remaining possessions up neatly. All that mattered at that moment was getting out of there as fast as possible. “There’s no need to rush, Waverly,” Max said quietly. “She’s probably hungry.” Snapping my head in his direction, I barked, “Oh, two days with her and you think you know her? She’s my daughter Max. I’ll do what I want.” “What in the hell are you so angry about?” he whispered, angrily. “For starters, you took her out,” I snapped, widening my eyes with rage. So much for letting it go. “What if something had happened?” “Like what, Waverly?” “Like . . .” I struggled for words. “Like what if you were mugged?” His jaw went slack as he stared at me. “Oh, and you wouldn’t be just as likely to get mugged as I would?” “What if she was hurt?” I moved on, realizing my first what if was pretty bogus. “You wouldn’t have even known what to do or where to take her.” Throwing his free hand up, he laughed in disbelief. “You people are killing me!” “You people?” My head reared back. I wasn’t sure what he meant by it, but it felt offensive. “First, your brother comes by here with his girlfriend and gives me shit, and now you. Can I expect any other members of the Torres family today?” “Matt was here?” I asked, widening my eyes. Damn it, Matt. I should have known he’d do that just before leaving town. Now that he was gone, probably flying over some ocean, I couldn’t yell at him for it. “Sure was.” Shaking my head, unsure of what to say, I forged forward, driving my point home. “You shouldn’t have taken her out, Max.” “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he quipped, his mouth quirking up on one side, “but I’m not a fucking moron.” Immediately, he sucked in air through his teeth, grimacing, before clenching his eyes closed. His tone had been harsh and his words crass. It was obvious he regretted them. “Sorry,” he mumbled. I wasn’t sure if the apology was meant for Pim or me, or both of us. “I didn’t mean to say that word in front of her.” “Father of the year, folks,” I snickered, my tone thick with sarcasm. My friend snarkiness had sidled up beside me and was ready to throw a few punches. His mouth flattened into a tight line before he stood and tugged his cell from his pocket. Within a few seconds, he had a video playing—another bike race. What was it with him and bike races? He’d never once mentioned motorcycles while we were together. Setting Pimberly on the floor, he handed her the phone, and she gazed at it sleepily. “Can we talk in the kitchen?”

He didn’t give me a chance to answer before he stormed off. I followed him, stomping, angry he’d pulled the adult card and refused to argue in front of Pim. That’s what I should’ve done. How dare he. In the kitchen, we stood where we could still see Pim, but were far enough away that if we kept our voices down, she wouldn’t hear us argue. Max stood, his feet planted firmly as he crossed his arms. I couldn’t deny something about the stance was unlike anything I remembered about him. It was confident. Max had always been a confident man, but in a way that made it seem like he thought he was superior to everyone. This was different somehow. His expression was stoic, but combined with his posture, he had a look that said, I’m sick of this shit. It threw me off a bit, but didn’t intimidate me. I knew I was right; there was no way he’d convince me otherwise, no matter what crazy head games he tried to play with me. “Did you, or did you not, bring her here and leave her in my care for the past two days?” he began. “Yes.” The word was said matter-of-factly and without apology. I had in fact done that. “If you don’t think I’m capable of taking care of her, why in the hell did you bring her here?” he whispered angrily, the muscles in his jaw ticking. Clenching my fist at my side, hoping to level the loudness of my response I gritted out, “To get you to sign the papers.” Leaning toward me, his stare intense, he met my eyes. “I am not signing those papers right now, or anytime soon for that matter.” Letting out a frustrated growl, I thundered, “Why not?! You don’t want her.” Throwing out my arm, I pointed in Pim’s direction. “I begged you to be a part of her life, and you wouldn’t even look at her. You literally threw us out of your office, Max! Why?” My last word broke off on a sob, my emotions getting the best of me. “Just sign them. Please,” I begged. His features relaxed as the anger in his eyes ebbed away. Was that remorse I saw? His mouth flattened again, as he shook his head. Then he yanked a paper towel from the roll near him and handed it to me. My face was already a mess of tears, and I imagined my mascara was streaked down my cheeks. When he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms again, I had no idea what he was thinking, but I remained silent. I wanted him to be the next one to speak. “I’m . . .” he paused, his chin tilting up, as if searching for his next words. “I don’t know what to do,” he finally managed. “I swear this isn’t me trying to be a dick to you.” When his gaze met mine again, I could see it; he really was conflicted. About what? I wasn’t sure. “I just can’t sign those papers right now, Waverly.” My body shuddered as I held back the sobs I so desperately wanted to let out. I wanted to lash out, rage at him, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. My plan hadn’t worked, and now I was unraveling. I had to get out of there. Placing my hands on my hips, inhaling deeply, I informed him, “We’ll be leaving now. I will not be bringing her back.” Widening his eyes slightly, he almost looked disappointed. Then, running a hand through his hair, he exhaled with a groan. Kneeling in front of Pim, he picked her up and stood, his mouth quirking in humor when she babbled something incoherently. “It’s time to go home with Mommy, little sweetheart.” Taking the phone from her, he tossed it on the couch before giving her forehead a long kiss, as if silently, he was saying goodbye to her. “I’ve had a lot of fun.” Pim looked up at him and placed her hands on his cheeks. Max quickly jerked his head and pretended

like he was going to eat them, making her bellow with laughter. They did it a few more times until I couldn’t take it anymore. Watching them play somehow angered me and broke my heart all at once. “Come to Mommy,” I sang as I held my hands out to her. Reluctantly, she came to me, and I popped her up on my hip before bending down and grabbing the handle of the wagon. “I’ll . . . uh . . . get the door for you,” Max stuttered before making his way to the exit. After I had navigated the wagon through the doorway, I didn’t turn back. I went straight to the elevator. As I hit the call button, Max said, “Waverly.” Spinning around, I met his stare from where he stood at his door. “For what it’s worth, you’ve done an amazing job with Pim. She’s a great kid.” “I know,” I replied just as the elevator doors slid open. Pulling the wagon inside, I hit the button for the lobby. As the doors slid closed again, Max held one hand up in goodbye. As the elevator moved down, Pim gurgled, “Li-ham.” “What was that, baby?” I asked, not sure what I’d heard her say. “Li-ham,” she said again. Was she saying Liam?



The next morning, I was running late as hell. I had class in an hour and was already late, and we hadn’t even left the house yet. Normally Matt would save me, but he and Alice had left the day before for their European excursion. He didn’t even say goodbye to me, but texted me a video of him telling Pim how much he loved her and would miss her. Pimberly had been cranky all evening, continuously babbling vroom vroom and Li-ham over and over as she cried. She barely ate her dinner and shunned my attempts to play with her. By the time I got her to bed, I still had to study. So on top of a craptastic evening, I barely got any sleep, and my alarm didn’t go off because I forgot to set it when I finally slumped into bed at 2 a.m. When I burst through the door at Ms. Patty’s like a bat out of hell, in my haste I didn’t see the kid’s blanket wadded up on the floor before I tripped over it. I stumbled as I tried to regain my balance, but it was no use—Pim and I crashed to the floor. “Shittttt,” I wailed as I felt my ankle twist, the pain splintering up my leg. Pimberly screamed, the fall scaring her more than hurting her. Even with the immense pain, I grabbed Pim and checked her over, making sure she was all in one piece. “Oh my Lord, are you two okay?” Ms. Patty fretted as she picked up Pim and checked her over as well. When I tried to stand, the pain ricocheted everywhere causing me to thump back to the floor. “My ankle,” I moaned through gritted teeth. “I think I broke it.” “Weeks?” I griped, my lip trembling, as I stared teary-eyed at the doctor. “Worst case. You’ve got a bad sprain. At the very least, you won’t be able to put any weight on it for a few days. You’ll need to keep any pressure off it for a while.” “A while?” I whined. The doctor gave a small shrug. “Like I said, it could be days or weeks.” “I . . . I have a little girl,” I stuttered. For as dramatic as I was being, the doctor must have thought I was crazy. I mean, at least I didn’t break it, but a sprain still limited me. “How am I supposed to care for her when I can’t even walk without crutches?” “Do you have family that can help you?” My heart sunk. I did have family that could help me, but they were an ocean away. I also wasn’t Matt’s favorite person at that moment, and even though I knew if I called them he’d come home to care for his niece, I wasn’t sure I could do it. My pride would choke me for it. Besides, I couldn’t ruin this trip for them. They needed it. I’d secretly prayed Matt would propose to Alice while they were there. Calling them would be an absolute last resort.

“Sure,” I lied as the nurse helped me stand long enough to move me to a wheel chair. While they processed my discharge papers, I called anyone I knew that might be able to help. I didn’t have many friends that I was close to; school and motherhood dominating my life had kept me from seeing my friends regularly, and the few I had kept in contact with as often as I could, all had busy lives as well. Handing me a script for pain meds, the doctor patted my shoulder. “These meds should keep you comfortable, but they will make you sleepy, so you’ll definitely need help with your child. Make sure you call and set up a follow-up appointment.” “Thanks,” I muttered as I shoved the papers in my purse. I didn’t mean to be rude to him, but I was in pain on top of choking with worry about how I would manage taking care of Pim. Miss Patty could watch her during the day, but I’d still need help getting her ready in the mornings and figure out a way to get her there. Not to mention picking her up in the evenings and getting through the nightly routine. Handing me my crutches, I held them as best I could as the kind nurse navigated my wheelchair gingerly, careful not to bump my extended leg on anything, through the bustling hospital halls onto the elevator. As we reached the first floor, she asked, “Will someone be picking you up?” Tears stung my eyes as I searched for an answer. There was no one to pick me up. The only two people I could count on to help me with Pim were halfway across the world. There was no way I could call them and ruin their trip; I’d hate myself for it. Who else could I call? “Are you okay, hon?” the nurse asked. Clearing my throat, I rasped, “Yes. Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’ll be taking a cab home.” She pushed me into the lobby, and we’d almost reached the doors when I saw them—Max and Helen. What in the hell were they doing here? “Can you stop for a moment please?” I mumbled to the nurse, raising my hand slightly to make sure I got her attention. As the wheelchair came to an abrupt stop, I stared as Max stood with his arms crossed, staring down at Helen while she spoke. Something was so different about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Even the way he stood seemed different . . . manlier if that even made sense. As I watched them, occasionally Helen wiped at her eyes with a balled-up tissue. Why was she crying? It wasn’t any of my business, but I wondered if everything was okay with her baby. Whatever suspicions I had about her, I couldn’t help my heart from squeezing at the thought that something might be wrong with her unborn child. It also didn’t keep my curiosity from rearing its head. If the baby wasn’t Max’s, why would he be here with her? Unless he’d lied, which was the most logical answer. Just as that thought flitted through my mind and my hackles began to rise, Helen darted her gaze right at me, almost as if she’d felt me watching her. “Shit,” I muttered to myself. In under five seconds, she’d pointed me out to Max who had to do a double-take. “We can go now,” I told the nurse. She pushed me gently, but we’d only made it a few feet before Max and Helen reached us. “What happened?” Max inquired as he stood in front of my wheelchair, forcing us to stop. Dressed down again in a simple gray T-shirt and jeans, he once again looked completely unlike himself. “I sprained my ankle,” I answered dryly, pushing some of my loose bangs behind my ear. “Had a

little accident this morning.” “Oh my goodness,” Helen gasped, genuine concern strewn across her features. “Is Pimberly okay?” Nodding my head, I realized they must think I meant a car accident. “Yes,” I assured her. “She’s fine. I fell at the sitter’s house. I was holding her, but she wasn’t hurt . . . just a little scared.” Turning from me, Max looked around. “Who has her now?” “She’s still with the sitter.” “Who’s picking you up?” “No one,” I admitted irritably. Having to tell Max and Helen I had no one to help me was humiliating. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have to get a taxi and pick up Pimberly. Nice seeing you again, Helen,” I mumbled without sincerity. Max didn’t move out of the way. He and Helen gave each other a look like they were having a conversation with their eyes. “You can’t take care of her by yourself with your ankle like that,” Max noted. “I’ll figure it out, Max,” I snapped. “Now please move.” “Let me help,” Max demanded, his tone gentle but firm. We stared at one another, neither of us saying a word. The bustling of people around us didn’t seem to deter him. “I’ve managed without your help for a long time, Max. I don’t need it now,” I lashed out. Whipping the crutches around, I tried to stand, but the wheelchair had my leg sticking out. My face heated with embarrassment as I grunted awkwardly trying to get up. “Waverly,” Helen said my name softly as she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “Please let us help you. I’ve been a single mother before. I know what it’s like to be hurt or sick and need help. It’s okay to need help, ya know?” My stare dropped to my leg, my chest seizing as a memory barreled through my mind. After Max left the apartment the evening I’d told him I was pregnant, I’d paced the floors all night, praying he’d calm down and regret his reaction. I’d hoped with some time he’d realize what a gift it was, but that didn’t happen. Instead, he texted me the next morning, just as he’d said he would. He’d done it. He’d made an appointment for me to have an abortion. The word devastated didn’t even come close to how I felt. Packing a bag, I left and went to Matt’s. I lied and told him Max was out of town and I didn’t like staying at the apartment by myself. Max texted me that afternoon, hours after the appointment had been scheduled. How’d the appointment go? I stopped by the apartment, but you weren’t home. Where are you?

He thought I went through with it. I didn’t respond. Maybe it was the hormones from pregnancy. Or maybe, as much as I hate to admit it, I was a pathetic woman convinced I could change him. I don’t know, but somewhere in my warped brain, I convinced myself Max would change his mind about it; that he would want our child. My first move in helping him come to this conclusion was to give him time and space. Though his words had cut like a knife, I could understand how having a baby so soon might have panicked him. We had only been

married a few months, and our courtship had been short. So much had happened so fast, maybe he felt overwhelmed. Space—I’d give him space. He just needed time to wrap his head around the idea. I hid out at my brother’s house for a week. I had to contact all of my professors and feign stomach flu so I could miss classes and do my work from home. Other than the text he’d sent after the appointment he’d scheduled, Max didn’t attempt to contact me again. Hurt. Unadulterated raging hurt. I felt like I was suffocating in it. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, I went home to our apartment, hoping that night we could sit down and try to discuss it again. I wanted to understand his feelings; why didn’t he want our child? Was he scared? Did he think he’d be a bad father? What was it? Maybe he just needed some reassuring. I was worried but determined. We would work this out. I would not let us fail. With a heavy sigh, I inserted my key into the lock, preparing myself for the discussion ahead. It didn’t work. He’d had the locks changed. Numbness washed over me as I felt the blood drain from my face. Sliding down the door, I melted into a heap as tears streamed down my cheeks. Pulling out my cell, I called him. “Waverly,” he answered. “Hi,” I croaked. “I’m trying to get into the apartment, but my key isn’t working.” “That’s because the locks have been changed. You won’t be living there anymore.” “Max,” I breathed, my heart sinking. “Why are you doing this?” “You didn’t go to the appointment.” “No, I didn’t,” I agreed, swiping the tears from my warm cheeks. “I couldn’t, Max.” “Then you made your choice. The front desk has an envelope for you. It has the location and key to the storage unit where I had all your stuff sent. My lawyer is working on an annulment. I don’t want to see or hear from you again.” Then he hung up. I must have sat there for hours, numb and clueless. How did this happen? I knew Max was selfish to a degree. I knew he could be insensitive, but this . . . was this who he was? Had I been blind? In the following months, I reached out to him thousands of times. I sent him sonogram photos and texts and emails. He never replied. He never lifted a finger to help. And now he wanted to be a hero; be a father? Helen couldn’t know how cruel Max had been to me so maybe she couldn’t understand my reservations. “He’s never bothered to help before.” I glared at her. “So why now, Helen, huh? Why should I accept his help now?” How dare she tell me to accept help from Max. Could she even comprehend what a selfish asshole he was—how terrible he’d been to Pimberly and me? If she was anything like me when I first met Max, she was stupid and blind. I’d thought he was amazing, too. Apparently, she was under the

same illusion. “Maybe . . .” she looked up at Max, then back at me, “maybe Max is a different person now.” I snorted, almost choking on the knot in my throat. Before I knew it, I was grinning, the idea that Max was now, after a lifetime of being a jerk, suddenly a good person. That he was a different person. Was this lady for real? Max held his hands up in surrender, clearly frustrated. Kneeling, he met my line of sight. “I’m not going to sit here and beg you. If you don’t want to stay with me, let me at least keep Pimberly until you’re up and running again.” “Absolutely not,” I sneered as I jerked forward. “I’m not leaving my daughter alone with you for days.” “You need help,” he pointed at me before pointing at himself, “I’m offering. I understand in the past, I haven’t been there for you, and I can’t promise I always will be, but I’m here now, Waverly.” Standing up straight again, he dragged a wide palm down his face, attempting to calm himself. Letting out a defeated breath, I turned my head from them, fighting tears. Helen was right. It is freaking hard to be a single parent. I’d been lucky to have Matt to help me with so much, but even with his help, there were days that I struggled. “You guys can come stay at my apartment,” Max offered. “You two can have my bedroom, and I’ll crash on the couch.” Lifting my chin, my lip trembled as a tear rolled down my cheek. I hated this. I hated this so damn much and yet, he was my only option for help until Matt and Alice got back. “Why are you doing this, Max?” I croaked. Cutting his eyes to Helen before meeting mine again he answered, “Because it’s the right thing to do.” Dropping my head, I sighed. I needed help. There was no way I could do everything Pimberly needed with my ankle hurt. Even though letting Max coming to my rescue was a huge blow to my pride and dignity, it was my only choice. “Okay.” I nodded. Then I had to say something that nearly killed me to say to him. “Thank you.”



“I’ve got diapers, tons of clothes, a million toys, and her travel crib,” Helen announced as she dropped a bag near the pile of Pimberly’s belongings near the door. Max, with his hands on his hips, stared down at the pile, a bewildered look on his face as he scratched the back of his neck. “A tiny little girl really needs all this?” “Yes,” Helen and I both answered in unison. Letting out a heavy sigh, he picked up some of the bags to load into Helen’s car. “If you guys say so,” he mumbled as he heaved the load out the door. Helen’s mouth quirked up. “Men,” she chuckled. “Now, do we have everything you need?” “I think so,” I answered still thinking. “Oh, my toiletries, and will you grab the baby Tylenol and thermometer in the medicine cabinet, please? Upstairs bathroom, third door on the left.” “I got it,” she chirped as she made her way upstairs. “Thank you,” I yelled. I wasn’t sure what the deal with this lady was, but she was nice. Max and she both vehemently insisted there was absolutely no romantic connection between them and the baby she was carrying wasn’t Max’s. They weren’t related either. So, what was it? Friends? Really? Helen just didn’t seem like the kind of person Max would get close with. She seemed . . . well . . . like me. Middleclassish, normal, not a snob. It wasn’t a stretch to believe he’d be interested in her intimately, she was pretty, but I couldn’t see it outside of that. Whatever, I’d figure that out later. Max entered again and stood, looking around. Jabbing a thumb toward the kitchen, he jested, “Should I bring the kitchen sink? The fridge?” Rolling my eyes, I replied sardonically, “Ha, ha, ha.” Then my snarkiness poked her head out. “Not that you’d know this, Max, but babies require a lot of stuff.” It was a cheap stab, one I felt bad for taking, especially when Max let it roll right off his back. Damn him for being the bigger person. “You need any help, Hel?” he shouted as he took the first step on the staircase. Though he refused to acknowledge my smartass comment, I could tell he was desperate to get away from me in case I had any more to dish out. “No, I got it!” Helen shouted back. “Be down in a minute.” Just before Max stepped down, one of the frames on the wall caught his attention. Leaning in, he stared at it, squinting, before a big grin captured his features. “Damn,” he mumbled. “Pim looks just like you in this picture.” The photo was of Matt and me; I was three, and he was seven. He was sitting on a hideous brown

couch, and I was beside him, resting my head on his lap. “That’s Matt’s favorite. He always teases me about how my head was so big it covered most of his body.” Max laughed; a deep, hearty, authentic laugh. “My head was not that big,” I defended. Max laughed louder, the sound somehow equally thrilling and terrifying to me all at once. I couldn’t remember a time I’d ever heard him laugh like that. Twisting his neck, so his gaze met mine, he gave a little shrug. “It is a little big.” My mouth fell open as I glared at him. Was he telling me I had a big head? What an asshole. “In the picture,” he quickly assured me, pointing at the frame where it hung. “Not now. Your head is adequately sized now. You must’ve grown into it.” Snapping my mouth shut, my nails suddenly became interesting as I stared down at them, pressing my lips together to stop myself from laughing. When you resented someone the way I resented Max, you don’t laugh at their jokes—ever. It’s called consorting with the enemy. I was already going to be living with the man, I’d be damned if I’d laugh at his jokes, too. “Whatever.” I didn’t look up to see if he had resumed examining the photo or if he was still staring at me until he added, “She does look like you, Waverly. She’s absolutely beautiful.” When I lifted my head, I found he was watching me, his features serious. It was a true compliment, one of the nicest he’d ever given me. And I had no idea how to respond. “Okay,” Helen sang as she traipsed down the stairs. “Unless there’s anything else you can think of, I think we’re all set.” Clearing his throat, Max coughed a little, before taking the bag from Helen. “I’ll take this out to the car.” A second later he was out the door. I stared at him, unsure of what had just happened. “You okay?” Helen inquired. “Yeah,” I huffed, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. As I scooted to the edge of the couch to stand, she rushed over to help me up. “Guess we should get Pim.” When she’d helped me to my feet, foot, and helped me arrange my crutches, I met her intense gaze. “I know this isn’t your first choice. I know you don’t trust Max, and you have every reason not to, but I hope you’ll really let us help . . . at least until you’re better or your brother gets back.” What was she doing here? She seemed like a nice lady, and I hated to think Max had somehow duped her as he had done to me years ago. I wished someone would’ve warned me. “I don’t know how well you know Max, but this isn’t him,” I stated bluntly. “Max doesn’t go out of his way for anyone, least of all me or Pimberly.” “I can’t promise you this new Max is here to stay, but I can tell you it’s real . . . for however long it lasts . . . right now . . . it’s real.” I didn’t understand what she meant, and my pain meds were kicking in, so I let it go. If the new Max only lasted long enough to get me through the next two weeks until Matt got back, then so be it. What happened after that, I couldn’t care less.



“I really wish you’d stay tonight,” I whined to Helen as I followed her to the elevator, moping behind her like a child holding his mother’s apron strings. What was I going to do with these two ladies staying with me for days to possibly weeks? I’d had a few serious girlfriends over the years that would spend a night here and there, but none that officially lived with me. What if I left the toilet seat up and one of them fell in? Outside of that, there was a far larger issue. The biggest problem would be trying to maintain my identity as Max in front of Waverly. She’d already mentioned several times how I wasn’t the same as I used to be. These were all things that were rolling through my mind as I’d stared at Waverly in the hospital lobby, offering her my help. I knew it was a bad idea, but what choice did I have? She needed me. “You’ll be fine,” Helen yawned. “I’ll be back tomorrow after I visit the hospital.” Taking a good look at my sister, my shoulders sagged. Small dark circles surrounded her eyes, and her skin was pale. She was exhausted, and I was entirely to blame for it. Ever since the accident, she’d been by my side either in the hospital with my body or here with me, aiding me, as I stumbled my way through Max’s life. “Helen, take tomorrow off, okay. You need a day to kick back. In fact, I don’t want you coming out here every day. You’re pregnant. You need to take it easy and get some sleep.” Snapping her fiery gaze to mine, she answered, “I may only have days left with you, Liam. I can sleep the rest of my life, but I may not have my brother for it. I’ll be here in the morning after I go to the hospital.” Pulling her to me, I hugged her as she pressed her head to my chest. She sniffled a little, but didn’t cry. “It’s going to be okay, Hel Cat,” I promised. “No matter what, it’ll be okay.” While Waverly and Pimberly moving in with me was worrisome, it had been a welcome distraction. Helen and I spent the day focusing on helping Waverly, avoiding the bad news we’d received earlier. Not long before we ran into Waverly in the hospital lobby, the doctors had pulled Helen aside to update her on my health. It had been over a week, and there were no signs of brain activity. My pupils weren’t reactive to light, and I was unresponsive to any type of stimulus. Physically, I was dead, plain and simple. Only the miracle of modern medicine was keeping my body alive. The prognosis was dismal, to say the least. We’d already known this, but it was adamantly reiterated. The doctors believed without any doubt my brain would not recover. They strongly recommended taking me off life support. “I’m scared Liam,” Helen’s voice cracked. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t want to get emotional. Max’s fucking steroid use was still messing with me, making me feel like a woman. Was this what PMS was like for ladies? One minute I felt fine, then I’d feel weepy, then I’d be pissed off. I felt insane. I swore to myself I’d never make another

fucking joke about ladies during their time of the month again. Now, with my prognosis unchanged added to the mix of the overwhelming task of maintaining Max’s life; the idea that Max was trapped in my body, frozen; the workload it was creating for Helen; not to mention the possible psychological damage I was doing to Pimberly and Waverly—there were more than enough reasons to take my body off life support and see what cards fate would deal. “In two weeks, Helen,” I told her as I kissed the top of her head. Pulling back, she stared up at me. “Two weeks what?” I swallowed hard, preparing myself for her reaction. I knew she wasn’t going to like what I had to say. “After Waverly and Pimberly go home, we’re going to take my body off life support.” “Li—” I held my hand up, stopping her. “If there’s no evidence my body will wake up we have to do the right thing. If Max is trapped in there, he deserves to be able to switch back to his body or even move on to. . . .” I motioned my hand to the ceiling, “the other side.” “What do you mean he deserves it?” she hissed. “Okay, maybe the guy’s an asshole, but no one deserves that, Hel. And what about me? I can’t live like this. I can’t pretend to be him when I’m . . . me, ya know? If I get stuck in his body forever . . . that’s one thing, but I can’t live knowing he’s trapped there, and at any moment we could switch back, or I could die, or whatever.” The elevator dinged as the doors slid open. I stuck my hand out to hold them open while Helen stared at the floor. She needed a moment to absorb what I was saying, and no matter how long it took, I’d give her that. “Okay,” she acquiesced after a brief silence, “but promise me something.” She rubbed at her nose with her sleeve. “What?” “Live these next two weeks, okay? I mean,” she paused, clearing the emotion from her throat, searching for words, “Really live, Liam,” she finally finished. “Spend some of this guy’s money. He’s got a ton. It doesn’t make you an asshole or a thief. Do something fun and crazy. Laugh. Love on that little girl. Maybe you don’t feel like she’s yours, but she may be the closest you’ll ever get to being a daddy. It may only be two weeks, but it could be special. Just please,” she wept as she rested a firm hand on my chest, “live.” Nodding, I added, “I will. Now promise me no more tears and that you won’t exhaust yourself.” “I’ll try,” she promised before stepping up and kissing my cheek. “Call me if you or Waverly need anything.” “I will. Give David a hug for me.” We’d discussed bringing David in the loop, trying to include him, but in the end, we decided, for the time being, not to tell him I was alive in Max’s body—not that he knew who Max was. It wasn’t an easy decision, especially since I loved my nephew like a son, but we agreed to wait until we knew more. I waited until the elevator doors closed before I went back to the apartment. Closing the door quietly, hoping not to wake Pimberly, I crept to the living room and plopped on the couch.

Two weeks. My fate would be decided in a measly fourteen days. On one hand, fourteen days felt like the blink of an eye, but on the other . . . it felt like eternity. The hardest part was not knowing what would happen. I mean, it would be one thing if I’d known for sure I would die, but I didn’t. I couldn’t make any big changes or decisions because I had no way of knowing if Max would end up back in his body, with the consequences of the decisions I’d made in his lap. Not that I would do anything illegal or harmful, but I still felt obligated to preserve his lifestyle as much as I could. I would not be a cruel and selfish dick, though. I didn’t care if that pissed him off or not. Lost in thought, I almost dozed off when I heard Pimberly babbling, her baby voice so soft and sweet. The bedroom door was cracked open, so I peeked inside. Waverly was on her back, her foot propped up on a pile of pillows. She was out cold, not at all phased by Pimberly. I guess the pain pills got to her. It was the first time I’d seen her at ease; relaxed. So far, the only version of Waverly I’d known was a woman scorned, a woman bent out of shape and on edge. The more I discovered about Max and what he’d done to her, the more I understood why she was this way. It was pretty damn sad. I knew when she was rude to me—condescending and insulting—it was meant for Max, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. Still, I understood. Ornery as she might have been, it certainly didn’t take away from her beauty. I couldn’t help it. I stared at her for a moment. The strap of her tank hung loosely over her shoulder exposing the slightest curve of her breast. Her skin looked so fucking smooth. I wondered how soft it would feel beneath my fingertips . . . how good it would feel letting my lips graze. Pimberly gurgled something jerking my attention away. I scrubbed my face roughly a few times to clear my thoughts. What the hell was I just doing? I’d been sitting there staring at Waverly like a fucking perv in front of her daughter. Get it together, Liam, I scolded myself. Treading lightly as not to disturb Waverly, I pulled her shirt strap up and tugged the blankets over her, then switched off the lamp on the nightstand. Peering down at her, I don’t know why, but I whispered, “Night.” Scooping Pimberly up, I grabbed a diaper and some wipes and brought her out to the living room. After I had changed her, we laid on the couch, and I pulled up some photos of bikes. “That,” I showed her the photo of the bike, “is a 1948 Panhead. That’s my dream bike.” “Bike,” she gurgled as she stabbed her chubby finger at the phone screen. Laughing, I squeezed her to me and kissed her temple. She was too damn cute. Something about this kid made my heart swell. For a moment, maybe the first time since I became Max Porter, I actually felt sorry for him. This little girl, his little girl was amazing, and he would never know it. The worst part was it was his choice not to know it. Most little girls want to hear stories of princess’s and fairy tales, but Pim wanted to look at Harley’s and watch bike races. She was rare; one of a kind. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing with you, kid,” I told her. “If I ever have a daughter of my own, I want her to be just like you.” “Li-ham,” she whispered as she lay her head on my chest and snuggled closer. And that was it. I was done. Pimberly had officially stolen my heart.



My eyelids felt like lead as I pried them open the next morning, allowing the harsh lighting from the morning sun to blind me. The retina-destroying sunlight, coupled with the pain meds making me groggy made climbing out of bed feel almost impossible. Damn, the sun was bright. I sneered at it as if it could see my disdain. Stupid sun. Why in the hell would anyone want floor to ceiling windows? Then I snickered to myself, amused by my question. This is Max we’re talking about, Waverly. There would always be a huge question mark over that man. He was a riddle—the worst kind, too. Women might enjoy a little mystery when it comes to a man— the thrill and the danger of the unknown—but Max wasn’t that. He was the farthest from it. The questions surrounding Max were sad, really. Why was he so selfish? Why was he so mean? Why did he abandon his wife and daughter? Rubbing my face, I groaned softly to myself. “Don’t think about it, Waverly. He’s not worth the brain cells you’d burn trying to figure it out.” With that thought, I shot straight up. “Max,” I gasped, jerking my gaze to Pim’s travel crib. “Pimberly?” I called quietly. From where I sat on the bed, all I could see was a mound of her blanket. I didn’t want to scare her if she was still sleeping. Grunting softly, I gently moved my injured foot to the floor and stood on my good one. Using the bed for balance, I limped toward her crib and peeked in. She wasn’t there. My entire body tensed in panic. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind the idea that Max, or anyone for that matter, had taken her was ridiculous, but I won’t lie and say it didn’t cross my mind. My other thought was . . . what if Pim climbed out of the crib and had been wandering around the apartment unattended for hours? Max’s home was not child-proofed. Who knew what he had in his cabinets or drawers? I cringed thinking about it. Hobbling back to the side of the bed where I had slept, I grabbed my crutches and hightailed it out the door. The bedroom door wasn’t closed all the way, so I didn’t wake Max or Pim when I whipped it open and practically fell through it in my hurry. And there they were, sound asleep on the couch. Pim was snoring, her little fist balling up some of Max’s white T-shirt in her hand, her mouth slightly parted as she breathed slowly. One of Max’s hands rested on her back, almost protectively, his other was behind his head. I swallowed hard as I watched them. If life were different, this would have been a perfect photo op. An image to frame to show a father and his daughter sharing a sweet and loving moment. What this was . . . I wasn’t sure. For a split second, anger surged through me; the bitterness I felt toward Max seizing me, refusing to let me see even the slightest beauty in this, but I fought it. I’d been good and bitter for years, and I’d have been lying if I said I didn’t still have days where it got me, but I’d worked hard to fight it because what I

learned was my hurt, anger, and disdain for Max in no way changed him. It didn’t make him a better man; it didn’t make him love Pimberly or me. It didn’t make my life better. In fact, it only made my life worse. How heavy the weight of hate can be. It can drown you. For months after Max abandoned me, I’d sat in my room with my laptop, scrolling Pinterest, and inundated myself with quotes about letting go and moving on. None of it helped, but rather hindered me more. Moving on is a choice. We can either remain cemented in the past, or we can forge forward in search of better days. Hate is love’s nemesis, yet the two are so closely linked; almost hand and hand. You can only hate someone if you love them. When I thought about it, I realized I didn’t love Max. I loved myself in love. I loved the way I felt confident in knowing I had someone, I had a partner in crime. When I delved deeper, though, I didn’t even have that with Max. He was never my partner in crime, my confidant. All I ever loved was an illusion, an idea. I could hate him for being a deadbeat to my daughter, but I couldn’t hate him for my illusions. I saw what I wanted to see, and that was my fault, not his. When Max’s phone rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin when it startled me. He’d set his ringer to the sound of a motorcycle revving. What the hell was going on with this bike obsession? It was weird. How did a grown man just wake up one day and start loving motorcycles? Jerking up, careful not to move too much as he tried not to disturb Pim—who wasn’t at all fazed by the obnoxious ring tone—Max used his free hand to search for the phone frantically. When he found it, he thumbed the accept button and answered. “Hel,” he croaked. “What time is it?” Hel I knew was Helen. I’d heard him call her that a few times the day before. “They’re still sleeping,” he chuckled softly as he bent his head down and looked at Pim, his mouth turning up. “Pim’s sleeping on my chest.” Hel said something and Max closed his eyes and shook his head. “I will not take a selfie of us, Hel,” he informed her in a whisper. After a few seconds, he added, “No.” I guessed another refusal from him after she’d pushed. “You’re still at the hospital?” He was quiet for a moment, and then his mouth flattened, and the muscles in his jaw ticked as he asked, “Well, what did they say?” As he listened, it finally occurred to me I was one hundred percent eavesdropping. The pain meds were making me slow, I’d been standing there listening to his conversation like a fly on the wall, but if I moved now, he’d hear me. It was wrong to continue to stand there without making my presence known, but I realized something. I never figured out why Helen and Max were at the hospital the day before. I was so caught up in my own issues and worried about how I was going to care for Pimberly, I completely forgot to ask what they were doing there. Before I could finish that thought or decide what to do, Max said, “Liver failure?” Letting out a deep sigh, his whole body seemed to deflate as he listened to whatever she was saying. “So we’re working with less than a week now?” My brows furrowed as I listened. What were they talking about? Or who, rather? “Look,” he huffed. “Let’s talk about it later. I’ll see you in a little while.” When he finally hung up, he dropped his phone by his side and bent his neck, gently kissing the top of Pim’s head as she began to stir.

