Page 14 of Burn
The pool area is low lit, but I can make out Max sitting in the back corner at the edge of a cabana, looking like a rich tourist instead of a man who drove around a track for three hours at two hundred miles per hour only hours earlier. Tall palms sway with the warm breeze, and a hint of pool chlorine and coconut oil hangs in the air.
Pop music that I don’t entirely recognize hums in the background, and a few people are deep in conversation over expensive cocktails. There are a couple of people from the team in the hotel; I know this because Adam informed me that they’re packing up the garage and temporary buildings on the track and leaving for the next race in Texas. But these are race fans, rich ones, who are wringing out one more night of partying.
Max lifts his hand and waves me over, but there’s no smile on his face. For the hundredth time, I wonder why he’s asked me here.
As I walk to his cabana, I stare at my feet. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m eager to impress him, although one look at me and he’ll know I’m not trying to make an impression on anyone.
My hair looks like a ferret’s nest and my face is ashen and worn. He probably thinks I’ve crawled out of a garbage pile. Meanwhile, every other person in this place looks like they walked off the cover of a magazine.
When I reach the cabana, he holds the curtain open for me. The interior is illuminated by two faux candles, making everything seem insistently sensuous. There are two chairs and a loveseat clustered around a low wooden table. I choose the chair. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been waiting for the hospital to call with an update about Papa.”
“How is he?” Max sprawls on the loveseat, his eyes full of intensity. My face flashes hot, because I feel that old spark between us.
I take a deep breath. “He’s okay. As well as can be expected. The surgery went a little longer than the doctors anticipated—four hours—but it turned out well. They’re observing him in the ICU and I should be able to see him tomorrow. He had a near-total blockage in one artery and they said it could’ve been . . .”
It’s impossible to say the wordfatalbecause it’s too frightening, and for the first time in a few hours, tears claw their way into my eyes. I swallow, hard.
“Sorry. Sorry.” I try to stop the tears but they spill over my lids. When I reach for a bar napkin on the table, Max is already holding it.
“It’s okay. This is all scary and unexpected. It’s going to be difficult for you.” His tone is low and growly, with a touch of annoyance, and I take the napkin from him to wipe my face. Most men would try to hug me, come around to my chair and put their arms around my shoulders.
Not Max. The sweet Max I used to know would’ve done that, but this man, older and hardened, doesn’t bother. He thinks that little of me. Or he’s embarrassed by my very public display of grief. Probably that’s it, because Max almost never shows emotion around other people, and definitely not in a hotel cabana while others are drinking and partying.
I gulp in a few breaths, settling my quivering insides. “I’m fine. This whole thing took me by surprise since he seems, seemed, so healthy.”
“Took me by surprise too. It was shock to everyone on the team.”
“You didn’t notice anything out of place this morning at the team meeting or in the garage?”
Max studies me for a beat and I wave my hand dismissively. “No, that’s a silly question on my part. You wouldn’t spot anything, you were focused on the race.”
“Actually, I noticed that he was sweating a little more than usual, but I thought it was because he was hot.” Max sips from a glass of water.
“It was a brutal day today.” I lean back into my seat and look around for the server.
“Brutal is a good way of putting it.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.
“I’m sorry about the engine. Saw the highlights on TV. It was the first thing Papa asked the nurse when he came out of anesthesia. Race results.” A sad little laugh escapes my lips.
“Did the nurse tell him?”
“They claimed not to know anything—I’d given them strict instructions to not say a word. He was too out of it to know it was a lie.”
The muscles in Max’s chiseled jaw tense for a brief second, then relax. That’s about all the indication I’m going to get that he’s angry or annoyed. His eyes are seemingly boring into mine, and I shift uncomfortably. Good lord, he’s somehow even more magnetic, more alluring now than when I first met him. Before he was an eager, brash guy, and now he’s all man, silent and broody.
“Where’s the server anyway, I need a dr—”
I’m almost immediately interrupted by a waiter balancing two plates of food on one arm, and tray with drinks.
“Here we go,” the server says in the most upbeat tone I’ve heard in hours. “Sashimi and a mojito, and a vegan burger for the champion.”
My jaw drops. Max had gone ahead and ordered for me. He’d remembered the exact thing I’d ordered all those years ago that night we first hooked up in a room on the tenth floor of this very hotel. Max flashes a smile, displaying straight, white teeth, and murmurs a thank you, but I’m sure inside he’s cringing at the wordchampion, considering how he flamed out on the track today.
“Will you need anything else?”
Max leans back and extracts his wallet, taking out a hundred-dollar bill. “If you could keep any press and autograph seekers away, that would be perfect, bro.”
The server takes the money and does a little bow. “Yes, sir. My pleasure.” He thanks Max profusely as he backs away.