Chapter 3 – Helen

"This is lovely!"

"I thought you would like it."

"Honestly, it's really too generous of a deal, Akash."

"How so?"

"Full autonomy to run the center as I see fit. A budget that any doctor could only dream of."

His eyebrows lift, along with the smile that reaches his expressive eyes. "It's everything you deserve, Helen. Why do you believe that it is too generous? Nothing is too much for you."

Shrugging my shoulders, the words to explain don't readily come. Instead I fall back into the comfort of the cool, leather desk chair and spin away from the elegant lunch that Akash had catered for the two of us in the swanky office of the new medical center he wants me to be the director of. After a week in London, filled with dinner parties catching up with friends and family, a lazy day spent mosying through the Brixton Market with my mum and auntie, and a whirlwind of meetings with the board, and the medical staff for the center, I feel like I've fallen into a dream.

Now I'm here, back with Akash, everything seemingly hinging on my decision to stay. His hopes for a rekindled relationship. My own hopes of finding my very own something. Even my parents and family seem invested in my return to London, with my parents dropping with not much subtlety that they are still holding out hope for Akash and me to settle down and give them grandbabies. And of course, there is the realization that I missed my family, my siblings, my friends, the comforting familiarity of knowing that there is a place where I belong. That in a very uncomplicated sense, there are people who belong to me, and I belong to them. That they miss me, and love me, and don't want anything except me.

Not Dr. Helen. Not Deputy Medical Director Dr. Sharpe. Or even Department Chair Dr. Sharpe. But Helen. Helen, the daughter, sister, best friend...lover. The me that I have submerged for years. Subverted to allow Dr. Helen to take precedence. How had I forgotten the simplicity of having my needs met without condition? And now, I think...I don't want to exist in a place where I sacrifice myself for someone, who doesn't even realize it. I don't want that anymore. I want to be a more balanced Helen, and more, and it's for that reason that I make up my mind to release myself from the overbearing guilt that rides me over how abruptly I left New Amsterdam behind. Left Max and Luna behind.

I had to though, right? It's a question that I have tussled with every single night since I left New York. If I didn't take this opportunity, if I didn't leave behind who I had become, a constant giver. The something that everyone else could rely on, how would I ever have my very own something? I wouldn't. I couldn't. My relationships there had become too heavily dependent on what I could do to support others. Maybe it wasn't on purpose, but it had happened all the same. The penchant I have for being reliable for others had bitten me in the butt and left me with very little life left to seed into my own garden.

Flying back and forth to San Francisco to help Evie and Floyd with their wedding preparations. Keeping tabs on Bloom through her recovery process from the accident and subsequent surgeries, and ongoing struggles with addiction. And perhaps most importantly, inexplicably becoming not only Max's doctor, deputy, and right-hand woman, but also his babysitter as he pursued romantic relationships.

That's the one that gets me the most. Stings the most. How had I fallen into watching everyone else live their best lives, get married, get well, fall in love...while I...didn't?

Slowly shaking my head as though stepping out from the fog of the disappointment clouding my memories, I halt and drop my head, resting my chin to my chest at the firm grasp of his hand on my shoulder. And the husky utterance of my name.

"Helen?"

Swiveling my chair back to face Akash, I find him leaning with his hip propped against the desk, on my side, waiting patiently, as though he can actually see the gears of my brain turning, calculating my next move. Reaching his hand out to me, Akash guides me to my feet, where I stand under the intoxicating spell of his beautiful white smile, piercing dark eyes, and the clean, crisp scent of him. A mix of something citrusy, and a hint of bergamot. He smells divine, and I can tell by the way he's staring down at me that he knows what he's doing to me right now, the position he's placed my heart. Offering me the world on a silver platter. Every single thing that I have ever wanted. Every single thing that I have always been too afraid to ask the universe for, but desperately needed. Unencumbered by anything, or anyone else. The only person standing in the way now, is me.

Despite me pushing him away before, allowing him to leave our relationship in disrepair due to my inability to believe in him. Believe in us and put away my desperation to save Max, in favor of a life with him. Akash is steadfast, his lean dark form, a solid reminder of every kiss, and touch. The firmness of his presence imbues me with strength. The nerve to stay. I won't run. Not this time, I think, swallowing down the thick knot of my nerves, feeling the goosebumps rise on my arms as he skims them up and down, a hypnotic rhythm that preludes the gentle pull of my body into his.

Pushing my form into the heat of his, I allow myself to fall under the spell of his comforting arms around me, and with a contented sigh, sink into his chest. For a moment, this is all I need. This confirms that the decision to come here, to accept what Akash is offering is right. And I want to vocalize that. I want to say the words to him, let him know what he means to me, what this opportunity symbolizes for our future. And just as I'm about to, as I can literally feel the words traveling to my lips, riding the wave of emotion breaking in my chest, my cellphone rings.