“Morning, little sweetheart,” he rasped. “Looks like we pulled an all-nighter on the couch.” “Do you still drink coffee?” I finally asked, making my presence known. Max’s head jerked back at the sound of my voice. Clearly, I’d startled him. “Oh, morning,” he grunted as he sat up, holding Pim tight to him. “I didn’t hear you come out.” His usually perfect hair was disheveled, one side sticking straight up and his shirt was wrinkled, but with Pim curled in his arms, he looked . . . fatherly. He looked like what I’d once dreamed of. He looked . . . sexy. “The sound of a motorcycle revving woke me,” I lied as I moved a step back with my crutches. Maybe I was petty for making fun of his ring tone, but it felt good to take a stab at him. He shrugged, not missing the sarcasm in my comment. “I dig the ring tone.” Then turning his head to Pim, he said in a goofy voice, “We dig it, don’t we Pim?” “Milk,” Pim replied. “She’s like her Mama,” I informed Max, quirking one eyebrow. “You can’t speak to her until she’s had her milk, just like you can’t speak to me until I’ve had my coffee.” “Is that so?” he chuckled, half his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Dually noted. Well, why don’t you have a seat, and after I get Pim’s diaper changed, I’ll get the coffee going.” Sitting Pim on the floor, he stood and lifted his arms above his head, giving himself a long morning stretch. The first button of his jeans was undone, causing them to hang from his hips slightly. When his shirt lifted as he stretched, it revealed the lower part of his muscular abdomen with the slightest dusting of hair. His body hadn’t changed much, it still looked amazing, but the way he moved, the way he carried himself was different, and there was something about it I found absolutely mesmerizing. The more time I spent with Max, the more entranced I became by it. “I can make the coffee,” I informed him. “If you don’t mind changing her.” “You sure?” he queried as he lowered his arms and rolled his shoulders a few times. “I know things will be a little difficult until you get used to the crutches and all.” “I got it.” As I hobbled toward the kitchen, Max lifted Pim and started making plane sounds as he carried her over his head into the bedroom. I couldn’t help smiling a little as Pim howled with laughter. Ten minutes later, after muttering a handful of obscenities, I finally managed to get the coffee going. The crutches weren’t the problem, the fancy-ass coffee maker was. Five minutes in I was ready to fling it across the kitchen. While the pot brewed, I went back to the living room and plopped down on the couch, exhausted. Who knew making coffee could be so daunting? “You okay?” Max asked as he carried Pimberly back in. He’d put her in a clean outfit, but her hair was still wild from sleeping. “Yeah. That coffee maker is insane,” I complained as I reached my hands up indicating I wanted him to hand Pim to me. “Hi, baby,” I purred as she reached out for me. “I don’t even know why anyone would want something so complicated,” he grumbled. “It shouldn’t take that long to make coffee.” “Then why’d you buy it?” “I don’t know,” he murmured under his breath as he walked away from us.

Pim and I played for a few minutes while Max tinkered in the kitchen. When he yelled, “How do you like your coffee,” I gritted my teeth. Maybe it was stupid to get upset that he didn’t remember, but it seemed too simple not to remember. “Black,” I replied, curtly. “Huh.” “What?” “I just wouldn’t have taken you for a black coffee drinker,” he shouted to me. “I’ve always taken it black,” I muttered. After a moment, Max appeared and handed Pim a sippy cup of milk. I slid her to the floor, careful not to let her hit my ankle, before letting him hand me the steaming mug. I murmured a thank you before taking a sip as Max stood, watching Pim and me with a grim expression on his face. The quiet that hung between us blared. He didn’t know what to say; neither did I— it was awkward. We were married once; we shared our bodies. I’d had this man’s baby, yet making simple conversation felt impossible. How did that happen? Here we were living in a somewhat intimate way, like a family, when we were the furthest from it. I racked my brain for a topic, something I could ask that would evoke conversation yet nothing too heavy, but I came up short. Until . . . “When we were together,” I began. Way to keep it light, Waverly, I scolded myself. “I don’t remember you liking motorcycles.” “Oh yeah?” he replied, scratching the back of his neck before taking a seat on the loveseat across from me. “Has it always been an interest, or is it new?” God, this was so awkward. I didn’t care if Max liked motorcycles or not, but I hated awkward silence. I swear if I were in the FBI or CIA and were captured by the enemy, all they’d have to do is lock me in a room with someone that wouldn’t speak to me, and I’d blab all our secrets just to fill the silence. “I guess you could say it’s a new interest.” I paused, waiting to see if he would elaborate more, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Again, I filled the silence. “Do you own one?” Tilting his head, he looked at me, his mouth curving up on one side as if something had just occurred to him. “At the moment, no. Would you like to come with me to buy one?” I snorted because I knew he was kidding. When he continued to stare at me, his brows raised in question, I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re serious?” “Dead serious.” “Why would you want to go out and buy a motorcycle today of all days?” “Why not today?” he pondered as he lifted Pim. “Today’s as good as any other day.” I had no idea what was happening. I was only trying to make conversation, and now we were going to buy a motorcycle? I was exhausted trying to keep up with it all. “I’m going to take a shower,” I sighed deciding not to entertain his ridiculous suggestion. I scooted

and tried to stand when Max held out his hand. “Let me help you.” My gaze darted from his hand to his face. I wanted to smack his hand away; tell him I didn’t need his help. It may have taken me longer, but I knew I could stand on my own. What use was there in rejecting his help? Like I said, hate is heavy, and it doesn’t hurt anyone but the person giving it. Taking his hand, my body tensed, bowing, as a sensation tingled through me. We both paused, staring at where our hands were joined. What was this? Did he feel it, too? After a moment, he gently pulled me up, and I somehow managed not to spill my coffee. Once I was balanced, he took my mug so I could grab my crutches. Neither of us acknowledged the moment . . . how could we? I realized that since I met Max at The Mill a few nights before, we hadn’t touched once. Taking a step back he ran a hand through his hair. He suddenly became fascinated with the floor as he stared at it. “You need help getting to the bathroom?” He knew I didn’t, but I could tell he just wanted to say something, anything, to move past the moment. “I got it. Thanks. You good with watching Pim while I shower?” I jutted my chin toward Pim. Looking down at Pim, he smirked. “I think I can handle it.”



When Helen arrived that morning, we all ate pancakes, and the conversation stayed cordial. Helen was a huge help in not only aiding me in making small talk with Waverly but also helping me learn things about Waverly that Max would know—or should know. Thanks to my extremely inquisitive sister, I discovered Waverly was in school studying to become a social worker; her mother had bailed on her father, leaving him with two kids when Waverly was only three; and her Dad passed away five years before. “Sounds like you’ve had a tough time,” Helen told her as she took her plate. Waverly tilted her head. “Matt and I have always had each other. I’m thankful for that.” Then, almost perking up, she asked, “Where’s your family? Do you have any siblings?” Helen let her gaze drop as she cleared her throat. Cutting a quick glance to me, she answered, “A brother. Our parents have been gone a long while, too.” Waverly let out a weighted sigh. “I’m sorry. Are you and your brother close?” “We are. He’s a great guy,” Helen replied with a loving tone, her mouth curving into the slightest smirk. “A dumbass sometimes, but still great.” I rolled my eyes where only Helen could see. She thought she was hilarious. “Where is he?” Waverly continued, undeterred by Helen’s vagueness. Apparently, Helen wasn’t the only inquisitive one in the room. “Actually . . .” Helen murmured, pausing briefly as she glanced my way, a short flicker of panic in her eyes. She had no idea what to say. Widening my eyes, I warned her not to say a damn word about me in the hospital. “He’s here and there,” she finished, taking my hint. The answer was as vague as it gets, but in a technical way, it was true. I was here and there. When Waverly’s mouth flattened, I decided to change the subject. It was clear she wanted more information and was frustrated Helen wasn’t giving it to her. Before I could find a good topic to switch us to, the doorbell ring. “I’ve got it,” Helen announced as she practically flew out of her seat from the table, desperate to escape Waverly’s mild interrogation. “That’s so sad about her brother,” Waverly asserted, her gaze fixed on me as she rested her chin in her hand, her elbow on the table. “Is he in New York?” With Helen gone, I guessed she was now turning her interrogation on me. Clearing my throat, I stood and gathered the syrup and strawberries from the table. “He is in New York.” The answer was vague, like Helen’s answers, and when Waverly’s mouth flattened, I could tell she

wasn’t happy about it. “More coffee?” I asked. Sliding her mug toward me, she huffed, “Yes.” Taking her cup, I went into the kitchen and stopped when I saw Helen round the corner from the foyer. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes narrowed as she spoke. “There’s someone at the door for you,” she stated slowly, letting me know to be wary. I tilted my head in question to which she widened her eyes, telling me not to ask her who. “I’ll finish cleaning up.” As I passed by her, she whispered, “I’ll keep her busy, but you need to get rid of them quickly.” Shaking my head, I shrugged, my silent way of asking, Who? “Just hurry,” she ordered, her voice low. I’d barely opened the door when a short bald man with dark eyes and stained teeth, cackled, “Max-amillion.” Reaching out his hand he grabbed mine and attempted to do some weird bro handshake, knuckledap thing I didn’t know how to do, so it ended awkwardly. Stepping back, the man assessed me, looking me up and down with confusion. “Switching up the wardrobe, I see,” he laughed. Glancing toward the elevator, I saw Braxton waving frantically at me. “I tried to stop them sir, but they bulldozed right through. Should I call security?” “I told you we’re friends,” the bald guy hollered at Braxton. Then returning his attention to me, seemingly forgetting all about Braxton, he added, “You got the whole ruffian/metro look going. I like it.” He laughed some more, incredibly humored by himself. I hated to be someone that made assumptions about other people, especially ones I just met, but something told me this guy probably got the shit beat out of him in high school on a daily basis. The way he moved quickly, kept lightly punching my shoulder and laughed, annoyed me ridiculously. He was trying too hard. And for a moment I wondered if this was really who he was, or if this was who he was around Max. This stranger, loud and obnoxious, was already enough for me to deal with, but of course, there was more. As it always seemed to be when it came to being Max Porter, there was always more. Flanked at the bald man’s sides were two women, both beautiful, wearing heels and trench coats. Even with the coats on, in the middle of summer I might add, it wasn’t hard to tell there wasn’t much else on underneath them. “You haven’t been to the club, and Wallace said you like to approve all the girls. He had to take his kid to summer camp today and asked me to bring ’em.” Then, leaning toward me, “I didn’t mind volunteering for this one,” he divulged in a hushed voice before rolling into laughter again and slapping my arm. “The club?” I questioned. My question wasn’t meant for the short man. I was speaking to myself, trying to understand what was going on here. “Yeah, you forget about it? Wallace said he hadn’t seen you in about a week. Anyway,” he moved on before letting me answer, “Here they are. Can we come in? Unless you wanna give the stiff over there,” he jabbed a thumb in Braxton’s direction, “a free show.” From inside the apartment, Pimberly cried out, and I jerked the door shut. “No!” I boomed. Baldies mouth pursed, and he raised one brow. “You got a baby in there, Max?” His tone was riddled with equal amounts of shock as his expression.

“And if I do?” I snapped, becoming increasingly annoyed with this guy. Even if he did know Max, it wasn’t any of his business whether he had a baby in his apartment or not. He was like a flea, bouncing around everywhere and annoying as fuck. Holding his hands up in surrender, he took a step back. “Sorry I overstepped, boss.” He looked at each lady, before saying, “Boss won’t be sampling today, girls,” he informed them. My stomach turned as realization dawned on me. Max must’ve been involved in some kind of strip club and apparently liked to approve the women the club hired himself. Did he make these women perform for him? Or did he make them do more? What a fucking skeeze. “Boss man can still get a peek,” Baldie added. “Open those coats and give him a look.” “Uh . . . no . . .” I stammered, panicked. But it was too late, the women had their coats open in the blink of an eye. I only got a quick look—giant breasts and hairless skin—before I groaned and turned away, clenching my eyes closed. “Cover the fuck up,” I ordered. After a few seconds, I turned back to find the girls frantically tying up their coats. Grabbing baldie by his shirt collar, I dragged him toward the elevator. “Don’t bring these women or any other women from the club here again,” I seethed. “You heard I had a baby in there. This is my fucking home, and you’re going to have them get naked in my hallway where my neighbors could see? What the fuck kind of douche bag are you?” “I’m s-s-sorry, boss,” he stuttered as his hands clutched my wrist. Shoving him away, he landed against the elevator doors with a hard thud. Both women rushed to him, one calling, “Vince.” “Get ’em out of here, Vince,” I ordered. “And don’t come back.” “I’ll escort them out myself, sir,” Braxton added. “You better get back inside before your lady friend sees. That wouldn’t be good for any of us.” I scowled, unsure of what he meant by ‘us,’ but I didn’t bother to ask. I didn’t care, really. I just wanted Vince and the women gone. The women helped Vince get back on his feet, checking him over. He glared at me, the look of a man that had just been embarrassed and belittled, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he feared Max, his money and stature, or maybe it was me since I just pushed him around, either way, he didn’t want to rock the boat, which was smart. If he’d tested me, I’d likely have knocked his teeth out. I was pissed at this situation, the obnoxious guy, at Max for once again proving what an asshole he was, and I didn’t doubt my coming off the steroids was adding to it. I wanted to punch something. The one and only bright side to this incident was Waverly didn’t see them. I can only imagine the rampage that would have set her on and rightfully so. Helen met me at the door and cringed when she saw me. “You okay?” “No,” I spat back. “I need to get out for a while.” “We have to talk about what the doctors said this morning,” she murmured as she leaned toward me. “I know,” I grumbled, running a hand through my hair, struggling to keep my cool. Waverly staying here was already stressful enough, what with her hating the man whose body I inhabited and all. Then add in the surprise visit from the skeeze patrol on top of the bad news from the hospital, I felt like I was about to blow my top. Apparently, my liver enzymes had skyrocketed, which was a sign of organ failure, and the doctors felt strongly that it was time to pull the plug. Helen argued with them, and in the end, they all agreed they’d give it a week. Which meant our two weeks had dwindled down to less than one. Time was

running out. My imminent demise was in sight. I felt like I was watching a train rolling high-speed toward me, intent to plow me down, but I could only move in slow motion as I tried to get away. “I know,” I sighed loudly. “We will, but I need some time to cool off. Can you hang for a bit?” “Yeah, I got them.” Grabbing the keys, I left without saying another word. Waverly would probably be pissed about that, too. God knows Max can do no right now, and there would likely be hell to pay later, but I couldn’t speak with her. I was afraid if she pushed or said something smart ass, I’d snap, and I didn’t want to do that to her. She might’ve been a smartass, but she had a right to be when it came to Max. I spent the morning hours walking around the city, looking for Pearl. I needed to see she was okay. It took some time, but I found her perched on a park bench, the little stuffed cat I’d asked Mary to give her on her lap, her hand absentmindedly petting it. Her clothes were clean, and her hair was tied back. She was no Elizabeth Taylor, but she looked good. That gave me some relief. An hour later, I made my way down to the shop I used to work at before I fell down the stairs injuring myself. Eight years I’d worked at that shop. Rob, the owner, had inherited the business from his father two years before, and was barely managing to keep the place afloat. The truth was he didn’t know shit about bikes. With business income dwindling, my unfortunate injury gave him just the excuse he needed to reduce his labor while maintaining his salary without looking like a total asshole. Needless to say, he wasn’t my favorite person, but he was the least of my concerns right now. When I heard the buzz of drills and loud rock music playing from two blocks away my shitty mood and negative thoughts began to dissipate. Damn, I missed this place. I loved mechanics. There was something to be said about knowing something so intricately and trying to figure out what might be wrong with a machine when it wouldn’t work right. When I was a few hundred feet away, I saw it. My bike. Even though it wasn’t mine anymore—it was Lenny’s technically—in my heart it would always be mine. My chest tightened as I approached, a feeling of nostalgia washing over me as I remembered the years I had with that bike. I know to some people it was just a bike; a death trap on wheels my Grams used to call it. But to me it was freedom; history, hard work and fun rolled into one. Damn, I missed riding; the feel of the wind and roar of the engine, the way the machine vibrated beneath me the faster I went. I even missed the feel of a woman behind me, her arms wrapped around me, her chest pressed to my back. As I stopped beside it, I snorted to myself as I imagined Waverly riding with me, probably yapping in my ear the entire time about how I was going too fast. Of course for her to even yap I’d have to get her on the back of my bike first, and call me skeptical, but I doubted that would ever happen. Then it occurred to me—I was daydreaming about Waverly riding on the back of my bike. What in the hell was that about? “Can I help you?” My head snapped up, and I found Lenny, staring at me, his forehead creased in suspicion as he wiped at his grease stained hands with a rag. “Just walking by and saw this Bobber here.” I motioned to the bike then crossed my arms. “Is it yours?” Lenny shook his head as he took a few steps toward me, still wiping his hands. “No, it’s not.” My stomach dropped. He sold it. Damn. He said he wouldn’t. Even if he did, I couldn’t blame him.

He paid for it fair and square, but I’d hoped to buy it back from him some day. Of course . . . there may not be a someday for me. “It’s my buddies. I’m just . . . holding it for a while.” I nodded, feeling like an asshole for doubting him. Relief flooded through me. Lenny was a good guy. I should have never doubted him. “It’s a nice bobber,” I noted, wanting to engage him in conversation. He may not know it was me, his best friend Liam, but I missed my friend. I didn’t have many, and Max certainly had none. “Heritage Softail?” I inquired about the model. Any real motorcycle enthusiast would know it was a Heritage, but like I said, I just wanted to keep the conversation going. Lenny smiled as he shoved the rag in his back pocket. “My buddy built the motor himself and cut the frame to lower the stance.” He nodded, his mouth curved down in a frown as he scratched at his red beard. “He had it a long time.” As he stared at the bike, I wanted to go over and give him a pat on the back. He was thinking about me and my bad luck. I wondered if he knew about the accident. I’m sure Helen called to tell him. With everything going on, I hadn’t thought to ask her if she had. Moving my gaze back to the bike, I couldn’t help smiling, remembering the work I’d put into it. Lenny helped a lot, too. We spent a many a night working on this bike after the shop closed. Sometimes I think we just stayed and made up shit to do to it just to have a reason to hang out and drink beer. We’d stripped this bike down. The mirrors were gone and the signal lights, too. It was a pretty badass bike, if I did say so myself. It may not have been the most expensive, but it had a lot of time and sweat in it, and that made it worth more to me. “I like it,” I acknowledged. Then taking a step toward him, I reached my hand out. “I’m Max, by the way.” “Lenny,” he said, taking my hand in a strong grip. “You got wheels?” Shaking my head, I crossed my arms again. “Nah, but I’m thinking about getting one.” Lenny looked at me, then back at the shop, then back at me. “Man, I know I don’t know you, but this bike just came in a couple of days ago and the parts I ordered just came in so I’m finally getting to work on it. I gotta show it to someone.” Lenny excited about a bike meant it was a badass bike. “Oh yeah?” With a quick motion of his hand, he indicated for me to follow him. I nearly flew behind him, so fucking excited to talk shop with someone that knew and gave a fuck about bikes. As he entered the bay with me following a few feet behind him, he announced, “You ever heard of a Panhead?” I stopped in my tracks. He couldn’t be serious. “You got a Panhead in there?” Lenny chuckled. “1948 man. This thing gets me hard just looking at it.” I laughed, a real laugh, a Liam laugh. Damn it felt good. As we walked in and I saw the bike for myself I felt like a kid in a toy store, my fingers itching to touch it. “Ain’t she a beaut?” Lenny asked, his face lit up with a grin. “The owner is sinking some real funds into this. Wants it back fast. I bet he spent a fortune on it. The old girl needs some TLC, but she looks good.”

And he wasn’t kidding. The bike needed some love, but it was a gem. They don’t make bikes like that anymore. “Looks like she might have some electrical issues. You replacing that exhaust pipe?” “Yeah. Owner wants a complete once over; flush the tank, check the brakes, get her a new clutch.” Lenny listed off. Staring at the bike, I shook my head. “I’d give my right nut for a bike like this.” Lenny grinned. “She is damn sexy.” I cut him a look and put one hand over my crotch. “I’m definitely getting a chub just looking at her.” We both roared with laughter and before I knew it, Lenny and I were shooting the shit and talking about every bike we could think of. That afternoon, I spent a few hours bullshitting with my best friend about our favorite thing. After days of navigating through Max’s life and the unknown, of having to pretend to be someone I wasn’t, for a little while I got to forget about all my problems. I got to forget, for a short time, that I was Max Porter.



Max took off earlier in the day without a word. At least not a word to Pim or me. Apparently, he left Helen in charge to help with the baby and aid me. Sounded just like him to bail and leave someone else holding the bag. Helen insisted he had an ‘urgent matter’ to attend to. When I asked, “What urgent matter?” Helen vaguely replied, “I’m not sure.” I’d told myself I would not ask questions about Max. I didn’t want to know about his life. Then again, I did want to know. I just didn’t want to look like I wanted to know. It was a real dilemma. I’d tried asking Helen a few questions about her life after she’d interrogated me, but she barely answered the few I managed to ask. Maybe she was a person that didn’t like to share her personal information. If that were the case, that would be okay, but I think fair is fair—she asked me questions, and I answered, shouldn’t she do the same? Minus her lack of sharing, I liked Helen. She was a thoughtful person and she was a doll to Pim. While Max was out, Helen sat on the floor and played with Pim while I lay on the couch with my foot up, studying. I’d contacted my professors and let them know about my injury and that I wouldn’t be in class for at least that week, but I wanted to make sure I kept up on my studies. “Do you want a boy or a girl?” I asked, hoping she’d at least give me a little information. That wasn’t too personal of a question, was it? With a slight shrug, she moved to her knees and helped Pim to her feet. “I guess I always wanted to have all boys, but I have to tell you . . . this little cutie has me thinking a little girl would be fun.” “If you have a girl, you’d have one of each,” I noted, closing my book and resting it in my lap. “Very true.” Looking at her watch, she bit her lip. “Speaking of children, I need to call my son really quick.” Sitting up, I plopped the book beside me and fixed my ponytail. “Go ahead. I think I can handle her.” “I’ll be right back.” Grabbing her phone, she went into the back office and shut the door. I thought the need for that much privacy was odd, I mean she was only calling her teenage son, but I didn’t dwell on it. The front door opened and shut, and seconds later Max entered, a bright grin on his face. My eyes narrowed in suspicion. What was he so happy about? “Ladies,” he beamed before bending down and kissing Pim on the head. My body tensed. I hated seeing him being affectionate with her. This whole situation was nuts. I only hoped that Pim wouldn’t remember any of it . . . wouldn’t remember Max when it was over. “Take care of your urgent matter?” I asked dryly.

He cut his eyes to me in question, but then quickly smiled and nodded. It was obvious he didn’t know what I was talking about at first, but figured it out. “Oh, yeah. All is good.” I wasn’t letting him off that easy. “Did your urgent matter involve rolling around on the street?” “What?” he snorted. “Your shirt,” I pointed at the black stain on his sleeve. Looking down, he checked his hands, nodding. “Just helped someone with some mechanical issues they were having,” he answered. I stared at him blankly. “Mechanical issues?” “Flat tire,” he explained. “Right,” I huffed, not believing him. Max? Working on a car? Changing a tire? Yeah right. Leaning back on the couch, I crossed my arms as he stood up. “Well, I did it,” he announced. I quirked a brow at him. “Did what?” “I bought a motorcycle today.” My jaw dropped. I don’t know why I was so shocked. I guess I was still absorbing the fact Max apparently had a new-found passion for motorcycles. I thought when he mentioned buying one today, he was just goading me for a reaction. I never believed he’d buy one. “Seriously?” “Yep,” he confirmed with a smirk. “It’s a real beauty. Wait till you see it.” When he turned to walk back to the front door, I sat up. Did he expect me to follow him? “I’m not going,” I informed him adamantly. When he spun around, he tilted his head, a sly smirk on his face. “Go where?” he asked. “Down to look at your bike, Max,” I stated. “Where do you think it is?” “The parking deck. Congrats on buying a death machine, but I don’t have any desire to walk down there and see it. Especially with my bad ankle.” Crossing his arms, the same stupid and infuriating smirk on his face, he shrugged. “Who said you had to go to the parking deck?” Flopping back, I groaned. “Whatever, Max.” He could be so damn infuriating. How else would I see the bike if I didn’t go to the parking deck? Unless he brought it up to the apartment, but that would mean he would’ve had to bring it up on the elevator, which would be ridiculous. Popping up, my eyes widened. He didn’t, did he? “Where’s the bike?” His smirk brightened into a grin, and I wanted to choke him he looked so thrilled. “I’ll get it.” Then bending down, he picked Pim up and propped her on his hip. “Where are you taking her?” I squawked. Letting out a loud sigh, he lowered his chin and fixed his gaze on me. “Just to the front door,” he informed me. Spinning on his heel, he walked out of the room.

“You didn’t bring that motorcycle up here did you?” I shouted after him, but he didn’t respond. “Don’t put her on it!” Scooting up I grabbed my crutches and stood. Once I was situated, I called, “Max!” If he brought that motorcycle up here, he’d probably get kicked out of the building. What was he thinking? And he’d better not put Pim on it. She was only a baby and they were dangerous as hell. It didn’t matter to me if it was parked or not, I didn’t want her on one. “Max!” I yelled again. I managed to make it three steps when I heard something that sounded like it was grinding, almost like a loud electric pencil sharpener. When I looked down, Pim was rolling around the corner on a tiny hot pink three-wheeled power wheels motorcycle. Her face was lit up in a grin, as she looked up at me, her head donned in a matching bike helmet. Max was hunched over, walking awkwardly, his thumb holding the power button to make the bike move. “Now put your hand here, sweetheart,” he instructed her as he took her arm and moved it, so her hand fell over the power button. Max let go, and Pim pushed the button causing the bike to lurch forward which scared her and she let go. “Vroom-vroom,” she laughed, her gummy smile wide with a few baby teeth showing. “What is this?” I asked, as we watched Pim hit the button-lurch-stop-giggle. “I told you I bought a motorcycle today,” he quipped, then pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing as he absorbed my expression. He’d duped me. He’d gotten me all worked up and bent out of shape for nothing. Rolling my eyes, I muttered, “Very funny. A three-wheeler?” I questioned dryly. “Since you’re such a badass biker guy now, I’m surprised you got her a trike instead of a two-wheeler.” There was no missing my sarcasm. “Trikes are for kids and old timers,” he affirmed. “Or for someone like yourself.” Like yourself? “What does that mean?” I asked, defensively. He snorted. “It’s not a slam against you. I just mean you seem like the kind of person that would be terrified to ride a real motorcycle.” Tilting my head, I narrowed my eyes at him. “You don’t know me, Max.” Giving me a smirk—one that screamed he did, in fact, know me—he asked, “You ever ridden a motorcycle, Waverly?” The answer to that question was no, but that had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Just because I hadn’t ridden on a motorcycle didn’t mean I couldn’t or wouldn’t. If I thought about it, riding a motorcycle did seem scary. Giving up control was hard for me, and the thought of putting my life in someone else’s hands like that was terrifying, but I’d be damned if I’d admit it to him. My crutches were irritating my underarms, so I adjusted, using it as an excuse to look away from him. “I’m not scared to ride a motorcycle.” “I didn’t ask if you were scared.” Glancing up, I found him watching me. He did ask if I was scared, didn’t he? “Yes, you did.”

He clarified. “I asked if you had ridden one.” “Is there a difference?” I quipped. “Yes, there is.” “How so?” Scratching at his facial scruff he shrugged. “There is. People can do lots of things they’re scared of. Just because riding a motorcycle scares you, doesn’t mean you can’t, or won’t, do it.” “Jesus, Max,” I groaned, increasingly annoyed with this conversation. “No, I haven’t ridden on one. You happy now?” “Would you ride one?” He was relentless. “I don’t know. Maybe,” I sputtered. “Okay,” he acknowledged as he stepped toward me. “Then ride with me.” I laughed, a haughty sound. “With you?” Any happiness on his face disappeared, and his mouth flattened as he met my gaze with a look of seriousness. “Yeah, Waverly,” he stated firmly. “With me.” “Do you even know how to ride, Max?” I snickered. The idea was just too absurd. Taking another step toward me, he was inches away when he stared down at me, his gaze heavy with challenge. I desperately wanted to step back, to create distance between us, but I wouldn’t. I would not back down. That’s what he wanted me to do. Plus the crutches made moving backward awkward. “I’m not the Max Porter you remember, Waverly. I’m an entirely different man now. So please stop assuming you know everything about me.” My face heated as our stares remained locked. I hated these feelings. His words made me angry, they made me bitter, they made me ashamed. I wasn’t sure why I felt ashamed—maybe because I’d been acting bitter and I hated being that woman—the scorned abandoned woman? Or maybe I was ashamed because deep down something inside of me realized amidst all the hurt and anger that Max and I were flirting. Sort of. Isn’t that what we were doing? I was flirting with the enemy, and though the banter was tainted with some disdain—at least on my part—I was enjoying it. “Fair is fair, Max,” I quipped. “Don’t assume you know me either. I’m not the same woman you once knew.” “Then go for a ride with me,” he challenged. “My ankle is hurt, Max,” I argued holding my foot out for emphasis. “It’ll be better soon. We’ll take it easy.” Shaking my head, I asked, “Why do you want me to ride with you so badly?” Sliding his hands into his pockets, he answered, “Might be the last time I ever ride with a woman.” Looking away from him, I blinked a few times in confusion. What the hell did that mean? “Max,” I sighed. “You are puzzle inside of a riddle. You know that?” His body shook as he silently laughed, but when he looked down at Pim as she lurched and giggled, his laughter ebbed, and his smile faded into a subtle one. “Her first bike,” he spoke softly, his tone laced with pride and sentiment.

“That’s the closest she’ll ever get to a real motorcycle,” I stated dryly. He didn’t look at me or acknowledge what I’d said. He was too mesmerized with Pim. Just then, Pim hit the power button and held it down. The bike whizzed forward with her holding on for dear life as she squealed. When she finally let go, and the bike stopped, she looked back at us and said, “Whoa.” Max and I both burst into laughter, and for a moment, I forgot to be mad at him for everything. I forgot Max Porter had abandoned us and had refused to be part of Pim’s life. For one moment, I got to share my amazing daughter with her father, without anger and animosity. And that made that moment so much more bittersweet.



Later that evening, when I placed Pim in her travel crib, she fell asleep in under two minutes. She’d ridden the bike until the battery died, then cried for two hours until it was recharged and she rode it again. No doubt, the bike had been a hit. Pim was in love with it. Waverly . . . well . . . for Waverly the bike lost its luster after the battery died and we had to deal with a cranky toddler. After leaving Lenny that day, I can’t deny I was tempted to buy a bike for myself and ride. I even took a taxi to the nearest Harley store, but when I got there, I just couldn’t do it. I may have been Max Porter in the physical sense, but I was still Liam inside. I couldn’t get right with the idea that it was okay for me to spend his money on myself like that. I mean, he was already footing the hospital bill, though one could argue that was for both of us—if I pulled the plug, he could die. I’d spend what I had to live, but no unnecessary or extreme expenses. Not yet, anyway. I did make one exception for Pim. I justified buying her the trike because it was something cool that would make her happy. I also told myself Max should do something nice for his daughter. I laid a small blanket over Pim and brushed some of her baby-fine hair from her face. It had been a great day. “Goodnight, little sweetheart,” I whispered. When Max’s cell vibrated in my pocket, I waited until after I’d closed the bedroom door to pull it out. The name Dr. Banahan lit up on the screen. Quickly realizing a doctor calling Max this late in the evening on a Friday was probably because it was important, I decided to take the call. Maybe Max had some medical issue I didn’t know about. “Hello,” I answered, quietly. Waverly was in the kitchen washing dishes, and I didn’t want her to hear. “Max,” a husky male voice said from the other end. “You finally answered.” Scratching my head, I inhaled deeply. I didn’t like how this sounded. This is exactly how my conversation with Waverly started the day I woke up as Max, and she was definitely not a fan of Max. “Uh, yeah,” I voiced. “Well I’ll get straight to the point, Max,” he followed. “With the way things ended at your appointment last week, I wasn’t sure if you’d be coming back or not. Will you be here tomorrow?” Shit. What appointment? What if it was something I didn’t want to do, like a colon cleanse? The following day was a Saturday which also seemed odd. “Tomorrow is Saturday,” I pointed out. What doctor sees patients on Saturday? “Yes. It is, Max,” he replied, sounding somewhat perturbed. “These Saturday sessions were your choice. You didn’t want to run into anyone in the waiting room.”

