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theonottsbxtch · 2 months ago

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WHATS LEFT BEHIND PT.2 | MV1

an: guys my time off is coming to an end, i move to france next week and start my job the week after rip me but in the mean time enjoy this badboy i've been sitting on

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 6k

part one

Max pushed open the door to The Rusty Wheel, the familiar creak of its hinges greeting him like an old memory. The low hum of country music drifted from the jukebox in the corner, and the faint smell of spilled beer and worn leather hung in the air. Not much had changed since the last time he’d stepped foot in here, years ago—except, maybe, for the fact that now every pair of eyes in the place was on him.

He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the bar, pausing only long enough to hang his cowboy hat on one of the hooks by the door. He used to come here every weekend, same as the rest of them. He hadn’t expected the town to change much—but somehow, it felt smaller now. Tighter. Like it didn’t quite fit him anymore.

Before he could take a seat, the owner, Earl, stepped out from behind the bar. Earl was a grizzled old cowboy, his flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a white beard flecked with grey. He stopped in his tracks, wiping his hands on a rag, and gave Max a once-over, his face creasing with disbelief.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Earl muttered, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t believe it when they told me.”

Max chuckled softly, not missing the edge in Earl’s voice. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“You actually back for good?” Earl asked, still eyeing him like he was trying to decide if he was a mirage.

Max shrugged. “Looks that way.”

Earl grunted, leaning his hands on the bar. “Guess we’ll see how that works out.”

Before Max could reply, a figure appeared beside him, sliding a bottle of beer across the counter. Max glanced up and saw Daniel—his best friend from back in the day—giving him a smirk as he set the beer down. Daniel was leaner now, with a few more lines around his eyes, but he still had the same mischievous glint that had gotten them into trouble as kids.

Daniel raised an eyebrow as he wiped down the bar. “Bold move, man,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, really bold.”

Max took the beer, the cold glass sweating in his grip. “Figured it was time.”

Daniel leaned against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, half the people in this town think you’ve got some nerve coming back after what you did to her.”

Max’s stomach clenched, but he kept his face neutral. He knew it wouldn’t take long for that topic to come up. “And the other half?” he asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

Daniel snorted. “They’re just in awe of what you’ve done with your career. Hell, I’ll admit it—I followed your rides. Man, some of those bulls you took on… I thought you were insane, but you sure made a name for yourself.”

Max nodded, setting the bottle back down on the bar. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Daniel tilted his head, studying him. “That right? Because last time I checked, you were in all the magazines, got sponsors throwing money at you, and about a million followers watching your every move. That doesn’t sound like a bad deal.”

Max sighed, leaning his elbows on the bar. “It was great for a while. But the thing is, they don’t see the rest of it. The part where you wake up and don’t know where you are half the time. Or when you’re trying to remember which interviews you’ve already done or whose hand you shook at some event you didn’t even want to go to.” He shook his head, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “Everyone thinks they want that life until they get it.”

Daniel didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched him, the silence between them hanging heavy. Then, after a beat, he nodded. “So why’d you come back? You finally get sick of signing autographs?”

Max’s eyes drifted to the shelves of dusty bottles behind the bar, memories of a simpler life flooding back. The long nights in places like this, where the biggest problem he had was getting enough cash together to fill his tank. Where people knew him as Max, not Max Verstapppen, the famous bull rider plastered on posters across the country.

“Something like that,” he said quietly. “I was never cut out for that big city stuff. The lights, the cameras… all of it.” He paused, running a hand along the neck of the beer bottle, feeling the condensation slick against his skin. “I missed home. The quiet. The way things made sense out here.”

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. “Home, huh?” He let out a slow breath. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad to see you. Always hoped you’d come back. But you know it’s not going to be easy. People here… they don’t forget.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his grip on the bottle a little firmer. “Yeah, I know.”

Daniel stared at him for a long moment, and then his expression softened, some of the teasing edge fading from his voice. “She’s still hurt, you know. Even if she doesn’t show it. You coming back… it’s gonna stir up a lot of things.”

“I figured that,” Max replied, his voice low, almost resigned. “But I had to come back anyway.”

Daniel nodded, his eyes softening. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. You’ve got a lot of work to do, man.”

Max took another swig of beer, the cool liquid doing nothing to settle the unease that had been bubbling in his gut since the moment he’d driven into town. “Trust me,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “I know.”

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupted the conversation, and Max glanced over his shoulder to see a group of locals walking in, laughing and chatting as they made their way to a corner booth. He recognised some of them, faces he hadn’t seen in years, but he wasn’t ready for more conversations, more questions.

Turning back to Daniel, he nodded toward the bar. “Mind if I hang here for a while?”

Daniel smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. “Stay as long as you need. Just don’t expect the town to make it easy on you.”

Max nodded in appreciation, as he sipped his beer, letting the familiar hum of the bar settle around him. The chatter, the music, the faint clink of bottles—it all felt like a song from a time he thought he’d forgotten. But he hadn’t. Not really.