"Leave it," Akash requests, a throaty command heightened by the bass in his voice. I raise my eyes to his at that, at the steel in his declaration. Unblinking, unflinching, he does not release me from his gaze or his demand. Instead he tightens his arms around my waist, and kisses away what I'm sure he recognizes as what was going to be a protest. It's a habit really. A subconscious quirk of Dr. Helen's. Always ready to toss away her own satisfaction for the needs of others.

And though I recognize that the ringer is the one set aside for my mother, literally it sings in her Persian accented British lilt that it's my mum calling, I comprehend the tight banding of Akash's body around mine, and the unwavering focus of his eyes on mine. He's telling me that now is when I choose. Now is when I let him know in no uncertain terms...I've chosen a life with him. I've chosen to be his.

XXXX

"Thank you for driving me home, but you didn't have to do that."

"Helen," Akash wearily sighs, raising my hand to his lips and gifting them with a soft kiss. "It's my pleasure to do this. You don't have to do everything on your own anymore. That includes riding home from work. And maybe, eventually... you will see your home as with me, and riding to and from work will be what we normally do together."

Opening then quickly closing my mouth, like a fish gasping for air, I wait for a response to come. Floundering when it doesn't, I feel foolish. This man continues to surprise me with his kindness, and his willingness to enfold me into his life. To make me a part of the family that he already has with his two children. Moving in together is a big step, and while my brain signals me to affirm my interest, something keeps the words blocked.

Since my lips betray me, and will not allow me to speak, I simply nod and smile, hoping that he doesn't take my silence wrong. That he doesn't sense the hesitation building a dam to halt the flow of acceptances on this day where Akash has already given me so much.

Seemingly he doesn't notice. His eyes soften on me even further, the inky blackness of them dancing over my face, from own gaze to finally settle on my lips. And just as I'm about to lean into him and kiss him, noticing the heated warmth of a blush coloring the russet ochre of his skin, something behind me must have caught his attention, because his stare darts and narrows away from me, quickly then directly back just as we are interrupted by the slight knock on my window.

Immediately I turn to the sound, and find my father rapping the metal of his gold pinky ring against the passenger side glass of Akash's Audi. Exasperation pulls at his dark features. Despite the frown lines around his lips right now, and those that have animated at the corners of his focused eyes, my father's Ghanaian coloring, a deep walnut, does not betray him. Nearing his late 50s, he could easily still pass for his 40s. Stalwart, and kind, this is the man who has taught me how to sacrifice. How important doing the right thing is. Even when it's inconvenient. Even when it hurts.

"Helen! Helen! Why do you not you answer your phone?" Reaching for the door handle, my father whips it open, offering me his hand to extract me from the vehicle. "Your mum has been ringing you for two hours now. What is this, eh? You ignore calls now?"

Responding to the sharpness of his reprimand, I instantly feel as sheepish as I did when I was a schoolgirl who didn't return home until after curfew. Finding no possible way to explain to my father, an immigrant who left his own family behind in Ghana to attend university, to work two jobs to support them as well as his own family here in London, that instead of answering my mother's phone calls I was making out with my boyfriend, I simply nod in acceptance of his tongue lashing, agreeing to the disrespect inherent in me not answering my mother's calls.

"Sorry, Dad."

Not noticing that Akash has also exited his vehicle, I'm somewhat caught off guard when I see that he has joined my father and I on the sidewalk in front of my parents' home. Offering comfort, his palm is instantly on the small of my back. A gentle touch of support as he adds with a reverent dip of his head, as though his experience with his own parents guides him, a contrite "Sir, I apologize for that on Helen's behalf. It was my fault that we were in meetings that kept her from answering her mobile."

Glancing over my head to acknowledge Akash, my father pulls himself up to his full height, his lean body still tall and imposing over my short stature. Studying him silently, probably deciding if his interruption and apology is acceptable, my father does not smile or grin as he often does, he just offers a gruff 'hmph'. If my father is not smiling and easygoing, whatever my mother was calling about must be bad.

"Come, Helen. There is someone here for you." My father turns on his heel, points his index finger towards the house and then leads the way. Stopping suddenly, I almost run into his back, as he looks over his shoulder and does finally allow his features to settle into the grin that is more characteristic of him than the assessing scowl from a few seconds ago. Lowering his voice, he tilts his head down towards me, his words whispered so only I can hear them as Akash brings up the rear. "You may want to leave your friend outside for a moment." As though he is trying to convey a secret of sorts, he then raises his bushy dark eyebrows that are turning a striking white, "For drama's sake."

I don't quite get his meaning, slow to get the gist of his veiled suggestion, I allow my words to fly without further thought. "It's ok, Akash can come in." It seems like the right answer in the moment. Despite the gravitas of this weird little moment with my father, I feel light and ebullient. Weightless and carefree. Floating on the feelings that the last week have stoked within me. I am unburdened, and perhaps that makes me slightly foolish right now.