Really, Max? You made this doctor work on a weekend because you didn’t want to chance bumping into someone you know in the waiting room? “What would we be doing at tomorrow’s appointment?” I inquired. I knew it would make Max sound off, but what choice did I have? It sounded like therapy, but I needed to be sure. There was a brief silence before the doctor responded. “I’ve been concerned about you. When we last left off, you spoke about wanting to make some changes in your life. I think we should come back to that.” What changes? Dragging a hand down my face, I didn’t let out the groan I badly wanted to. Could Max be any more complicated? I had to go to the appointment, for many reasons. The first one being that if we took my body off life support, and somehow I remained living inside Max’s body, I needed to know everything I could about Max. Another reason would be I wanted to know about Max. I wanted to know what happened to him to make him such a selfish asshole. “What time, doc?” I grumbled. “Eleven, same as always,” he mumbled back. After we hung up, I shoved the phone back in my pocket, wondering what I might discover about Max the following day. Rubbing my face, I decided not to think about it anymore that night. I was exhausted from thinking about Max; why was I Max? Would we switch back? Was I about to die? The unknown was eating me alive from the inside out. Deciding to check on Waverly, I headed toward the kitchen. She’d been in there a long time, and there weren’t that many dishes to wash. When she volunteered to do them, I told her I would, but of course she was stubborn and insisted. She didn’t want Max doing her any favors.



I’d finished the dishes, dried them, and put them away in record time. My crutches were leaning against the wall, so I did it all hobbling around on one foot. Not bad for an injured lady. I would have much rather put Pim down, but with bathing, changing, and dressing her, it would have taken me forever, and I would have needed Max’s help. Letting him do it while I took care of the dishes ensured space, and it also ensured we didn’t have to speak to each other. I was doing my best to limit our interaction, but it was difficult when we were living together for the most part. When Helen was there, it helped. Not just because she physically helped with everything, but she was also good at playing a buffer between Max and me. Unfortunately, after she got off the phone with her son, she’d had to leave. Apparently, he’d had a bad day, and she wanted to go home and make him a special dinner. My cell rang where it sat on the counter and even from where I stood, I could see it was Matt. “Damn,” I muttered to myself as I hopped over to it. Picking it up, I stared at the screen, biting my lower lip as I contemplated answering it. I didn’t want to lie to him. He didn’t deserve it, but if I told him what’d happened, he’d probably try to come home early, especially if he found out Pimberly and I were living with Max. His head would probably spontaneously combust if he discovered that fun little fact. Setting the phone back on the counter, I decided to let it go to voicemail. After I had poured myself a glass of wine, I continued cleaning the kitchen. As I wiped the counters, I found Max’s keys. They were within Pimberly’s reach, and I worried if she managed to get them in her grasp she’d either put them in her mouth or lose them. Opening the drawer closest to the kitchen entrance, looking for a place to hide them, I found a practically empty and very tidy junk drawer. And right in the center was it. A picture. A picture of me and Max. Touching my neck, I fought to swallow as emotion lodged in my throat. I remembered the day the photo was taken like it was yesterday. It was a Thursday. Max had been on edge all week waiting for a call that would tell him if he got the job he’d been pining for. He’d been tense all week. So that day I called in sick to my waitressing job and packed us a picnic. Picnics for me growing up consisted of bologna sandwiches and chips, but Max wasn’t a bologna type of guy. I spent a small fortune getting the cheese, meat, grapes, and wine I knew he liked, but the money didn’t matter. I just wanted to help him relax. That was my mission. When I showed up at his apartment that day with a frayed wicker basket I’d found in the attic that must’ve been eons old draped over my arm, he looked unsure. With some strong encouragement, he

finally dressed, and we went out. That day we laughed and sipped wine under the shade of a large tree in the park. “You know,” he said as he gazed at the area around us. “I’ve never been on a picnic before.” “What?” I gasped. Was he serious? “You’re kidding, right?” When his stare met mine again I knew . . . he wasn’t kidding. “We’re different, you and me.” “How so?” “We come from different worlds.” This I knew. “You’re not like the other women I’ve dated.” Something inside of me wanted to dissect that statement; over analyze it and feel insecure about it, but I didn’t. Instead, I played it cool. Sometimes the only way I could deal with my insecurities was to make light of them and blanket them in sarcasm. Feigning a dramatic sigh, I replied, “I know. Not all girls are as awesome as me.” He laughed and laid back, pulling me down with him, so I was leaned over his chest, our faces close. “You’re a circle,” he spoke softly as he brushed my cheek with his knuckles. I smirked in question. “A circle?” “You’re a circle, and I’m a square.” I chuckled a little, more in nervousness than humor. Here we were, having the most romantic picnic, and I felt like he was about to end things with me. “What are you talking about, Max?” His gaze fluttered down. “I mean, I’m a square. I should want things that fit into a square. Instead, I’m here, with you, the circle, trying to fit.” Leaning down, I kissed him chastely. I knew what he was saying. We were different. We’d been dating for a few months at this point, and things were coming to a head; did we commit—really commit —or did we move on? We were a classic case of opposites attract, and while having things in common was important, I think we both found each other refreshing. He was so put together while I felt I was floundering. He had a degree, a respectable job, a 401k. I hadn’t even managed to get my associates degree yet. After I graduated from high school, I’d taken a year to think about what I wanted to be when I grew up. When I finally enrolled, paying my tuition proved challenging, and I ended up having to take a semester or two off to save. I felt like a mess. Max, on the other hand, was so put together. He impressed me. Not because of his money, but his diligence. Because of everything he’d accomplished at such a young age. I envied it. “Do you love me, Max?” I asked, bracing myself for the possibility he’d say no. Cutting his blue stare to me, he hesitated before he answered, “I do.” Despite his hesitation, I believed him. My heart felt like it did a series of backflips inside my chest. “Then if you’re a square and I’m a circle, and we love each other, we’ll just have to conform.” “Conform?” he questioned, his mouth curling up on the sides slightly. “Reshape,” I explained. “Maybe we can become ovals . . . or ovalish.” “Ovalish?” “Yeah, Max,” I kissed him again, letting my lips linger against his. “Let’s be ovalish.”

Grasping my face with both hands, he pulled me down and kissed me hard. “You’re too good for me, Waverly.” At the time, I didn’t believe that. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world to have the attention and affection of a man like Max. “I feel the same about you,” I told him. “What if I don’t get the job?” he questioned. He already had a job, a good one, but he hated it. It was a job he’d gotten because his father had put in a good word for him. He wanted to stand on his own; accomplish things without the influence of his father. I respected him for this. “You’ll find another one,” I assured him. “I’m scared one day you’ll wake up and realize the man I really am.” It was a bold and deep confession. I’d never seen him vulnerable like this. Brushing my thumb over his lips, I peered into his eyes. “I think you’re an amazing man.” For the next hour we kissed and laughed, floating on a cloud of hopes and illusions. When we packed up to leave, just before we made it to the street, his cell rang. It was his new boss calling to tell him he’d gotten the job. When he hung up, I squealed when Max picked me up and spun me around. “I think you’re my good luck charm,” he told me when he set me back on my feet. “Luck didn’t have anything to do with it. You earned this job.” When he kissed me again, he pulled away, keeping his forehead pressed to mine. “Marry me, Waverly.” “What?” I managed, my heart beating like a drum in my chest. “Marry me. Let’s hop a plane tonight and get married in Vegas.” Looking up at him, I searched his face for any sign he was joking, but all I saw was sincerity. I’d be lying if I said the voice of reason wasn’t screaming like a banshee in the back of my mind, telling me it was too soon. I knew our differences; I also knew Max wasn’t perfect. All I knew, good or bad, perfect or imperfect, was that I wanted someone to choose me. Really choose me. And I thought that’s what he was doing. I was a sucker for complicated romances; the idea that when two people loved each other despite the obstacles in their path, love would conquer all. My heart, albeit incredibly foolish, was in the right place, when, with every beat, it told me to jump head first into this thing with Max. So of course, I said, “Yes.” As we strolled down the walkway on our way to hail a cab, I looked up and found him still grinning. I was going to marry this man. It all seemed like a dream—a beautiful, wonderful dream. “Stop for a sec,” I ordered as I pulled away from him. A young man, maybe sixteen, was passing by us. “Excuse me, sir, would you mind taking a picture of us?” The kind stranger took my phone, and after I had shown him what to do, I went back to Max and wrapped my arm around his waist as I smiled up at him. He kept this picture? Why? Staring at it, the one thing that stuck out to me . . . was me. I looked so damn happy. God, I missed that feeling; the feeling of love, security, the excitement of building a future

with someone you love. The girl in this photo thought that was exactly what she was signing up for. She was wrong. The photo shook as I placed it back in the drawer with a trembling hand. I hated that the hurt and humiliation could still have such power over me. Memories can be vicious that way. Lifting my wine glass, I took a long sip. “You were a stupid and weak woman, Waverly,” I told myself. “Hey,” Max said as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, scaring the bejesus out of me. When the wine splashed over the rim of the glass in my hand and down the front of my shirt, I huffed a curse word. “Sorry,” he laughed as I wiped at myself. “I was just coming to see if you needed any help.” “No, I just finished,” I grumbled after clearing my throat. I was pissed I spilled the wine, and the bitchy part of me wanted to blame him for that, too, even though I knew it wasn’t his fault. “Cool.” He bobbed his head a few times, sliding his hands into his pockets, something I noticed he did often when he seemed nervous. “So, tomorrow I have something I have to do around eleven. Are you okay with Helen coming to hang out and help while I’m gone?” “Where do you . . .” I stopped myself. I almost asked where he had to go, but remembered I’m wasn’t supposed to ask questions like that because I’m wasn’t supposed to care. “Yeah, that’s fine,” I finished with a sniffle. “I think Pim likes her a lot.” “Helen is pretty smitten with her, too. Hey,” he stepped closer, lowering his head to get a better look at me. “Are you okay?” “Yeah,” I managed, turning from him, not wanting him to see the tears in my eyes. When I spun on my foot, I lost my balance and slipped. I grappled for the counter to catch myself, but it was still wet from where I wiped it down moments before causing my hand to slip. Just before I crashed to the ground, Max caught me. “Whoa there,” he grunted as he stumbled back attempting to keep us from falling, but it was too late. Max fell back, thudding to the floor with me landing on top of him. After we landed, we both lay there, catching our breath. My face heated as embarrassment set in. I’d just completely wiped out and my ex, who I wasn’t particularly fond of, caught me, saving me from busting my ass, and now I was propped between his legs. “You okay?” he asked. “No,” I answered as I dropped my head in my hands, mortified. “Are you hurt?” He placed a firm hand on my shoulder before sliding it down my arm and squeezing. The contact made my back arch as I sucked in a ragged breath, the thrill it sent through me physically seizing me. “No,” I squeaked as I tried to calm the flutters in my belly. What was happening? Why did his touch do that to me? When he didn’t release my arm, I turned my head and looked back over my shoulder at him. His chest heaved up and down, his eyes burning into mine. I wanted to believe it was the fall that had him worked up, but I knew better. Whatever shock I’d felt; that intense body encompassing sensation . . . Max felt it, too. Neither of us spoke; we only stared at one another with the same burning question lingering in the blaring silence between us. What the hell was that?

Even in the best of our days, I’d never felt that when Max touched me. I’d never felt that with anyone. So why was I feeling it now? And what did it mean? As if awakening from a dream, Max jerked his eyes away. With some awkward maneuvering and soft grunts, he managed to get us both off the floor. “I’m sorry about that,” I apologized. “No worries.” Looking down at myself, I frowned. “My shirt is ruined,” I observed, desperate to move past what had just happened. “If you want to take it off,” his mouth curved into a devious smile, “I can wash it for you.” Was he . . . Was he flirting with me? I leered at him in disbelief to which his smile only grew. He was. He was seriously flirting with me. It was equal parts thrilling and awful. I hated him, and if I hated him, why did I want to giggle like a dumb little twit? Then I wondered, did he say that to throw me off? Get under my skin? After the bike stunt earlier, I knew he enjoyed getting me fired up. Was this just him messing with me again? If his end game was, in fact, just to get me fired up, I had news for him. Two could play at that game. Curving my mouth into a coy, teasing grin, as if I were humored by his offer, I slowly lifted the hem of my shirt, pulled it over my head and tossed the stained garment at him. As the fabric slid over his face, it revealed Max with a slack jaw and widened eyes. He definitely hadn’t seen that coming. His gaze flicked back and forth between my face and my lace bra. At least he was trying not to look at my chest, but it seemed he couldn’t help himself. Maybe it made me shallow, but that felt damn good. I enjoyed torturing him a little. My snarkiness poked at me, whispering for me to tell him, Does it feel good to look at what you can’t have? I shoved her down. It wasn’t her time or place. Turning, I grabbed my crutches and positioned them under my arms. Pointing to the shirt still plastered to Max’s chest, I said, “Wash that on cold, and it needs to be hung out to dry. Thanks.”



Dropping my head back, I stared up at the ceiling letting out a long slow breath. She took her shirt off in front of me. I know I’d suggested it, but it was only a joke. I thought she’d spit fire at me and maybe we’d forget about what happened when we touched. What in the hell was that? Why was it every time I touched this woman I felt like my insides fucking sparked? She was attractive . . . Okay, more than that. In lamest terms she was sexy as fuck even when she looked at me, or Max, with distaste. I didn’t know much about her, but from what I did know, she was a pretty kick-ass lady. She was a great mother, and she worked hard to get ahead in life despite the obstacles before her. I admired that. So maybe I was attracted to her, but that still didn’t explain it—why did touching her do that to me? Then the way she looked at me . . . the way our eyes locked . . . I don’t know. It was fucking intense. And her breasts. Fuck. Now I had the image of her in a lacy bra seared into my brain. Remembering her dark gaze fixed on mine, the way her lower lip caught between her teeth, her breasts, it all hit me. Jerking my head down, my eyes about bugged out of my head. “Noooooo,” I grumbled as I stared at it. The bulge. I had a hard-on. I had a hard-on in another man’s body. “Noooooo,” I groaned again. This. Was. Not. Happening. But it was. To describe having an erection in my predicament as ‘uncomfortable’ would be a monumental understatement. This wasn’t just one of those kind-of-hard erections that might settle down after some time. Nope. Not for me. Because life was giving me it’s big middle finger. Max’s dick was fucking concrete and throbbing. Looking down at my crotch I informed it, “You are not getting jerked by me tonight. No fucking way, man.” “Who are you talking to?” Waverly asked, this time scaring the shit out of me. I spun around and leaned over the counter, my hips slightly twisted away from her, doing my best to hide my dilemma. She had a towel wrapped around her and was somehow managing to keep it up even while holding the crutches.

“Just . . . t-t-talking to myself,” I stuttered. “Thought you were heading to bed?” I asked, my tone laced with nervousness. Narrowing her gaze at me, suspicion riddled in her eyes, she answered, “I am. Just wanted to let you know I’m taking a pain pill. Do you mind listening out for Pim?” “Oh, of course,” I blurted, anxious for her to leave. “Are you okay?” she asked, her mouth curving up on one side, as she stared at me like I was an idiot. She knew. At least I think she knew. Her removal of the shirt bit had rendered the exact outcome she’d hoped it would. I knew she knew, but I refused to acknowledge it. “Yeah.” I nodded. “Just . . . tired. Don’t worry about Pim. I got her covered.” “Well . . . goodnight,” she murmured with a muffled chuckle and left. I let my head drop, and it thunked against the counter. What the hell was I going to do? I had a raging boner and no way to relieve it. There was no way I was jerking off. No fucking way. After a few minutes, I went into the living room and plopped on the couch, covering my lap with a pillow and doing my best to think of anything that might deter a hard-on. It was going to be a long night. The next morning, I yawned as I stepped from the elevator into the reception area of Dr. Banahan’s office. This guy must charge an assload, I thought to myself as I took in the space. Fancy modern paintings hung on the walls, vases filled with fresh flowers decorated the tables, and the furniture was smooth leather. I stood in the middle of the room, my 7–11 coffee I’d stopped and gotten on the way in my hand, unsure of what to do. There was no receptionist to check in with. Should I just yell out? When a short, robust man waddled his way into the area, glasses perched on his nose, I knew he had to be the doc. “Max, good morning,” he offered in greeting. “Morning, Doc,” I replied reaching out my hand to shake his. His head reared back ever so slightly as if he were surprised. After an awkward beat, he took it, and we shook. “Shall we?” He motioned a hand to the doorway from which he’d just entered. “Sure.” I walked ahead of him and wasn’t surprised to see his office was just as nice as the reception area. He even had one of those classic therapy couches that are made for the patient to lie on and curved for the body. I didn’t want to sit on that. That felt too . . . therapy-like. I was here to get the digs on Max, not for a head inspection. Instead, I took the nice leather chair beside it and sunk in. Dr. Banahan stared at me for a moment and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. Turning, he grabbed a file from his desk, and then sat across from me, opening his folder. “How are you today, Max?” I snorted. If he were asking me, Liam, I’d say shitty. The unwanted raging hard-on kept me up all night then Pim decided to wake up at 5 a.m. this morning, and I was functioning on three hours of sleep, but he wasn’t asking Liam, he was asking Max. I guess, since to the best of my knowledge, Max was in a coma trapped in my body, he would probably answer he was doing shitty, too. I couldn’t explain any of this to Dr. Banahan, so I went with a simpler answer. “Not too bad.”

“Would you like to start where we left off last time?” he asked as he closed his folder. Sitting up, I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “Actually, no. I want to do something a little different today.” He raised one furry brow in question. “Okay . . .” “How long have I been coming to therapy now?” He stared at me blankly. “Not long, Max.” Twisting my mouth, I took a moment to mull over how to say what I wanted to say. “I want you to tell me what you think of me based on what you know about me.” “Think of you?” he inquired. “We’ve talked about a lot, right? My life and history?” I was going out on a limb with those questions —I had no idea what they might, or might not, have discussed in Max’s sessions, but it made sense to me Max probably shared more with this guy than anyone else. “We have,” he replied simply. “So based on that, tell me what you think of me, or why you think I’m the way I am.” His stare fixed on mine, his mouth flat. “And you want complete honesty?” “I do.” “And you’re ready to hear it?” “I am,” I promised. Plopping the folder on the table beside him he sat up a bit more in his chair and cleared his throat. It was evident he was preparing himself for this; possibly to say things to Max that he was scared, or had wanted to say to him for a very long time. “If I’m being completely honest Max, the last time I tried to offer you my insight, you took great offense to it. That was at our last session.” That explained why he called to see if Max would show up to the appointment. Apparently, he’d given Max some hard truths, and Max hadn’t liked hearing his assessment. Leaning back in my chair I promised, “I’m ready to listen today.” With a bob of his head, he surmised, “Good. That shows growth.” “Hit me, Doc,” I told him. “I want it all.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. I could tell he was apprehensive, but after a moment he scooted forward in his chair. “As we discussed last time, I believe medication will help with your bipolar disorder.” Leaning back in my chair, I stared at him. Max suffered from depression. So, he wasn’t just an asshole after all. At least, not completely. He was sick.



“Earth to Max,” Waverly said loudly as she waved a hand in front of my face. I blinked a few times, trying to clear my head. “Coming to the park this afternoon was your idea,” she sassed. “Do you plan to be present for any of it?” Inhaling deeply, I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry,” I apologized. Central park was busy, but not overcrowded. After I’d gotten home from meeting with Dr. Banahan, I needed to clear my mind. The doctor had much to say regarding Max Porter. I thought going would be beneficial; that I would discover key information about the man who’s body I inhabited, and I did. I found out a lot. Too much. Dr. Banahan had so much to say about Max we agreed to meet again when two and a half hours didn’t prove to be enough. Coming home and staying cooped up in the apartment felt unbearable. Waverly put up a little fight about my idea that she, Pimberly, and I take an outing to the park, but when I mentioned ice cream and Pimberly squealed with excitement, Waverly folded. I had to force Helen to go home, insisting she get some rest. I knew she had to be exhausted even though she denied it. We’d walked and visited the animal exhibits that were open to the public and had just finished off our excursion with ice cream. Glimpsing down at Pim, she had chocolate ice cream smeared all over her chubby face and hands, and her shirt was stained with it. “And . . . she’s a mess,” I chuckled. “It was your brilliant idea to take her out for ice cream when it’s hotter than Hades out here,” Waverly quipped. Damn this woman could be a smart ass. “I didn’t see you complaining when you downed that double scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream,” I argued. When she cast an eye roll my way, I snorted a laugh. Waverly held her crutches together, using them for balance, and bent down to grab wipes out of Pim’s diaper bag. Her gray shorts, which looked more like sexy pajama shorts to me than shorts you wear in public, rose up as she bent over, showcasing her amazing ass. Two guys walking by both slowed their stroll and turned their heads doing an obvious double take. Something surged through me. I don’t know if it was anger or jealousy. I didn’t take the time to analyze it before I reacted. “Move along, assholes,” I warned, my body tensed. They gave me a quick scan, to which I bucked at them, before they glanced at each other and bolted away. What was that? I mean they were acting like assholes and deserved to be called on it, but why did I feel so protective? And angry? Shaking my head, I inhaled deeply trying to calm myself. With each day, the steroid withdrawals were less and less, but my mood still bounced a bit. The steroids must’ve been why I reacted so strongly. Waverly stood upright, her face flushed from being bent over and balancing on one foot, and asked, “What?” She was clueless about the two douche bags that had just had their stares fixated on her ass. “Nothing,” I muttered. “You just . . .” I motioned my hand for her to back up, “just let me do this.” I

swiped the wipes from her hand. “For God’s sake don’t bend over again,” I begged with frustration. This situation got more and more fucked up every day. I didn’t know how to be Max without getting attached to people or things in his life and that’s exactly what was happening. I was getting attached to Waverly. I was getting jealous over Waverly. This wasn’t good. “Did you only force me out here so you could ignore me for most of it and act like a butt-wad for the rest of it?” I cut a glance at her, fighting my smirk. “Butt-wad?” She rolled her eyes, something she always did when she was annoyed, but I could tell she was trying not to laugh by the way she pressed her lips together. “Yeah,” she confirmed after a beat. “A wad of the butt. A butt-wad.” I couldn’t help it, I burst into laughter. Where in the hell did she come up with this shit? “Look at that, Pim,” Waverly exclaimed animatedly. “He laughs.” This time I rolled my eyes. “I’ll reign in my butt-wadage,” I began as I wiped Pim’s face while she grumbled at me, “if you wear more clothes.” “Excuse me?” Waverly asked. Standing, I faced her. “You’re wearing tiny shorts and a tank-top. In the park,” I added as I motioned a hand around us for emphasis. “It’s ninety-five degrees out,” she argued as she smoothed her hair back that was tied up in a high ponytail. “Yeah, and you’re wearing three inches of fabric over your body.” I was exaggerating—her clothes were scarce, but not that scarce—but if exaggerating got my point across I would do it. “I’m a grown woman, Max,” she pointed out. Then she got snarky. I noticed she did this from time to time. “Last I checked, you’re not my father or my man. Therefore, it’s not your business.” I glowered at her. She had a point. A good one. I did, too. Kind of. “Okay,” I agreed. “You’re right, but I’ll just add this—” “Of course you will,” she interrupted with a grumble. “Would you want teenage Pimberly to leave the house wearing that?” She opened her mouth to respond, but stopped. Looking down at herself, she raised her head and narrowed her gaze at me. “No. I guess I wouldn’t.” My eyes almost bulged out of my head. “What?” “What?” she echoed, unsure of what my ‘what’ was asking. “Did you just,” I paused and moved my head around like a robot computing, “agree with me?” Her mouth curved slightly, a whisper of a smile. “Shut up, Max,” she warned. “Was that a yes?” I pushed. I couldn’t deny I loved doing this to her. The woman did not want to laugh at me . . . or Max rather . . . and I didn’t doubt she would consider biting off her tongue before letting herself do it. Even though I knew it pissed her off that she found anything Max said remotely funny, I loved knowing it was me that made her want to laugh, not Max. “Are you saying I look slutty, Max?” she inquired, one sassy brow quirked as if she were daring me

to answer yes. Wow. She flipped that on me fast. “Not at all,” I insisted. “Then what?” she pushed. “What are you saying?” At moments like this, a man wants to say something, anything, to change the subject, and we usually fail miserably. It’s a statistical fact that 99.9 percent of men would say something bad here and end up putting their foot in their mouth. I knew I was doomed. Still . . . I had to try. “You look good, Waverly,” I acknowledged. “Not slutty.” “Then why the sudden interest in my wardrobe choice? Do you want to tell me my hair looks like crap, too?” Letting out an exaggerated sigh, I ran a wide palm down my face. And here we go . . . this outing was heading straight for the shitter. “No one said anything about your hair,” I defended. “Stop twisting my words.” “What words?” she laughed haughtily. “All you said was wear more clothes. I asked why did you say that? Do I look fat? Do I look slutty? What?” “I didn’t say any of that,” I grumbled, my blood pressure rising. “Then why’d you say I need to wear more clothes?” “Because you look sexy as fuck,” I growled taking a step toward her, doing my best to keep my voice down. Damn, this woman could be frustrating. “I said it because I hate that every guy that passes by is staring at your ass.” She stared at me, a pinkish glow spreading across her cheeks. I’d made her blush, and it looked damn beautiful on her. Her gaze flicked to my mouth where it lingered a moment before moving up to meet my stare again. I waited for the backlash, I knew it was coming, but I didn’t back away. I figured she’d rail me. She’d tell me I had no right, that I’m an asshole, but the verbal whip never came. Instead, she cleared her throat and looked down at Pim. “We should probably get her home now.” “Yeah,” I agreed, after a beat. “That’s a good idea.” As I pulled the wagon and Waverly maneuvered on her crutches down the busy New York City sidewalk, I scolded myself. I’d said too much. I had no right to say those things . . . convey those thoughts and feelings because all she saw and heard was Max saying them. Not me. I was losing control of the situation, not that I ever really had control of it to begin with. When we got back to the apartment, I busied myself making guacamole, of all things, while Waverly sat in a chair in front of Pimberly and tried feeding her mashed sweet potatoes. Pimberly squawked and pushed Waverly’s hand away every time she tried to put a spoonful near her mouth. “She won’t even try them,” Waverly whined. Walking over to them, I bent down so I was on their level. “Feed it to me. Maybe if Pim sees me eat them, she’ll try them.”

Waverly stirred the potatoes before spooning out a heaping scoop and feeding it to me. “Oh . . . that’s so . . . yumm . . .” I had to pause as the flavor hit me. I liked sweet potatoes, but this stuff tasted like ass. “It’s so yummy, isn’t it?” Waverly preened, reminding me I was supposed to be helping. “Oh, yes,” I choked out as I forced myself to swallow some of it. “Did you make this, Mommy?” “Yes, I did,” she informed me as she lifted one brow, warning me not to insult her dish, “and you love it, don’t you?” “Love?” I pondered while smiling brightly for Pim, nodding my head. “Love is a strong word, but it’s definitely different.” Pimberly grasped the bowl on her tray and slid it closer to her. Scooping the orange mush out with one hand, Waverly and I went silent in anticipation. She was going to try it. It didn’t matter if she used the spoon or her hand as long as she ate it. Pimberly examined the orange mush stuck to her hand, sneered at it, then whipped her hand in my direction, flinging the mush, covering me. My right eye was sealed shut, some of the mush having landed on it, and she’d managed to get it in my hair and on my shirt. Waverly roared with laughter, and then Pim followed. “Is that funny?” I laughed, wiping at my eye. “So funny,” Waverly agreed, her face red. Taking the bowl from Pim, I scooped some in my hand. “Is this funny?” I asked Pim in a sing-song voice. “What are y—” Waverly tried to get away, but it was too late. I smeared the potato down the side of her face sending Pim into hysterics. We were all laughing as Waverly stood on her good foot and put both hands in the bowl before smearing them down my face. We wrestled each other while we bellowed, I made sure not to go too far with her ankle hurt, but before I knew it we were on the floor, our bodies wracked with laughter, the bowl empty and upside down beside us. As we lay beside each other, trying to calm down, I took inventory of the kitchen. Could one sweet potato really create this much mess? Damn. Waverly raised her head and looked at Pim. “She’s a smart girl, that one. She just figured out a way not to have to eat her sweet potato.” “We got played,” I feigned disbelief. Hopping back up to my feet, I took Waverly’s hands and pulled her up. She held the counter for balance as I got Pim out of her high chair. “We all need a bath.” “What a waste,” she noted as she looked at herself, and then at me. “She didn’t even get a bite.” Glimpsing down at Pim, I murmured, “You owe me one, kid.” When I looked back at Waverly, she was glaring at me. “I make excellent mashed sweet potatoes.” “That’s why Pim refused to eat them, and they’ve ended up all over us and this kitchen.” Quirking a sassy brow at me, she warned, “Watch it, Max. I may need you to wash this shirt for me,

too.” She was flirting with me, threatening to pull another stunt like the night before when she took her shirt off in front of me. “Is that a threat?” I questioned. “Maybe.” With Pim in my right arm, I bent down and grabbed Waverly’s legs, folding her over my shoulder. “Put me down, Max,” she screeched as I hoisted her up. She had a death grip on the back of my shirt as if it would somehow save her if she fell. “You’ll drop both of us!” “No, I won’t,” I grunted as I laughed. Briskly, I walked us through the living room into the master bathroom before sitting Waverly on her feet near the sink so she could use it to balance herself. Her face was flustered, and her shirt had ridden up making her look out of sorts. “Have you lost your mind?” she hissed as she tugged her shirt down. “You could have dropped Pim.” “I would have dropped you before I dropped her,” I insisted. Still holding Pim, I opened the shower door and turned it on. Swinging the door open wider, I motioned to Waverly. “Go on in,” I instructed her. Scowling at me, she said, “I’m not getting naked in front of you.” “Who said anything about getting naked?” I smirked. “We can get that shirt washed while it’s still on you.” Before she could question me, I wrapped an arm around her waist and walked all three of us in, making sure to hold Waverly under the water the longest. The water was cold, and she howled as she fought me to let go of her. Finally, I caved, “Okay, okay, calm down.” “Let me go,” she yelled. “Okay, but hold my shoulder for balance.” Her hand clutched my upper arm as she put her full weight on her good foot. Her chest was rising and falling with each labored breath she took, and her ponytail was a sopping mess hanging off the back of her head. I reached around her and adjusted the knob making the water warmer. “You’re an asshole.” she shivered, her lower lip quivering. “I know,” I agreed, “but you had it coming.” “Is that so?” “You threatened me,” I explained as I shifted Pim a bit. “Threatened to flash you? That warranted all of this?” “Wa-wa,” Pim babbled as she raised her hand up into the running stream of water. The kid loved bath time from what I could tell and seemed to be loving shower time with the grown-ups. “All our clothes are soaked,” Waverly pointed out. “Gasp,” I mocked. “Whatever shall we do?” Still using my arm for balance, she slid back from me. Her shirt was plastered to her body, the soaked fabric clinging to her, revealing the swell of her breasts, leaving very little to the imagination. In the back of the shower, there was a wooden bench. “Can I at least sit if you’re going to trap me in

the shower with you?” Helping her over to the bench, she sat, and then I sat Pim on the shower floor just beside her feet. Grabbing the hot pink loofa from the shower caddy—obviously it was Waverly’s because it appeared after she started staying with me—I held it under the water, then handed it to Pim hoping it would keep her busy for a few minutes. When I turned back to Waverly, she’d taken her hair down and was running her fingers through her wet tresses. I swallowed hard as I felt the tingle, the shiver, the one I always felt when we made contact. Only this time, I wasn’t even touching her. Tucking my fingertips under her chin, I tilted her head up, forcing her dark gaze to meet mine. Her lips parted slightly as our eyes locked, depleting the air from my lungs. A shiver skated up my spine as something, like a whisper, pushed me on. Kiss her, it urged. I forgot myself. I forgot who I was and who I wasn’t. I forgot the rights, and wrongs. All I knew was her and want. The two were separate, but as I stared into her eyes, they were hand in hand, the both of them taunting me, daring me to give into my urges. Leaning down, I searched her stare as I held her face, brushing my thumb across her cheek. Beads of water dripped from my hair and her lashes, but we never severed the stare. When I leaned forward slightly, my will on the brink of breaking, a small whimper escaped her, something between a plea to stop or keep going. I couldn’t take it anymore. I kissed her. Her hands reached up, her fingers threading through my hair as my tongue swept between her lips. Dropping to my knees, I grabbed her hips and yanked her to me, deepening the kiss. She clung to me, her hands reaching everywhere, her fingers digging into my back. I was gone—my reason and strength had left me. There were a million reasons why I shouldn’t have kissed her, but with her in my arms, her mouth against mine, I didn’t care. Nothing could stop me. Almost nothing. The kiss ended almost as abruptly as it had started when Pimberly grabbed my shirt and tugged. I yanked away from Waverly, jumping to my feet as I sucked in ragged breaths. Pim babbled something as she smacked the tile making the water splash. What the fuck just happened? When I moved my panicked stare back to Waverly, she wouldn’t look at me. Which could only mean one thing—she regretted the kiss. Or she was pissed. It was too . . . much. I should’ve known she wouldn’t want a man, especially Max, to carry her into the shower like that, but I got lost in the moment. I thought we were having fun, flirting, but that was stupid. Flirting with Waverly was not an option because in reality, she was not an option. Not for Max. Certainly not for me living as Max. He’d burned that bridge for both of us, and I really fucking hated him for it. I kissed her? In front of Pim? What was I thinking? “I’m . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Removing my shirt, letting the wet material plop to the tiled floor, I quickly washed away the sweet potato from my hair and off my face. “I’ll get us some towels.” When I climbed out, my pants were dripping wet, so I yanked them until they were off, keeping my boxers on, before I went to the closet to grab a few towels. Wrapping one around myself, I left

a stack by the shower door. “I’ll be right back with your crutches.