He’d been running from home for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like to just stand still. And now that he was back, he wasn’t sure what hurt more—the memories of what he’d lost, or the fear of facing the woman he’d left behind.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, Max stepped out of his truck, the early sun casting long shadows across the gravel driveway of High Ride Stables, Austin. The familiar scent of hay, leather, and horses filled the air, stirring memories he hadn’t thought of in years. It was a place he knew well—he’d worked here as a kid, mucking out stalls and helping with the horses. But today, the barn felt different, like the weight of his past was waiting for him inside.

He pushed open the large wooden door, the creak announcing his arrival. Inside, horses shuffled in their stalls, and the rhythmic thud of hooves echoed from deeper within. He glanced around, spotting the counter near the back where Leslie, the barn’s owner, was talking to one of the stable hands.

Leslie had been running this barn for as long as he could remember. She was tough as nails, with streaks of grey in her otherwise jet-black hair and a sharp gaze that could cut through any excuse. The stable hands called her “Les” when she wasn’t listening—if she caught them at it, they'd regret it.

When she saw him, her conversation trailed off, and her expression hardened. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter, eyeing him like he’d just tracked mud through her pristine barn.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Leslie drawled, raising an eyebrow. “If it ain’t the hometown hero.”

Max tried to smile, but it fell flat. He took off his hat and held it in front of him. “Morning, Les.”

“Morning,” she replied, her tone flat. “What brings you here?”

“I’m lookin’ for work,” he said, stepping closer, but staying on the other side of the counter like it was a barrier between them. Which, in a way, it was.

Leslie’s eyes narrowed. “Work?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “After all that bull riding fame and fortune, you’re back here beggin’ for a job?”

“Not beggin’,” he muttered, his voice low. “Just askin’.”

She pushed herself off the counter, walking around it and standing toe-to-toe with him, hands on her hips. “Same difference.”

“Come on, Les,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice. “You know how it goes. The fame doesn’t last forever. Sponsors move on, injuries pile up… and the money—well, it dwindles. I can’t live off my bull riding winnings for the rest of my life.”

She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “Sounds like a ‘you’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem.”

Max sighed, glancing around the barn, trying to find the right words. “I grew up here, working in this barn. I know horses, I know the work. You know I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

Leslie tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “You really expect me to just hand you a job, after everything?”

He frowned, confused. “After everything?”

She shot him a knowing look. “Don’t play dumb with me, Max. You know who works here.”

His stomach sank, realising where this conversation was heading. Of course, she worked here—why wouldn’t she? It was her world. She’d never left it, never had a reason to. But that didn’t make this any easier.

“I’m not lookin’ to cause any trouble, Les. I just need work,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll stay out of her way.”

Leslie raised an eyebrow. “Stay out of her way? You can’t just waltz back into this town, askin’ for a job, and think you can just avoid her. This is a small town, boy, not some city where you can hide from the people you’ve wronged.”

Max winced at the word “wronged.” It was blunt, but he couldn’t argue with it. He had wronged her. Maybe more than he even realised.

He took a deep breath, meeting Leslie’s gaze. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt her. But… I need this job, Les. Please.”

Leslie studied him for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then, she turned and walked back to the counter, rummaging through a drawer before pulling out a small notepad. She scribbled something down on it, then tore off the piece of paper and held it out to him.

“Here’s the deal,” she said, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. “I’ll give you a job if you go apologise to her. And not just any apology—she has to forgive you.”

Max stared at her, not taking the paper. His heart raced, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “Les, that’s impossible.”

Leslie crossed her arms again, looking at him with the same steel-eyed determination she always had. “Well, if you think it’s impossible, you don’t want this job bad enough.”

His eyes flicked to the paper in her hand, knowing exactly what was written on it. He didn’t need to look to know it was her address.

“You know she’s not gonna forgive me,” he said quietly, feeling the weight of the past like a stone in his gut.

Leslie gave him a half-smile, but there was no softness in it. “Well, you better get working, boy.”

Max finally took the paper from her hand, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. He looked down at the address, familiar yet distant, as if it belonged to another lifetime.

“I’m serious,” Leslie said, her voice softening just a bit. “You want a job here? You’ve gotta make things right with her. I won’t have you causing more mess in this barn—or in this town. Either she forgives you, or you pack your bags and keep drivin’.”

Max swallowed hard, tucking the paper into his back pocket. He wanted to argue, to tell her that there was no way in hell she’d ever forgive him. But he knew Leslie well enough to know that there was no arguing with her.

He nodded once, stiffly. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll try.”

Leslie smirked, her eyes gleaming with something he couldn’t quite place. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

As he turned to leave, the barn door creaked open behind him, and for a split second, his heart froze. He half-expected to see her there, standing in the doorway, glaring at him like she had on that road. But it was just another worker, coming in to start the day.

Max let out a breath, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. It had been one thing to face her the first time, in the heat of the moment. But now… now he had to go, hat in hand, and ask her to forgive him. To admit he was wrong. To dig up all the things he’d been trying to bury for years.

He shoved his hat back on his head and walked out of the barn, the piece of paper burning a hole in his pocket. The road ahead of him felt longer than it had ever been.

