"But we don't have to rush off to dinner quite yet, do we?" I asked. "I've missed you both terribly."
I could tell by the way Garrett turned into me, he'd caught my meaning. Then, Karen grinned, and I knew she had, too. I wanted to kiss Garrett again and let the moment lead the four of us wherever it would lead, not just for my satisfaction but for Max's.
Since we'd been together, I'd discovered the antidote to Max's struggle against the darkness inside him: sex. The hard, brutal kind that had me surrendering completely to my Dom. No, surrendering to the man I loved, who also happened to be my Dom.
"Actually," Max said, his hand dropping to my flank, where I still bore the scars from my attack. "I'm starved. I'm sure Bree is, too. Food and rest, that's what we need."
The three of us turned to him. Luckily, no one seemed to openly gape at him.
No. No way he was tired. I knew that in my bones. Even on his deathbed, Max wouldn't say no to sex.
The only explanation I could come up with was he thought I was too fragile. He'd touched my scar, hadn't he? This was another example of how much our sex life—our relationship—had changed since my attack, how much his view of me had changed. Of course, in his defense, I hadn't exactly been at my best since the attack, but to "protect" me from Karen and Garrett? We'd have words about this, but not here. Not today. Too much was happening already. I wouldn't add anything else to his worry plate.
I pressed a kiss to Max's cheek and plastered on a smile, reassuring him I was okay while simultaneously offering him support. "I'll help Karen finish dinner. You and Garrett go relax. You've had a tough day, my love."
He touched my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb so softly that I wondered if I imagined it. The action made me feel cherished, and my mind drifted back to what Karen had told me at the funeral home.
You mean the world to him. You have to know that.
Karen spoke up. "Yes. Bree and I will get dinner finished while you two go find us the perfect bottle of wine to pair with the meal."
"You got it, my heart," Garrett said. "I know just the bottle."
Garrett pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek, stepped from our joined embrace and headed toward the hallway to my left. Max, however, didn't follow, didn't release me. Just the opposite, he tightened both arms around me in a crushing hug.
He buried his face against the side of my neck. "I love you," he whispered so quietly that I scarcely heard him.
"I love you, too," I returned automatically, a wiggling feeling in my gut telegraphing something was wrong. I wanted to pull back and look at him, to glean what I could from his baby blues, but he held me too firmly. He held me the way I held him during a panic attack, like he was the only thing in the world keeping me sane. "Max?"
When he pulled back, he wore a smile. He tapped his lips to the tip of my nose and then turned in the direction Garrett had disappeared and was gone. My heart, however, still pounded.
Something wasn't right. Yes, he'd just lost his mom, but that embrace, those whispered words, they were, were—
I had no clue, but something was indeed wrong. I couldn't shake the feeling even as Karen leaned close and whispered, "Maxwell Penn saying no to sex. I never thought I'd see the day."
"There's something seriously bothering him," I said. "Did he say anything to you at the funeral home?"
He'd been in the room with his mom a long time, and when he'd finally returned, I'd been in the restroom. I'd nearly barreled him over when I'd walked out the door.
Her left eyebrow drew up. "Not really. He just looked panicked a moment and asked where you were."
"Panicked?"
"He's emotional right now, and he loves you dearly," she said as if it explained everything, and maybe it did. My emotions were running high, too. Dinner and wine with good friends, yes, I'd feel better after that.
I ogled the house's interior as I followed Karen toward the kitchen. Spacious and earthy, their home reminded me a lot of Max's decorating style. This one didn't have the overtly outdoors-indoors feel of his—our—house, but with the large windows and drapes thrown open, the seaside beauty naturally made its way in.
As we walked, I also confided in Karen. I explained about the panic attacks, the PTSD, the nightmares—everything—and by the time she dropped the last of the pre-made dumpling dough in the slow cooker, I'd laid everything bare.
"I didn't realize you were having so much trouble," she began, wiping freshly washed hands on a dishtowel. "I wish you would have told me. I'm not sure what I could have done, but I would have done something."
"I know you would have, but I hated that I couldn't break myself out of the cycle of panic. Sometimes, I break the cycle fairly easily, but other times, not so much. And then, the worse I do trying to control my emotions, the worse I feel about not being able to control them. And the worse I control my emotions, the harder I try the next time, and it fucking exhausts me."
"I can imagine."
"And when I'm that emotionally exhausted, that's when the full-blown panic attacks hit, and the cycle begins all over again. My therapist says it'll get better, but I'm terrified I'll be like this the rest of my life, anxiety always simmering beneath the surface, knowing it could turn into a raging boil at any moment."
"That's nothing to be upset about, Bree. You're human. You're having a very human reaction to a near-fatal event. The fact you've been able to keep it together, to fly halfway around the world and be strong for Max in a time of need says everything."
"I don't feel strong, and it doesn't help matters I'm constantly worried Max is gonna get tired of me and—"
"That will never, ever, happen, darling." She draped an arm over my shoulder. "There are two things I know about you with absolute certainty. One, you're immensely brave. You took down a madman with a knife!"
"Letter opener," I corrected.
"It had a stabby end, so close enough. And two, it's that Maxwell Penn loves you more than life itself."
After dinner and a more detailed tour of Karen and Garrett's home, Max and I retreated to the patio daybed. The seaside air had the slightest nip to it, but with the blanket and Max's arms around me, I was pleasantly comfortable.
Scattered about the property, Max's security team had blended into the scenery, patrolling and keeping us safe. They'd chased off a few reporters looking for a quick photo, but other than that, things were blissfully quiet and peaceful. Well, as calm as things could be given the circumstances.
Not for the first time, the security team amazed me; except for when we needed them, I never saw them. The only exception was Scott; he was always within shouting distance if Max or I needed him. Everyone blended in and disappeared, which was probably the idea. Otherwise, they'd likely feel more like prison wardens than bodyguards.
We'd arranged the daybed so we weren't lying flat. The position left me with a breathtaking view of the ocean and the sun as it hovered above the waterline. The house sat a hundred yards or so from the beach. If I could have found it in myself to leave Max's side, I would have waded into the surf. The waves were probably still warm from the lingering heat of a long, hot summer.