“I’m pretty sure she’s the cutest thing ever,” Helen noted as we watched Pim use her hands to shove spaghetti in her mouth. I’d stripped her of her clothing, so all she was wearing was a diaper. It was a good thing, too, because she was covered in sauce. “Yeah,” I agreed as I grinned at my daughter. “Spaghetti is her favorite.” Helen went to the kitchen and brought back the pot from the stove. She scooped a little more on Pim’s tray before taking it back to the kitchen. Helen returned with the bottle of wine I’d already had one glass of. “Mama needs a refill,” she announced as she filled my empty glass. “Oh, no.” I shook my head. “One glass is enough. Wine gets me giddy.” “Oh, you have to drink it,” Helen insisted. Then rubbing a hand over her small belly, she pouted her lower lip. “I need to live vicariously through you. I miss wine so much.” I chuckled as I raised the glass in a toast. “If you insist,” I replied, before taking a long sip. “Really had to bend your arm behind your back on that one, didn’t I?” she jested sarcastically. I laughed again, almost spitting my wine out. I was never one to turn down a glass of wine. Not really. Plus, if I was completely honest, I was enjoying myself. I swear the more I hung out with Helen, the more I liked her. She was so damn nice and had the best sense of humor. That’s why it boggled me so much that she was friends with Max. Max. Even thinking his name made my stomach flip. The previous evening seemed so surreal. That entire afternoon and evening we’d been playful. We’d flirted. Our playful banter and the way we always had witty quips to toss back at one another had been fun. I couldn’t remember ever having that with Max before. When he tossed me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing and carried us to the shower, I forgot I didn’t like this man. I forgot all his wrongs. For a brief time, I let my walls drop and let him approach, and we had the best time. Then he kissed me. I should have stopped him. I knew what he was about to do when he tilted my chin up and stared into my eyes. The word no sat poised on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back. He didn’t ask me if it was okay. He just did it. I wanted to be mad; feel violated that he did it without asking, but I couldn’t. The way he moved in, the way he didn’t ask but took excited me. It was a double-edged sword. I had re-played that kiss over and over again in my mind all night and the following day, and every time I did, my skin tingled everywhere and heat ravaged my face. Thinking about it stirred something tumultuous inside me, but the

excitement, thrilling as it was, was always followed by a deep and choking regret. I let Max kiss me. Worse—I kissed him back. Like really kissed him back. With tongue and everything. So much tongue. Ugh . . . what was wrong with me? How does a person kiss someone they loathe and actually enjoy it? I was a walking, talking contradiction. A cliché. “Penny for your thoughts,” Helen asked. I realized I’d been staring blankly into space running my fingers over my lips. Looking at her, it hit me again. Who was this woman? That’s when I decided I had to ask. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know how and why they were friends. This time, though, I wouldn’t settle for vague answers that weren’t answers at all. “Helen,” I began as I ran my finger over the rim of my wine glass. When her gaze cut to me and she took in my expression, she tilted her head as if to say, “Ask away.” “What’s the deal with you and Max?” I got right to the point; no dancing around it. “I mean, really?” Licking her lips, she looked down at her belly and rubbed it again. “It’s hard to explain, Waverly,” she admitted. “It’s not romantic or intimate. He’s not my baby daddy,” she assured me with a smirk that made me smile. When her eyes flicked up and met mine, I didn’t look away and I didn’t speak. She had a thought, something she wanted to say, and I was afraid if I spoke she’d change her mind about whether she wanted to share it with me or not. “Do you believe in fate? Or even miracles?” I shrugged and sipped my wine. “Sure I do,” I admitted. “I think they happen every day.” She nodded a few times. “Me too.” Then added with more conviction, “I know they do.” “Are you saying Max is a miracle?” I snorted, but she didn’t laugh. Her expression went serious. “Do you agree that he’s different?” Widening my eyes, I let out a long breath. That would be an understatement. “He’s very different,” I admitted. “Is that not a miracle?” she asked, one brow quirked. Narrowing my gaze at her, I asked, “I don’t know if I’d call that a miracle, Helen.” “But he is different, yes?” “Different or experiencing a temporary moment of insanity?” I asked, dryly. “Or,” she paused, staring intently into my eyes, “he’s a completely different person.” “What are you saying, Helen?” Leaning her head to the side, she pursed her lips in thought. “I’m saying that—” “Anyone home?” We both jerked our heads toward the sound of Max’s voice. He must’ve just walked through the door.

“In here!” Helen yelled as she stood. Within moments, Max appeared, his expression seemingly stoic and unreadable. Then he saw the spaghetti covered Pim and his features lit up as a wide grin spread across his face. “Look at that,” he beamed. There it was again. My skin got tingly. It wasn’t just the sight of him, or me remembering the kiss. It was something purer. Something sweeter. It was the way he looked at Pim like she was the most precious thing in the world. “Balls!” Pim gurgled as she raised her sauce cover hands toward Max. I slanted my eyes at Pim wondering where that came from. Balls? Why would she say that right now? Seeing Pim so happy, beaming up at Max—paired with the wine—briefly crumpled my proverbial wall and made my heart melt. When Pim had awakened at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m. that morning, and Max had gotten up with her, it definitely earned him some brownie points. That morning, through the opening of the bedroom door, I could see him holding her and dancing, quietly singing Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton to her. It was . . . sweet. I couldn’t deny it. “Hi, Max!” I chirped, unable to stop the slightest smile from forming on my face. His body froze, his blue gaze darting from me to Helen, then back to me again, his eyes riddled with confusion. “Did anyone else just feel the shift in the space-time continuum?” My smile fell. He was being a smart-ass. My friendly greeting was unlike me, at least where he was concerned it was, but he didn’t have to be a dick about it. “Ya know—” “You want a plate?” Helen interrupted, her tone an octave higher. She was playing interference. Forced to let it go, I sipped my wine again. “If you made it you know I do,” he told her. “I’ll make you one.” After Helen had scurried off to the kitchen, Max went to Pim and bent down, kissing her cheek, so it was no surprise when she got sauce all over his shirt. “Your shirt, Max,” I pointed out. “She’s making a mess of you.” When he stood again, he waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just a shirt.” “If you say so,” I muttered. “Maybe I’ll have you wash my shirt this time,” he jested. My face heated as I remembered, once again, my bold move of removing my shirt the other night. Picking up one of the cloth napkins from the table, he wiped at his face. “How’s the ankle today?” “Better,” I admitted. “Doesn’t hurt as bad.” “Good. Glad to hear that.” The room fell quiet as he shifted his gaze back to Pim. He didn’t know what to say. Neither did I. After our shower kiss, he barely spoke a word to me, and this morning he left early after Helen arrived, and was gone all day. Apparently, we were still struggling today. If he wanted to pretend the kiss didn’t happen and ignore me, what did I care? Okay, I cared, but I refused to bring it up.

Helen entered and sat a plate of pasta on the table. “You two chat. I’ll go give this little mess pot a bath, if that’s okay with you, Waverly.” This was one of the things I liked most about her. She checked with me. “Are you sure you don’t mind, Helen? She’s a mess,” I stated, glancing at my daughter unable to stop myself from giggling. Pim had two long noodles in her hair, and they were hanging down her face. “I’d love to do it.” With that, she plucked Pim out of the high chair and carried her at arm’s length toward the living room on her way to the bathroom. When I looked back to Max, he was shoveling food in his mouth, staring off at nothing. He was so lost in thought he didn’t even seem to notice I was still sitting there with him. “You okay, Max?” I asked, the wine preventing me from remembering I’m not supposed to care. He continued to stare forward as if he hadn’t heard me. “Max?” I boomed. Jerking his head toward me, he raised his brows in question as he chewed. “What’s with you tonight? You look like you’re a million miles away.” After he swallowed, he looked around before his gaze fixed on my wine glass. Pointing at it, he asked, “Can I have a sip?” “It’s your wine,” I joked, finding myself extremely humorous. After he had taken a long swig, he sat it down in front of me, wincing. “How do you drink that?” I stared at him blankly. Was he serious? “You love wine,” I pointed out. Shaking his head, he twirled some more pasta on his fork. “Not anymore,” he grumbled. I rolled my eyes dramatically before I sipped again. Apparently now he liked nothing from when I knew him. His clothes, his drinks, his food. Max never ate pasta. Carbs were the enemy in his mind. “What’s up your butt tonight?” I sassed. His lip curved up on one side as he cut a sideways glance at me. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Just got a lot on my mind.” “Anything you want to talk about?” I was giving him an opening—an opening to address the elephant in the room—the kiss. Letting his fork drop and clink against his plate he scooted his chair closer to mine and leaned toward me. “It wasn’t you,” he stated plainly, his stare intently fixed on mine. I watched him, unsure of how to respond. “Whatever happened in the past, just know . . . it wasn’t you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” My face went numb as I absorbed his proclamation. Was this . . . an apology? Is that what he was trying to do? I’d waited so long for an apology from Max, and I thought that if I ever got it, somehow it would heal me—at least a little. There was a part of me that wanted desperately for him to acknowledge what he’d done to me—to us, but his apology didn’t feel as comforting as I thought it would. Then again, it wasn’t really an apology, was it? Darting my tongue out, I licked my dry lips. “Why are you saying this to me?” Sitting back, he huffed. “I don’t fucking know. It needed to be said.” Standing abruptly, he pushed his chair in and started grabbing dishes off the table. “I’m going to clean

up the kitchen.” As I watched him stalk into the kitchen, I wanted to call after him; make him come back and explain what he was saying—or trying to say—but I stopped myself. Something told me what he’d already said was all I was going to get out of him. It was up to me to interpret his words and their meaning and take it as I wished. I also realized even though I had pined for remorse from Max for years, maybe I wasn’t ready for the apology. Not really. There’s a difference between needing something from someone to heal and actually being ready to heal. After Max left me when he found out I was pregnant, I’d read every damn inspirational quote ever written about healing; about letting go and moving on. How simple those words of wisdom read. The people who say holding on is only hurting you, and to let go of the hurt, are the worst. Does anyone really fucking think for one second that’s not what a person in pain would want to do? Of course we want to let go. Hurt is a living and breathing thing with long cold fingers that reach inside you and tear you apart. I struggled with that for so long—letting it go. I realized after some time it’s not as simple as just waking up and saying voila . . . it’s done, I’m letting go. It’s a culmination of many variables. Variables such as space and time apart; keeping busy, doing other things that bring you joy. There’s also feeling heard; seeing your pain recognized by the person that dealt it to you. That was something I would never get from Max, and it was a hard pill to swallow. No, I had to do the impossible. I had to forgive a person that wasn’t even sorry. Wanna talk about something that takes strength? Then, in the mix of all that—the forgiving, the space, the hobbies—is a choice. They all go hand and hand, but that doesn’t mean you’ve healed, and it doesn’t mean you ever really will. It just means you’ve decided to drop the weight of hurt and store it away in the proverbial attic of your mind and heart, and walk on. There was still hurt, and deep down I knew there always would be, but there was also room for more. For more love. For more happiness. Tipping my glass back, I polished off the remainder of my wine. Laying my head on my arms on the table, I closed my eyes. The wine helped me relax tonight, but it was more than that. I was at peace, and I would savor the moment, however brief it might be. Max offered me something that night . . . maybe not an apology, per say, but an acknowledgment. Honestly, his words weren’t what comforted me. No, what filled me with contentment is I realized I no longer needed his acknowledgment or apologies. Maybe I was finally letting go after all.



Just as I closed the dishwasher, Helen entered the kitchen holding a freshly bathed and dressed Pimberly. As soon as Pim saw me, she reached out for me, practically flying out of Helen’s arms. Squeezing Pim’s tiny little body to me, I kissed her temple, closing my eyes, inhaling her. She smelled like baby powder. The appointment with Dr. Banahan had been mentally clobbering, and it felt good to hug something, or rather someone, so untainted by this ugly world. I’d learned more about Max than I had wanted to. Today I learned that bad people aren’t born bad . . . they’re made that way. “You okay?” Helen inquired. “Yeah,” I murmured quietly, not wanting to disturb Pim as I felt her body begin to relax. It was incredible how hugging this tiny little girl that smelled like baby powder could make me feel so much better. “How’d the appointment go?” “Long story . . .” “Speaking of that, where’s Waverly?” Helen asked, but before I could answer she was walking toward the dining room and peeking in. Turning back to me, she smirked. “I think she’s passed out.” My brows rose. “Really?” “Really.” Taking a few steps toward me, she glanced up at me with her lips pressed together. She had something she wanted to say, but didn’t know how to. “Spit it out, Hel,” I ordered as I bounced Pim who had her head nestled against my shoulder already on the brink of passing out. “After I got Pim out of the bath and dressed, I put her on the floor while I went and hung the towel in the bathroom. When I came back,” she paused,” Pim had found something under Max’s bed.” My eyes widened in horror as my mind went for the worst thing I could think of. “Please tell me it wasn’t a condom.” Helen’s features twisted in disgust. “Ew, no,” she griped. I released a relieved breath. “Thank, God,” I murmured against Pim’s head. “So what was it?” “It was your backpack, Liam.” “Damn,” I breathed. I’d forgotten about it. I remembered watching Max pick it up and run off with it, but with everything going on it got lost in the chaos. “He kept it,” I mumbled more to myself than to her. “Where is it now?” I questioned, worried Waverly might see it.

“I put it in the back of Max’s closet behind his suit jackets.” I let out a sigh of relief. Thank God Waverly wasn’t the one to find it. I have no idea how I would have explained that. “Pim also found this.” Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a folded piece of paper. “What is it?” Helen cleared her throat and leaned toward me. “I think it’s a suicide note, Liam,” she whispered. After she’d unfolded it, she handed it to me. The paper was creased everywhere from where it had been balled up when Pim found it.

That’s where the letter ended. Though it wasn’t a clear-cut suicide note, it could be read that way. If it was a suicide note, he must’ve changed his mind about killing himself. Or he changed his mind about leaving a note. Hence it was found balled up under his bed. I’d learned from Dr. Banahan that Max was a sick man, mentally. However he may have appeared to the world, they only saw what he wanted them to, not what he was. So I was more sad than shocked to read this letter. Shaking my head, I opened my mouth to say something about it to Helen, but snapped it shut. Max wanted to kill himself. “Holy shit,” I breathed. “What?” Helen asked, taking the letter back from me. “He was killing himself,” I sputtered. “Or he was going to,” she shrugged. “No, Helen,” I whispered loudly. “I think I know what happened.” Helen didn’t ask, she only looked at me with inquisitive eyes, waiting for me to explain. “I didn’t wake up as Max until five days after the accident.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Why five days? Why not immediately?” She snorted. “Good question. Throw that in with why are you Max at all?” “We’ll probably never have a logical reason for how it happened, but why that time frame?” I questioned again. “I think I know.” “So . . . why?” “I think he tried to kill himself, Helen. I think that’s why we switched. I think he did. He actually killed himself.” “But he didn’t finish the letter. Maybe he changed his mind,” she pointed out. My theory made my blood pump hard. Finally having some idea about how I became Max Porter hyped me up. With Pim knocked out cold in my arms I had to keep calm because I didn’t want to wake her. “The day I woke up as Max I found an empty bottle of scotch and an empty bottle of painkillers in the nightstand and a notepad. I think he overdosed.” Her face scrunched up revealing her uncertainty. “But . . .” she motioned a hand at me, “obviously he didn’t. If he did, his body would be gone, and you wouldn’t be here.” Shrugging, I blinked rapidly as thought after thought ricocheted through my mind. Dr. Banahan had offered me quite a bit of enlightenment earlier that day. I hated to think of any man coming to the point where he’d take his own life, but knowing what I knew, it wasn’t so hard to believe. “The same way we switched bodies. I can’t explain it. But . . . it makes sense.” Helen was quiet for a moment, her forehead wrinkled as she was thinking. “You saved his life, and he tried to kill himself afterward?” “That’s what it looks like.” She cut her hard gaze at me, her stare riddled with anger. “You risked your life to save him, and he attempted suicide?” Same question worded differently. My face fell as I absorbed her expression and emotion. She was angry. “You might die and he just . . .” she stopped, choking on her words. “He just tried to end it?” “Hel,” I said her name calmly as I pulled her in. In one arm, I held a sleeping Pimberly, and in the other, I held my weeping sister. “Don’t do this to yourself,” I begged her, quietly. “At least we have an idea about why this all happened.” I knew that didn’t change anything, really. It certainly didn’t make the situation any easier or less confusing, but it helped me. It helped me to know that just maybe there was a why to all of this. Pulling away from me, she swiped a paper towel from the roll and dabbed at her face. “You know, Liam,” she sniffled. “I know we’ve both wondered why, but honestly, I don’t feel any better knowing. We have three days before we have to take your body off life support. We have no idea what will happen.” I opened my mouth to say something—anything—to comfort her, but froze. What could I say? This situation was shit, plain and simple, but I had to try . . . for her . . . I had to try to give her a more optimistic point of view, if that was even fucking possible. “I know if I end up dying, you may not see this as a silver lining, but . . . at least we get to say goodbye, Hel.” It was hard to spin that as a silver lining, but it was one. If you’re fortunate enough to get

to say I love you and share a goodbye with someone you care about before they die, you’re a lucky fucking bastard, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Her jaw went slack as her body convulsed as a sob wracked her. The pain in her eyes almost took me down. Pinching my mouth together, I wanted to punch myself. I shouldn’t have said that to her. Even if it was true. Helen didn’t want the voice of reason, she wanted to cry and bitch and just be heard. Like my Grams always reminded me, God gave us a mouth that closes and ears that stay open. I’d only meant it to offer comfort; solace, but all I’d done was reiterate to her that we were only days away from saying goodbye to each other. “I’m sorry,” I swung my arm around her and squeezed her to me. “Please don’t cry, Hel,” I pleaded, my throat tightening with emotion. “I know this has been hell for you and I’m sorry. I’m barely hanging on here myself, baby sister,” I confessed. “Please stay strong for me. Just a little longer, Hel. Please.” Her body shook as she fisted my shirt and sniffled a few times. Then, with a sudden jerk, her head popped up, and she took a step back away from me. Nodding a few times, she inhaled a few deep breaths with her hands on her hips. She’d decided the time for crying was over. “Okay,” she repeated several times. “Okay, Liam. Okay.” My mouth seeped into a sad smile as I gave her a curt bob of my head. She wanted to fall apart—I could tell—but she wouldn’t, even though she had every reason to: she was pregnant, exhausted from running between here and the hospital, raising a son, and coping with the emotional beating she felt wondering if her only brother would die. Yes, Hel deserved a good breakdown, but my baby sister was tough as nails. She was a Hell Cat—little, but fierce. In our lives together I’d taken a lot of pride in being the brother she could always rely on, especially after we lost our parents. I was her rock, but damn if the tide hadn’t changed. Because I know without a doubt if Helen hadn’t been there for me after I became Max Porter, I’d have been a fucking wreck. She was my backbone. She was my rock. I knew more than anything, we needed a subject change. I needed to give her something to occupy her mind. Something to keep her busy. “Would you mind taking baby girl so I can check on Waverly?” Her gaze fell upon Pim, and she smiled. “Of course I don’t mind,” she whispered. Slowly and gently, I transferred Pim’s limp body to Helen who carried her off to bed. After they’d vanished from the kitchen, I folded the creased letter and slipped it in my back pocket. Putting my hands on the counter, I dropped my head. My poor sister. Involving her was selfish of me. It was taking a toll on her, and I had no idea what would happen to her after I died . . . if I did die. At that point, I had absolutely no reason to believe my life wouldn’t end in a few short days. Then what would she do? She’d be pregnant and in mourning. And what about Waverly? Talk about a woman good and pissed off. What would happen if Max returned and pulled the same asshole card on her? The weight of guilt hit me hard, and I clenched my eyes closed. “God,” I prayed softly, my voice deep. “I know I’m not much of a praying man,” I admitted, “but dear Lord, please help me be strong enough to get me and these women with me through this without ruining them. Please don’t let me screw up that sweet baby girl. Please don’t let me be another disappointment to Waverly, another reason for her to resent men. Please don’t let me leave my sister emotionally drained. I ask nothing for me, Lord. Just these women. Please. Amen.” With a deep breath, steadying myself, I made my way to the dining room, stopping at the doorway. I couldn’t help snorting a laugh to myself. Waverly was out cold. Damn, she was a pretty woman even with her face smushed up on one side, against her arms. Scratching the back of my neck, I wondered for a moment if it wouldn’t be better just to

leave her, but then I remembered her ankle, and she probably needed to have that propped up. I poked her arm a few times and shook her gently, but she didn’t stir. I was going to have to carry her to bed. Would she be okay with that? The night before, I had definitely crossed a line, one I wasn’t sure if she was upset with me for or not. She’d seemed okay at dinner—more than okay. She actually seemed . . . pleasant, but I was so preoccupied with my thoughts I didn’t pay it much attention. If I carried her to bed would she even remember, and if she did remember, would she bite my fucking head off for doing it? Probably the latter, I figured. I shook her again hoping like hell she’d wake up. “Waverly,” I spoke quietly. “If you don’t wake up I’m going to carry you to bed,” I warned. She didn’t stir. “Okay,” I surmised. “I tried to warn you.” With a bit of awkward maneuvering, I scooped her up. Even with all that commotion, she didn’t wake. Her body was as limp as a cooked spaghetti noodle in my arms. She was light and soft, and her hair had an exotic fragrance that hit me. “Damn you smell good woman,” I grumbled to her, even though she was passed out and couldn’t hear me. Not that I wanted her to hear it. Slowly, I maneuvered through the apartment, careful not to bang her head or feet against any furniture or door frames. Helen was just leaving the bedroom after putting Pim down as I was about to enter. Her eyes were still red and swollen, but she looked like she’d calmed down a bit. “Wow,” she chuckled. “Guess red wine is her nemesis.” “Yeah, she hasn’t flinched.” “Pim is out, too, so try to be quiet.” “Got it,” I acknowledged. Stepping up on her tippy-toes, she kissed my cheek. “I’m heading out,” she informed me. “I’ll be back bright and early to help out.” “Thanks, Helen,” I whispered. “I love ya, sis.” She smiled faintly. “I love you, too. Night.” I watched her grab her purse and quietly scurry toward the front door. It only took a few more tactical steps before I reached the bed and laid Waverly down. Delicately, I moved her leg and propped her ankle up on a mound of pillows. She let out a little snore making me smirk. She looked so . . . peaceful. I really liked the sleeping version of Waverly. I snorted a quiet laugh as I remembered her asking me what was up my butt while I was eating dinner. She was a smart-ass for sure, and I had to admit, I liked it. She wasn’t a pushover. She said what was on her mind, and she didn’t give two shits about offending someone. Her lower lip was pouty, and I couldn’t help letting my imagination get the best of me as I thought about our kiss in the shower. She’d accepted it, and given into me. She’d wanted it as badly as I had. Just the thought of it as I stared down at her had me fighting the urge to bend down and kiss her again just to feel her soft lips once more. Then, as I stared at her . . . it happened again. I closed my eyes and shook my head adamantly. “Don’t you fucking dare,” I warned it. But it did.

Max’s dick got hard. “You motherfucker,” I growled. Looking down at my crotch I informed it, “It’s not happening, man, so you may as well calm the fuck down.” Of course, it didn’t listen. In fact, it got harder. Deciding I needed a cold shower, I moved to grab the comforter to cover Waverly before I left, when something caused me to jerk my gaze to her. Her eyes. They were wide fucking open. And they were set on me. My heart lurched in my chest. The hard-on didn’t ebb one bit, though. I busied myself with the comforter, embarrassed and unsure what I’d say to her if she asked why I was cussing at my manhood. When I glanced up again, her eyes were closed, her body still and peaceful. Had I imagined that? No. No way. Her eyes were open. She was looking right fucking at me while I scolded Max’s dick. Was she faking being asleep now? Had she been faking the entire time? Fuck. Should I say something? Quickly, I jerked the blanket over her and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. You’d think the near heart attack I felt like I was experiencing would have withered the erection right away, but no. Max’s junk was set to torture me. Hustling out of the bedroom, I grabbed the baby monitor and darted for the guest bathroom, stripping my clothing as I traveled. Once I reached the bathroom, I set the faucet as cold as it would get and climbed in, forcing myself to stand under the arctic cold water as I shivered and cursed whatever force had put me in this body.



I let out a long slow breath. The one I’d been holding for what felt like an eternity. After Max practically sprinted out of the bedroom, I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling, trying not to let the panic render me frozen. He knew I’d been faking being asleep. Shit. I hadn’t meant to open my eyes, but when he said ‘you motherfucker’ I couldn’t help it. After everything I’d heard, I should’ve been having a panic attack, but I knew I needed to keep my cool. I had to. Clearly, Max was not well, and I’m not talking about how odd it was when he’d scolded his crotch only moments before. That certainly didn’t help. I’m talking about . . . something else. I knew I should have left. I knew it was wrong, but my curiosity got the best of me and maybe . . . just maybe . . . it was nice having the extra help. The truth was my ankle was better. Not a hundred percent better, but good enough I could make it around without crutches. I knew it that morning when I woke up. But I didn’t tell Max that . . . or Helen. I just kept pretending to need my crutches and let them take care of Pim and me. It was pretty low of me, but I was determined to find out what was going on with Max, and I wanted to know how he and Helen were affiliated. Maybe it wasn’t my business, but the more I got to know this ‘new’ Max and his ‘friend’ Helen, the more I needed to know. Maybe it was the masochist in me—a part of me that needed to feel tortured—but what I really wanted to know is . . . why? Why was Max different now? The most pathetic part of me wanted to know why couldn’t he have been different years ago? Why hadn’t I been enough to evoke this new and improved Max? Shamefully, I had to also admit part of me wanted to stay because of the kiss. I didn’t like that I was letting myself become attracted to Max again, but the fact was it was happening. No matter how hard I fought it, or how tall I built and enforced the wall around me, it was there. So I faked it, but in my effort to figure out what the hell was going on, I’d discovered more than I cared to and I was in over my head. I needed to call Matt. I needed my brother to bail me out, once again. When Helen returned with Pimberly after getting her ready for bed, I wasn’t really passed out at the table. I don’t know why I pretended to be asleep—okay, that’s a lie. I do know. I wanted to see how they’d act when they thought I wasn’t listening. Everything I’d overheard had sounded like pure madness. Helen kept calling Max Liam, and Max kept referring to himself in the third person. And who in the hell was on life support? Why did he call Helen sis when she was leaving?

And suicide? Had Max really tried to commit suicide? There were so many questions. None of it made any sense. The only conclusion I could come up with is they were both certifiable. Maybe I was, too. After all, I’d put myself and my daughter in the hands of two insane people. Jerking my head up, I glanced at the nightstand. “Shit,” I whispered. I’d left my cell phone on the dining room table. Careful not to make a sound so as not to wake Pim, I climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door. Max hadn’t shut it all the way in his haste, and I was able to peek out. The muted television was on, illuminating the living room, but there was no sign of him. I listened for a few moments then I realized the shower in the guest bathroom was on. Twisting my neck, I looked back at Pim in her travel crib. She was out cold, her giraffe clutched tightly to her. “I’ll be right back, baby,” I whispered as if she would hear me. Whipping the door open, I sprinted out, quietly leaping like a gazelle toward the dining room. All of the lights were out in the apartment except for the television, but it didn’t take me long to whisk into the dining room and find my phone right where I’d left it. Picking it up, I dialed Matt’s number. It went straight to voicemail. “Damn it,” I muttered to myself as I clenched my phone a little tighter. Matt’s voicemail message was way too long and he played an old school rap song in the background. It was so lame. I reminded myself to give him hell about it when he got home. When it beeped, I kept my voice low. “Matt. It’s Waverly. I need your help. It’s about Max. I think . . .” I paused, unsure how to word what I wanted to say. “Look, just call me as soon as you get this. Please.” Just as I ended the call, the dining room light flicked on. Jerking around, I found Max, water dripping from his hair and droplets beaded on his skin. In one hand he held a towel loosely around his waist. My eyes were wide as I blinked rapidly, staring at him. His features were slack, his expression unreadable as he watched me. That changed quickly. It seemed like it happened in slow motion as I watched realization dawn on him. His eyes darted from my face to my feet which were both firmly planted on the ground, no crutches in sight. Bobbing his head up and down, I knew what he was thinking, how he was putting two and two together. The one thing that concerned me most was: had he heard the message I’d left for Matt? “Looks like your ankle is better,” he noted as he tightened the towel around his waist. Lifting my foot slightly, I tilted my head. “It’s a little better,” I fibbed, feigning slight discomfort. “Think I need to go easy, though.” He let out a laugh through his nose, an annoyed smile curving his lips. He saw right through me. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” he agreed before running a hand through his wet locks. “You need some help getting back to bed?” “Well—” “Here, let me help you,” he interrupted before I could reply. In the span of a few brief seconds, he’d scooped me up in his arms causing me to shriek in surprise. “Max,” I gasped as I held tightly to his shoulders. “I don’t need you to carry me.” “Oh, sorry,” he feigned remorse as he hastily dropped me to my feet. I landed hard, and it took me a few seconds to realize I didn’t react like a person that had just landed on a bad ankle. “I was only trying

to help,” he continued. I stared at him, not knowing what to say. He’d busted me, but I’d busted him, too. He just didn’t know it yet. A part of me wanted to confront him about what I’d overheard, another part of me was scared to. What choice did I have? “I heard you,” I choked out, even though I felt strangled with uncertainty. His expression remained stoic. “Heard what?” “You and Helen . . . in the kitchen earlier. That was crazy talk, Max. And who . . . who is Liam?” When he took a step toward me, I took one back. He stopped in his tracks, a deep furrow forming between his brows as he realized I was afraid of him. His mouth curved down and his eyes were riddled with hurt. With a nod I took as him saying he understood, he stepped back. My breathing became slightly labored as my blood pumped hard through my veins. “You’re not well Max. And Helen . . . she’s either unwell, too, or she’s encouraging you.” He snorted a laugh through his nose again, apparently humored by my assessment. “It’s not funny, Max,” I boomed. “If you aren’t right up here,” I pointed to my head, “you have no business being around Pimberly.” This time his face contorted with my words, his eyes narrowing at me in anger. “You think I’d hurt her? Are you fucking serious?” “How the hell am I supposed to know?” I snapped back at him, my face warming in frustration. “You apparently tried to kill yourself.” Rolling his eyes, he let out a long frustrated growl as he fisted his hair. “God damn it, Max,” he muttered. Slowing my breathing, attempting to calm myself, I realized if Max was sick, if he indeed was having some kind of mental breakdown or episode, no matter how I felt about him or our past, I had to try and help him. I was a social worker—or I was trying to be one anyway. I had an obligation. If I didn’t, who else would? Helen? Clearly, that lady knew Max was riding the crazy train, and she was steadily chucking coal into the engine. She definitely wouldn’t be any help to him. So that left me. “I can help you, Max,” I began, softening my tone, hoping it would make him feel less threatened. “You need professional help.” Dropping his head, he closed his eyes and grinned as he placed his hands on his hips. “You don’t understand, Waverly,” he murmured. “And I don’t . . .” he paused, raising his chin and meeting my gaze, “I don’t know how to make you understand.” He was talking. This was good. If he opened up, maybe I could figure out where his head was and what we were dealing with. Was he manic, bi-polar? The more I could find out now, the better aid I’d be able to get him when we got him to a professional. I just had to keep him talking. “What don’t I understand, Max?” “I’m not Max,” he said firmly. “I’m not Max Porter.” I blinked a few times, unmoving and remained silent, racking my brain for what might be wrong with him. Could he have some kind of multiple personality disorder?

Shaking his head, he snickered in frustration. “There’s no point in this.” He waved a dismissive hand at me. “You’ll never believe it.” “Why won’t I believe it?” I asked, desperate to keep him speaking to me. “Because you fucking hate Max,” he snapped. “You?” I questioned. “You’re Max, Max,” I pointed out. “And . . . I-I don’t hate you.” “You’ve been busting my balls since we met at The Mill that night, and I know Max has been a real piece of shit to you, and I’ve tried to be understanding, but damn woman,” he huffed. “You know how to wear a man down.” The fear and uncertainty I felt melted away as pity washed over me. He was referring to himself in the third person again. I realized whoever Max thought he was, he did not think he was Max Porter. So I decided to play along, wanting to provide the doctor I was determined to get him to with as much information as possible. “Okay. If you aren’t Max, then who are you?” I asked, my voice raspy. His shoulders sagged. “My name is Liam. Helen is my sister.” The blood drained from my face. Damn, this was worse than I thought. Was Helen crazy, too, or had she just latched on to a mentally unstable man and played along with his disillusions so she could steal his money? Just then my cell rang. Not turning my head, I shifted my eyes to it. It was Matt calling me back. Picking my phone up, Max handed it to me. “You can answer,” he said simply. “Though, I wish you’d give me a chance to explain before you call in your backup.” When the cell stopped ringing, it immediately started again. Matt was calling back. Of course he was. I’d left him a cryptic voicemail and mentioned the name of a man he loathed. I knew answering and easing his concerns would be wise, but I was worried if I did that, Max would change his mind about opening up to me. This was a pivotal moment. I needed Max to agree to get help, but before I could encourage that, I had to make him trust me. I had to make him see I genuinely wanted to help him. Taking my phone from his hand, I ended the call and powered it off. Max’s mouth was in a tight flat line, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he watched me, waiting for me to say something. “Okay, Max,” I said quietly as I set the phone back on the table. “Explain.” Taking his hand in mine, I squeezed. I felt it. Again. The shock from our connection.