The next day, Max stood at the front steps of the small house, nerves twisting in his stomach like a coiled rope. He stared at the chipped paint on the door, feeling the weight of years pressing down on him. This was the house he’d been avoiding ever since he set foot back in town. And now, here he was—about to knock.

He took a deep breath, raising his fist and rapping his knuckles on the door. The sound echoed in the still morning air, louder than it had any right to be. For a moment, he thought maybe she wouldn’t answer, maybe he could just turn around and—

The door swung open.

She stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowing the second she saw him. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she wore an old flannel shirt that he recognised—one she stole off of him when they were kids. She didn’t look surprised to see him. If anything, she looked like she’d been expecting him.

“Nope,” she said flatly, her hand already on the door, ready to slam it shut. “Not happening.”

“Wait,” Max said, holding up his hands. “Just… just hear me out for a minute.”

“I don’t think I need to,” she shot back, her voice cold. “I’ve already heard enough.”

“Darling, please—”

“Do not call me ‘darling,’” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. Her eyes flashed with anger, and Max felt the sting of it, like a whip cracking against his skin. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Max took a step back, raising his hands defensively. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean?” she interrupted, her voice rising, filled with a raw, seething rage that had been simmering for eight long years. “What, Max? You didn’t mean to leave me in a hospital bed without a word? You didn’t mean to disappear without so much as a goddamn goodbye?”

He swallowed hard, the guilt gnawing at him like it always did when he thought about that day. “I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to face you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, crossing her arms over her chest as if to protect herself from him. “So, you just ran? That’s your excuse?”

“I wasn’t running,” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow even to him. He’d been running for years—he knew it, and so did she.

“Bullshit,” she spat, her eyes blazing. “You’ve been running your whole damn life. When things get hard, you don’t face them—you just pack your bags and leave. That’s what you did to me, and that’s what you’ve been doing ever since.”

He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her that wasn’t true, but the words died in his throat. She wasn’t wrong. He had run. He’d run the second things got complicated, the second he felt like he was losing control.

“I thought I was doing what was best,” he said finally, his voice quieter, less sure. “I thought you’d hate me if I stayed.”

Her jaw clenched, and she took a step forward, her fists balled at her sides. “You really think I could’ve hated you?” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of years of hurt. “You think I wanted you to just leave me behind like I didn’t matter?”

“I didn’t think I was enough for you!” Max burst out, the frustration and regret spilling out of him. “You were laid up in a hospital bed because of that fall, and I was getting calls about sponsors and competitions. I was torn in two, and I didn’t know what to do! I thought if I stayed, you’d see me as some reminder of what you’d lost, of the future we’d been planning and couldn’t have anymore.”

Her eyes widened, and for a second, the anger flickered, replaced by something else—something rawer, more vulnerable. “So, what? You thought I’d hate you? That I wouldn’t want you anymore? Out of pity?” She shook her head, stepping back from him as if the very thought disgusted her. “Is that what you really think of me?”

Max dragged a hand through his hair, hating how badly this conversation was going. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice pleading now. “I didn’t want to be a burden. You’d just lost everything, and I didn’t want to remind you of the future you couldn’t have anymore. You deserved better than a guy who was barely hanging on.”

“Barely hanging on?” She seethed, her fists trembling. “You didn’t give me the chance to decide that! You didn’t even try to talk to me, to ask me what I wanted. You made that choice for me.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing!” Max shouted back, his frustration boiling over. “I thought if I walked away, you’d move on. You’d be better off without me, and I could… I could disappear before you realised I wasn’t enough.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with a mixture of rage and heartbreak. “You think leaving was easier for me? You think watching you drive off without a word made me better off?”

“I wasn’t strong enough to stay,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I thought I’d hurt you more by sticking around. I thought you’d hate me, that you’d look at me and see someone who was staying out of pity.”

“God, Max,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You don’t even get it, do you?”

He swallowed hard, the weight of her words crushing him. “Then tell me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me what I didn’t see.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her breath shaky as she tried to compose herself. When she opened them again, there was no anger left—just hurt. “You were everything to me. Everything. And you took that away because you were scared. You left me in that hospital bed, and you didn’t even let me fight for us. You made that choice, and I had to live with it.”

Max felt his chest tighten, the guilt and regret almost suffocating. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Her lip trembled, and for a moment, she looked like she might break. But then, just as quickly, she straightened up, hardening herself again. “Sorry doesn’t fix eight years, Max. Sorry doesn’t undo the fact that you abandoned me when I needed you most.”

He took a step closer, desperate to bridge the distance between them. “I’m here now. I want to make it right.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “It’s not that easy. You don’t get to just walk back into my life and pretend like nothing happened.”

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I can’t fix what I did. But I want to try. Please, just give me a chance.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without another word, she stepped back inside and slammed the door in his face.

Max stood there, staring at the closed door, the sound of it still ringing in his ears. The weight of her words, the pain he’d caused, hung heavy in the air around him.

He slipped his hat back on, the brim casting a shadow over his eyes. As he turned and walked back to his truck, the gravel crunching beneath his boots, he realised something: he’d always been running. But for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if he could ever stop.