My father probably can sense that about me, that the normal seriousness I carry like armor is absent. Perhaps it is for this reason that he abandons his warning and opens the front door to my childhood home. And introduces me to the delighted laughter of the man I had least expected to find there.

"These are delicious, Mrs. Sharpe. Very sweet!"

"Yes, sweet is good. Have more shirinee, Maximus."

"Thank you, but-"

"Look at Luna! She loves sweets." I hear my mother excitedly exclaim as my feet, now heavy, reluctant in their march behind my father, drag me down the hall with Akash not far behind. Closing my eyes, I'm feverishly hoping against what I know my ears hear, that another American man, with the same deep laugh, also named Maximus and with a daughter named Luna, is in my parents' kitchen eating Persian sweets with my mother.

Delusional, I know. And I'm not even allowed to live in that slight moment of denial for long, because just as I try to stutter my steps down the long hall, a tactic to delay our arrival, Akash reaches for my arm.

"Helen, what is this? Max is here with your family?"

I don't want to turn around. How can I? Facing him seems impossible. There are no answers I can offer because I have none. Thudding harshly against my chest, I can't even decide if my heart is beating wildly because I'm excited that Max is here, or if it's because I'm afraid that he's here. And how this must look to Akash. How confused and upset he must be, just as bewildered by Max's presence as I am, though probably, and rightfully suspicious just the same.

Courage mounts though, and I offer simply on a small voice as I watch my father at the end of the hallway take a seat at the kitchen table, "I don't know what's going on. I will find out, though. I promise."

It's the best I can give him right now. And that must mean a great deal to Akash, because he does seem to be filled with confidence from my declaration. He seems to be standing taller, more imposing behind me, and with that he grabs my hand in his and ushers us into the kitchen.

"Helen! Finally! I rang you to tell you that you had a guest." My mother beams my way, grinning as she rises from the kitchen table with Luna snuggled contentedly in her arms, shoving the syrupy, saffron laced pastries in her mouth, and gestures towards where Max was sitting to her right. He's risen now, standing tall and straight next to my mother.

"You left this as your forwarding address, and we...have some unfinished business." Max answers the unasked question that clouds the air. The sharpness of his blue button up shirt, the same color as his scrubs, brings out the laser focus of his blue eyes on me. Max studies my face intently, perhaps assessing how I'm taking to his surprising presence here. His lips twitch amusedly, as though he wants to laugh at an inside joke that only he and I share. The lift is just a bit at the corner, almost an unnoticeable amount, but I notice. I notice everything about him right now.

In the short time we've been separated his auburn beard and locks have grown a bit longer, an unruly swirl that he's brushed back and to the side behind his ears. When his gaze finally breaks from mine, and lands on where Akash and I hold hands, I can almost feel the impact of how that affects him. His broad shoulders slump a bit, the stealth in him somehow seeming less than it was just a brief moment before. And I hate it. I fall back into the old Helen. I want to go to him, explain, soothe him. Reassure him that he is still the man that I would, that I have done everything for. But I can't. I know that. I feel that. It is a certain, stalwart thing in my mind, and yet... my heart doesn't care.

No, my heart is the traitor, so easily taken under by the sight of him, suddenly sullen and sad. Those eyes of his without the luster that danced in them just a moment ago. Assessing, narrowed, they skip from me to Akash, who is now tightly positioned at my side, our hips touching. And in that moment, I feel what I've always felt for Max, and I pull my hand from Akash's grip, allowing it to drop to my side.

My mother's excited chatter continues to fill the room, my attention so focused on Max and steadying my breathing that I only catch every other word, but I get the gist. She's excited that he's here. Luna is a doll. Such a good baby. Among the chatter that floats about, is the tension, thick, palpable. My father seems to be minding his own business now that he's met his duty by trying to warn me of Max's presence. Instead of bantering with my mother, he quietly sips at his cup of what I know is his drink of choice, cold sobolo, a Ghanaian favorite made from rosella leaves.

Breaking the awkward pause my mother continues to push the conversation along, "Well, Helen, isn't this a wonderful surprise! How nice of him to come visit you. How many bosses would do such a nice thing?"

Boss? I almost want to laugh myself at how unaware my mother is. I want to confess to her that no one's boss, who is only their boss, would do such a thing. And that's the thing. Max is so much more than that, but she did get one thing right. This is a surprise. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that Max would show up at my parents' house. And with Luna. My brain can't make sense of it. I'm dumbstruck, even more so than I already was. At least until Luna shakes me free from my catatonic state, by squealing and almost lunging her tiny body from my mother's arms towards me.

Catching her, I squeeze the baby girl that I have grown so fond of and breathe her in as though it's been forever instead of a week or so since I've seen her. Hugging her, I place a kiss to the top of her head, as she does her usual babbling and playing with my hair.

"She missed you. We...both did. It's good to see you, Helen." Max mutters, his voice soft, quiet.

Not taking the bait and realizing that I cannot fall into what his comments or his presence here means, I try to keep the conversation light, cordial, professional. "How are things at the hospital?"