My heartbeat whooshed in my ears as we rode the elevator up to the fourth floor of the hospital. At every floor, a ding sounded, like a warning call; a reminder that my bad situation was about to get worse. I glanced down at Pimberly who was curled up, asleep in the wagon with her thumb in her mouth, hoping it wouldn’t wake her. I wasn’t happy about having to drag her out so late at night, but drastic times called for drastic measures. Waverly was convinced Max had gone mad and wanted to commit him. I needed to do everything in my power to convince her I was telling the truth. My palms were sweating so I wiped them on my pants as I worked hard to remain calm. Glancing at Waverly I found she was staring at me. Her brows were lifted slightly as she watched me like she was equal parts concerned and scared of me. “Thank you for doing this,” I managed after a beat. “I wish we could have left her at home and let her sleep.” Waverly nodded a few times and faced forward, her eyes trained ahead. “She’s a heavy sleeper.” The elevator doors slid open, and we stepped out onto the mutely colored tiled floors. I gently pulled the wagon behind me. The hospital lights were bright, but the floor was quiet and practically empty. A few nurses were behind the station desk, but didn’t bother to look up as we passed by. When we reached the door to the room where my body was, I stopped and turned to face her. “It’s all going to sound crazy,” I admitted. “I know you already think Max is crazy, but promise me. Promise me you’ll listen.” She cut her gaze to mine. Nothing about her expression or the forlorn look in her eyes gave me any hope in convincing her of my story, but in spite of the overwhelming hopelessness I was feeling, I knew at this point all I could do was try. “Liam is in here?” she questioned. Even though she didn’t promise, I moved forward. “Well, my body is here,” I explained. Looking to the nurse’s station, I noticed one of the nurses watching us, so I decided we better move inside the room before I went any further. Opening the door, I let Waverly enter first, then I quietly pulled the wagon in and closed it. The monitor next to the hospital bed beeped and an air pumping sound whooshed as it moved oxygen in and out of the lungs of my body. Waverly walked to the bedside and stood, staring at the man that lay before her—staring at me—my body. I wanted to tell her it was the room’s poor lighting, the drab colors of the walls and hospital gown that made me look so . . . frail and feeble, but that would’ve been a lie. These things certainly didn’t help, but even before the accident, I’d looked bad. Living on the streets had slowly squeezed the life out of me, leaving only a shell of the man I had been before. The one thing I could say for myself was that my beard had been trimmed and I looked clean. My hands and fingers were free from dirt, and my fingernails were short and no longer caked with grime. My

hair had been washed, but it was longer than I liked. I didn’t look good, but I knew I’d looked worse. “This is Liam?” Waverly asked. “That’s my body,” I answered. “I believe Max is trapped in my body.” This time her brows furrowed as disbelief seized her features. “And you’re paying this man’s medical bills?” “Yes,” I admitted, feeling guilty. “I know it’s Max’s money, but I needed some time to figure out why this was happening.” “And this man,” she pointed at my body lying in the hospital bed, “is Helen’s brother?” “Yes,” I answered. “Max,” she breathed. “You don’t find this odd?” I stared at her like she was crazy. Hell yes, I found it odd. “Do you think I asked to switch bodies with Max?” I snapped. Her eyes teared up as she peered at me. “Max . . . you’re not well. This woman, Helen, has clearly taken advantage of you when you’re in this state making you believe you’re her brother, so you’ll pony up and pay for her brother’s medical bills.” I raised a hand, stopping her. “That’s not the case,” I informed her, adamantly. I realized better than anyone how crazy this all sounded and how if spun the wrong way could make it look like Helen preyed on a mentally ill man, but Helen was a saint. Even though Waverly had genuine concern, I couldn’t bear for her to assume or have such harsh accusations directed toward my sister. “You said you’d hear me out. If you don’t believe me when I’m finished, I’ll help you get Pim and your stuff packed up, and get you back home.” “You need help,” she reiterated. “I don’t need help, damn it!” I boomed throwing my hands up. “I’m not . . .” shaking my head I let out a long frustrated breath, reminding myself to keep my voice down. I didn’t want to disturb Pimberly. “I’m not crazy,” I gritted through clenched teeth. “No?” she questioned like I was ridiculous. “It sounds completely sane and rational when you tell me you’ve switched bodies with this man.” “You think I don’t know it sounds crazy?” “Okay, Max. Or should I call you Liam?” she quipped. Damn, she could be a smartass. Up until this point, she’d been pretty calm; she’d seemed like she was listening. I guess her patience was wearing thin. “I’ll humor you. Tell me. How, pray tell, did you end up switching bodies?” “I was on the street,” I began, my voice edged with panic. “The street?” she questioned. “I was homeless,” I explained, my gaze dropping for a moment as shame riddled me. “I’d been out there a while. I’d lost my job a few months before and then my apartment and . . . anyway, I ended up on the street.” I spoke softly and slowly, working hard to keep my voice steady. I told her about how I fell down the stairs which led to me losing my job, which led to me ending up on the streets. I told her about my love for motorcycles, about Helen and our childhood, and finally, I told her about the only encounter Max

Porter and I ever had. Staring down at my body I said, “He looked at me like I was trash. In his defense, I probably looked like I’d just walked straight out of a dumpster. Of course, he . . . he looked like he had everything.” “You’re a very wealthy man, Max,” she agreed. “I’m. Not. Max.” I stated firmly, my patience wavering. “And his money isn’t shit,” I seethed. “He has no one. I’m stuck in this man’s body, hated by everyone, including you.” “I don’t hate you,” she insisted. “No,” I agreed. “You hate Max. Not a lot of good you liking me, Liam, if I’m trapped in the body of the man you hate.” She rolled her eyes and looked away from me, staring down at my body in the hospital bed. Maybe she was tired of hearing my story. Maybe she would never believe me, but damn it, I was going to finish. “Max was at the corner about to cross the street,” I continued. “When I came up behind him, intending to cross the street as well, he seemed so disgusted by me that he stepped out onto the street. There was a bus coming and I . . . I pushed him out of the way.” “And that’s how this guy,” she pointed at my body in the bed, “ended up here.” “How my body ended up here. Yes. I woke up days later in Max’s apartment and in his body. That was the day you called him about meeting at The Mill.” “Max,” she rasped, emotion thick in her tone. “What you’re saying . . . it’s impossible.” I fisted my hair. I was beyond frustrated. I had never been a man of many words, and I seldom ever knew the right thing to say which only frustrated me more. Rounding the bed, I approached her. She backed away until she couldn’t anymore, stopped by the medical equipment standing by the bed. With only a few inches between us, I took her hand and placed it on my chest over my heart, that same shiver rushing through me when we touched. When she tried to pull her arm back, I gripped her wrist and held it there, refusing to let it go. Peering deeply into her eyes, I pressed my other hand over hers where it sat on my chest. In the space that hung between us, without words, I begged her to trust me. To relax. To shut down her brain and search for the truth with her heart. After a few brief moments she relaxed, the tension melting away, her gaze drifting away with it. “Look at me, Waverly,” I begged, quietly. “Please. Hesitantly, she moved her tear-filled stare to mine. “I’m not Max. You know it’s true. Deep down, you know it. It’s not a mental illness or multiple personalities. Ever since we met at The Mill that night, you’ve said it over and over, that I’m different. It’s true. I’m Max’s polar opposite.” Using her free hand, she wiped at her nose, but said nothing. The machines beeped, the ventilator whooshed, our breaths huffed, but she still said nothing. I realized at that moment I had no more words. I had no voice. All I had was this diminishing moment to show her, to prove to her what I was saying was the truth. Moving my hands to her head, I gently grasped her face and wholeheartedly and unapologetically kissed her. At first, she struggled to escape it, pressing her hands against my chest in a weak attempt to push me away. She faintly grunted in protest, but only a little and briefly; not like a woman that seemed to feel accosted or forced, but more like she wanted to seem like she didn’t want it—want this. Because if she did want it; if she did crave the kiss of a mad man, what would that mean?

It would mean that she was crazy, too. After a moment, she succumbed, her body going limp in my arms as she held my shoulders firmly. I kissed her with desperation, like a man that knew this was make or break. I kissed her like I would never kiss her again because that was most likely the case if she refused to believe me. Pressing her body to mine, I lifted her slightly, a low growl escaping me as I softly sucked her lower lip. With my arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, I asked, “Do you believe me?” With each breath she took, her chest rose and fell. Something heavy hung in the air between us and surrounding us. For me, it was fear. I had no idea what she’d say, and the unknown was killing me. A tear trickled down her cheek as she stared into my eyes. She hiccupped, her body beginning to convulse as she tried to control her emotion. A knot lodged in my throat as I watched her. The war waging inside of her was evident. She wanted to believe me, but how could she? Raising up on her toes, she clutched my face in her hands and kissed me once more. When she pulled away, her gaze left mine. “No,” she whimpered.



He was silent all the way back to his apartment. When we walked into the lobby of his building, the doorman, Braxton, was on the phone and waved, attempting to get Max’s attention, but Max was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice him. He continued toward the elevators, pulling the wagon containing a slumbering Pim behind him. Not wanting to be rude, I walked over to the desk. “He’s tired,” I explained to Braxton, quietly. He raised his chin. “I see. I only wanted to tell him the motorcycle is ready. I just need to know if he wants to pick it up himself or have it delivered.” “Motorcycle?” I questioned. “Found it online almost two weeks ago.” Leaning in, he whispered, “He spent a fortune between buying and fixing it, but Panheads are rare.” “Panhead?” He smiled apologetically when he realized I didn’t know what he was talking about. “The motorcycle he bought.” I wasn’t sure what to think about what Braxton was telling me. The other day Max told me he didn’t own a bike, but was thinking about buying one. That was the day he came home with the trike for Pimberly. According to Braxton, Max had bought this before then. A madness swept over me as I started piecing together dates. Almost two weeks ago would have been before the accident where Max claims that he, as Liam, was hit, consequently saving Max’s life. “May I ask, between you and me, why did he have you help him with it?” Braxton tilted his head. “No idea, ma’am. He barely spoke to me before.” Glancing toward the elevators to gauge how far away Max was, he leaned in toward me and whispered, “I don’t think he has many people he’s close to. In fact, this last week or so is the first time I can recall anyone coming to visit him.” “Really?” I questioned. “What about women he dated?” “Can’t recall one,” he admitted, “but that’s between you and me,” he reminded me with pleading eyes. Bobbing my head once, letting him know his secret was safe with me, I told Braxton, “I’ll let him know about the bike.” I waved as he offered a timid, “Goodnight.” With a deep frown, I headed toward the elevator where Max was already inside, holding the door, waiting for me, a lost and sullen look on his face. Everything was a huge mess. Max was unraveling, and I

wasn’t sure I could help him. I wanted to, badly, but there was one problem. A huge problem. One that scared me to admit because it led to questions about my own sanity. The truth was, a part of me as warped as it might sound, believed him. And that was just insane. And that meant I couldn’t help Max because, in reality, I probably needed help myself. When we got back inside the apartment, I put Pim in her travel crib and shut the door. Max stood facing the tall windows in his living room, his arms crossed as he stared out over the city. The room was dark but for the lights from outside that cast a soft hue inside. “I thought you’d be packing,” his husky voice broke the silence. That’s what I should have been doing, right? I mean, Max was crazy, right? Unable to give him an excuse as to why I wasn’t packing right that second, I let out a frustrated growl as I plopped on the couch and covered my face with my hands. How could I even be entertaining this ludicrous story he had spun? And what did that say about me? Was I this desperate for love that I’d buy into something that was impossible? “I’m sorry, Waverly,” he said causing me to drop my hands. He was turned now, facing me, his gaze fixed on me. “I know this is a . . . a lot.” “You told me you didn’t own a motorcycle,” I blurted. He pursed his mouth as if confused. “I don’t.” “Max,” I breathed. Dropping his arms, he flung them up at his sides in frustration. “What?” he asked defensively. “I don’t. Before I ended up on the streets, I owned a Bobber, but I sold that to my friend Lenny.” “According to Braxton, you do,” I snapped back. “You bought it almost two weeks ago and spent a fortune on the purchase and restoration. That doesn’t exactly fit in with your timeline.” I argued. “If you are Liam and you didn’t become Max until five days after the accident, why would Max have bought a bike? The Max I know, not one time, ever, mentioned motorcycles.” He stared at me blankly. “Did Braxton mention what kind of bike it is?” “Umm . . .” What did he say? It was a weird name. “A pan . . . something.” Then I felt stupid. I was telling him the name of the bike as if he didn’t know already. “A Panhead?” His voice raised an octave in disbelief. “Yeah,” I nodded. “That was it.” “He sent it to Lenny?” he mumbled quietly in disbelief. “What?” With furrowed brows, he shook his head. “I wasn’t Max two weeks ago.” He paced the floor for a few moments, then stopped abruptly, turning to look at me. “He bought it after the accident, but before we switched?” I closed my eyes and stopped myself from letting out a loud huff. Was he putting on an act for me now? Max bought the motorcycle, and now he doesn’t remember? “I don’t know, Max,” I sighed. “Did you?”

Suddenly, his head tilted up, and he let out an, “Ah-hah.” “What?” “My bag. He took my bag.” “What bag?” “I had a backpack. It carried everything I owned, which wasn’t much, but there was a . . .” he motioned his hand around as if it would conjure whatever he wanted to say, “I guess you could call it a journal.” I didn’t say anything. I simply crossed my arms and waited for whatever nonsense he’d throw out next. Max noticed this and rolled his eyes. “Just come with me,” he instructed as he went toward the bedroom and quietly opened the door. After he vanished from my sight, I stared straight ahead. What are you doing, Waverly, I asked myself. If you go in there, you’re only fueling this. Standing, I shook my head. You have to leave tomorrow. First thing. Creeping into the bedroom, a faint light leaked out from under the door of Max’s closet. Quietly, I opened it to find him on the floor sitting cross-legged, a ratty backpack opened beside him as he dug through it. Dirty socks, what appeared to be balled-up T-shirts, an empty water bottle, and two books were scattered around him. The sound of me closing the door behind me caused him to jerk his head up. “This,” he said as he pulled out a composition notebook. Some kind of business sticker covered the front, Uncaged Mechanics. The covers and pages were frayed on the edges, the spine splitting, unraveling on one end. It had seen some use. Opening it, he thumbed through a few pages. “This page.” Reaching up, he handed the notebook to me. There was a magazine photo of a motorcycle glued to the page with handwriting surrounding it. At the top of the page, written in bold, was #1. “The Panhead is my dream bike. Max must’ve read about it here.” Peering down at him, then at the soiled items surrounding him, I frowned. “This was everything he had in his bag?” It was nothing and what there was, was filthy. His head dropped. “It was everything I owned.” With a snort, he added, “Pretty pathetic, I know.” Something in my chest ached as I watched him. He looked so . . . defeated. Broken. “Let’s say, hypothetically, what you’re saying is true, and you are this man Liam trapped in Max’s body, why would Max buy this bike?” Raising his head, his eyes filled with something between desperation and anger, he met my gaze. “Why did he take my bag in the first place? Why did he leave me to die? Why did he . . .” he growled in frustration as he pushed up to his feet. “Why did I save his life just so he could end his own?” Yanking a folded piece of paper from his back pocket, he unfolded it and handed it to me. “He tried to kill himself, I think. I think when he did it, that’s when we switched. It’s the only thing I can think of.” Taking the creased paper, I read it, slanting my eyes in confusion. Handing it back to him, I pinched the bridge of my nose. He was throwing so much information at me, most of which was too crazy and impossible to believe, and it was giving me a headache. “I just can’t imagine you killing yourself.” I couldn’t. Max was so many things, but suicidal? I just

couldn’t see it. “You can’t imagine him killing himself,” he countered. “I’m not Max, and the truth is, Waverly,” he huffed, “you didn’t know Max. No one did.” Glancing up at him, I scowled. “I was married to him. I think I probably knew him better than anyone.” Stepping toward me, his face was inches from mine. “Don’t you get it? He tossed you aside because you got too close. He wanted you, he wanted a family, but he knew if you ever got to know the real Max Porter, you’d leave him anyway. He thought he could be enough for you, but when you got pregnant . . . it was too much. He didn’t have enough in him.” My eyes teared up, and I blinked a few times trying to hold the tears at bay. “And if you’re not Max, how do you know this?” Dropping his head, he let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging. He was growing tired of explaining; of trying to convince me. “I saw his therapist. That’s where I went the last two days. I wanted to know . . . Max . . . in case I got stuck as him.” “This sounds insane, Max,” I argued, my voice rising with emotion. Bending down, he yanked the bag up and jabbed one arm inside as he dug around it. When he found what he was looking for, he let the bag drop. “This,” he held the photo out to me, “is me.” Taking it, I examined it, letting my eyes slowly review every detail. The photo was of the man, Liam, I’d just saw in the hospital, though he looked a million times better in the picture than he did in his current state. Liam was handsome and rugged. His hair was long and shaggy, and he had a short beard. His teeth filled his smile and even with his facial scruff his dimples poked through as he grinned at the camera standing next to a motorcycle. His eyes were brown, rich and dark, like mine. His arms were decorated with vibrant tattoos; some of which I recognized from seeing his body in the hospital. As I studied it, as I let my eyes memorize every detail, something washed over me; a feeling of familiarity. When I felt Max move behind me, I tensed, the closeness making my breath hitch. Gingerly, he placed his hands on my hips, pressing his chest to my back before grazing his lips softly across my bare shoulder. “That’s me, Waverly,” he said in a hushed, gravelly voice. “Look at that picture and feel me,” he whispered as his hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, his thumb grazing my soft skin. The intimate contact made my back arch as it sent that familiar shiver down my spine. I knew I should tell him to stop, but somewhere between my heart and my mind, in that place where reason always seems to vanish, the words got lost, and all I could get out were moans and whimpers. Instead of fighting him, I found myself leaning into him, letting my body melt against his. “I know I’m asking you to believe the impossible,” he went on, his lips brushing the skin of my neck as if it were as delicate as a flower petal as he spoke. I moved to turn and face him, but his hands seized my waist, slamming me back against him, preventing me. “No,” he said firmly. “If you look at me, you’ll only see him. You’ll only see Max Porter, the man that hurt you.” “But—” “No,” he interrupted my protest. “Look at that picture,” he ordered as he gathered my hair and pulled it aside so he could rest his chin on my shoulder, his cheek touching my cheek. “Look into your heart. If you look there, really look, you won’t see Max.”

Closing my eyes my breath shuttered as he whispered, “I need, more than anything in this world, for you to see me,” against my neck. I fixed my gaze on the photo, staring into the dark eyes of the man Max claimed he was as he kissed my neck and whispered words of pleading. “Please. Please see me,” he begged over and over as his mouth scorched my neck with need and desire. His fingers grazed up until they were threaded in my hair where he gently fisted it. I’d never been touched this way; worshiped this way. My breaths escaped me in small pants as he pulled me closer, our bodies attempting to fuse together. There was no doubt the man he’d been the past week was not the man I once knew. It was like night and day, but there were perfectly logical explanations to why that was—and a body swap was not one of them. There were explanations such as he was messing with me, lying, or mentally ill. My voice of reason strongly advocated that these were valid conclusions, but that heart—my heart—that place he told me to look . . . it saw something else. “I’m so scared,” I gasped as he gently bit my shoulder. I hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, but once I had, he stopped. Reaching his hand around he gently slid his hand up my throat until he was cupping my chin. Pressing his face next to mine, he said, “I know.” His next words hit me right in the chest. “I’m scared, too.” For a moment, neither of us said anything. He held me, his hand firm as it kept our cheeks pressed together, our breaths erratic. “We’re pulling the plug day after tomorrow. I have no idea what will happen then. I may die.” His chin rested on my shoulder, the words hard for him to say. “I know what I’m asking, Waverly, but can you give me one day? After tomorrow you can walk away and never think about me again if that’s what you want. I may only have one more day in this world, and I know I don’t want to spend it with anyone but you.” My eyes burned with tears as my throat tightened. His words were devastatingly beautiful; the words every woman wants to hear. This is insane, I told myself as I tilted my head toward his, letting it rest. You can’t get sucked into this. But damn—the way it felt when he touched me. My heart knew. This was not Max. It knew because it had yearned for Max to want me, need me like this. Raising my hand and placing it over his where it still held me, I sucked in a ragged breath. “Okay, Liam,” I whispered. “Okay.”



I’d texted Helen after Waverly was in bed, asking if she could come over early because I had something I needed to do. As soon as she arrived, I filled her in on the events of the previous night and told her to answer any questions Waverly might have. Once she arrived, I handed her a sleepy Pim who had just started drinking her sippy cup of milk, and headed out. New York was always bustling, the sidewalks packed with herds of people maneuvering their way around one another, but in the early morning, there was a calm that allowed one to slow down and marvel at the city. As I walked, I took note of the buildings, the lights, and even the few people that were out and about like me. This was my city. This was my home. These sidewalks and these looming buildings had been my shelter for a time when I had nothing. That wasn’t exactly true. Maybe I hadn’t had a home or possessions, but I’d had something of more value. I’d had a conscience. I knew with whatever happened tomorrow, whether I lived or died, I’d done my best. When morals came to call, testing my decency as a human, I’d answered when I saved Max’s life. No matter what my lot in life may have been, I never lost my soul. It wasn’t long before I reached the shop. I was not surprised the bay doors were already open. Lenny always had been an early riser. As I walked in, he recognized me immediately and shook my hand. “So, I hear you have my bike ready,” I began, casually. Tilting his head, he slanted his eyes in confusion. “The Panhead,” I chuckled as I walked over to it and inspected it. “Wow,” he snorted. “I feel stupid,” Lenny chuckled as he scratched the back of his neck. “I had no idea this was your bike.” “Sorry, man,” I apologized. I felt bad. When I had stopped by the shop a few days ago, there was no way I could have known Max had bought my dream bike and sent it to the shop where I used to work. I wasn’t sure why in those five days between the time I saved Max’s life and the time we switched bodies, Max would have bought it. There were so many questions I’d probably never have answers to. The only thing I did know was this might be the last day of my life, and I wasn’t going to waste it. I would ride this bike. “I just wanted to come by and check the place out without making you feel weird,” I explained. It was a lame excuse, but I had nothing else. “Well, she looks good,” he noted. “Runs good, too.” Smiling I asked him, “Did you ride her?” “Uh . . .” he didn’t know how to answer. He was worried I’d be pissed if he said yes. “I hope you did,” I told him.

He grinned, relief taking over his features. “I did,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Sorry, sir. I had to.” He followed me as I rolled the bike out of the shop. Stopping, I pulled on my helmet and tightened the strap. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but couldn’t. It wasn’t only because he didn’t know I was Liam, but also because saying goodbye was hard. “We’ve enjoyed working on her, and hope you’ll use us again in the future,” Lenny offered. Reaching in my back pocket, I pulled out a check and held it out to him. “Oh, they handle the payments in the front office.” I snorted. “The bike’s been paid for. This is for you.” Taking the check, his brows rose when he looked at it. “Fifty thousand dollars?” “I’m in the business of finding talented mechanics. Not just talented, but good people. I can tell you’re a good guy, and you’re way too talented to work for someone else. You need to start your own business.” Darting his gaze to mine, he frowned. “I don’t understand.” I couldn’t explain to him I was Liam. I couldn’t explain he’d bought my bike, my most prized possession, just so I’d have money to keep a roof over my head, and held it for me even though it didn’t seem likely I’d be buying it back anytime soon. And had my foolish pride not been in the way, he would’ve let me crash on his couch if I’d needed to. He was a true friend, through and through. I’d been damn lucky to have a friend like him. “Good deeds render good luck. Today is your lucky day. Open your own shop, man.” Reaching my hand out, he took it and we shook, his face was void of any expression. He didn’t know what to say—he was in shock. I know it was Max’s money I was giving to him, and maybe that was wrong, but Lenny, in a way, saved my life at some point. I needed a roof over my head, and he gave me one, which led to me saving Max’s life. Swinging my leg over the bike, I sat. “Thank you, Lenny.” The words meant more than he could have known. He thought I was thanking him for the work he’d done on the bike; it was so much more for me. “I’ll repay you,” he offered. “No. You don’t owe me a thing.” There was a knot in my throat when I fired up the bike as I realized this might be the last time I ever saw him—that this might be my goodbye. When my body came off life support, I had no idea what would happen. I didn’t look back, though. I couldn’t. I drove away knowing I’d given my friend a chance to do more; be more. No matter what happened, I could rest easy knowing he had a chance to make our dream come true.



When I opened my eyes, I was in bed. Max’s bed. It wasn’t where I’d fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning, but I guessed Max must’ve carried me to bed. “Liam,” I reminded myself. When I committed to giving him this last day, he made me promise to call him Liam which would be difficult considering he was Max. At least, physically. “Ugh . . . I’m insane,” I groaned into my pillow. Was I really doing this? Yes. Yes, I was. I’d agreed to it with hesitation, but in the hours that followed, I was more accepting. Liam and I had stayed up all night talking. He told me a million stories about his childhood and Helen. He listened to everything I spoke about from school, to Pim, to my dreams. It was one of the best nights of my life. Sitting up, I looked over at Pim’s travel crib, and she was gone. I smiled. Liam must’ve gotten her so I could sleep. Climbing out of bed, I hurried into the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair before heading out to the living room. I found the living room empty and made my way to the kitchen where I found Helen feeding a pancake to Pim that she’d just cut up. Pim gurgled in excitement when she caught sight of me causing Helen to turn. “Good morning,” she stated quietly. “Did you sleep well?” She seemed . . . awkward. Or I felt awkward. Or, it was just really awkward. I’d agreed to go along with all this for one more day, but that didn’t mean there weren’t reservations. Maybe I was insane for wanting to believe Liam, and maybe Helen was, too. Or maybe I was insane and Helen was smart playing on a mentally ill man to have him pay her brother’s hospital bills. “Yeah, I slept good,” I finally answered. “Hi, baby,” I cooed to Pim as I bent down and ate a piece of pancake out of her hand, making her giggle. “There’s coffee.” Opening a cabinet, she pulled out a mug and handed it to me. “Thanks. Where’s Ma . . .” I paused. Did I have to call him Liam with her, too? I blinked a few times, embarrassed. “Where is he?” “He left about an hour ago. Said he’d be back soon.” I frowned wondering where he could have gone. Helen busied herself washing dishes while I made my coffee. The silence between us was awful. There was so much I wanted to say to her; ask her, but I had no idea where to start. Helen let out a loud sigh as she turned off the faucet. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Yes,” I practically groaned, thankful she brought it up and I didn’t have to. She chuckled a little. “I’m sure you can understand my skepticism here.” “Definitely,” she agreed as she pulled her hair tie out, letting her red hair billow down before gathering her locks to tie up again. “When he first came to me as Max and told me this story . . . I didn’t know what to think. Liam had been lying in a bed, half dead for days and this man shows up and tells me he’s my brother.” “How did you end up believing him?” “I didn’t believe him. At least, not right away. Then, I don’t know. He knew everything about me, things only Liam would know,” she explained as she wiped the counter. “I was scared,” she admitted. “Was I crazy to believe it? I knew I was devastated. My brother was dying. Was I just so desperate for him to live that I’d buy into this crazy story just to have him back, no matter what form he was in?” I bobbed my head once in understanding. “But it wasn’t just the stories. There were other signs. He moves like Liam. He even quirks his mouth on one side and smirks just like my brother. The mannerisms, the humor . . .” she shook her head. “It was all Liam.” “You know how this looks, though, right?” “How’s that?” she questioned with a speculative brow. “I mean . . .” I twisted my mouth while I tried to decide how to word what I wanted to say. There was no way to put it delicately. “Like you’re using a mentally ill man to pay your brother’s medical bills.” Her brow lifted slightly as her head reared back. I’d offended her. Slowly her features relaxed as I watched her absorb what I’d said. “I hadn’t thought about that, but I guess it might look like that to someone who didn’t believe him.” Then, she fixed her intent gaze on mine. “I guess that’s why he’s lucky that we do.” Her expression went stoic as she stared at me. It was a challenge. She wanted me to confirm it. She wanted me to voice I’d picked a side in the Max is insane versus Liam is Max war. That was fair, I guessed, but there was a problem. It was hard to say it, and I realized I couldn’t. Not until I believed it wholeheartedly. I just wasn’t ready to say it out loud. I would stay and spend this day with him. I’d stay until they took Liam’s body off life support. But saying I believe? To make my tongue curl around the words as they poured out of my mouth? I wasn’t ready for that. Since I couldn’t say what she wanted me to, I said something else, something honest. “I’m scared.” It was the most honest thing I could say. Before I knew it, Helen had her arms wrapped around me, her body wracking gently with quiet sobs. “If it makes you feel better,” she wept. “I’m scared, too.” And for a moment, I let my suspicions about Helen slip away as I put my arms around her. What if she wasn’t a scammer? What if she was just like me; incredibly doubtful but tremendously hopeful. Was it that impossible to believe we were two women wanting to believe in Liam—to believe in the impossible? Even though I doubted her—hell, I doubted myself—it was nice to believe that whatever happened we were in it together. When she pulled away, she wiped at her face. “Sorry about that.” “You’re his sister,” I noted before taking my mug from the counter and sipping. “I know this must be awful for you.”

“He’s my best friend,” she agreed. My chest tightened with her words. I couldn’t imagine losing Matt. I opened my mouth to say something, comfort her, but the front door opened, and Liam announced in his best imitation of Ricky Ricardo, “Honey . . . I’m home!” Helen and I both chuckled as she rushed to finish cleaning up her face before he made his way into the kitchen. By the time he entered, she’d done a decent job of pulling herself together, but as soon as he saw her, his smile dropped. She smiled brightly, a little too brightly to hide she’d just been in tears as he glanced from her to me, then back to her. “Oh, Waverly,” she preened as she grabbed both my hands. “I have something to show you.” “Helen,” he groaned. “What? The woman you love deserves to see your photos.” My brows rose with her words. Love? Did he love me? How did I feel about that? Flicking my gaze to his, I noticed his cheeks were slightly tinted with red. She’d embarrassed him. As scary as those words had been, I couldn’t help smiling as Helen drug me through the kitchen into the dining room. Pulling a chair out for me, she plunked me down in it before sitting beside me. “Liam, can you clean Pim up please?” Helen called. “I got her,” he muttered, clearly not excited about her showing me the photos, “but make it quick, Helen; Waverly and I have plans.” Twisting my neck, I looked over my shoulder and found him in the doorway staring at me. My core clenched as heat washed over me. Max was a handsome man, but it wasn’t how he looked that stirred things in me. This was different. I felt him; I could feel his want in his stare. And there it was. I realized I was staring at Max, but it wasn’t Max staring back at me. It was Liam. I believed him.



After an hour and a half, I had to rescue Waverly. My sister had shown her every photo she possessed of me and proceeded to tell her eight thousand stories about me, all of which made me sound like a doofus. I’m not a modest man; I knew I wasn’t that good looking, or that interesting for that matter, so there was no doubt in my mind Waverly had probably had enough and was ready to flee the apartment from sheer boredom. Thirty minutes later, Waverly emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a tank top and a pair of jeans, her hair sleek and billowing over her shoulders. She’d done her makeup, her eyes lined dark like a pin-up girl, and her perfect lips were glossed. Taking note of her attire, I fought the growl of frustration I wanted to let out. How did she look that sexy in something as simple as jeans and a tank? Every asshole we passed would probably be gawking at her. It was going to be a long afternoon. “What the hell is that?” Waverly asked as she pointed, jerking me from my thoughts as I stared at her, stupefied. It took me a moment to make my tongue work again. “Your helmet,” I informed her as I held it out to her. She stared at it blankly. “That’s for me?” “Well, as nice as hot pink would look on Max, I don’t think it’s really his color,” I snarked. I was pretty proud of myself. I’d managed to get her a helmet that matched the one I’d gotten for Pimberly. Glancing at Helen, Waverly bit her lip, her expression uncertain. “He’s a great rider,” Helen assured her as she followed Pim around on her Power Wheels trike. Pim had gotten the hang of it and was now driving her tiny bike like a pro. If the thing went over .5 miles per hour, I had no doubt she’d be trying to pop wheelies. “Our father taught him,” Helen continued. Her lip was still caught between her teeth before she inhaled and released a hesitant breath. “Promise you’ll go slow.” Holding my right hand up like I was swearing in for testimony I said, “We’re in New York,” I pointed out. “There’s not a lot of wide open road to speed down. But yes, I promise. Now come on.” Reaching my hand out, I waited for her to take it. She glanced at it reluctantly before flicking her eyes to me. Settling her hand in mine, she revealed a breathtaking smile that nearly knocked the wind out of me. “You two have fun,” Helen chuckled. Once we were outside, I tugged my helmet on and tightened the strap while Waverly stared at me, uncertainty riddled in her eyes. With a gentle smile, I pried her helmet from her grip and put it on her head.

“I probably look ridiculous,” she griped, her lip curled up in distaste. I chuckled as I adjusted her strap. “You look fine,” I assured her. “Now, here for your riding pleasure,” I twisted around, facing the bike, lifting my hands in presentation of the tremendous machine before us, “is the Panhead.” “Is it safe?” I cast her a look that asked, Are you serious? “Do you think I’d put you on it if it weren’t safe?” She ignored my question, nodding a few times. “It looks . . . pretty.” She gave a small shrug. “Pretty?” I gasped as I looked at her as if she were mad. “Pretty?” “Yes, Liam,” she muttered as she adjusted her helmet. “It’s pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Ethereal.” Shaking my head, I stepped off the sidewalk and rounded the bike, feigning disappointment in her basic description. “This isn’t just pretty,” I scolded. “Here before you, beautiful woman, you see a rare moving piece of history.” “I know,” she groaned, clearly not impressed. “You know?” I laughed like she was ridiculous. “Woman, you know nothing.” Quirking a brow, she stepped off the sidewalk and ran her fingers delicately over the handlebars of the bike. “This is a 1948 Panhead,” she announced, her voice sultry. “Harley only made this bike between 1948 and 1965, modifying it to the Knucklehead, then the Shovelhead. Though the three have few differences, their motors were redesigned and built with each version; their model names describing the shape of the engines themselves. This Panhead,” she continued as she ran one teasing finger over the seat and then the back fender, cutting me a sassy glance, “happens to be uber unique because in 1949, Harley changed the front end to a hydro-glide.” When she reached me, she walked her two fingers up my stomach to my chest, before tapping my nose. “Like I said,” she whispered, “it’s pretty.” I stared at her, stunned as she spun around and leaped back on the sidewalk. When she glanced back at me, she gave a little shrug. “I did some research.” “I see that,” I rasped. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “I’m just . . .” I blinked a few times. “I’m turned on.” That was an understatement. The information she divulged was basic, she’d probably just looked it up on the internet, but the fact she even took the time to do it . . . and that sexy as hell voice she used as she spoke had my blood pumping. Sexy woman talking about a sexy bike equaled a worked up Liam. She must’ve noted my excitement because she groaned in mock annoyance. “Okay, Liam. Are we going to ride this thing or not?” Throwing my leg over the bike, I steadied it. “These aren’t usually two-seater bikes, so I had to put a sticky pad on the finder for you to sit on.” “Swell,” she said dryly as she climbed on behind me. “Sounds super safe.” “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to, ya know?” There was nothing I wanted more than to ride with her, but I knew she was anxious about it. I didn’t want her to feel like she was being forced.