That night, Max couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, the weight of her words pressing on his chest like a stone. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—angry, hurt, and accusing. It had been easier when he thought he was protecting her by leaving. Now, after their argument, it was clear that all he’d done was rip open a wound neither of them had been able to heal.

With a frustrated groan, he threw off the blankets and sat up in bed. Sleep wasn’t coming—not tonight. He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight, but it felt like the hours were crawling by, leaving him trapped with his thoughts.

His mind wandered to the only place that ever brought him a sense of calm: the rodeo. The old training grounds on the outskirts of town where he’d spent countless nights like this, working out his frustrations with the one thing he understood—bull riding. He hadn’t been back there in years, but tonight, it felt like the only place he could go to clear his head.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and his boots, Max grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the house, the cool night air hitting his face as he headed to his truck.

The rodeo grounds were quiet when he pulled up, the faint glow of the moon casting long shadows over the empty bleachers. The scent of dirt and leather filled his lungs, familiar and comforting in a way that nothing else had been since he’d come back to town. He walked toward the arena, the sounds of his boots crunching on gravel the only thing breaking the silence.

As he got closer, something caught his eye. Movement in the arena. At first, he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but then he saw her.

She was on horseback, weaving through the barrels in the dim moonlight, her movements graceful and precise. It was like watching a memory come to life. She moved with a fluidity that made it look effortless, but Max knew better. He’d seen the hours she used to put in, the work that went into every sharp turn, every quick burst of speed. She hadn’t lost her touch.

He stopped at the edge of the arena, standing just out of sight, not wanting to disturb her. For a moment, he just watched, his chest tightening as he remembered how much she loved this—how much they had loved this world together.

Then, it happened. As she rounded the last barrel, something went wrong. Maybe her horse misstepped, maybe she pushed too hard, but in an instant, she was thrown off, hitting the ground hard. Her horse skittered to the side, startled by the fall.

Before he could stop himself, Max was moving. He vaulted over the fence and ran toward her, his heart pounding in his chest. She was sitting up by the time he reached her, dusting off her jeans with a wince.

“Who the fuck did I piss off in my past life for you to be the one to find me?” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she glanced up at him.

Max skidded to a halt, a little breathless, and held up his hands in surrender. “I was just passing by. You okay?”

She shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “Like you care.”

He didn’t argue, just crouched down beside her, unsure of what else to do. “How can I help?”

“Help?” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You really think you can help now, after everything?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, his voice softer than before. “But I’m trying.”

She rolled her eyes, but her usual fire seemed to be dimmed, just a little. “Doctor’s orders,” she said finally, wincing as she shifted her leg. “You wanna help? Raise my leg and keep it elevated for fifteen minutes.”

Max hesitated for a moment, unsure if she was messing with him or not. But the way she was holding her side, the tightness in her face, told him this was real.

He nodded and carefully slid his arm under her leg, lifting it gently and resting it on his knee. She didn’t protest, but she also didn’t look at him. They sat there in silence, the tension between them as thick as the night air.

The minutes dragged by, and Max could feel every second of it. He kept his gaze focused on the ground, resisting the urge to say something—anything—to break the silence. But she was the one who spoke first.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” she said quietly, her voice lacking the venom it usually held.

Max swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I couldn’t.”

“You mean you didn’t want to. Big difference.” She still wasn’t looking at him, her focus trained on the darkened arena ahead of them.

He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle her leg. “I missed this place,” he said after a long pause. “Missed the people. Missed… you.”

She scoffed, but there was less bite to it. “You missed me? Is that why you didn’t call for eight years? ‘Cause you missed me?”

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought you’d moved on. I thought it was easier for you if I wasn’t in the picture.”

“Easier?” She let out a humourless laugh. “Do you even hear yourself, Max? You just disappeared. You didn’t even give me the chance to move on, to deal with any of it. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces.”

He clenched his jaw, the guilt settling deep in his chest. “I thought I was doing what was best.”

“Stop saying that,” she snapped, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes were filled with anger, but underneath it was something else—something softer, more vulnerable. “You keep saying that like it was some noble thing you did, but all you did was make a decision for both of us. You never even asked me what I wanted.”

Max opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She was right. He hadn’t asked. He’d just assumed.

They fell into silence again, the weight of the unspoken things between them pressing down like a heavy fog.

After what felt like forever, she sighed, leaning back against the fence, her leg still resting on his knee. “You know,” she said quietly, “there was a time when I would’ve given anything to hear you say you missed me. But now… I don’t even know what to do with that.”

Max looked at her, his chest tightening at the sight of her so close, yet so far away. “I’m trying,” he said softly. “I know I messed up. I know I can’t fix what I did, but I’m here now. I want to make it right.”

She didn’t respond, just stared out at the empty arena, her face unreadable.

The silence stretched between them, and Max could feel the weight of it settling in his bones. He wanted to say more, to tell her everything that had been building inside him for years. But the words felt too small, too insignificant for the damage he’d caused.

After a long while, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s enough.”

Max’s heart clenched, but he nodded. “I get that,” he said quietly. “But I’m not going anywhere this time.”