"Oh! Let's not talk about that. You can talk about hospital chitter chatter later. Maximus is not here for that right now. Right?" My mother inquires of him, her face widely splitting into a smile as she flutters her eyelashes at him. And even as I wonder if maybe she is picking up on something between he and I, I don't blame her for falling under his spell. Max is very easy on the eyes.

"You're right. Helen and I can talk about things left unresolved back in New York, later."

Gesturing to him, with her palm turned upwards, as though it's so obvious that he's not here to talk about business right now, and not bothering to question what other reason he could have for being here, my mother continues to direct the conversation disregarding my efforts. "See. And Akash, it is also nice to see you again." She adds, smiling at Akash who she absolutely adores. Though I'm not sure he's her clear favorite anymore as she just keeps giving Max the same grin she has been reserving solely for Akash. "Thank you for dropping, Helen home."

"Ahem, yes well uh... I uh...Yes. I am happy to do it. In fact," Akash moves further into the kitchen, no longer satisfied with his far-off stance. Taking a seat next to my father he makes himself comfortable at the kitchen table, grabbing a handful of the pistachios kept in a bowl in the center, and I inwardly groan at how uncomfortable this whole scenario is turning out to be. Even more so with his next few words. "I was just telling Helen in the car that we should make our commutes together more permanent."

"Permanent?" Max asks, that single word seeming to have caught his attention in a way that causes him to drop his hands into his pockets and tilt his head in confusion.

Turning back towards me, and offering his hand out to me, Akash ushers me closer to him. "Clearly Helen is here in London for a reason."

"For a job." Max declares, biting out the only answer that he can probably fathom. But the way his eyes never leave me makes me wonder if he doesn't understand exactly what Akash is insinuating. I can almost see the heat emanating from Max, steam coming off him in waves, as I try to ignore the scene unfolding around me, and focus on the sweet simplicity of Luna resting in my arms.

Scoffing Akash grins as though he has won the lottery and kisses my hand. "More than that, my friend."

"Helen, can I speak with you for a moment?" Max questions, rounding the table to stand by my side.

"Yeah sure. But first, uh, it smells like Luna could use a change." I stutter and try to force an affable smile, one that I'm sure doesn't reach the skittering nervousness that is probably on display in the aversion of my eyes.

Dragging my hand out of Akash's grip, I head up the stairs to my childhood bedroom that I have been staying in until I finalize my housing arrangements. As I sit on the bed with Luna, taking to the business of changing her diaper, I quietly dread what comes next.

XXXX

"Are we going to talk about what you are doing here, Max?"

"What I'm doing at this pub? I'm drinking." He answers, then gulps down another drink of his pint.

"You know what I mean. Here, in London."

Sniffing and dragging his hand back through the length of his hair, Max keeps his eyes focused on the back of the bar. It's the question I've been wanting answered all night. Inwardly though, I'm afraid of the answer.

The pub we are at is not far from my parents' home, and is exactly what we needed after the perplexing interplay of events after I discovered him at my parents' home. Apparently when I went to change Luna's diaper, Akash had to leave to pick up his own children from an after-school activity, which left just Max and my parents. And after filling our bellies at my mother's insistence on one of my favorite Persian dishes, bademjan, and Luna subsequently falling asleep, I decided that the only way I was going to be able to talk to Max alone was to leave the house.

With my mother offering to watch Luna as she slept, I kept evading Akash's phone calls and texts, and I brought Max here to a pub in Chelsea that my neighborhood friends and I used to frequent quite often in our youth. The place hasn't changed over the years that I have been absent from home, and for some reason that provides me with some additional confidence, comfort. For once I have Max on my turf, and now four drinks in, I'm finally ready to have the discussion that has been bothering me since I found him at my parents' kitchen table.

"I mean, you've met my parents, my mother has talked you into letting her babysit, she's fed you my favorite foods, we've gotten pretty drunk, and talked about all of my adolescent mishaps, most of which have happened in this pub. So..."

Taking in his silhouette, I admire him, watch as he gulps down a big swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Something in me, this very visceral urge makes me want to kiss him in that moment. When he's seemingly unaware of how handsome he is. Even as his hair falls out of the smooth waves he keeps brushing them into away from his face. Max is always so unassuming. That's what I've always liked about him. While he's constantly consumed with saving the world, one against the grain decision at a time, he never seems to realize how Max, the man, has an effect on those around him.

Yes, his altruism is almost nauseatingly sweet. Yes, he's a brilliant doctor. But, yes, he is also a very good-looking man. That never escapes me or most of the women who meet him, my mother included. But it quizzically seems to allude him, even as all of the female nurses and doctors at the hospital swoon over him, bring him food, and practically fall all over him whenever they see him with Luna. It's no wonder that there was a steady stream of young female nurses who all of a sudden needed a meeting with the medical director when his wife died. Of course Max, being Max, was unaware of the man-snagging traps all of those women were setting for him. If I didn't know him, and remember with vivid clarity how harsh, and gut wrenching his suffering was when Georgia died, I might have considered that he sampled from the platter so many of the pretty medical professionals were serving up to him. Perhaps it is the fact that none of that overt flirting ever seemed to penetrate his awareness. As I watch him lick his lips, and the swath of long spiky eyelashes dust his cheeks with every blink, I know that it's the very thing that makes me love him.