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t,” she quipped back. That I didn’t doubt. “Besides,” she sighed, “Today seems like a perfect day to do all kinds of crazy. Ya know,” she pondered, “Believe another man is inhabiting my ex’s body. Ride a motorcycle with said inhabiter.” I chuckled even though her words caused me some alarm. I knew what I asked her to believe sounded insane and she hadn’t had a long time to process it. Her words made me wonder if she was still having doubts that I was telling the truth. Having her trust and faith was important to me. Brushing off the worries, at least for the time being, I decided to give it the day. I wanted her to spend a day with me, all secrets exposed, and give her a chance to decide. I knew there was a difference between her wanting to believe me and actually believing me. Before starting the bike, I gave her a few instructions on what to do with her feet and how not to lean in turns and so on. Reaching behind me, I grabbed her arms and wrapped them around me, pressing them to my chest. “Just hold on tight,” I instructed her. “You’ll be fine.” “Where are we going?” she asked. “To see a friend,” I answered. Walking the bike out a little, I hit the kick start, and it roared to life, vibrating beneath us. Waverly squeezed herself to me, and I couldn’t help grinning. I wasn’t sure life could be any better than this; this moment. This was it. This was a moment I would never forget—a beautiful day to ride my bike with my woman. Okay. Neither were mine, technically, but for today I would pretend they were. It was quite possibly the last day of my life, and I would squeeze every drop out of it. As we sped off, my heart thundered in my chest because for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt happy.



If someone had asked me before climbing on the Panhead if I thought I would enjoy the ride, I would have said no. Like I said, it was a control issue. Putting my life in someone else’s hands, especially on a speeding motorcycle—hell no. It took a few minutes for my body to stop tensing and relax, but Liam wasn’t lying—he was a great driver. He didn’t speed or do any kind of crazy turns. He took it easy on me and for that, I was grateful. We rode for an hour, weaving in and out of the congested streets. When I’d agreed to ride with him, I’d imagined us flying down some long road, but navigating through the parking lot that was New York City, we didn’t get to go very fast. There was quite a bit of stop and go, but for my first time riding, I think it was best. Eventually we ended up at the 5th Street Pier which has an amazing view of the Manhattan skyline. As we walked along the pier, the wooden planks creaking softly under our feet, Liam took my hand and laced our fingers together. The day was sunny, but there was a light breeze that seemed to make the heat tolerable. Stopping at the railing, I leaned on it, closing my eyes, letting the wind caress my face. This day felt perfect—too perfect. It was simple in the most literal definition of the word, but it was anything but simple. Sometimes it is in the plainest of moments we find the most beauty. A bike ride, a quiet walk hand in hand—it was heavenly. Liam came behind me placing his hands on the railing on each side of me, gently pressing his body to mine. “What are you thinking?” he whispered. “I’m thinking I wish every day could be just like this one,” I admitted, the thought making me frown slightly. “I feel the same way.” Dropping his head, he rested his forehead on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?” I asked, unable to turn and see his face. I mentally scolded myself for asking—I knew exactly what was wrong. What I should have asked was the question he had asked me—what are you thinking? “I might die tomorrow,” he responded bluntly. “Or I may live, as Max, for the rest of my days. Neither feels like a great outcome.” My body seemed to tighten and uncoil all at once with his words as anxiety lassoed me. The unknown was by far the worst in this situation. There were several possible outcomes, and all of them came toting a huge con list. There was one possibility; one fleeting ray of hope—that Liam would wake up in his own body. Somehow, despite the phenomenon of the situation, it felt as if Liam waking up as Liam was the least likely. I wasn’t sure if that was because it was what we wanted most, and in life, we seldom ever get what we wanted, or if it was because the odds were so stacked against him. He was brain dead and going into organ failure. Laying my hand on his where it sat on the railing, I did my best to comfort him with what limited options I had, given the position we were standing in.

Lifting his head, he wrapped his arms around me. “I’m just wondering what the point in all of this was.” “What do you mean?” Moving beside me, he leaned on the railing and stared out at the water, clasping his hands in front of him. “I mean,” he sighed. “Why did this happen; the switch? I have to believe there’s a reason . . . a moral to the story. What could it be?” I moved my gaze to the water, wishing I knew what to say, but I didn’t. I had no words, no wisdom to offer. There were a million ways I could paint this situation in happy hues of yellow and pink, but to what point? I could’ve offered happy endings and silver linings all day long, but what good would they do him? “I slept here a few nights,” he mumbled, his gaze casting down to his hands, shame capturing his features. “On the pier?” “Yeah,” he answered, twisting his neck and jutting his chin toward a bench a few hundred feet away. An older woman sat on the bench staring out at the water, petting what looked like a stuffed cat in her lap. Her mouth was moving as if she were speaking, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying from where we stood. “Right there on that bench,” he continued. I pressed my lips together as I imagined Liam, his true physical self, curled up on a bench trying to sleep. How lost and lonely he must have felt. “I had nothing,” he continued. “I was nothing.” Wrapping my arm around his, I lay my head on his shoulder. “That’s not true.” “That’s how I felt,” he argued. “When anyone looked at me, if they even bothered to look at me, all they saw was a worthless, dirty, bum. But not Pearl,” he finished. “Pearl?” I questioned. Who was Pearl? “That’s Pearl,” he cast a quick glance toward the woman petting the cat. “You know her?” I questioned, confused. “Met her on the street.” His gaze cast down at his hands again. “A couple of punks were messing with her, trying to take her bag. I intervened.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I was hungry, and she was so grateful. She shared her food with me that day, and every week after.” I observed the woman, my frown deepening. “Does she still live on the streets?” He nodded. “I brought you here for a reason,” he explained as he twisted toward me, leaning his hip against the railing, keeping his back to Pearl. “I need you to help her. If something . . .” he paused, his mouth tightening as he worked on forming the words. “If I die,” he finally finished, “I need you to help her. She has some,” he motioned his hand around his head, “issues. She’s the sweetest woman you’d ever meet and harmless. She’s just a little . . . out of it. With you being in social work I thought maybe you could get her the help she needs.” As he looked over his shoulder back at her, I watched him, how his features seemed to droop. My chest tightened as I absorbed how genuinely concerned for this woman he appeared to be. Here he was, his life possibly about to end in less than twenty-four hours, and he spent part of his last day trying to make sure Pearl would be taken care of.

“Do you want to speak with her?” He shook his head adamantly as he faced me again. “No. I tried, and she lost her mind on me. She saw Max leave me for dead—she hates . . . him.” He pointed at his face. Taking his hand in mine, I squeezed it. “I’ll make sure she gets help,” I promised him. I knew it wouldn’t be as simple as me just picking Pearl up and getting her into a psych ward; it would take some time, but I would do it, come hell or high water—for him. “Thank you.” Pulling my hand to his face, he kissed it. “How did a worthless bum like me get so lucky?” “Liam,” I began. “Maybe you felt that way, but you were never worthless. You just hit a hard spot. A really hard spot,” I added. “We’ve all hit hard spots.” I knew this better than anything. I may not have ended up on the streets, homeless, but I knew what it was to hit rock bottom and wonder if I’d ever rise. Again, I struggled for words. It was the classic tale of the nice guy finishing last. The usual explanations came to mind; God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, sometimes we have to hit rockbottom to work our way back up. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to speak them. I’d started falling for this man in the most inexplicable of ways; he was trapped in my ex’s body. That certainly hadn’t made it easy. But did that not speak volumes about him . . . about his character? In the last week, I’d come to know a kind man, with real passion and a heart big enough to love a little girl that wasn’t his. I’d heard tales of a brother that had always gone above and beyond and had been the lifelong confidant of a doting sister. It wasn’t fair. I was an awful person for not coming up with something to say to him, but the truth was . . . I needed a why as well. Why did the man I’d fallen for have to be in Max’s body? Was I being punished? Or was he? “Liam?” “Yeah.” “Can I ask you a question?” He chuckled. “No,” he jested. “No questions allowed.” I rolled my eyes. “What happens if you stay in Max’s body?” Turning his head, he kissed the top of mine and rested his mouth there for a moment before he spoke. “I don’t know,” he answered. “From the outside, it probably seems like it would be a win-win in some ways.” “Is that how you feel?” He was quiet for a moment as if he were thinking. “If I stayed as Max, I’d be healthy. I’d have a home and money.” “And,” I added reluctantly, “you’d have me.” When he fell silent for a moment, I wondered if I’d upset him with my words. “It would be hard to have you, or any of it for that matter,” he finally managed. My brows furrowed in confusion as I looked up at him. Hard to have me? What the hell did that mean? “Why?” “Maybe it’s my pride . . . I don’t know. His money isn’t my money. Just assuming his identity feels wrong, and on some level, I would know you loved me, Liam, but then the other part of me would know

every time I touched you, every time you looked at me . . . all you would feel and see is Max.” “You know there’s more to it than that,” I argued, pulling away from him, my frustration acting as a wedge between us. What was he saying? That if he remained in Max’s body he couldn’t be with me? My face flamed with anger. “So if you stay as Max, we’re over? Is that it?” Grabbing me, he turned me to face him, the muscles in his jaw ticking. “Stop that,” he demanded. “Stop what?” I snapped as I struggled out of his stronghold, but it was to no avail. He held me in place firmly. “Stop running away with conclusions. It isn’t always the worst assumption you can come to Waverly. It’s like you said, it’s more complicated than that.” “So if you remain as Max, you can’t be with me because I’d see his face and think of him?” I rambled on, ignoring his last statement. With a light jerk, an attempt to jerk me to my senses, he gritted, “Am I wrong, Waverly?” Can you honestly say you wouldn’t look at me as Max Porter every day and not feel some resentment?” I knew what he was saying—he was scared that, subconsciously, I’d hold Max’s sins against him. If I was being honest, loving Liam but seeing Max, would take some getting used to. Max had hurt me in a way that would forever be a part of me, the pain was engraved in my bones. There was no doubt it would be a challenge to look at Liam as Max and only see Liam, but in the world of impossibilities, if two men could switch bodies, I dared say I could love Liam and learn not to feel resentment when all I saw was Max’s face. Taking his hand, I placed it on my chest, over my heart, and closed my eyes. “You told me to look in my heart,” I reminded him. “You said if I looked there, I would see you. You were right; that’s what I see. A beautiful man with brown eyes and a grin that would make any woman’s insides dance.” Just the thought of the man from the photos made me smile. “A beautiful man with a ruggedness to him; a down-to-earth feel.” My mind skated over the colorful tattoos that covered his body, wondering what it would feel like to trace my finger over each one. “I see you, Liam,” I murmured as I pressed his hand harder against my chest. “Right here. More than that . . . I feel you.” I didn’t open my eyes when I felt him brush his lips against mine before wrapping his arms around me, embracing me, holding me like his life depended on it. I hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to hear it; hear he had my heart no matter what. The kiss sealed that promise; my promise to him that I would love him whether he lived on as Max or in his own body. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his mouth to my forehead and took a deep breath. It had been a beautiful moment; deep and meaningful. Even with my reassurances, though, there was still one daunting and unimaginable thought. What if they did switch back when they took Liam’s body off life support? What if Liam died? Our walk ended much how it had begun: quiet. There were doubts; there were worries, but amidst the unknown, there was also comfort. No matter the outcome . . . we were a team. Good or bad we would take it on together. It was a bittersweet kind of peace. Liam had finally been able to be himself with me,

and I was finally able to not feel like I was crazy trying to understand why Max wasn’t acting like Max. Why couldn’t that have been the only hurdle? We held hands as we walked back to the bike, Liam grazing the back of my hand with his thumb. He looked lost, and all I wanted at that moment was to ease him—to take his mind off everything. The parking lot was practically empty except for a few cars parked in spaces sporadically here and there. As he busied himself putting on his helmet, I put my hands on my hips and smirked. He smirked back. “That look has trouble written all over it.” “Teach me.” He lifted his brows. “Teach you what?” “To drive the bike.” He looked down as the corners of his mouth curved up. For a moment, I thought he was going to say no; give me one of those sexist and insulting reasons like women can’t drive bikes. I was already preparing the verbal assault I was going to give him before he nodded once and said, “As you wish.” I tilted my head and grinned. “Was that a Princess Bride quote?” He chuckled, embarrassed. “Noooo,” he answered, avoiding eye contact with me. Laughing, I teased, “What? The big bad biker guy is embarrassed he quoted the Princess Bride?” One side of his mouth quirked up as he turned his head, still avoiding eye contact with me. “I do have a reputation to uphold here,” he jested. Shaking my head, I sighed. The man had just quoted one of the most romantic lines from one of the best movies ever. When he finally flicked his gaze to mine again, he twisted his mouth when he saw me smiling like a crazy person. “What?” “Where have you been my whole life?” Pressing his lips together, he raised his hand and flicked his fingers a few times indicating he wanted me to come to him. When I approached him, he ran the back of his knuckles over my cheek as he peered deeply into my eyes, making me feel like the most precious thing he’d ever seen. Then, his voice deep, he answered, “Waiting for you.” My heart fluttered with his words. With a soft peck, he gave me a wolfish grin. “You ready for this, woman?” He made me watch him kick start the bike a few times and explained how the suicide shifter worked. When he was done, he slid back and held the bike steady for me as I climbed on in front of him. I giggled like an idiot when I managed to get it started on the first try, but once Liam handed over the reins, I realized driving the damn thing would be hard as hell. Because of the type of shifter, it only allowed a driver to use one hand on the handlebars. Trying to operate the bike and keep it balanced was damn hard. If Liam hadn’t been there to catch us, we’d have toppled over the countless times we stalled because I couldn’t shift and the bike weighed a ton. “Son of a bitch,” I seethed at one point after the bike had jerked to a halt. “I can’t drive this damn thing.”

Liam laughed, resting his hands on my shoulders, massaging gently to calm me. “You’re overthinking it.” “There’s too much to remember. Too many steps.” He was quiet for a moment before he asked, “Do you like dancing?” I let my shoulders sag in frustration. “I guess I do,” I admitted, grimly. “It’s been a long time.” God, I couldn’t even remember the last time I went dancing. Then a thought hit me, perking me right up. “Do you dance?” I asked, a hint of excitement in my tone. He ignored my question. “As I was saying . . .” “You do dance,” I squealed, the shock evident in my tone. “A man that dances and has good taste in movies? I think I’ve struck gold here.” “I gotta stop talking,” he murmured. “I’m losing all my street cred,” he joked. “Your secret is safe with me,” I assured him, fighting the urge to laugh. I enjoyed giving him a hard time. Even more, I loved that he took it so well because he was able to laugh at himself. “Okay . . .” I shimmied back on the seat, causing him to growl in lust, earning me the exact reaction I’d hoped it would. “Teach me.” Scooting up, his body was gloved to mine, his mouth to my ear as he reached around me and pulled my left hand, placing it over the shifter, then he took my right hand and settled it over the throttle. “Think of this like a dance,” he instructed me, his voice husky. “Dance involves steps, coordination, knowing your partner. This isn’t much different.” “Says you,” I griped. “This is hardly a dance partner. This is a death trap that could kill us.” He chuckled, the sound low and deep, making my core clench. “You’re sitting on over five-hundred pounds of machinery here. Think about how much time and effort went into building this; the way someone had to know this bike so intricately to put it all together and make it move.” “Just because they knew it doesn’t mean I do.” I appreciated the intricacy of the bike, but appreciating and driving it were very different things. “I just mean there’s power here. You can make these 500 pounds of metal move if you want it to, if you trust yourself enough.” He left my hands and softly ran his fingers up my arms to my shoulders. “It lives and moves so long as you let it, so long as you lead it, just like a good dance partner. Don’t think about the moves you need to make . . . feel them. Let the bike tell you when it’s time to shift.” His fingers glided down my sides until they took a firm hold of my waist causing my breath to hitch as my back arched slightly. “It’s give and release, Waverly,” he went on, his voice deep and gravely. “You have to feel when it’s time to give and when it’s time to let go.” Darting my tongue out, I wet my dry lips. How did he make shifting gears sound so hot? How in the heck was I supposed to manage this machine with Liam murmuring sexual innuendo in my ear? I wished I could somehow turn around and take him on the bike. “You know, this would be an epic opening to a porn flick,” I announced causing him to burst into laughter. “I hadn’t thought of that.” His body shook as he continued to laugh.

“I guess your mind isn’t as dirty as mine.” I shrugged. “I guess not. What would the film title be?” he queried. I twisted my mouth in thought. In my sexiest voice, I twisted my neck so he could see me as I pouted my mouth, “Shifting the Panhead. When good girls learn to ride.” He choked he was laughing so hard. When he could form words again, he coughed out, “That does sound pretty dirty when you say it like that.” “Anything can sound dirty when you say it the right way,” I quipped. “Sky,” I moaned. “Concrete,” I continued. “Okay, okay,” he begged before clearing his throat. “Stop stalling your lesson with your dirty mind and your defiling of perfectly unperverted words.” I wiggled my ass again. “You love how I defiled the word concrete. Admit it.” “You keep shimmying your ass like that, this lesson is going to have to end while I go jump in the water.” “My apologies,” I giggled. “You ready for this?” he asked, his laughter ebbing. “As I’ll ever be.”



By the time we got back to the apartment, dusk had just begun its eclipse of the bright afternoon, the sun beginning its descent behind the soaring downtown skyline. It had been one of the best days of my life and considering it was quite possibly my last, it offered an odd kind of contentment. I didn’t have any control of what would happen tomorrow, but I did have a choice. I could choose to be thankful for the opportunity to have one last day, or I could sulk about it. I chose to be thankful. After our walk, I spent an hour trying to teach Waverly how to drive a motorcycle. It was awful and hilarious all at once. Simply spit-balling with my estimate, she must’ve stalled out at least a thousand times and spewed a variety of curse words that would make even the grittiest of bikers blush. My Grams would have called her a pistol. Afterward, when she was pissed, she claimed it was from hunger— apparently, she was hypoglycemic, self-diagnosed—but I knew better than that. She didn’t like that she hadn’t mastered shifting on the bike. We found a restaurant on the water with cold beer and burgers and after a good meal and a few adult beverages, she was herself again. Pulling into a spot in the apartment parking garage, I’d just cut the bike off when Max’s cell rang in my pocket. Pulling it out, Helen’s name lit up on the screen. After Waverly climbed off, I followed and answered. “Hey, Hel. We just—” “Where are you?” she interrupted, her voice riddled with panic. “We just parked. What’s wrong?” Waverly’s head snapped with my words, her brows raised in concern. “Just get up here, now,” she snapped before hanging up. “Shit,” I huffed as I darted toward the entrance, my mind racing. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew my sister would never snap at me like that unless it was something bad. My stomach knotted as I feared the worst. Was Pimberly okay? Had that douchebag work associate of Max’s shown back up? “What’s going on?” Waverly yelled as she jogged behind me, trying to keep up. “I don’t know.” Rushing through the lobby, from my peripherals, I saw Braxton watch us as we bolted by him toward the elevator. Too impatient to wait, I veered to the stairwell. When we finally made it to my floor, the door to the apartment was open, and a man was shouting from inside. I flew in, prepared to attack if need be, until I lurched to a stop after I realized who it was that was shouting. “Give her to me now,” Matt demanded. “I don’t know you, and you’re not taking her. I don’t care who you say you are,” she seethed calmly

as she held a crying Pimberly. “Matt?” Waverly huffed, the shock evident in her voice. She was still out of breath from our ascent up several flights of stairs. Turning, his body seemed to deflate a bit as he took in the sight of his sister. In two strides, he’d reached her and was hugging her. She blinked a few times, working hard to absorb what was happening before she raised her hands and patted his back a few times. “What are you doing here?” Pulling away from her, he scowled. “What am I doing here? You called and left me a message that you needed my help, then you cut your phone off. I called the house, no answer. I emailed you, no answer. I called Ms. Patty, and she said Pim hadn’t been there in days, and the last time she’d seen you, you were on crutches. I’ve been out of my mind worried about you.” Waverly closed her eyes and exhaled loudly. “I’m so sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to worry you, and now I’ve ruined your trip.” Matt didn’t acknowledge Waverly’s apology or anything she said for that matter, as he continued. “Then I come here and find Pim with this lady who won’t let me see her. What in the hell is going on, Waverly?” Waverly covered her face with her hands as she realized what a big mess that one phone call had created. Dropping them, she raised one hand and motioned to Helen. “Matt, this is my friend Helen. Helen, this is my brother, Matt.” Helen and Matt glowered at each other, neither of them offering a polite greeting to the other. Apparently, it had been quite the stand-off before we got there. “Can I hold my niece now?” Matt grunted. Helen glanced at Waverly who nodded yes. Matt immediately scooped Pim into his arms and squeezed her to him, bouncing to calm her down. Pim’s wailing began to quiet immediately as Matt kissed her head a few times, whispering to her. Finally, Pim quieted down. The room was silent; calm. Until it wasn’t. Matt’s gaze darted up and fixed on me. “What’s going on here, Waverly?” Casting an apologetic look my way before returning her focus back to Matt, she shrugged. “Nothing. I . . . I was drunk when I called you,” she fibbed. What else could she tell him? That she’d thought I was suffering from multiple personality disorder but didn’t think that now because she believed I’d swapped bodies with her ex? I had a feeling out of all the people in the world that might have believed my situation, Matt would be the last. He stopped bouncing and stared at her, unblinking. “You drunk dialed me?” The room was silent as he waited for her to answer. “I left my fiancée in Europe, spent a fortune on a plane ride to rush back home to you because I thought you were in danger, and you’re telling me you drunk dialed me?”

When he put it like that, it did sound shitty. Then her head popped up, her eyes wide. “You and Alice got engaged?” Waverly squealed as she ran to him and wrapped her arms around him and Pim. “That’s so great, Matt!” Taking a step back from her, he leered at her like she was nuts. “What in the hell is going on, Waverly?” Then he darted his eyes to me. “What did you do this time, asshole?” “Okay, I think we need to all sit down and ta—” “I don’t need to sit down,” Matt snapped, interrupting me. “Why the hell are you even here?” He turned to Waverly. “Matt, please calm down,” Waverly requested timidly as Pim began to whine, sensing Matt’s anger. When he slanted his eyes at her, and his mouth flattened, I knew he was doing anything but calming down. Waverly summarized as best she could about how she hurt her ankle and didn’t have anyone to help. When she was done, Matt looked her up and down, shaking his head in clear disappointment. “Well your ankle looks better now,” he noted, his tone lower and calmer. “Why are you still here?” Her head dropped. She didn’t know how to answer that. When she didn’t answer right away, Matt snorted to himself. He thought she’d just run back to Max, the guy who had treated her like shit, and from where he stood, that’s exactly what it looked like. “I gotta get home,” he finally muttered. “I need some sleep, but I’d like to come back tomorrow and get Pim.” “Of course,” Waverly squeaked as he handed Pimberly to her. “Just maybe after ten,” I blurted, immediately regretting it when Matt turned his lethal glare at me. I shouldn’t have said anything. I wasn’t thinking, really, but I knew the following day could very likely be my last day, and I wanted time with Pimberly. “Excuse me?” His brows were drawn together as he crossed his arms. “Since when do you decide Pim’s schedule?” I opened my mouth to explain . . . entirely unsure of how to do that when Waverly intervened. “Helen, will you please take Pim into the bedroom?” Waverly requested calmly as she kept her eyes fixed on Matt. Helen didn’t hesitate—she simply scooped Pim in her arms and disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. “So what is it, Max?” Matt continued, taking a step toward me, his shoulders drawn back. “Have you changed your mind?” he asked. “Have you all of a sudden decided you actually want to be a father?” “Matt.” Waverly grabbed his arm, trying to draw his attention back to her, but Matt jerked it away and took another step toward me. Keeping my hands at my sides, I widened my stance slightly, preparing for Matt to swing at me. If anyone deserved a punch in the face, Max Porter certainly did. I couldn’t blame Matt for his anger. He’d just ruined his trip to come home and find his sister with the man that abandoned her. When Matt was a few inches from me, his glare intense with every bit of disdain he felt for Max, he gritted, “Do you know what you did to her when you threw her aside like she was nothing?” “Matt,” Waverly pleaded. “She couldn’t get out of bed. She had to drop out of school and move in with me. It took me two

months to get her to leave the house she was so fucking depressed.” I pressed my lips together as sadness hit me, hard. I knew Max had done a number on Waverly, but hearing it from her brother’s perspective was brutal. “Stop, Matt. Please,” she begged, her eyes tearing up as she grabbed his arm again. Matt took her hand and pulled it off. Not even bothering to look at her. “She was pregnant with your baby,” he growled through gritted teeth as he delivered a hard jab to my chest, “and you acted like she didn’t even exist. She had to see a therapist twice a week for over a year because of the mind fuck you did to her.” “That’s enough Matt,” Waverly stated loudly on a hitched breath as her body wracked gently. My chest tightened when I looked at her, tears streaming down her face. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to take her in my arms and hold her; let her feel my love, my understanding. “No, it’s not enough!” Matt boomed as he snapped his attention to her. His face red with anger, as he pointed at me. “Do you remember what this asshole did to you? And you’re just coming back to him like some pathetic, desperate woman.” The words were like a bullet, hitting her in the most vulnerable of places. The hurt she felt was palpable as her body seemed to cave, her shoulders slouching. Anger stirred inside of me, and before I could stop myself, I grabbed him and pushed him away from her. “That’s enough, damn it!” I boomed. It was no surprise when Matt swung, my jaw cracking when his fist made contact just right. I grunted, but recovered quickly as I grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him. Losing his balance, he stumbled back, and we both fell to the floor with a hard thud where we proceeded to struggle with each other. “You motherfucker,” he grunted as we battled. “Matt,” Waverly cried as she moved around us. My reason was lost as we wrestled, our bodies twisted as we tried to overpower the other. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind where common sense and logic existed, his anger was directed at Max, not me. Physically fighting him was wrong, but seeing him hurt Waverly . . . I couldn’t take it, no matter how justified his feelings about the situation were. Some protective and primal instinct took over, and I reacted. I managed to roll Matt on his back, so I was sitting on top, pinning him to the floor. He had one hand grasping my throat as he thrashed trying to throw me off of him, but I was seated solidly. Pulling my fist back, I fully intended to hit him, until I was yanked off Matt and tossed back on my ass. Squabbling to get back to my feet, I prepared to attack whoever it was until I was pushed back again. “That’s enough, Mr. Porter,” Braxton shouted at me before he turned his attention to Matt and pushed him back as he made a lunge for me. “Enough,” he roared at Matt. Standing sideways between us, he held his hands up, acting as a blockade. “Do I need to call the police?” We were both panting, glaring at each other, neither of us bothering to speak. Then I noticed Waverly, her hands were pressed against her face as she wept. Squeezing my eyes shut, I let out a long breath as the guilt and regret hit me. “Shit,” I huffed. That shouldn’t have happened no matter how big of a dick Matt was being. Braxton turned to Matt when he realized we weren’t going to attack one another and suggested, “I think it’s time for you to go, sir.”

Matt cut his angry gaze to Waverly as his chest rose and fell with each breath. “Waverly?” he grumbled. I wasn’t sure if he wanted her to leave with him, or if he only wanted her to defend him. Lifting her eyes to his, she frowned. “We have plans in the morning,” she sniffled, turning her head from him, “but we should be done by ten. You can come get Pim then.” Matt glanced around the room, his scornful gaze fixing on me one last time, before he stomped out. Braxton’s mouth was pressed into a hard line, as he flicked his stare at me. “Neighbors were complaining,” he explained. “Please make sure that doesn’t happen again, or I’ll have to report you.” I nodded once as I held my throbbing jaw. “I’m sorry,” I murmured. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he held it out for Waverly. “It’s clean, and you can keep it,” he told her, his voice soft. Taking it, she dabbed at her face. “Thank you.” We watched him exit, both of us rooted to the floor for several minutes, before I finally made it to the door and closed it. When I turned back, she was in the kitchen pulling out a bag of frozen peas. My stomach knotted when she faced me again, letting me see up close just how hurt she was feeling as she gently placed the bag against my face. Her eyes were still red and puffy from crying and she couldn’t stop sniffling. “He broke a kid’s jaw once when he was in high school,” she said, as she stared up at me. “You’re lucky.” “Waverly, I’m sor—” “Don’t,” she cut me off. “I hate that . . . that happened, but it was my fault. I should have called him back. I’m the one in the wrong.” “I just got her down,” Helen murmured as she entered the kitchen. “Poor baby cried herself to sleep.” I grimaced as I took the frozen vegetables from Waverly and backed away. The day had started out so perfectly but in a matter of minutes had turned to shit. “I’m going to go peek in on her,” Waverly informed us which I took for she needed a moment to herself. She drifted out of the kitchen without another word. “You think she’s okay?” Helen asked as she wiped at an invisible crumb on the counter. Letting out a growl I tossed the peas in the sink. “I’ve fucked up everything for her,” I muttered. “I should have just signed the damned papers and she wouldn’t be in this mess.” Helen put her hand on my shoulder. “This isn’t your fault Liam,” she tried to assure me. “This is all just—” “Bullshit,” I interrupted. “Unfortunate circumstances,” she finished. We were both quiet for a moment, before Helen spoke again. “We need to be at the hospital by noon.” She cleared her throat before wiping at her face. Swinging one arm out, I hugged her to me. “Tomorrow, okay? I can’t do our goodbyes tonight.” Saying goodbye to Helen, in the likely event Max and I switched back and I died, would be hard. Hell,

hard doesn’t even come close to what it would be. She nodded a few times in agreement, her face twisted in pain as she fought the tears. “I’m going to head out,” she managed. “David is meeting me at the hospital to say his goodbyes to you,” she choked out. I frowned as I thought about my nephew. I wished I could talk to him, but this situation was so fucked it was too much to involve him in it. “Just keep telling him how much I loved him,” I asked of her. “And tell him how proud I was of him.” She nodded again, her words lodged in her throat. With a quick peck on the cheek, she hurried into the living room and grabbed her purse before she left. Letting out a loud exhale, attempting to reset myself, I opened the freezer and grabbed the bottle of whiskey Helen had brought over when she brought the groceries a few days before. Grabbing a small glass, I filled it halfway and chugged it down. Then I did it again. Walking into the living room, I stared at the bedroom door wondering if I should go in. I knew Waverly was upset, and I wanted to comfort her; be there for her, but I also wanted to give her space if that’s what she needed. My jaw was throbbing—Matt had a good right hook—and I was amped. I needed to calm down. A shower would help me relax and maybe by then she’d be ready to talk. Even if she wasn’t ready; even if she didn’t speak one word I was going to hold her.



After Matt left, I checked on Pim who was sound asleep. I hated she had experienced something so scary and confusing. After splashing some water on my face, I cleaned myself up. Matt’s words had been brutal; a reminder of a shameful and humiliating time in my life. Everything he said had been true and to return to Max would have been insane, but there was no way to explain to Matt what was actually happening. Instead, I had to stand there, frozen, and let him take me down like a duck in water. Then I watched as my brother, the pillar in my life, got into a physical fight with Liam who he thought was Max, then walked out hurt. The feeling was so awful it was choking me. When I’d calmed down, I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Matt’s words had been like a punch to the gut, the blow riddled with reminders of a time when I had been at my lowest. When I funneled down after Max cut me off, I knew I’d hit a bad point; I knew I looked like I had fallen into the deepest realm of depression, and how pathetic I must have appeared, but I’d never heard Matt describe it. His words had been hard to hear, but as I stared at my reflection, I realized I wasn’t the woman Matt had described anymore. I was no longer pathetic or ridiculous. I had hit bottom and clawed my way back up. After Max left I spent so much time thinking about what was wrong with me—what had made me so easy to leave? I tortured myself with ideas that maybe if I’d been smarter, wealthier, had a degree, or even prettier that maybe Max wouldn’t have disowned us. Those were all ridiculous thoughts, but when someone you love flips the switch—just decides they are done with you—your mind can come up with all kinds of ways to justify it and mine turned to self-loathing. Max had turned me into a weak woman, but I wasn’t weak any more. I was strong, and I was a good mother, and never thought of myself as vain or shallow, but yeah, I looked fucking good for a lady who’d had a baby. I was better now and knew my worth. I realized, however cruel this situation seemed, I had a chance to feel love from a man I respected. This might be my one and only opportunity to be with Liam, and no matter what happened the following day, I didn’t want to miss that opportunity. There was a good chance Liam would die the following day, and the thought was enough to cause me to double over if I let it. But the thought of never feeling him in that way, the way a man and a woman connect on the deepest of levels, was just as debilitating of a thought. On some level, I struggled with the decision; was it right considering all the unknowns? Would doing this only hurt me in the end? I also pondered whether Liam would be open to it. I didn’t doubt that he wanted me, I just doubted if he could make love to me in Max’s body. Chewing my lip as I stared at my reflection, I wondered how to go about it—how could I make Liam feel comfortable. I knew Liam was worried about me seeing Max whenever I looked at him, but I had an idea of what to do about that. I’d found the blindfold in Max’s nightstand drawer when I was—not proud to admit it— snooping days before. I’d also found the large box of condoms in his bathroom closet, which made me cringe, but tonight they would come in handy. I didn’t let myself think about how ironic it was that I was

taking condoms from my ex to use with the man inhabiting his body. It was a little too much to get into. Feeling I had a plan, at least for the most part, I raised my chin and stared into my own eyes. “You can do this,” I told myself. After I stripped down, I brushed my tangled hair caused by a day of riding on the back of the motorcycle, touched up my makeup and cleaned up. Staring at myself in the mirror one last time, I inhaled a deep breath. “Here we go,” I told my reflection. Grabbing the blindfold and a few condoms, I tiptoed by Pim before peeking out the bedroom door, The light leaking out from a crack in the guest bathroom cued me that Liam had climbed in the shower. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I knew I wanted Liam to be as naked as me when he found me. The thought made me feel like we would be on equal footing even though he’d be able to see and I wouldn’t. So, moving stealthily, I snuck into the guest bathroom and stole his clothes and towel. Then . . . bare and vulnerable, I waited blindly for him to find me.