She didn’t say anything else, and the two of them sat there in the quiet of the rodeo grounds, with nothing but the stars and the distant sounds of the horses to keep them company.

For the first time in years, it wasn’t the silence that felt unbearable. It was the hope buried somewhere beneath it.

She shifted slightly, wincing a bit as she adjusted her leg on his knee. Max kept his hold steady, though every muscle in him was tense. He was waiting, unsure if she’d kick him out of her life again or keep him suspended in this strange limbo they found themselves in.

“What was it like?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but cutting through the stillness. She didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes trained on the horizon, as if the answer was out there somewhere in the night sky. “To make it big? To live that life?”

Max glanced at her, surprised by the question. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond. His instinct was to downplay it, to gloss over the highs and lows like he had so many times before when people asked. But this wasn’t just anyone asking—it was her.

He took a deep breath. “It was everything I thought it’d be,” he started, his voice low. “At first, anyway. The crowds, the money, the fame… it was wild. Everything moved so fast. One minute I was just this kid from nowhere, the next I was on posters, doing interviews, getting invited to places I’d never even dreamed of.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as the memories flooded back. “The adrenaline—it’s like nothing else. Every ride, every victory, it felt like I was on top of the world. But the crashes… they’re just as big. Bigger, even.”

She listened quietly, her face unreadable. He wasn’t sure if she cared or if she was just being polite, but he kept going, needing to get it out.

“There were nights when I’d lie awake in a hotel room, hundreds of miles from home, and wonder what the hell I was doing,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I was surrounded by people all the time, but I never felt more alone. It was like… like I was chasing something, and no matter how far I got, I couldn’t catch it. Every high came with a low, and after a while, the lows started outweighing everything else.”

She still didn’t say anything, her eyes fixed on the stars. He looked down at the ground, the dirt beneath his boots feeling more real than anything had in a long time.

“I got tired of it,” he confessed after a long pause. “Tired of the crowds, the noise, the pressure to be something I wasn’t sure I wanted to be anymore. I missed this place. I missed…” He trailed off, but she didn’t need him to finish the sentence. They both knew what he meant.

Finally, she turned her head slightly, her eyes finding his. “And you think you can just come back?” she asked, her voice steady but tinged with something bitter, something hurt. “After all of that? Just walk back into this life like nothing happened?”

Max swallowed hard. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think that. I know I can’t just… fix things. I’m not here to pretend that the past didn’t happen.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze sharp, cutting through the quiet. “Why should I trust you?”

He didn’t flinch at the question. He’d been expecting it, waiting for it.

“You don’t have to,” he answered honestly, meeting her eyes. “I know I haven’t earned that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Her jaw clenched, and she turned her gaze back to the arena. “You hurt me, Max. You didn’t just leave—you disappeared. Like I meant nothing.”

“I know,” he whispered, the words heavy with regret. “And I’m so damn sorry. If I could take it all back, I would.”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly. “You don’t get to come back after eight years and expect me to forget what that felt like.”

He nodded, his throat tight. “I’m not asking you to forget. Or even to forgive me right away. I just want a chance to make things right. To prove that I’m not that guy anymore.”

She didn’t respond, just sat there in the silence, her leg still resting on his knee. It was a strange kind of intimacy—one built on years of unresolved hurt, but also on something deeper. Something neither of them wanted to name yet.

After a while, she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Nothing ever changed here, you know,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “While you were out there, living that big life, everything just… stayed the same. The same people, the same rodeos, the same barns. It was like I was stuck while you were off becoming someone else.”

Max’s chest tightened at her words. He couldn’t imagine what that must’ve felt like, to watch the world move on without her, to feel left behind. And worse, to know he was part of the reason she felt that way.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words feeling inadequate, but it was all he had. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to leave you stuck. I thought you’d move on. I thought you’d—”

“Stop thinking,” she cut in, her voice sharp again, though there was a weariness in her eyes. “You keep telling yourself you did what was best for me, but you never asked me what I wanted. You just decided for both of us.”

He nodded, taking the hit. She was right, and he wasn’t going to argue with that.

She shifted again, pulling her leg off his knee and standing up, brushing the dirt off her jeans. Max stood too, though he kept his distance, unsure of what to do next. The tension between them was still there, heavy and thick, but something had changed. There was a crack in the wall she’d built around herself, just a small one, but it was there.

“Look,” she said after a long pause, her voice softer now. “I don’t know what you expect to happen. I don’t know if I can ever trust you again. But… I don’t hate you. Not anymore. I thought I did, for a long time. But it’s just… it’s hard to hate someone you used to love that much.”

His heart stuttered in his chest at the word “love.” Even though it was in the past tense, it still felt like a lifeline.

“I don’t expect anything,” he said quietly. “I just want to be here. Whatever that looks like.”

She gave him a long look, her eyes searching his face as if she was trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. Finally, she nodded, just once. “We’ll see.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even close. But it was something.

She turned and started walking toward her truck, her steps slow, like she was still testing how much she could trust the ground beneath her.

Max watched her go, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the weight of the past still pressing on him. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.