Seeming to consider my statement, he nods, and maintains his focus behind the bar. "I've enjoyed every moment. I missed you. You...left so suddenly. Your letter didn't really explain." Max answers, his words somewhat strained, though clear and firm.

Ignoring the parts of his statement that I simply cannot account for right now, I respond with the bit that I can handle, "It's only been a week." I chuckle, laughing it off.

"You didn't give me a chance to talk to about it. I thought we were better than that, Helen."

I thought my letter was pretty clear that, I didn't want to talk to you about it." Swiveling my chair so that I face him, even as he still only gives me his tense silhouette, I want to be sure that he understands my next statement. "You would just try to talk me out of leaving, and frankly I figured you were preoccupied with Alice."

Kicking his head back, possibly in shock, surprise, I can see that my use of his new paramour's name has struck a nerve. Good.

"What does Alice have to do with you leaving me- I mean New Amsterdam?"

"Nothing really."

"Then why bring her up?"

"Nevermind." I pout, somewhat disgruntled that as usual Max isn't understanding what I'm trying to tell him, without directly telling him. It's unfair, I know that. But, I've tried to tell Max before how I feel, let him know that I do everything for him. At this point either he doesn't want to understand, or he simply doesn't feel the same way.

Neither of us follows my dismissal. I think we are both uncertain how to proceed.

Breaking our stalemate, Max swings his head away from me, towards the back of the pub. He doesn't directly address my last comment, and instead redirects. "Come on." Grabbing my hand, Max leads me away from the bar top, and towards a dimly lit corner where a couple is walking away from the darts. Picking up the darts placed on a side table, Max hands me a few then gestures for me to go first.

I'm a little offended at first. I need him to speak to me. For us to finally have it out, and tell me what's going on so that I can handle whatever his presence here, all the way from New York, means. Or doesn't mean. As usual the mixed signals dashing back and forth between us have me confused and frustrated. I know that I left abruptly. I'm sure my departure and my letter have confused him, but what I don't understand is what Max is doing here. Why would he come all of this way...to talk to me? His lack of candor right now is discouraging, and I suppose that is apparent when I completely flub my first toss of the dart, missing the bullseye entirely.

Easing up behind me, Max is now extremely close. So close that his chest, solid, firm, is pressed into my back. Inching down towards me, highlighting the almost foot of height that separates us, he rests his chin down by my shoulder. My peripheral vision catches the scan of his eyes focused on my lips. "I thought Brits knew how to play darts?" he playfully asks, his voice leveling from the deepest register.

Clouding my judgment with the husk in that question, the sheer nearness of him, the added up and down brush of his hands on my arms, and his scent, I wonder if Max knows what he's doing to me? Does he realize how I feel about him? Does he really not comprehend why I had to leave? This physical closeness that he's initiating right now is puzzling. We're friends. We may have shared a few hugs and hand holds for support over the time that we have known each other, but never anything like this. Nothing so intimate as this. It scares me with how close it is to sating the need for something I have craved for so long.

Unfairly I begin to calculate the variables that make this moment, that make him so different from Akash, who I would describe as sophisticated, expensive. Every inch of him is presumptuous, confident. His affection an indulgent experience. Max is distinctly masculine in his desire to lead by serving. To protect. He is less ethereal and hypnotic than Akash. Instead he's more earthy. Real. Seductive in a passionate yet modest way that speaks to the quiet fire of who he is.

Even his scent is different. I once described it to Evie, while accidentally confessing my hidden feelings for him to her, as what you would expect the natural musk of a freshly showered man to smell like without the fragrant overlay of cologne. If I could bottle it and sell it, I would simply call it Max. Embodying everything that he is. Fresh, elegant in his lack of complication, and carrying just the faintest hint of that soapy tint that all doctors are imbued with given our professional penchant for constantly washing and sanitizing our hands.

Sucking in a deep breath, I'm greedy in how much of him I want to consume, even as I fight against the inclination to lean in and take more than what I think he's ready to give. He doesn't even realize I want it. Certainty that he is only here because he wants to understand why I left the hospital, stings. This isn't about Max and me. This is about New Amsterdam. Again, the frustration is real in this moment. That he's toying with me about darts. That he's clueless about how I feel about him, and he's evading my questions about why he's here. That he's...so close that his beard brushes softly against the sensitive skin covering my neck. And mostly that his attentions, romantic or not, seem to only ever affect me in this inappropriate way.