In the guest bathroom, I turned the water as hot as I could bear and stayed in there until my skin was bright red and the water began to turn cold. By the time I stepped out it had probably been over half an hour and the tension I’d been feeling had begun to wash away. My jaw, though somewhat swollen, was throbbing a little less, courtesy of the whiskey. Looking around the bathroom, I twisted my mouth. Where was the towel I’d brought in? And my clothes. Where the hell were my clothes? Soaking wet, I contemplated what to do. I could use the bath mat, but that wouldn’t even wrap around me, it was so small. I had nothing to put on. Growing up, my grandmother hated when we let water drip on the floor after a shower. It was a pet peeve of hers and one that had stuck with me, but I didn’t have a choice. I had no towel. Dripping across the floor, I cracked the bathroom door open and stuck my head out. All the lights were off. “Damn,” I muttered to myself. Waverly must’ve gone to bed while I took the world’s longest shower. Maybe I could sneak into the bedroom without waking her or Pim and steal some clothes from the closet. Keeping my steps light, I moved through the dark hallway into the living room where the city lights cast a faint illumination across the room. I was just about to pick up a throw pillow from the couch to cover myself when I heard, “Liam?” My head snapped to the sound of her voice as I yanked the pillow up to cover my privates. It took me a moment to absorb what I was seeing. Waverly. Naked. Naked and blindfolded. She stood in front of the windows, facing me, a black silk night mask covering her eyes. The lighting from outside provided the perfect backdrop, silhouetting every exquisite curve of her body. My heart pumped hard in my chest, my mouth dry as I stared at her, letting my eyes rove over every inch of her. “Liam?” she called my name again on bated breath. “Yes,” I replied, my voice husky. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Her tongue darted out across her lips. My heart beat erratically as I drank her in. I’d never had a woman do something so bold as this. It was sexy and beautiful and intense all at once.

“You’re blindfolded?” I noted. “So you’ll know that through every minute of this, I’ll only see you—I’ll only feel you.” Taking a step toward her, I stopped. I wanted to ask her if she was sure . . . really sure, but asking could very well lead to the answer no, and if she wasn’t sure, I’d have to tear myself away. Something that felt almost impossible. “Liam?” “I’m here,” I assured her, my voice raspy. Grabbing her hair, she twisted it over her shoulder. “If you don’t want me . . .” she began. “Stop,” I told her. Wanting her was not the issue. It was far from the issue, and I wouldn’t let her think that. She lowered her head and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted me, too.” “I do want you,” I growled through gritted teeth. “Woman, you have no idea how fucking bad I want you.” Lifting her chin, she asked, “Then why haven’t you touched me?” “Because I’m scared,” I admitted as I ran a hand through my wet hair. “Scared of what?” “Of everything,” I huffed. “I’m scared of the unknown, of the idea I will probably die tomorrow, or I won’t and I’ll be stuck in this body forever. I’m scared that doing this with you will only make it that much harder to let go tomorrow, that it’ll only make me angrier than I already am.” “I’m scared, too,” she murmured, “but it terrifies me to think if you do go, if tomorrow really is your last day, that I’ll have missed the chance to feel you.” I clenched my teeth, her words hitting me right in the chest as I realized how right she was. If this was the only way, our only chance, I didn’t want to miss it, no matter how fucked up it seemed. “I’m afraid you’ll regret this. Are you sure, Waverly?” I wanted to remind her, again, about the unknowns that were ahead of us, remind her of the fact this could possibly be the only night we’d ever have together. If I were to die the next day, would doing this make it harder for her? In the end, I didn’t voice these things; I knew she already knew all of it, and I didn’t want to beat a dead horse. “If you don’t come over here and touch me, kiss me,” she panted, “I’ll go mad, Liam. Please.” As it had always seemed to be with her, my will disintegrated like sugar in water. I had no doubts what she wanted to do, and I knew doing this with her, that being with her this way was probably wrong on some level, but I didn’t care. I wanted this woman more than I wanted life itself. Dropping the pillow, I moved and stood before her, our bodies a breath apart. I was desperate to touch her, but I knew watching her, memorizing her body and mouth and curves was a torture worth every agonizing moment. Raising my hand, I let my fingertips skate softly over her collarbone before drifting them down her sternum between her heavy, rounded breasts. Her head tilted back, her mouth slightly parting as her body bowed toward mine, a soft whimper escaping her. “Are you sure, Waverly?” I had to ask one more time. I needed her to be sure. Because if we started this, if I felt her body against mine, I had no idea how in the hell I’d walk away from her if she suddenly

changed her mind. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” Sliding her hand over mine, she cupped, it forcing me to grope her soft full breast. Growling, my desire for her surging through me, I took her by the shoulders and turned her, taking her arms and raising them so her hands were against the glass. My hands were merciless as they inspected the length of her body, taking their time as they skated over every firm, smooth curve. “You’re fucking perfect,” I panted against her skin. Letting my hands travel down her sides to her hips, I squeezed earning a moan from her. “So fucking perfect, Waverly.” “I want you so bad,” she murmured as she twisted her neck, catching my lips with her tongue. I was so fucking turned on I didn’t know where to start. I wanted to take my time, worship her, but I also wanted to take her hard and fast. When she jutted her ass out, pressing it into me, I nearly lost my mind. Wrapping her in my arms, I squeezed her tightly, my mouth to her neck. “This is going to take all night,” I warned her before nipping at her soft lobe. “I’m going to touch every inch of you.” “Wait,” she moaned as she spun around pressing her hands to my chest. My stomach flipped. She didn’t want to do this. She’d changed her mind. “Shit,” I breathed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha—” “Liam,” she interrupted. “I just want to do something first.” “Birth control?” I questioned. It seemed the most pertinent topic. “No.” she shook her head. “I found condoms, they’re on the couch, but thank you for asking. It’s something else.” “Then what? What do you want to do?” Biting her lower lip, she lowered her head slightly. I’d have given anything to see her eyes, to read them, to have some indication as to what she was thinking. “Show me all of your tattoos.” I stared at her blankly. “You want to see the pictures again?” “No,” she shook her head as her mouth quirked up slightly. “Use my hand. Describe them, show me where they are. Your scars and your birthmarks too. Show me everything.” Something inside of me ached, a divine excruciating ache. I loved her. I knew it then, without a doubt, because only love could hurt and heal all at once. Lowering my head, I kissed her. “As you wish.”



Taking my hand, he gently bent a few of my fingers down, so only two were extended. Touching them to his chest he moved them as he spoke, describing each tattoo. He took his time as he moved my hand over his body from his chest, down his arms, to his stomach to his back. And when he finished he clasped my hand in his and kissed each one of my knuckles. I ached . . . everywhere. I’d never, in all my days, wanted a man as badly as I wanted him. Even blindfolded, one of my senses completely hindered, I yearned for him. Raising my arms, he placed them on his shoulders and around his neck. “What are you doing?” He didn’t answer. Skating his hands down my sides sending a shiver through me, he placed them on my waist and pressed his cheek to mine as our bodies pressed together. Then, slowly, he moved us. He was dancing with me. There was no music, and I couldn’t see a thing, but it was more because I felt it. I felt his breath on my shoulder, his heart pounding in his chest against mine, his skin against my skin. I felt the way he moved me. My body followed his lead without question or hesitation, as if it knew to trust him. How far I had come. Days before I was convinced I’d never feel this way for anyone. I had lost faith and hope that someone would come along and earn my trust this way. I’d grown in the years since Max left me, and in many ways, I was stronger than ever. As we swayed in the quiet, I thought of what Liam said earlier when he was teaching me to drive the bike. How he spoke about trusting yourself enough to make the powerful machine move—how it was like a dance; the give and take. Was this so different? Pulling his head back, he raised my chin and kissed me. Then, as one soft kiss led to a fevered one, our hands dug into flesh, and our breaths turned to pants and moans, we moved into a different kind of dance. A beautiful dance of twisted bodies. The most sacred dance of all.



It was barely eight in the morning as Pimberly sat next to me, her head leaning against my arm as she drank milk from her sippy cup. She’d slept later than usual. I’d put Waverly to bed not long before, but I couldn’t sleep. I was too wired. Still, I liked this. This was time for just Pim and me to hang. As we sat in silence and Pim struggled to emerge from her morning haze, my mind drifted somewhere else. The night before, which had seeped into the wee hours of the morning, had been the best night of my life. Images of Waverly, naked, her mouth parted as she gasped and moaned with pleasure, her fingers threaded in my hair, her body arched on the couch with the city lights enhancing every soft curve of her body were imprinted, a reel that ran on repeat over and over in my head. We bit and clawed and sucked every inch of each other before we’d ended up on the couch, her straddling me as she sheathed me inside of her. It was the most intense feeling I’d ever experienced. It was the perfect storm of bodies’ cravings, souls’ needs, and hearts’ wants joining. When I’d felt the deepest part of her, I’d sat straight up and held her, holding her in place as I pressed my forehead between her breasts. She wrapped her arms around my head and held me as she relaxed down on me, understanding I needed her to be still for a moment; I needed this feeling to stay with me for as long as possible. When I could move again, I kissed my way to her breast and flicked my tongue against her pert bud. Dropping her head back, she whimpered before bringing it back to rest her forehead against mine. “You feel so good, Liam” she’d whispered. “I don’t ever want this to end.” Her saying my name with lust was brutal and incredible all at once. I’d have given anything to tear the mask from her face and look into her eyes, but I knew as badly as I wanted to see her, she wouldn’t see me. It was how it would have to be. If I couldn’t have her sight, I’d devour all of her other senses in every way I could so she would feel me. It may not have been my body, but it was me; my heart, my soul, my love . . . me. Finally, I relaxed my hold, and she rose slowly before sliding back down. That was just the beginning. When I’d told her it would take all night, I’d meant it. We were slow as she rode me, then we were fast when I flipped her on the couch and slammed inside of her with her legs over my shoulders. On our sides, on her knees with me behind her, we did it all. At the finish, we were on the floor, my body atop hers, as we kissed. We felt it, the end in sight. We’d been aboard a rocket for hours, but just as rockets must land, we knew we’d have to as well. Grabbing my face in her hands as I slid in and out of her, her voice was raspy with a hint of emotion as she said, “Whatever happens tomorrow, I need you to know right here, right now, I believe you. I need you to know that I love you, Liam.” “Vroom-vroom,” Pim piped up, waking me from my thoughts. I laughed as I pulled her up and sat her on my lap. Placing her soft little hand on my face, I jerked my head and pretended I was going to bite her. She giggled.

I kissed her forehead, my chest aching. Saying goodbye to her would be just as difficult as saying goodbye to Waverly would be. She had been the first person to like me as Max. She, more than anyone, had every reason to hate him after being abandoned by him, but she was too young to understand what had been done. I got to meet her with a clean slate. It hurt to think what would happen later. Whether Max and I switched back and I died, or we both died, she wouldn’t understand why I was here one day and not the next. I hated that. It was just another example of why all this felt like a punishment. Maybe it was, but I was grateful for every sweet moment with this little girl; the hugs, the giggles, her spaghetti-filled hands smearing across my face. All of it. Every moment had been a gift. “I don’t know what’s going to happen today,” I murmured quietly, “but just in case, I want you to remember a few things. First, never ride a motorcycle without a helmet. Second, don’t get on a bike with just anyone. Only ride with a guy you know really cares about you.” Squeezing her, I went on. “In another life, if I were your father, you’d be the baddest little biker chick that ever walked the planet. I’d teach you how to ride and to fix your own ride so you wouldn’t have to rely on any dirty biker guys to help you. Your mother would threaten to kill me for letting you drive a motorcycle.” My chest ached with that thought. A life with Waverly and Pim; a life where we were a family. A life I felt deep down I would never have. It all seemed so unfair, so cruel. Why the hell was I put here just so I could fall for Waverly and this little girl, only to have it yanked from me? Taking a deep breath, I pushed away the anger that was trying to take hold of me. Getting angry wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change a thing. Taking her little hand in mine, I ran my thumb over her soft skin. “You’ve got a tough road ahead of you, little one. You don’t understand what your father did, and when you are finally able to you still won’t really understand. I’m sorry for that because I know you’ll want answers. You’ll want to know why he turned away from you, but sometimes we don’t get answers and the ones we get don’t make anything better. Some people are just broken. Your father is one of those people. Even though none of his actions have proven it, I think he wished he could’ve been in your life. He just didn’t know how.” Pim rested her head against my chest as I spoke. I knew she couldn’t understand what I was saying, but I said it anyway. I don’t know why. Maybe it was more for me than her. “Thank you, Pim,” I whispered to her, fighting the knot in my throat. Damn, I hated this. I hated having to say goodbye because we didn’t know for sure what would happen. I wanted to blame the steroid withdrawals for my emotion, but I knew better. The symptoms had lessened significantly over the past few days. My heart was twisted in my chest as I held Pim. Withdrawals definitely weren’t the cause. This was real, this was me, Liam, saying goodbye to a little girl that I wished was mine. She was mine. At least, to me she was. I didn’t care who helped make her, how her genetic makeup was pieced together, in my heart she was my daughter and always would be. “I want you to know you made my last days on this earth better than any of the days before I met you.” My breath shuddered as I fought to keep it steady. “Thank you for that, little sweetheart. I love you.” Pim sat up and stared up at me. “Okay, Liam?” she garbled. I chuckled hoarsely, her question warming my heart and breaking it at the same time. She was checking on me, making sure I was all right. How could someone so little cause me such intense heartbreak? A sob broke out of nowhere, and I jerked my head. Helen stood several feet away, her face wet with tears. I’d unlocked the door when she’d texted earlier saying she was on the way so she wouldn’t have to knock and wake Waverly.

“Oh Liam,” she gasped. “This is so unfair.” Clearing my throat, I struggled to gain my composure. I had a long day ahead of me, and these women needed me to be strong, to be the rock. If it all ended for me that day, that’s what I wanted to give them. “Come here, Helen,” I told her. She practically flew to me and sat beside me. We sat back on the couch, and I held her and Pim as Helen sobbed. Even for such a young age, Pimberly seemed to understand that something big was happening. She would pat Helen’s arm and gurgle something that sounded like, “it’s okay,” and when Helen continued to cry she tried peek-a-boo to cheer her up. Through the tears and sobs, Helen did laugh. “It’s not fair,” Helen wept. “None of this is fair.” I squeezed her, struggling for the right words. Today wasn’t a day to just listen to her. Today she needed to hear it would be okay. I just had to make her believe it. “You know,” I began. “After the accident, before I went unconscious, you were the last person I thought of.” Raising her gaze to mine, she asked, “Really?” “I thought about how I hadn’t seen you in so long and how mad you must’ve been at me, and now you would have to come down and identify my body. I hated myself for that.” “I missed you,” she murmured. “Coming to the hospital and seeing you in the bed like that was the worst day of my life.” “I know it was,” I agreed. “I’m sorry I did that to you. I hope you know I never could’ve gotten through this without you, Hel. I’m grateful, little sis. I’m grateful you’re my sister, that I had you to help me through something no one else would have believed and for the chance to get to say . . .” I paused, knowing this would be hard for her to hear. “Goodbye?” she croaked. “Yeah, Hel. Goodbye. We don’t know what will happen today, but we should be prepared for the worst—expect the worst and hope for the best. If I do die, I want to have said all the things I needed to say to you. As hard as this is, I feel so blessed to have the chance to say it to you.” Kissing the top of her head, I went on, “All those nights on the street I felt so sorry for myself. I felt like I had nothing, but I was wrong. If being Max has taught me anything, it’s taught me that. I had someone who, come what may, would always love me and always have my back. I had you. Having someone like that is worth more than all the money in the world.” “I’ll always have your back, Liam. Always.” “I know that. I knew it then too. I just . . . I hated to disappoint you.” “You’ve never been a disappointment to me. Ever,” Helen reiterated, as she wiped at her nose. I held her a bit longer as she cried. “Talk to me, okay,” I told her. “You won’t see me, but I’ll be listening Hel. Whenever you need to talk, I’ll be listening.” Her body shook with quiet sobs, shredding my insides, and when she finally seemed to calm down, she sat up and wiped at her face. “I’ll get some breakfast started for this one,” she announced as she nodded her head in Pim’s direction. “You want some pancakes little one?” Pim reached her arms out for Helen, and we both laughed. This kid loved to eat. Helen stood and

picked her up. “We’ll be in the kitchen.” After they were out of sight, I went in the bedroom to wake Waverly, but found she was already up. She was just coming out of the bathroom as I entered. A faint smile took her lips as she blushed at the sight of me. I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. She was stunning. “Good morning, beautiful.” “Good morning,” she replied quietly as she pushed some hair behind her ear. Walking up to her, I gave her a chaste kiss. “How are you feeling?” “A little sore,” she admitted, and I frowned. I had been a little rough at times the previous night, but I never meant to hurt her. “In the best way, though,” she quickly clarified, easing my concern. “Helen is making Pim pancakes,” I informed her. “I wanted to get up early and make you breakfast.” Pulling her to me, I held her. “That’s okay. I don’t have much of an appetite this morning.” Burrowing her head into my chest, she took a few slow breaths, inhaling deeply as if trying to calm herself. “Last night was . . .” she paused. I didn’t think it was because she was searching for what she wanted to say next but rather trying not to cry as she said them. “The best night of my life,” I told her. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. For all of it, Waverly. You need to know, no matter what happens, you are an amazing woman, and you deserve only the best.” She sniffled as she reached up and fisted my shirt. “I wish I knew why,” she rasped. “I do, too,” I admitted as I rubbed her back. “Well, I did, but now, I don’t care why. Not anymore. Because if it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have met you.” Pulling away from me, she wiped under her eyes. Then she lifted her glossed-over gaze to meet mine. “No regrets, Liam. I don’t have one. No matter what.” Taking her hand, I squeezed it, praying silently for the strength to get through this day. “Let’s go eat breakfast with Pim. I want to spend every second I can with my three favorite ladies.” “As you wish,” she murmured.



The reality of the day hung heavy in the air. Even as we managed to navigate through the morning, it never left my mind. There was an unspoken agreement between Helen and me; we would do our damnedest to give Liam the best last day of his life. None of us knew for sure what was going to happen when Liam’s body was taken off life support, but we were preparing for the worst because in the deck of life, it seemed most likely we would be dealt the worst cards. That wasn’t the pessimist in me—it was the realist. Matt texted, asking to pick Pim up at ten, and I replied telling him I’d meet him in front of the apartment building. I didn’t need him coming in and making another scene. It wasn’t Matt’s fault; he was only trying to be a good brother, but I couldn’t deal with his anger that day. It was too much. I owed him a million apologies, but they would have to wait. Liam walked us to the elevator, holding Pim tightly to his chest. His mouth was pressed in a hard line and though he tried not to show how painful it was, I could see it strewn across his face. Squeezing his eyes closed, he inhaled deeply through his nose as if he was trying to breathe her in. “I love you, little sweetheart,” he rasped quietly. “Thank you,” he went on, “a million times, thank you.” My eyes burned with tears as I watched him kiss her forehead then hand her to me. Pim’s eyes seemed to droop. She may not have understood what was going on, but she knew something was wrong. “Liam,” she cooed as she reached a hand out for him. He took it as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he did, before he kissed it, then looked at me, his gaze glossed and riddled with apology before he spun on his heel and hustled back to the apartment. He couldn’t take it anymore, and I didn’t fault him one bit when he didn’t turn back as Pim cried because I knew he couldn’t. It was breaking his heart. When I met Matt out front, I was barely holding it together. He glanced at my face and grimaced. Pim was still crying and he took her and began trying to shush her. “You okay?” he asked. I couldn’t speak. Was I okay? I hardly knew. Everything felt like it was about to fall apart, and it had only just started to come together. It was too much to explain and even if it weren’t, I couldn’t. So, I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can we talk tomorrow?” “You’re okay with me keeping her tonight?” “Of course, Matt,” I choked out, fighting with every fiber of my being not to cry in front of him. “Waverly?” he questioned, his forehead creased with worry. I held a hand up, stopping him and buying myself a few seconds to manage the task of forming words without it coming out in sobs. “I’m fine,” I told him, nodding a little too enthusiastically.

“I know last night was . . . ugly,” he dropped his head. “I was just worried. You and Pim are the only family I’ve got. I’m protective of that.” “Matt,” I sniffled. “I’m sorry, too. I promise I will explain all of this to you, but I . . . I just can’t right now.” He bobbed his head a few times in understanding. “I’ll call and check on her later.” Kissing Pim quickly, I rushed back inside and stopped just before the elevator. I couldn’t hit the call button, not until I got myself together. I was blinded by hurt and an immense fear of the unknown. It hurt to think of the situation—the man I loved trapped in Max’s body. It hurt to think of Liam dying; leaving me when we’d only just found one another. But what hurt the worst was watching him walk to his likely death, with so much hurt himself, while he tried to remain strong for us. It was awful to witness. “Ma’am?” Glancing up, I found Braxton with a compassionate smile as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to me. “It’s clean.” Taking it, I wiped at my face and nose. “I’m going to have to buy you a box of these.” “I have a million,” he chuckled. “Get a box for my birthday and Christmas every year.” Watching me for a moment, frowning, he asked, “Forgive me if I’m intruding, ma’am, but is everything okay?” I nodded a few times. “Just . . . have a hard day ahead,” I answered as I hit the call button. Braxton was a kind man for checking on me, but I didn’t want to cry in front of him. I didn’t like people seeing me vulnerable, especially strangers. “Anything I can help with?” he inquired. The elevator doors slid open, and he held his hand out to hold them open for me. “I don’t think so, Braxton,” I murmured as I stepped in. “Well, let me know if there is.” With a tip of his hat, he backed away, and the doors began to close. Jolting my arm out, I stopped them as he turned to walk away. “Braxton,” I called. He spun back around to face me. “Yes, ma’am?” “If you’re a praying man,” I said quietly, “pray for a miracle.” He narrowed his eyes as he tilted his head. “Yes, ma’am.”



The three of us walked to the hospital. It was hot as hell out, but I wanted to be outside one more time, feel the sun on my face one more time. We were quiet. No one spoke a word. After all, what do you say to a dead man walking? Once we reached the hospital and were standing outside the room, we were approached by a nurse with long copper-colored hair tied back in a high ponytail. “Good morning,” she smiled sadly. “Max,” Helen cut a look to me, “this is Kym. She’s been Liam’s daytime respiratory therapist since he arrived here.” “Oh,” I nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Kym.” “I wish it were under better circumstances,” she said as we shook hands. Looking to Helen, she said, “We did three EEG’s again, and there was no sign of brain activity.” Helen dropped her head. “So there’s no hope?” I asked, struggling to accept what the lovely copper haired woman was telling us. “I’ll have Dr. Malcom come in and speak with you shortly.” I took that as no, there was no hope. She just didn’t want to be the one to tell us that exactly. I couldn’t blame her. Doctors get paid more, they should be the bearers of the worst news. After Kym scurried away, I turned to Helen and Waverly. “Can I . . . have a few minutes?” They looked at each other, uncertainty in their eyes, then at me. They didn’t want to leave my side and as shitty as I felt, knowing that made my chest ache—in a good way. I was loved. “Just a few,” I assured them. “Of course,” Helen said. “We’ll grab some coffee.” Waverly kissed my cheek before the two of them walked away, arm in arm. As I watched them disappear down the hall, the one thing that made me feel better when I thought about my likely demise was that they would have each other. Entering the room, I wasn’t surprised to find my body looked worse than it had days before. If I were asked to describe the overall feeling of the room, I would have used the term fucking depressing. Taking a seat beside the bed, I leaned back and stared at my body. It still felt surreal to be in Max’s body while looking at my own. It was crazy to believe that trapped inside the hallowed shell of a body before me, being inflated and deflated like a balloon by a machine, was very likely Max. I wondered if he knew what was happening; if he understood he was in another man’s body.

“Time has run out, Max,” I told him. “We have to pull the plug. Not sure about you, but I’m freaking out a little about it,” I chuckled. Not because it was funny, but because it was better than crying or getting angry. Standing, I placed my hands on the bed rails and stared at the pale face with sunken eyes, my heart sinking. Was there really any chance my body could go on? With being brain dead and in organ failure, I didn’t think so. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I admitted, “but I have a feeling, for some reason, I’m not going to fare well. I swear, Max, if you come out of this alive, back inside your body, you better get your shit together. I’m sorry your childhood was lonely and there were people that let you down, but it’s not an excuse.” Walking to the window, I stared out. The view was awful, nothing but a brick wall from the other side of the hospital. Seemed fitting from where I stood. Isn’t that where we were? The end? The proverbial brick wall? “If I survive this,” I grumbled, angrily, mostly because I didn’t believe I would, “I’m going to love that little girl like she was my own, and Waverly and I will be together . . . if she’ll have me.” Turning back to the bed, I stared down. “That day I saw you . . . the day I saved you . . . you looked like a man that had it all figured out. A man that had it all.” I snorted to myself as I crossed my arms. “I’ve been wondering why this happened to me; what did I do to deserve this, but right now I’m wondering if maybe it was actually about you. Maybe this was meant to teach you something.” Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. I thought about Max, his life and choices. I thought about Dr. Banahan and the light he had shed on Max’s life. “I saw your therapist, Max,” I confessed, wondering if he’d feel humiliated knowing another man knew of the things he was most ashamed of. “It wasn’t your fault. Your mother was sick. She took her life because she didn’t know what else to do. I know you’ve been sick, too. I know you figured that out a little too late after you pushed the only woman you ever loved away and disowned your child. It doesn’t make what you did okay, but I understand why it happened.” “I don’t know if you’re in there, Max,” I continued, “but if you are . . . if you survive this . . . don’t fucking throw it away again. I saved you, man. Don’t end it because you feel unworthy. If you can’t get your shit together, then sign the fucking papers. If you can’t be there for your daughter wholeheartedly, then let her and Waverly go.” The door creaked open, and Helen peeked inside. “You still need more time?” “No,” I told her. “Come on in.” Kym entered behind them with Dr. Malcom, a tall man with gray hair and glasses, who explained the process of taking someone off life support. There were a lot of medical terms used I’d never remember, but I understood what was being explained. “We’ll give him morphine before we begin extubating, and then every fifteen minutes afterward until his heart stops beating.” “He won’t just pass after a few minutes?” Waverly asked, her lip trembling. I pulled her to me and held her at my side, wishing like hell I could somehow take this pain from her. “It could take a few minutes or even up to an hour in some rare cases. You may find he will stop breathing for long periods of time, then suddenly take a breath. He may make strange sounds, more like gurgling. It’s important to understand these are not signs he will survive or wakeup.”

Nodding, I inhaled deeply. Kym stepped forward toward Helen, a clipboard clutched in her arms. “We need you to sign these forms before we can start the procedure.” Helen blinked a few times as she, with a trembling hand, took the clipboard before glancing at me. “It’s okay, Hel,” I assured her with the most reassuring smile I could muster. “It’s time.”



Helen stepped out into the hall with the nurse and doctor to sign the forms leaving Liam and me alone. I had tried so damn hard not to cry in front of him all morning, but as I looked up at him, then back to the bed where his body lay practically lifeless, I lost it. The unknown was killing me. Not knowing felt just as soul-shredding as if we knew for sure he would die. The tears broke free so forcefully that I crumpled to the ground into a mess of sobs. Liam fell beside me, scooping me into his arms, holding me tightly as I sobbed. Here we were, possibly minutes away from his death, and he was comforting me. “Are you still scared?” I wept as I dug my face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He didn’t answer for a moment. Then, “If I say yes, would you think me weak?” he murmured. I clutched his arm. “No. Not at all. I’d be a mess if I were you right now.” Then I snorted. “I’m not you, and I’m still a mess right now.” “It’s going to be okay, Waverly,” he tried to comfort me. Pushing away from him, I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “Don’t go,” I begged him. “Please, Liam. Please don’t go.” It was a horrible thing for me to ask him, as if he had any control over it. Or did he? My ability to reason was caught in a vicious tug-of-war somewhere between my heart and my mind, and the longer they battled, the more anxious and desperate I felt. “We don’t have to take your body off life support,” I pointed out, my voice pleading. The muscles in his jaw ticked as he looked away, fighting to keep his emotions under control. I knew I was being irrational, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough to bear it. Taking my head in his hands, he pressed our foreheads together. His voice was gravelly, his emotion evident as he calmly told me, “It has to be done, Waverly.” “It doesn’t,” I argued. “You don’t have to do this.” I pounded the side of my fist against his chest, selfishly wanting him to hurt the way I did. “Not yet anyway. We could have a few more days,” I pleaded. “Waverly,” he begged. He was saying no. There was no more waiting. There would be no more days. This was it. Anger surged through me as I shoved him away and stumbled to my feet, my face heated and wet with tears. “Damn you!” I cried. “How am I supposed to go on now? How do I live after losing you?” He moved quickly and before I knew it he had a firm hold on my arms. “I’m sorry,” he growled at me. “If you think the idea of me dying and leaving you behind isn’t fucking killing me, you’re wrong. I don’t want one day or a few days, I want hundreds and thousands of days. I want to see you smile at me, my face,” he emphasized through gritted teeth. “Not Max’s. When I take you to bed, when I’m deep inside

of you, loving you, I want it to be me you see when you gaze up at me as you moan and tell me you love me. Me, Waverly . . . all of me. My heart, my soul, my body.” He stopped for a brief moment, and squeezed my arms a little tighter as if he were trying to convey everything he was feeling through his hold on me. “It’s time, Waverly,” he rasped. “Maybe I’ll end up in his body forever, and if I do, we will make it work, but you have to be able to accept it if I don’t. You have to go on. You wanna know how?” he asked as he jerked me gently. “You just do.” Releasing my arms, he took my face in his hands and used his thumbs to wipe my wet cheeks. “You’ll do it for me.” Melting into his arms, I cried as he gently stroked my hair. He whispered to me his love and adoration. He spoke beautiful words as he cradled me. He promised everything would be okay. By the time Helen returned with the doctor and Kym, I had calmed down, even though I was still crying. “They’re ready to begin,” Helen informed us, her eyes tearing up. Turning to her, he hugged her tightly. “I love you, Hel Cat,” he whispered where the others couldn’t hear. “If the baby is a girl, name it Liamina,” he tried to joke, desperate to make her laugh once more. She didn’t, but she managed to force a smile as she pulled away from him. “I love you, too,” she mouthed. The goodbyes had been spoken, the forms signed. This was it. Liam held us both, one in each arm at his sides as we watched Kym begin the extubating process. Kym laid a towel over his chest, preparing for her work. Before she started, she silenced the machines that monitored his heart rate and blood pressure. The doctor had explained once they cut off the machine that provided him oxygen, it would cause his blood pressure and heart rate to fluctuate and the machines would get loud if they didn’t silence them. “Now I will cut his oxygen,” Kym informed us. Liam squeezed my hand as our gazes met. “I love you,” he whispered. Before I could respond, Kym pushed the button to stop the oxygen supply to the ventilator. Then I heard something thud loudly. Jerking my head toward the sound, I stared blankly, shock rendering me mute and still. Max’s body was on the floor. “Liam,” Helen shrieked, jerking me out of my disbelief. We both fell to our knees beside him, assessing him. Straightening his head, I smacked his face a few times, attempting to wake him but he was out cold. Dr. Malcom rushed to us with a tiny flashlight prying his eyelids open before checking his pulse, he said, “His heart rate is through the roof.” Just then, Max’s eyes opened and narrowed with drowsiness as he looked around. “Where am . . .” He stopped when his gaze fell on me. “Waverly?” he mumbled in disbelief. “Where am I?” My heart froze in my chest as a familiarity came up and wrapped it arms around me. I recognized the man staring back at me. And it wasn’t Liam.

It was Max. Max was back in his body which could only mean one thing. Liam had returned to his. Helen and I locked gazes, as what had happened dawned on us. “This is Max,” I told her, barely able to form the words as the shock seemed to smother me. We both looked at the bed where Kym had just placed an oxygen mask over Liam’s mouth and nose. Even after they removed the ventilator, they still gave him oxygen through the mask until his heart stopped beating. Liam was officially off life support. My chest heaved up and down as the reality sunk in. They’d switched, and Liam was dying. It was the worst case scenario, and it was happening. My emotions were quickly halted when Max began to convulse, his eyes rolling back in his head as he foamed at the mouth. “He’s having a seizure,” Dr. Malcolm grunted as he rolled Max to his side to keep him from choking. “Kym, get some help.” It felt as if I’d been hit. Everything was happening so fast, and I didn’t know how to process it. “Has he taken anything?” The doctor asked as others rushed in to assist. Helen and I were stunned, both of us struggling to comprehend what was happening. Liam hadn’t taken anything that morning, I knew it. Then Helen’s eyes widened as her jaw went slack as if something had just occurred to her. “The pills,” she said more to me than to anyone. I stared at her blankly. “The note and the pills,” she tried again to help me understand. “He took pills?” the doctor asked. “I think he tried to kill himself,” Helen clarified and then it dawned on me, my mouth falling open. Liam had been right. Max had tried to end his life, and when he did, they switched. Now, Max was waking up in his body again right where he’d left off. He was overdosing. Now, they were both dying.