And he wasn’t going to waste it.

part three

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theonottsbxtch · 2 months ago

Text

WHATS LEFT BEHIND PT.4 | MV1

an: GROVELLLINGGG i need me a bull rider max verstappen i swear to god his little smile and UGH i would commit crimes for him, anyway enjoy!

wc: 5.5k

part one | part two | part three |

Max had no idea why he thought this was a good idea, but at 5:45 a.m., he was standing on her doorstep, holding her favourite coffee and breakfast sandwich in hand. His heart hammered in his chest, and his breath clouded in the cool early morning air. The bag of food rustled in his grip as he shifted on his feet, hoping that this wouldn’t completely backfire.

He was well aware that one breakfast wouldn’t erase years of hurt, but it was a start. He had to start somewhere.

The sky was still tinged with the last hints of night, the town barely stirring awake. He’d spent too many sleepless nights replaying their kiss, feeling the weight of her hurt and all the things left unsaid. This was his first step toward making things right—showing up and proving that he was here to stay.

Her house was quiet, no sign of movement behind the windows. He glanced at his watch again. She was an early riser, always had been, and he hoped he hadn’t miscalculated the time.

Just as he was considering leaving the coffee on her porch and making a quiet retreat, he heard the creak of the front door behind him. He turned to see her stepping out, her hair still damp from the shower, looking as though she hadn’t quite woken up yet but was ready for the day. She paused when she saw him standing there, her eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone flat, but he could see the flicker of curiosity in her gaze.

Max swallowed, forcing a small smile as he held out the coffee cup. “I, uh… thought I’d bring you breakfast.”

She stared at him, her eyes moving from the cup to the sandwich bag in his other hand, then back to his face. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something, but then she shook her head and moved past him toward her truck, saying nothing at all.

Well, that went about as well as he expected.

“Sweetheart,” he called after her, stepping forward quickly. “It’s your favourite. Black coffee, no sugar. And an egg and bacon sandwich, just like you used to get.”

She didn’t turn around, didn’t even slow down. But when she reached her truck, she paused. For a split second, she glanced over her shoulder, her gaze landing on the coffee. Without a word, she extended her hand, and he quickly passed her the cup.

Max watched as she took a sip, her face giving nothing away. She pulled open the truck door, still silent, and tossed the coffee into the cupholder as if it were an afterthought. She slid into the driver's seat, and the engine roared to life.

He stood there, watching her pull out, unsure if he had made any progress at all. But just before she turned onto the main road, he saw it—the faintest glimmer of something.

Her fingers curled around the coffee cup as she took another sip.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as she drove away. She hadn’t slammed the door in his face or told him to go to hell, and she hadn’t thrown the coffee out the window. For now, that was a win. Maybe a small one, but a win all the same.

As Max watched her truck disappear down the road, he let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. The quiet rumble of the engine faded, leaving only the early morning sounds of birds beginning to stir and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

He turned to head back to his own truck, feeling that faint flicker of hope from the coffee exchange still lingering in his chest. But as he passed the barn, something caught his eye—the door to her stable was hanging at an awkward angle, one of the hinges loose and the wood splintered. He paused, frowning.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he wandered over to inspect it closer. The damage wasn’t new; the wood around the hinge looked worn and cracked. The entire stall looked neglected—the bedding inside hadn’t been mucked out in a while, the hay was scattered and half-moulded. The familiar smell of manure and damp straw clung to the air, stronger than it should’ve been for a stall that was regularly cared for.

Max thought back to the other day where he’d seen Luna in Leslie’s barn. It made sense now. She must’ve been using Leslie’s stable because her own had fallen into disrepair. A wave of something unfamiliar hit him—guilt, maybe, or regret. This wasn’t like her. She used to take pride in everything being just right when it came to her horses.

He chewed his lip, standing in front of the broken stall door for a moment longer, then made a decision.

Maybe she didn’t want his help, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give it.

Without another thought, Max turned back toward his truck, digging through the back where he kept his toolbox. Years of being on the rodeo circuit had taught him a thing or two about fixing up stables, trailers, and anything else that came with working with horses. He pulled out what he needed—tools, nails, and looked around her barn to find some spare wood boards—then headed back to her stable.

The first thing he did was unscrew the damaged hinge, pulling it free and tossing it aside. The wood creaked as he worked, but his hands were steady, focused. His mind, on the other hand, was a mess. He thought about her, about the years he’d been gone, and how much he had missed seeing her in this very barn, laughing, mucking out stables, grooming her horse with such care.

He had abandoned that world—their world. And looking at this neglected stable now felt like a reminder of how he’d left things with her: broken and unattended.

As he worked, time passed quickly. He replaced the hinge, secured the door, and patched up the splintered wood with the boards he’d brought. Once the door was fixed, he moved inside, mucking out the old straw and replacing it with fresh bedding. The smell of clean straw filled the stall, and by the time he finished, the stable looked almost new again—like the way she used to keep it.

Standing back to admire his work, Max wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The sun had fully risen by now, casting warm light across the barn. The job wasn’t perfect, but it was something. It was a start.