Angry. Yes, I think I'm getting angry as he envelopes with one hand, my right one that holds the next dart between my index finger and thumb, ready for my next strike to shut him up. But it's the gentle rub of his thumb over mine that stops me, and just as I'm turning towards him, desperate to try and untangle the bramble of thorns my feelings are becoming in this moment, Max inches forward just enough that our lips meet.

It's everything I've ever imagined and yet not enough at first, starting as an unexpected peck. A simple press of our lips that immediately jolts us both in a way that we seem equally startled by the shock of how wonderful that gentle gesture is. Unsatisfied with the sample, something innate urges us both to finally confront the other, head on, and what started as a meek kindling of heat, roars into a heated flame as our lips crash against each other again, but this time engulfing us in passion. I can't stop tasting him, savoring the lick of his tongue against mine, the hunger in his lips sucking my own, and the eventually undoing of me...his teeth diverting from my mouth altogether and delivering just the slightest nip of a bite to my jaw and my neck.

"Oy! Oy! Come on!" I hear in the background shouted our way from another pub patron who obviously isn't up for watching the impromptu make out session that Max and I are putting on right now. And maybe, just maybe if I wasn't so flushed with arousal, I would be more mindful of that, but looking up at Max, watching him watch me. Eyes boring into me, seemingly uncaring of how quickly the match between us was ignited as he licks at his lips, I am robbed of the faculties to respond in the proper way.

Swallowing my hand in his, Max doesn't wait for me to come out of my sudden shock at what we've done. Instead, he easily leads me out of the pub, "Let's get out of here."

XXXXX

We don't end up back at my parents' house as I assumed we would, as I played through in my brain scenarios of how this night would end with us once again ignoring whatever this thing is between us. Based on our history of politely dancing around it, and avoiding it, I thought Max would take me home, collect Luna, and head back to New York. Back to Alice. Awkward embarrassment forcing him to completely leave unfinished whatever business he had with me, that brought him here in the first place.

But that's not what happened at all.

No, Max brought me to his suite at the Chelsea Harbour Hotel, a short ride from the pub.

"Maybe..."

"I love you, Helen."

"What?"

A short laugh pulls his lips up into a grin. "I said, I love you."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why did you say that?" I ask, completely thrown not just by the declaration, but by the simplicity of how easily he tossed it out there. Gone was the confusion from earlier. This was Max standing next to me, where I had positioned myself by the windows, glancing out at the harbor, still wondering what is going on, and how I ended up here, finally saying what I need to hear.

My discomfit seems to have caught him off guard as he doesn't respond immediately. Instead he eases his hands down into the pockets of his dark rinse blue jeans, and paces the floor behind me.

"Seeing you here, standing in the window like this, it reminds me that we have done this so many times before. We have history you and I."

Wrapping my arms around myself in a hug, I try to follow where he's going, "Max, I'm sorry, you're not making any sense."

"I know. Bear with me, please." He begs, as he takes a seat at the small table next to the couch. With his elbows on his thighs, his large hands droop in a prayerful clasp in between his legs. "How many times have I gone to your apartment, and seen you just like this? Standing in front of that wall of windows. Or, or practicing yoga in the window. Sometimes with Luna in the swing right next to you. Most often alone."

"I don't know, Max. Tons of times I suppose."

"You're right. Tons of times." He pauses, and before he continues his thoughts, as I lean my shoulder against the cool glass of the window, I watch his face begin to flush underneath that russet colored beard.

And then, as he does when he's nervous or about to discuss something that makes him uncomfortable, he drags his hands backwards through his hair, and oh how handsome and lost, and beautiful he is in that moment. When indecision and doubt seem to crowd the blue of his eyes with just the faintest hint of green. A dazzling touch I am so familiar with that even under the blackness of the midnight sky, only lightly threaded by peeking streams of moonlight through ever present London clouds, I don't have to be close to know those flecks of green are there. I don't have to touch him to know that he's tense with concentration, the muscles in his neck flexing under the strain of whatever he wants to say.

Blowing out a breath, as though its release frees the words that may have stalled in his mouth, he sweeps my body from the heels on my feet, up my legs exposed in my fitted skirt, over my bosom, and finally landing on my face. Focusing on me, leveling me with a truthful earnestness that only Maximus Goodwin has, he mutters softly, "Every single one of those times, I wanted to touch you. Give myself permission to act on how the silhouetted lines of your body, the soft...curve of your neck makes me want you in a way that I know...I knew I could never act on. There is such elegance in how you always stand with your weight mostly balanced on one side, pushing the roundness of your hips out in a...very seductive way."

"Max-"

"Never overtly sexual. Enticing nonetheless." Leaning back in his chair, he balances the ankle of his right leg on his knee, and crosses his arms. As though the fixture of them over his chest will protect his heart. Protect him. From me? "Every time, every moment since the first day I saw you at the hospital, has built up to this. Every moment where I watched your silhouette against a window and couldn't reach out to you, as though you lived untouchable on the other side of that glass. And you did. You were. You are."