After they whisked Max’s body out of the room, Helen and I stood frozen as we stared at Liam. If we watched closely, we could see his chest rise ever so slightly as he took shallow breaths. He was still breathing, barely. Helen moved to the left side of the bed, and I moved to the right. It had only been a few moments before that he was still here, beside us in Max’s body. They’d said it could take up to an hour for him to stop breathing, for him to pass. Taking his hand in mine, I told him, “We’re here, Liam. We’re right here with you.” Helen took his other hand in hers. “We’re with you, Liam,” she echoed my words. Seconds seeped into minutes, and before long it had been twenty minutes. A few times he’d stopped breathing, and we’d stopped breathing as we waited to see if he’d draw another breath. When he did, we’d exhale with relief. He was still alive. We still had him. After thirty minutes, Kym came in and updated us on Max. “They’ve pumped his stomach, but his blood-alcohol level is through the roof, and he tested positive for high levels of opioids. They’re still trying to stabilize him.” We knew Liam hadn’t had any alcohol or pills that morning because we’d been with him every second—he’d barely been able to go to the bathroom alone. “This is fucking crazy,” Helen murmured as she stared down at her brother’s face. “Please keep us informed,” I asked Kym. She nodded once then looked to Helen. “I believe your son is outside,” she informed her. “I asked him to let me get you first because I wasn’t sure if you wanted him to come in or not.” “Damn it,” Helen sighed, her mouth tightening. “He wanted to come today, but I told him no,” she explained to me. “He’s as stubborn as his uncle. I’ll be right back.” They both scurried out of the room leaving me alone with Liam. The room was so quiet when I realized he wasn’t breathing again. I took his hand and squeezed it as I pressed my mouth to the back of it. “I’m here, Liam,” I told him again. “I’m here with you.” The door opened again, and a woman entered, a kind smile on her face as she looked from me to Liam. I narrowed my eyes as I studied her face. I recognized her. She was the woman from the pier. “Pearl?” I questioned in disbelief. She looked cleaner than the only time I’d seen her the previous day. Her gray hair was sleek, pushed behind her ears and she was wearing a loose white linen dress, which made her look anything but homeless. “Hello, Waverly,” she greeted, her tone comfortable as if she was someone who knew me well. I

snapped my mouth shut as I widened my eyes in surprise. She knew my name. How did she know my name? At the sound of her voice, Liam took a short ragged breath as Pearl placed her hand on his shoulder, “Hello, my friend.” I watched her closely, wondering if I should ask her to leave, but I couldn’t manage the courage to ask. Besides, I told myself Liam would have wanted her to say goodbye. “Looks like he doesn’t have much longer,” she noted, casually, her tone lacking the appropriate amount of sympathy. She said it as if she were noting the weather; as if it were no big deal. I dug my nails into my palms to keep me from lashing out. How dare she come in here and state the obvious as if it wasn’t already hard enough. Then I remembered what Liam had told me about her. He wouldn’t want me to get upset with her because she couldn’t help it. “No, I don’t think so,” I murmured as I choked back a sob. Reaching up, she brushed some hair from his face. “Do you believe in miracles, Waverly?” I held my breath for a moment, unsure of how to answer. “I don’t know,” I finally answered, as I cried, unable to hold it in any longer. “I want to, but none of this seems very miracle like. I feel like I’m being punished.” “Hmm,” she mumbled. “It’s all about perception.” “Not sure how else to perceive this.” “Few people are given the chance to see life in a different way.” My mind whirled as it tried to understand this version of Pearl. She was mentally unwell, right? Hadn’t I seen her petting a stuffed cat like it was her pet? I’d never met her, and according to Liam she was out of it and needed professional help, but as I watched her, I felt like there may have been so much more to Pearl than that, and there was definitely more to the story. With a deep breath, I attempted to calm myself, something inside of me caused me to listen to Pearl closely. “He’s been from average Joe, to dirty bum, to a man with great wealth. Liam has seen much.” My breath hitched as I dissected her words. ‘To a man with great wealth,’ she’d said. Which meant she knew Max and Liam had switched bodies? Narrowing my eyes at her, I asked, “You know?” She grinned as if I were ridiculous as she cut her gaze to me. “Of course I know.” “H-how?” I sputtered. “How do you know?” “Because it’s my job to know.” I wanted to reach out and throttle her. She kept talking in riddles and vague answers. Nothing was making any sense. “Your job?” Stepping toward me, she stared me dead in the eyes. “Ever heard of Karma?” My heartbeat whooshed in my ears. Was Pearl really a part of this? Did she have something to do with it somehow? Or was she a lady who suffered from delusions and I was so desperate for an answer to everything that I was buying it. Keeping my stare locked with hers, I waited for her to go on. “I don’t understand,” I breathed. Resting her hand on Liam’s arm again, she sighed. “You’re not being punished, Waverly, and neither is Liam. Liam is a special man. There are few people in this world that would watch out for a crazy old lady who they had no ties to.”

“Then why are you punishing him?” “I’m not. If you look at it the right way, maybe you’ll see all of this as a reward.” I gaped at her like she was a lunatic. “Reward?” I seethed. “How is this man you claim is your friend dying a reward?” “You need time to gain perspective, but we don’t have time for that now, it’s almost time.” I gripped the railing of the bed, my knuckles whitening as fear walked its arctic fingers up my spine. “Almost time for what?” Pearl frowned. “Max’s choice.” The blood drained from my face. What did that mean? If anything involved Max making a choice I knew it couldn’t be good. “Choice?” She brushed off some invisible dirt on her dress before meeting my intense stare. “Max must choose to live or die,” she stated simply. I rushed around the bed, cornering her. “What does that mean?” I shrieked. Glancing back at Liam’s body, she quirked her mouth up on one side. “It means his choice decides Liam’s fate.” My heart thunked to the pit of my stomach. “Are you saying Liam will die if Max chooses to?” Her mouth tightened, and she tilted her head, her gaze soft as it fixed on me. “Yes.” I shook my head adamantly. “No. How could you let that happen to him? He looked out for you. He even bought you that stupid cat. He was your friend. Max hasn’t done anything for anyone but himself.” I was yelling at her, my voice hoarse with emotion. “How is it fair he gets to choose and Liam doesn’t?” “Because Liam did choose. He chose to give his life to save another. But Max didn’t want to be saved.” I don’t understand,” I hiccupped. “What are you telling me?” “Max purposely stepped out into traffic that day.” Her mouth tightened for a moment as she seemed to try and compose herself. “It wasn’t an accident. He left Liam to die because he was scared. In his mind, he’d killed him.” I knew I was standing, that my feet were planted firmly on the cold tiled floor, but I felt like I was falling. “He wanted to get hit by a car and die?” I confirmed. She bobbed her once, letting me know I had it right. Disbelief zipped up my backbone, twisting my sadness into anger. I glared at her as I took a step toward her. “So Max is rewarded with not one, but two chances after he intentionally tried to kill himself, but Liam,” I paused as I clenched my fist to my mouth, reminding myself to keep calm, “Liam gets his fate left in Max’s hands? What the fuck kind of Karma is that?” I seethed. “Liam saved him. He gave his life. I did not take it,” she explained, her hand raising in defense as she noted my anger. “I could have let them both die. But I didn’t. I wanted Max to choose and save them both.” “Why? Tell me why Max gets to choose?” “Because it was my last chance to save Max’s soul.”

My mind tore apart her last words in milliseconds. “Was?” I croaked, the blood draining from my face. Her eyes drew together as she met my stare with a regretful gaze. “Max wants to die. I’m afraid I’ve failed.” I didn’t bother to argue with her anymore. I couldn’t. Bolting out of the room like a mad woman, I sprinted to the stairwell. By the time I made it to the first floor and into the emergency department where they’d taken Max, I was out of breath, heaving for air. A petite blonde nurse was just exiting the double doors that led to the triage area, not noticing me as she stared at some papers in her hand. “Ma’am,” she yelled as I sprinted by her, but I didn’t stop. There was no time. Several nurses and a doctor stopped in their tracks and watched me as I stopped and jerked my gaze around trying to spot Max. To my right was a room where what appeared to be several doctors and nurses were huddled around a bed, yelling medical terms at each other. When I caught sight of Max’s face, I flew into the room and hopped on the bed. Grabbing Max’s shoulders, I shook him. “You better live, goddammit!” I yelled, my words hitching on sobs. My hands ached I was grasping him so tightly. “Don’t take him from me, Max! Don’t, please, I’m begging you.” Hands grabbed at me everywhere, trying to pull me off of him, but I clung to him tighter. “Max, please,” I begged. “You have to live so he can! Live, please. Don’t take him from us, Max.” When they finally tore me away, and I was dragged out of the room, my body went limp as I wailed. “He’s crashing!” someone shouted. The hands holding me were suddenly gone, and I twisted my neck as my ears throbbed with the sounds of loud beeps from the monitors. “Push one epi!” someone shouted. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Max was going to die.



Max was dying. I’d never run so fast in my life. I’m positive if I’d been timed I’d have qualified for some kind of world record. By the time I stumbled into Liam’s room, I was gulping for air. Pearl was gone. Which was probably good because I probably would’ve pummeled her if she’d been there. My chest heaving up and down, I took his hand and gasped through my tears, my throat burning, “I’m here, Liam.” He made a wheezing sound as he sucked in a shallow breath. Agnal breathing Kym had called it— the long periods of not breathing followed by inhaling a short breath, but I knew he felt me. At least I told myself that. Glancing at the clock, I realized forty minutes had passed since they’d extubated him. I knew we didn’t have much longer—maybe only minutes. Where was Helen? A part of me wanted to rush out and find her, but what if Liam died while I was gone. I couldn’t risk it. I was losing him. Lowering the bed railing, I lay beside him, gently resting my head on his shoulder. I tried hard to slow my breathing, but crying wasn’t helping. Laying my hand on his chest, I felt how thin and frail he was, the bones of his chest and ribs prevalent. My heart ached when I thought about the long and bumpy road that led him here. The nights of sleeping on hard benches and cold sidewalks, the days of hunger and hopelessness. Still, he gave all he had, the only thing he had—his life—to a man that just threw it all away. Liam didn’t deserve this. Not one bit. If what was happening to him was karma, as Pearl had said, then karma could go and fuck itself. “I want to beg you not to go,” I rasped. “but I know you’d stay if you could.” Taking his limp hand in mine, I raised it to my mouth and kissed it again. I had no idea how I’d walk out of this room after he was gone. The thought felt like the most real version of hell I could think of. “If you need to let go, Liam,” I wept, warm tears leaking from my eyes, “you can.” Sitting up, I slid the oxygen mask from his face and lay it on his lap. “I love you,” I whispered as I stroked his cheek. “I will always love you.” Pressing my mouth to his dry, brittle lips, I kissed him softly. It was the only kiss I’d have with him; the real physical him. Laying back beside him, placing my head over his heart, I closed my eyes as I took his hand again and hung on each beat of his heart. When I heard the door open, I opened my eyes to find Kym entering the room, her brow furrowed as she looked from me to the monitors. Inspecting the machines, she turned back to Liam and pulled her stethoscope from her neck. “I’m sorry to ask this, Ma’am, but I need you to get up.” Slipping off the bed, I stood as she placed the oxygen mask back over Liam’s mouth and nose, before placing the stethoscope on his chest. She blinked rapidly as she listened and looked back at the monitors. “What’s wrong?” I croaked. Was this it? Had he died and I hadn’t even realized it as I lay there beside him? She didn’t answer me, as she moved to the door and opened it. Sticking her head out she yelled to the

nurse’s station, “Page Doctor Malcom. I need him now.” As she walked back in, Helen rushed in behind her, wild-eyed and pale. “What is it?” she choked out. “Is he gone?” A young man I knew had to be her son because he looked exactly like her with his red hair, bolted in as well. “Calm down, Mom,” he murmured, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I need you all to step outside for a moment,” Kym told us, not bothering to make eye contact. “The hell we will, not when he’s about to die,” Helen snapped, her eyes fiery. “That’s my brother, and if this is it, I’m not leaving.” Just then, Dr. Malcom whizzed in with two nurses shoving past Helen. “Blood pressure?” he muttered as he used his stethoscope to listen to Liam’s heart. One nurse gently took my arm and led me around the bed like I was a child. “Ninety-eight over sixty-two,” one of the nurses called. Kym turned to the three of us and extended her arms out, gently herding us toward the door. “We need you to leave the room, please,” she spoke gently. My entire body felt like it was coiled tightly like twisted wire. “What’s happening?” I asked, fear lodged in my throat. Kym flattened her mouth, a look of uncertainty on her face. “His heart rate and blood pressure are rising.” Helen and I cut our gazes to one another, our brows furrowed. “He’s going to make it?” David asked, his tone riddled with every bit of shock I was feeling. “We don’t know that,” Kym quickly answered, “We need to run some tests.” Finally fed up, she sternly said, “Please. Leave. I promise we will update you as soon as we know more.” I wanted to zip past her and throw myself on Liam, tell him to come back, to fight, but I knew if the impossible could happen, if he could come back, we needed to let the doctor and nurses work on him. Without a word to Helen, I hauled ass out of the room and back down to the first floor. This time, the double doors were shut and wouldn’t open when I pulled on them. Frantic, I rushed to the nurse’s station. “Max Porter,” I yelled at the woman behind the desk. “I need to know, is he alive?” “Ma’am, calm down,” she instructed me as she held a hand up. “Don’t tell me to calm down, goddammit,” I growled as I grabbed her wrist, demanding her attention. “Is he alive?” “Let go,” she shouted. “Tell me!” I shouted back. “He’s stabilized,” someone yelled, jerking my focus. It was a nurse I vaguely recognized as one of the people that had dragged me off of Max’s body. “He’s still not in the safe zone, but he has stabilized.” Releasing the nurse’s hand, my chest convulsed once, then twice, then wouldn’t stop as I laughed and cried, my body melting to the floor as I slid down the desk into an emotional heap. It was too good to be true. I closed my eyes as I let my head drop.

Then I whispered, “Thank you, Max.” Three hours went by, and no one could tell us anything. Even though I felt I knew everything would be okay, that Liam would wake up, I still held my breath. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I also didn’t tell Helen about Pearl. It wasn’t the right time, especially with David around. Helen gave David and me a brief introduction. She introduced me as Liam’s girlfriend and something about that, even amidst the awfulness of the day, made me feel good. I was honored to be known as his, no matter what happened. Each of us paced the waiting room, Helen and I taking turns harassing the nurses at the nursing station for information, but each visit proved fruitless. I had thought losing all hope was the worst feeling in the world, but I was wrong. Losing it, then having it return with the even the slightest possibility it would just be ripped from you again was worse. The agony of waiting was suffocating, making me want to climb the walls. David was so much like Liam, the man trying to be strong for us ladies. I knew Liam would be so proud of him. He brought us drinks, and magazines, and made sure his mother ate, telling her she needed to think of his little brother or sister. Finally, after hours had passed, Dr. Malcom emerged asking us to sit with him. Taking our seats, Helen and I held hands as David rubbed her back and we waited on bated breath for the news of Liam. “I’ve been a neurologist for seventeen years,” he told us as he removed his glasses and took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping at the lens. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he admitted, defeat thick in his tone. My heart about burst in my chest. This was good news. It had to be. “It’s still early,” he went on, “but when Liam’s vitals started to rise, we ordered another scan.” “And?” Helen asked. “The fluid on his brain has decreased significantly. We ran another round of EEG’s, and two out of the three showed activity.” “He’s waking up?” I gasped. Dr. Malcom held a hand up, stopping me. “We can’t say just yet, but he appears to be stabilizing. Even if he does wake up, we still don’t know the extent of brain damage. If he does regain consciousness, he will have a very long road ahead of him.” Standing, he stared down at us intently. “There is no medical explanation for this. The man should be dead,” he reiterated. “This is a miracle, plain and simple.” Helen and I burst into tears as we squealed and hopped to our feet, hugging. The elation that surged through me could have sent a rocket to the moon. The impossible happened. A miracle. Liam was alive.



After two days, Max regained consciousness but was immediately moved to the psych ward for evaluation. He refused to see me. He’d been lucky. With the amount of pills and alcohol he’d taken, he should’ve been a goner. There was so much I wanted to ask him; where did he go? Did he know he wasn’t in his body anymore? Why did he try to kill himself? But those questions would have to wait. I was glad he was okay. Despite our differences, I’d never wished him dead. Two days had passed and Liam, despite his amazing test results, still had not woken up. Dr. Malcom reiterated not to get our hopes up, even though he seemed optimistic. If and when Liam did wake up, we had no idea what we would be dealing with. There could be substantial brain damage. After Liam had taken a turn for the better, I called Matt and asked him if he could keep Pim for a couple of days. We’d had a long conversation where I assured him I was not reuniting with Max. I told him Max was ill and I felt morally obligated to help him. I didn’t mention Liam. I figured I needed to give Matt information in small bites. By the third day, I was becoming anxious. Why wasn’t Liam waking up? I picked Pim up from Ms. Patty’s and brought her to the hospital to see Liam. I wasn’t sure if he could hear us when we spoke to him, but I knew if he could, he’d love to hear her voice. When we walked into Liam’s room, she immediately grinned when she caught sight of Helen. Helen took her and squeezed her. “I’ve missed this little cutie,” she preened. “She missed you, too.” “Look who’s here to see you, big brother,” Helen said as she turned to the bed where Liam lay. Gently, she sat Pim beside Liam, close to his chest as I rounded the bed on the opposite side. If Pim decided to start crawling, I needed to get her off him. She’d never seen Liam in his true physical form and I worried she’d get her usual stranger wariness. Tilting her head, she looked at him, patting his chest with her chubby little hand. “Can you say hi, Pim,” I prompted her. Pim rubbed his chest. Softly, she giggled. “Liam.” Helen’s eyes were as wide as mine felt when we glanced at each other. “She must’ve heard us call him that,” I quickly pointed out. Helen nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Had to have heard us.” When Pim laid her head on Liam’s chest, my heart melted. “Vroom-vroom,” Pim babbled, and this time I knew she hadn’t overheard us. She knew it was Liam.

And that’s when it happened. Liam opened his eyes.



He sat outside the church wearing a Yankee’s hat he’d hoped would help him blend in. The guests of the wedding had just begun to emerge from the tall cathedral doors when he saw her. She was wearing a teal dress, the skirt looked like a tutu. His lips curved up ever so slightly before he caught himself. The sight made him happy. The way a father feels happy when he sees his tiny daughter looking adorable. Now he was frowning as he realized she wasn’t really his daughter, was she? His ex-brother-in-law stood next to his bride Alice, in her white satin dress, smiling at the photographer. I’d rewarded Matt well for his choices. He’d been a wonderful brother and uncle, and now, he would live a life with a woman he truly loved. Max tugged his hat down a little further. He knew Matt was not his biggest fan and he didn’t doubt that, even on his wedding day, if Matt noticed him watching them, he’d rush across the street and attack him. Max’s gaze moved from the bride and groom to the giddy little girl, then to her mother, who wore a matching teal dress, the fabric loose and flowing. Beautiful. That’s all he’d ever seen when he looked at her. As he stared at her, I could feel his regret; his pain radiating off of him. He’d lost her, and he had no one to blame but himself. Beside her was him. Liam. The man who’d taken over his body, his life. Even knowing Max’s pain, I couldn’t help smiling as I watched Liam. He looked nice in a suit, but anything would look better than dirty street clothes. He’d made a full recovery and looked better than ever. Broad shoulders and muscles now replaced the bag of bones he had been after living on the street. Bending, he picked up Pim and held her as he put one arm around Waverly, the three of them smiling as they posed for a photo. At that moment, Max took his own snap; like a camera, his mind captured the moment, burning the image into his brain for eternity. To others viewing the moment, the image, they might only see a beautiful couple with a gorgeous little girl; a happy family, but Max saw so much more. He saw a man that had everything—that had it all. His all. “Lucky man.” His head snapped toward me, following the sound of my voice. He watched me with weary eyes for a moment, wondering when I’d sat down. He hadn’t even noticed until I’d spoken. He didn’t know who I was, especially not in the form I was. He couldn’t have known I’d been watching him all of his life, that I

knew his pain. “Yeah,” he agreed, as he cleared his throat, moving his gaze back to the church. “You got a family?” I asked. He furrowed his brow, becoming slightly annoyed with his new bench buddy. He was here spying on his ex, he didn’t want to make small talk. Then, he noticed the small black cat in my lap. I tried not to chuckle as I read his thoughts. A stuffed animal? He’d been in countless and unending hours of therapy for almost a year, and he’d learned a lot, mostly about himself, but also not to assume things about others. Maybe he didn’t want to talk with me, but he decided he shouldn’t be rude to me either. After all, I was petting a stuffed animal, clearly I had issues. “I did . . . sort of,” he finally answered, “but they’re gone now.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” I sighed. “Only have myself to blame. I just . . . wasn’t ready,” he admitted. “I wanted to be . . . but I wasn’t.” “Are you ready now?” He shook his head. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t. He still wasn’t ready. He wanted to be in love and move on, but he knew when it came to the woman in the flowing teal dress, it was too late. He’d done too much damage where she was concerned. It would be a long and exhausting road to make his way back into the life of the little girl he’d never even held. He wasn’t mentally strong enough to fight for that yet. He still had more to work on. “She was mine once, the pretty one in the teal dress. That’s my little girl, too.” He nodded his head toward the church just when Liam leaned down and kissed Waverly. Max winced at the sight, his hand fisting against his thigh. I knew my next words would cut him deeply, but they needed to be said. He needed to hear them. “They both look really happy.” His mouth flattened, and his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Sometimes,” I went on, “we have to let things go . . . really let them go, especially if we know we’re no good for them.” His head reared back as he cut a lethal glare at me. “What does that mean?” “It means, Max, let them go. If you do, maybe your daughter will seek you out one day when you are ready. When you are better.” Again, I read his mind. He knew I was right. He still struggled every day to find the will to move through life. It seemed cruel to him as he watched Liam kiss his daughter. He would be no good trying to be a father, but he loathed knowing someone else had taken his role. His eyes teared up as he watched his daughter kiss the man in the suit, a tear trickling down his cheek as he realized, for the hundredth time since he’d woken up in the hospital, what he’d lost. This was hell. This was his punishment for treating everyone so shitty because he felt so shitty himself. He’d lost everything. Not only had he lost everything, but he’d had to watch another man take it from him while he’d been trapped in that man’s body. He’d seen it all. “You made the right choice,” I told him. He snickered. Raising a hand, he motioned at the church. “The right choice? He stole my life.”

“We both know that’s not true.” “It is true,” he insisted, his words clipped. “Then why’d you choose to live? You knew what would happen if you did. You saw everything. You saw her fall in love with him. You watched as they made love. You knew she would choose him.” Flicking his gaze at me, he scowled. “How do you know all of this? Who are you?” “Answer the question, Maxwell. Why did you choose to live?” His gaze dropped to where his fingers were threaded in his lap. “I wasn’t going to,” he admitted. “I was going to die and take him with me. Maybe I didn’t deserve them, but at least he wouldn’t have them either.” Glancing at me again, he found me watching him, waiting for him to finish. “But she begged me to live. She begged me not to take him.” “She begged you for lots of things, Max,” I noted. “She begged you to love her once; she begged you to love your child. She begged you not to turn your back on them. You ignored her. Why now?” Moving his gaze back to Waverly, he said, “Because I couldn’t do it to her. To them. He could be for them what I never could. He could be the man I didn’t know how to be.” When he looked at me again, my eyes were glossed with tears, but I was grinning. He’d done it. He’d changed. Placing my hand on his cheek, I whispered, “I knew I was right not to give up on you.” “You did this to me?” he asked, his expression bewildered. “I did this foryou,” I wept. “You gave him my life? You made me watch while he took everything? You even gave him the motorcycle letting him think I had bought it.” He shook his head in disbelief as it replayed, whizzing through his mind so fast it was almost a blur. “Why?” “The motorcycle was for him. Liam is a kind man, and if he was going to die, I wanted to give him something special. The rest of it, Max . . . was to save you,” I whispered. Tearing his eyes from me, he bit his tongue to keep himself from lashing out. With no place to unleash his anger, his eyes began to tear up again. It was hard to see him hurt so much, but at the same time, it was one of the most beautiful moments I’d ever experienced. He was accepting his pain. “Put good out, Max,” I spoke in a masculine voice after I changed form, causing him to snap his eyes toward me. “It will come back.” Max gaped at me, his mouth parted in shock. The woman who’d been sitting beside him moments before was gone, and in her place was his doorman Braxton. Smiling softly, I held out a handkerchief to him. His heart thundered in his chest as he reached out a trembling hand and took the cloth. He stared at me as he blotted at his wet face, wondering if he was going mad. He was on quite a few medications for depression, and he suddenly wondered if they were causing him to hallucinate? It was then I decided he’d had enough, and it was time for me to go—or at least vanish so he could not see me anymore—but I left him something. When he looked back at me, he saw only the black stuffed cat I’d been petting moments before resting on the bench. Picking it up, he stared at it. Something inside him, something he didn’t quite understand, made him want to keep it. Almost as if he didn’t have a choice. Clutching it under his arm, he stood and gazed once more at the world he’d turned his back on—his daughter, finally understanding that he had to give her up.

At least for now. He could only hope to have her in his life one day if he stepped away. Maybe when she was older he could explain, make her understand better. Maybe by then he’d understand himself a little better, too. I stayed with him when his feet began to move, leading him away. He didn’t bother to think of where he was going. He just went. I knew there were days when he’d get lost inside his head, where he was consumed by his loneliness, but walking seemed to help. It kept him moving. If he didn’t make himself move, he worried he’d never get out of bed. He didn’t know I was leading him, gently pushing him toward his destiny. Ten blocks later he ended up in a booth at a diner. It wasn’t just any diner. It happened to be on the corner where he’d almost died in a terrible accident, but someone had saved him. A name he refused to speak or think of. Setting the stuffed animal on the table, he stared out the window, remembering how he’d left the man that saved his life to die. Was there any coming back from that kind of evil? He doubted it and the thought filled him with hopelessness. “Hi there.” Looking up, he found a beautiful woman, her blond hair tied back in a tight ponytail with glossed lips. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” she went on. She knew him? He couldn’t remember having ever met her. When he didn’t answer, she tilted her head, her smile falling. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I had a little accident. My memory is a little fuzzy.” He motioned at his head haphazardly. She frowned, then her gaze moved from his face to the cat. He fought the urge to cringe as he realized she’d think he was insane for being a grown man carrying around a stuffed cat. “That’s Pearl’s cat,” she said, surprised. His mouth hung open. He had no idea who Pearl was or how to respond. Did she think he’d stolen it? “She hasn’t been here in about a year. Have you seen her?” “The gray-haired woman?” he asked. “She gave this to me, but I don’t know why.” Placing a gentle hand on his arm, she asked, “I’m off in fifteen. Would you like to have some coffee and I’ll tell you how I know you and all about the cat?” He gazed up at her, wondering why in the hell she’d want to sit down and waste a minute of her time speaking with him. “Are you sure?” “Yeah,” she smiled. “You look like you could use a friend.” “I doubt you’d want to be my friend,” he mumbled. She stared at him, the hairs rising up on her neck as she felt someone whispering to her that wasn’t even there, telling her not to let him push her away. Her gaze softening, she responded quietly, “Something tells me that’s not true.” He nodded in agreement then motioned to the unoccupied bench in the booth. “I’ll be waiting for you to join me, then.” As she patted his shoulder and moved to finish her shift, I drifted away, focusing on the whispers

around me, searching for where I was needed most. Max was in good hands now, and though I knew I’d still look in on him, it was time to share my magic with someone else.



“I’m heading out,” Lenny hollered from the office door. I waved from the third garage bay. “Have a good night, man,” I yelled back. “I’ll lock up.” “See ya tomorrow,” he called. As the office door shut, I glanced around, a feeling of gratitude washing over me. It had been a few months since I started working again, but every day it hit me how damn lucky I was. Lenny had done it. He’d taken the money I’d given him when I was Max and opened his own shop. When I’d got back on my feet—literally and figuratively—after months of rehab and physical therapy he hired me. I was back doing what I loved. It had been a long year, but the best one of my life. I made sure to bow my head every day and give thanks. A walking miracle, the press had called me because I should’ve died. I went from a dirty bum, who barely warranted a glance from the average passerby, to famous because I’d awakened after a traumatic brain injury that should have been fatal. It had been surreal. After I woke up, Waverly told me about Pearl and her visit, the things she had said. We all searched for Pearl, scouring the city streets, but she had vanished. I missed her, but I knew in my heart she was okay. She had always been okay. After all, she was karma. Pulling myself from my thoughts, I hurried to clean up my work bench and wipe down my tools. Waverly was picking me up in ten minutes, and I didn’t want to make her wait. The garage had closed almost an hour before, but I wanted to stay a little later to work on a special project. “Hey there, handsome,” I heard, causing me to snap my head up. Waverly had just entered the garage through the office. Not one day had gone by since I woke up where we hadn’t seen each other, and every day the woman still took my breath away. “Hey there, beautiful,” I beamed as I wiped my hands on a rag, watching her every step. “You’re early.” “Well, Matt and Alice were so engrossed with Pim I was able to slip out pretty quickly.” Matt and Alice had just returned from their honeymoon and were dying for a night with Pim. As much as that sweet little girl owned my heart, I was dying for a night alone with her mama. She had almost reached me when she stopped dead in her tracks and gaped at my special project. “Are you serious, Liam?” She smirked. “What?” I laughed. “You jacked up Pim’s Barbie ATV?” In the past year, Pim had gotten three other ATVs which we also tricked out. She loved coming to the garage with me and hanging out. She was no mechanic just yet, but she liked pretending to be and I loved our time together. “My girl will always have the baddest rides,” I informed her. “Whether it’s a cage or a bike.” She snorted a laugh as she swung her arms around my neck. “You spoil her, ya know?”

“She’s my girl,” I shrugged slightly. “I just need to finish cleaning up and wash up real quick,” I informed her before bending slightly and kissing her. Hopping up on my workbench, she let her legs dangle over the edge as she watched me finish up, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Stop,” I grumbled, doing my best to keep focused on my task. She knew biting her lip like that was my fucking undoing. “Stop what?” she questioned coyly. She was wearing a flowy white top that hung off one shoulder. Her hair was down and curled, begging me to the thread my fingers in it. She was my one true weakness. Dropping my tool, I moved between her legs and grabbed her ass, sliding her to the edge of the bench. “I don’t want to get you dirty,” I told her. Kissing me, she gently bit my lower lip. “Maybe I like being your dirty girl,” she whispered. That’s all it took. In seconds our shirts were off, and she was lifting her ass as I tugged her jeans off. Every time we were together, every time we joined our bodies, it was erotic in all the ways sex can be physically, but making love to Waverly went beyond physically satisfying. Amidst the kisses, the bites, the skin on skin, the pants and moans, I found a peace that surpassed everything. She was my home, and when we joined together, when I took her body, she filled me with calm. It was the safest place I’d ever known. Her legs were wrapped around my waist as I moved in and out of her, her fingers digging into my back, as she moaned, “I love you, baby,” over and over again. This was my heaven. When we were finished, we were both breathless as we remained joined. Kissing the tip of my nose, she whispered, “I have something to tell you.” “Oh yeah?” I chuckled as I moved, but she grabbed my hips, holding me in place. “Don’t move,” she begged. “Not yet.” My brows furrowed as I peered into her eyes. That’s when I saw it. She was worried. “What’s wrong?” Her head dropped, but I lifted her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze again. “Don’t do that,” I told her. “Tell me.” Swallowing hard she breathed deeply. “He did it. Max signed the papers. He gave up his rights to Pimberly.” My chest hurt for some reason. I knew Waverly had wanted this for a long time, but I’d hoped when Max woke up he’d turn over a new leaf. I’d hoped he’d grab hold of his second chance and ride it like the wind. That’s what I had done and would continue to do every day for the rest of my life. As bad as Waverly had wanted Max to sign over his rights, I knew it didn’t offer her the relief she’d thought it would. It was just another hurt chalked up to the diabolical Max Porter. “There’s more.” “There is?” “He sent a check with the papers. A check to help care for Pim. He sent a million-dollar check, Liam.” I struggled with the news. I wondered why. Why did he sign the papers? Or rather, how could he? I doubted he’d send a check that large if the decision hadn’t been made with some guilt. On some level, he

cared about Pim. If he didn’t, he would’ve signed the papers and washed his hands of it all. A part of him must have wanted to give Pim something, to make sure she was taken care of. “That money will last a long time for Pim,” I noted. “I know,” she nodded. “Just feels a little like a pay-off.” Brushing her hair back over her shoulder, I kissed her. “I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. I hated that Max had, once again, disappointed her. Months after I was released from the hospital, I went to his apartment to speak with him. It felt like the right thing to do, after all, I had inhabited his body. He refused to see me. Waverly wanted reasons why. Why didn’t he want Pim? I could have given her something from the sessions with Max’s therapist, but it never felt right; that was information that should come from him, if, or when, he was ready. I had my own questions, and part of me wanted answers, but I think there are some things we’re not meant to know and even if there were answers, I knew they’d never be good enough. It’s hard and unfair, but that’s life sometimes. We would probably never understand Max, but I understood, more than anything, how fucking lucky I was. “I don’t hate him, ya know?” I lifted my brows in surprise. “I never thought you did, not really.” “I did,” she admitted. “I did for so long. But in the end, he did right by Pim and me.” She put her hands on my neck, her thumbs brushing against my jawline. “He lived so we could have you.” I nodded a few times, her words hitting hard. It was such a fucked up situation and impossible to understand fully, but in the end no matter what the man had done or how fucked up he had been, he gave us each other. I’d given my life to save Max’s when he didn’t even want it, and now he’d given me his. “I want you to adopt Pimberly,” Waverly blurted out, then bit her lower lip as if she were scared of my response. Was she serious? Had she been nervous about asking me to adopt Pim as my own? Grinning, I kissed her hard as a warmth pumped through my veins. “It would be my honor,” I told her, my voice hoarse with emotion. Pim was mine anyway, as far as I was concerned. It didn’t matter who provided her DNA, she was my daughter. My little girl. I’d do anything for her. Waverly’s smile was so big it made my heart skip. I was a damn lucky man, but I needed one more thing. Maybe I was being greedy, but I wanted more. “Marry me,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. I’d wanted to ask her the moment I woke up, but I also wanted to have something to give her when I did. I wanted to be back on my feet with a job. “I want you and Pim more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I want you in my bed every night and Pim waking me up at the crack of dawn so we can have our coffee and milk together, and I want to build a life with you. I want to have it all.” Leaning my forehead against hers, I asked her again, “Marry me, Waverly.” Her eyes teared up as she took my face in her hands and kissed me. “Yes, Liam,” she rasped. “We are going to have it all.”

A huge thank you to all my readers. I am humbled by your reviews, messages, and love. Thank you for your support and for sharing my work with others. You guys rock my world. To you beautiful boss bloggers. Thank you for taking the time to read my work and share with others. I love each of you to the moon and back. Thank you Amy Donnelly for your hard work editing this book. Your insight was critical in making this book work and I’m grateful. And I think you’re hot. Thank you Rae Vatter Green with 77peaches for proof reading and helping me finely tune this story. Your thoughts and direction were so helpful. Thank you Kari with Cover to Cover Designs for creating, yet again, another amazing cover for me. Tami with Integrity Formatting. You. Are. Boss. That is all. Dreama-Boo. I love you muchly. Thanks for all of your support and input. Thank you to my dear friend, Kym. I appreciate all of your support and knowledge of the respiratory world. I love you, Red! A huge thank you to my good friend, Jacob Traylor for answering bazillions of questions about motorcycles. And another thank you to your wife, my gorgeous dear friend, Kate, for playing middle man. Love you both! Emmit Thomas and John Blaha, thank you both for also answering a ton of bike questions and reading over parts of my book to make sure I sounded like I knew what in the hell I was talking about. You guys are boss! Lastly, thank you to my family and friends who have supported me and encouraged me. I love you all and am so thankful for each of you.

B N Toler lives in Virginia with her three rowdy children. She enjoys warm weather, beaches, reading, and music.

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