He wasn’t sure how she would react when she found out, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right thing to do. Fixing her stable was one small way to show her that he wanted to help, that he wasn’t going to run away this time.

Sliding his toolbox back into his truck, he stood by the driver’s side door for a moment, staring at the barn in the soft morning light. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction, mixed with nerves. He hadn’t planned to stick around after dropping off the coffee, but now that he’d done this, he felt like he’d left a small piece of himself behind.

Maybe that was what he needed to do—piece by piece, action by action, until he could finally prove to her that he was here to stay.

Max was just about to leave when he noticed something else—a porch step leading up to her house was cracked. One of the wooden boards was split right down the middle, dipping slightly under pressure. He walked up to it and stepped on it, the wood groaning, threatening to give way.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. How long had she been stepping over this, risking a fall every time? He knew her leg wasn’t perfect again, it was dangerous for her to have that there like that.

It didn’t take much convincing for him to grab his toolbox again. He couldn’t just leave it like this. First the stable, now the porch… How much more had she been shouldering on her own all these years?

With a quick glance at the time, he decided he had enough daylight left to fix the step before she got home for lunch. But he’d need more wood. He hopped into his truck and headed down to the local hardware store, grabbing a few planks of wood and some extra supplies for good measure. By the time he returned, the sun was sitting higher in the sky, marking the late morning, and he got to work.

He started by removing the old board, carefully prying it loose without damaging the other steps. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked, and each crack of the wood sent memories rushing back—of him helping her dad fix things around the ranch when they were kids, of them sitting on this very porch, laughing, planning their futures. A future that had been so easy to leave behind, yet so impossible to forget.

Halfway through installing the new step, the sound of an engine approaching caught his attention. Max looked up just as her truck pulled into the driveway. His stomach twisted with nerves, but he forced himself to keep working, pretending not to notice.

The truck door slammed shut, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stepping out, wearing the same expression she’d had that morning—guarded, unsure, but somehow less cold than before. She paused by the porch, noticing the tools, the new plank of wood in his hands.

“You fixing my porch now too?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Max straightened up, wiping his hands on his jeans, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. “Figured it was about time someone did.”

She glanced at the half-repaired step, then back at him. For a second, she just stood there, as if she wasn’t sure what to say. Then, without a word, she smiled—a real smile, small but genuine—and with a light hop, she stepped over the broken porch board and headed for the door.

That smile hit him harder than any of her glares or icy words ever had.

Max grinned, watching her as she disappeared inside. That tiny, almost imperceptible smile was more than he’d hoped for when he started all this. He stood there, hammer in hand, his heart thudding with satisfaction.

Progress. Small, sure. But progress nonetheless.

He bent back down to finish the job, feeling lighter than he had in days. If this was what it took to win her back, he’d fix every damn thing in her life until there was nothing left to fix. And even then, he wasn’t going anywhere.

As he hammered the last nail into the new step, the front door creaked open again. She stepped out, a water bottle in hand. She leaned against the doorframe, watching him work.

"Didn't think you'd be so handy after all these years," she said casually, taking a sip of water.

Max looked up, wiping his brow. "Guess I never forgot how to fix things, even if I broke a lot more than I fixed."

She looked at him for a long moment, the playful glint in her eyes softening. She didn’t respond, but that silence between them felt...different. Less tense. More open.

She gave him a quick nod before hopping back over the repaired step and heading to her truck. As she climbed in, she took one long look at him and smiled again. Max couldn’t help but smile as she drove away, the fresh scent of wood still hanging in the air.

It was just a smile. Just a sip of coffee. But to him, it felt like the first real win he’d had in years.

The following morning arrived with the kind of early light that made the world feel fresh and new. Max pulled into her driveway just after sunrise, the quiet hum of his truck the only sound in the peaceful stillness of the ranch. He parked, glancing over at the house, making sure there were no signs she was up yet.

He slid out of the truck, balancing two cups of coffee and a brown paper bag filled with her favourite breakfast. He placed them carefully on the porch, positioning the bag next to the coffee with a little note tucked under it that simply read: "Enjoy. - M."

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the note,taking a sip of his own coffee as he hoped this small gesture would get him another one of those smiles. Maybe even a thank you this time. But he wasn’t expecting anything. Not yet.

Turning away from the porch, he eyed her truck parked beside the barn. It was filthy, covered in dust, and dried mud clung to the tires from her trips across the ranch. Without thinking twice, Max grabbed some cleaning supplies he knew she kept in the shed behind her house—bucket, sponge, soap—and got to work.

The cool water sloshed in the bucket as he soaked the sponge and started scrubbing away the grime. His muscles ached from the last few days of manual labour, but it felt good. Every swipe of the sponge felt like another step toward redemption. Maybe this was how he could prove himself—not through words but by doing the things she didn’t ask for but needed.

He was halfway through washing the windows when he heard the creak of the screen door. He glanced up, and there she was.

She stepped out onto the porch, barefoot, hair messy from sleep. His heart thudded once, hard, as his eyes travelled downward. She was wearing one of his old flannels—oversized on her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows—paired with short sleep shorts that left her long legs bare in the morning sunlight. For a split second, his brain stalled, eyes glued to the familiar sight of her in his shirt, like some vivid memory had sprung to life in front of him.