"I'm not." I reject his assertion. "As close as we are, Max, how could you feel that I'm untouchable? I've been trying to tell you how I feel about you for so long."

"First, I was married. Then I was unavailable. Then you had Akash. And then...worst of all, I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

Shrugging, Max's shoulders raise and fall under the weight of his confession. "I don't really know, Helen. Losing your friendship if this didn't work out. If you finally figured out how much of a mess I really am."

"A mess?"

"Afraid that me wanting you isn't enough. The imbalance between us is...breathtaking. I have burdened you with so much-"

"Burdened me?" I hate that I can only blurt out questions to each of his statements, but the unvarnished truth that falls in pain laced verses, almost poetic in their clarity, robs me of something more to say.

"Since we met. I've been unable to do this...my life without you." He offers, the finality of the last word emphasized. You. Uttered so clear. The heft of its importance, his need to make sure nothing is lost in his communication, weighing on that very last word.

I cannot imagine that all of this has lived in him, these thoughts and feelings. Burdened. For some reason that stills me. Wounds me. Astounds me that yes, we have used that word before between us. But now that I can hear in his words, that while it signified to me how important I am to Max, to the hospital, it personally meant something entirely less positive to him.

Understanding pushes me to go to him. My feet don't stop until I'm standing between his widespread legs. I give myself permission to reach out to him. To no longer be untouchable.

"Touch me, Max. I'm right here." I urge him. And to guide him, I drift my fingers through the silk of his hair, gently grazing his scalp as each thread falls back into place. Max closes his eyes at my touch, as though it soothes him, or pains him. I don't know. The tightness in his shoulder muscles relax, but the pinch of his thick eyebrows remains. So, I repeat my request, and with it I take my other hand and place my palm to his cheek. "Touch me, Max. Please."

The plaintive beg in my voice seems to unlock something in him, as he opens his eyes, lifting them to me with the rich sweep of his long eyelashes shadowing the darkened blue. On a deep, hard swallow Max inches his hands out to me, immediately rolling the flat palms of them from the cinch of my waist, to my hips, and then to rest in a tightened grasp of my ass.

It's the last bit, the unexpected gruffness of his grip that lights my fire and pulls forth the smallest mewl of pleasure from my lips. His actions give me a peek into another side of him that had previously been veiled by his marital attachments, cancer, grief, other romantic entanglements. Max isn't hiding any longer though. With a swiftness I have only ever seen him use in the hospital, he's twisting and gathering the fabric of my skirt in his hands, then pushing it to bunch around my waist.

My desire for Max to touch more of me, to finally break the glass that once separated us, and have me is reaches its summit. I no longer want him to tell me why he's here. I want. No, I need him to show me why. And he does, carefully pushing at my thighs to spread, then dragging me down on to his lap.

With my hands threaded behind his neck, my placement on his lap positions us squarely face to face. Max takes full advantage of this, angling his lips over mine and kissing me. Not kissing me. Consuming me. Literally taking my breath away with the needy passion of the soft, wet interplay of our tongues, and the tight hold of how he's hugging me to him. Close. So close, our bodies press in an indecent crush that positions my womanhood over the turgid thickness of his erection, pressing insistently into his blue jeans.

On the table beside us, I can see from the corner of my eye the screen come to life, glowing ominously with yet another unanswered call from Akash, now joining the accumulation of neglected texts. Max's movements never stop, never waver, even as the buzzing and vibrating of my phone becomes more persistent and frequent. Instead, he winds his long fingers into the tendrils of my hair, and with a handful, gently tugs my head backwards, exposing my neck to him.

I'm soft and pliant in his hands. There is zero resistance to how his skilled hands maneuver me, place me right where he wants me. The hand that was so insistent in kneading my ass, has traveled up my thighs and my ribcage. Over my breasts, only stopping momentarily to press his palm into them, squeezing as though needing to become familiar with how well they fit into his hand. With only a slight pinch of my nipple, one that raises my moans and mewls to simply delighted gasps, needy pants, he moves higher. Both hands join together to frame my face, tilting my head back down, bringing us eye to eye.

Tilting his head in a small gesture towards my phone, Max's voice strains, an almost painful whisper, "Do you need to answer that?" His eyes bore into me, patiently balancing his emotions on whatever my answer will be.

It reminds me of the same choice I was faced with earlier today, as I found myself in a similar position with Akash, and instantly shame nearly destroys me. How could I be doing this? Right now? With Max? Breathing heavily, I try to tame the pants flowing from my lips, to allow my faculties, good common sense to come back online. Think, Helen.

Max even seems to want to help me make the right decision, by handing me my phone. "It could be important." He offers, the smallest smile twists his lips, but it doesn't cause his face to come alive in the way that I know it would if he was truly happy. And that's what pulverizes me under the crucible of this decision. Unlike Akash, who demanded I ignore my mother's call, Max seems to want me...no need me to choose him. I know it pushes me two steps backwards from the one step I took forward when I left New York, but I simply cannot ignore this galvanizing moment that allows me to finally have Max all to myself.

It's a selfish choice. I don't know what it means going forward, but I know that regardless of what Akash wants, and what Max might think, this is me choosing...well me.

Turning my phone off, I watch the light on the screen die, as Max's face, kissed by the thinnest stream of moonlight, comes alive. The transformation in him is breathtaking, the contortion of his face, his features focused solely on me. Lust dimming the blue of his eyes into a shade azure. Gliding over my cheek, my nose, my lips and chin, then down from my collarbone to rest on my heaving breasts, still confined by my blouse. Max bites at his bottom lip, and utters with masculine awe, "You're exquisite, Helen. Simply beautiful."

"Max..." I groan, the word melting me, arousal pooling in my core.

Kissing at my lips in a series of pecks, he continues, his voice a husky growl, "I've always wanted to tell you that."

Gripping the fine threads of his shirt in my fists, I'm holding on to Max as though he is the only thing to save me from the carnal desires of my flesh. What has he done to me?

I need more of him. Unclenching my fingers, I begin the measured push of the buttons of his shirt through the loops, then drag the hem from his blue jeans right before I open them. I'm ready to die from the anticipation of what is about to happen. Despite sharing kisses with Akash, we have not been sexually intimate since I've been in London. I haven't been sexually intimate with anyone in months. But I want this. I want Max. And with him unbuttoning my blouse, and easily removing my bra, I give myself permission to accept what this moment presents.

Without a moment's hesitation, Max takes charge and in one swift movement his steely length is removed from his pants, and pressing against the dampness of my womanhood. Nudging my panties to the side with one hand, he pulls me down onto him with his other hand wrapped tightly around my waist. The stretch is exquisite, leaving me panting with every inch of him that my petals enfold. He's so much more than I expected, and once I'm fully seated, impaled in the naughtiest way, I can barely breathe past the fullness. I can see he's as affected as I am by our connect, with a striking twist of lust blushing his face. How handsome he is, with his eyes raised to mine as his pink lips swallow and suckle my breasts, as I wind my hips and follow his direction to follow the push and pull of our seductive dance.

In and out, back and forth, Max guides me in the provocative sway of my body on top of his, crashing his groin up into me with every thrusting drop of my womanhood. Our lovemaking is not hurried. We take our time with each other, deliberately transitioning from languid kisses to nips and bites. Exerting ourselves, sweat gathers where our bodies are fused together, crushed together in a sinful press.

My form is fluid, weightless, the pleasure so persistent that I feel as though I am at death's door when Max uses his thumb to play a rhythmic cadence against my clitoris. With my head drooped forward, my forehead pressed to his, I arrive at my climax, the thrill of it stiffening my form in enchantment more gratifying than any I've ever known.

XXXXX

Sticky. Sore. Satisfied. Spent.

Those are the only words that come to mind as I try to answer my bladder's rousing call for the restroom. Thoughts are cloudy. Coherence is difficult to grasp as I try to unfurl my body from the heavy masculine form draped across it. Thick threads of hair brush against the back of my neck, accompanied by the slumberous cadence of sleep, as the muscles of one arm bulge with the effort to keep me close.

"Stay." Is all Max mumbles under the haze of his sex induced coma. I want to. I really want do want to stay nuzzled safely within the realm of his firm, muscular body's warmth. But the urgent need to relieve myself is more insistent than the need to remain where I want to be. Inching slowly, limb by limb, out of Max's grasp, I hurry to the restroom, groaning at the icy pricks of the room's air conditioning attacking me. Leaving my skin speckled with goosebumps, that as I rest on the commode, I notice are joined by several splotchy bruises. Love bites are what I remember my cousin called them the summer I lost my virginity, and she instructed me on how to use a cold, frozen spoon to try and remove them.

I chuckle to myself, maybe a little embarrassed that at the giddy remembrance of how Max gave me, in our many rounds of lovemaking, each of those little bites.

Washing my hands and scurrying back to the bed, I permit myself a brief moment to admire Max's long form. The dark hair that traverses his wide chest, arms and legs. The nest of chestnut locks that obscure his face from me. And...the gold ring that still circles the finger on his left hand.

My heart hurts as I fixate on that simple band of metal, because I know what that means. I know. And well, I can't ignore it can I? I can't pretend that even though he's here physically, is heart is still with another woman. With Georgia. Certainty, clarity is what I have right now. Max's heart isn't ready to move on from the devastation of losing Georgia. His body might be. Just like it was with Alice. But, his heart, the part of him that I want more than anything, is not available to me. Even in death, Georgia still has him.

As much as I want to ignore it, the specter of that shiny, gold shackle reminds me that I deserve more than this. More than a man who can only offer so little, when I'm prepared to once again give him everything.

That epiphany now clouds my mind, as I bend down and begin gathering my clothes, preparing to leave.