Shit.

He snapped his gaze away, focusing on the task at hand, but it was too late. His pulse had already spiked, and his hands fumbled slightly as he wrung out the sponge. He told himself not to let his mind go there—not after everything they’d been through. But damn, it was hard not to think about how good she looked.

She didn’t say anything. She glanced at the coffee and breakfast on the porch, her lips twitching in what might have been the start of a smile, and then she looked back at him. He felt her eyes on him as he worked, and even though she didn’t say a word, the silence between them felt... different. Less guarded.

She disappeared inside for a few moments, and he figured that was that—another day, another quiet gesture, and he’d let it be. But when she came back out, she placed a bottle of water on the porch rail near where he was working, almost like an unspoken acknowledgment.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said finally, her voice soft but clear in the morning stillness.

Max nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. His throat was tight, the sight of her in his old flannel still rattling around in his mind, so he just gave her a small smile and kept scrubbing the truck, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the way his heart was hammering.

She lingered for a second longer before heading back inside, the screen door shutting gently behind her. He exhaled, finally letting out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

He glanced at the bottle of water she’d left out for him. It wasn’t much—just a simple gesture. But it was more than he’d expected, and the fact that she’d noticed, that she’d even bothered to leave it out for him, felt like a victory.

His grin widened as he finished cleaning the truck, knowing that, slowly but surely, he was getting to her.

Max was just finishing up, wiping the last few streaks off her truck windows, when he heard her voice drift through the open kitchen window. He didn’t mean to listen, but her tone caught his attention, and before he knew it, he was eavesdropping on her conversation.

“No, Mum, I was going to make the banana bread today,” she said, frustration lacing her words. “But I just realised I don’t have enough flour...or eggs. And these bananas are already overripe. If I don’t use them soon, they’ll go to waste.”

There was a pause, and Max could imagine her pacing back and forth, probably chewing her bottom lip the way she always did when she was annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll figure something out,” she sighed. “Maybe I’ll go to the store later... I just don’t feel like leaving the house right now.”

Max couldn’t help the small smile creeping across his face. He remembered how much she loved baking, especially on the weekends when she had some downtime. Banana bread was one of her favourites—something she used to make for him when they were younger, back when things were simpler.

An idea sparked in his mind. It wasn’t much, but if he could help her out in some small way, maybe it would chip away at that wall she’d built around herself.

He tossed the rag into the bucket and glanced toward her house one more time before heading for his truck. He made a quick stop at the local grocery store, grabbing the essentials she’d mentioned—flour, eggs, and a few other things he thought she might need. But as he walked down the produce aisle, something else caught his eye: a small bouquet of sunflowers. Her favourite. Without a second thought, he added them to his cart.

By the time he got back to her place, the house was still quiet. He could hear faint music playing from inside, but there was no sign of her coming outside anytime soon.

Perfect.

Max quietly made his way up to the porch, placing the grocery bag down by the door. He carefully arranged the bouquet of sunflowers next to the bag, making sure they were the first thing she’d see when she opened the door. He didn’t leave a note this time. He didn’t need to. The gesture was enough.

For a moment, he hesitated, wanting to stick around and see her reaction. But no—that wasn’t the point. He didn’t want her to feel pressured or obligated. This was about showing her, bit by bit, that he was serious. That he could be the man she needed him to be.

With one last glance at the flowers, he turned and headed back to his truck, leaving the scene just as quietly as he had arrived.

Inside the house, she hung up the phone and glanced toward the window. She hadn’t heard Max leave, but the sight of her newly cleaned truck parked outside reminded her of his presence. There was something comforting in knowing he’d been there, even if she hadn’t asked him to be.

She stretched and decided to step outside for some fresh air. As she opened the door, her gaze immediately fell on the bag at her feet and the bright splash of yellow sunflowers.

She blinked, surprised, and crouched down to inspect the bag. Flour, eggs, even some sugar—and the sunflowers, of course. Her heart gave a little flutter, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t fight the small smile pulling at her lips.

It didn’t take much to realise who had left them. Only one person would know how much she loved sunflowers.

Max.

She stood in the doorway, staring at the bag of groceries and the sunflowers. She felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest as she reached down, brushing her fingers over the petals. For a second, she considered leaving everything there, maybe pretending she hadn’t seen it—but she couldn’t. The sight of those bright sunflowers, her favourite, was like a small crack in the carefully constructed wall she’d spent years building.

She sighed, picking up the bag and the bouquet, and headed back inside, the door creaking softly as it shut behind her. As she placed everything on the kitchen counter, her mind wandered back over the last few days. It had been relentless. The coffee, the fixed stable, the repaired porch, and now this.

Each gesture felt so simple, yet so intentional. Max wasn’t just showing up to apologise—he was showing up in all the ways she’d needed him to before, in all the ways she’d tried to move past. And that realisation hit her like a punch to the gut.

She pulled out the flour and eggs, setting them on the counter as she began gathering the rest of the ingredients. Banana bread. Her mom had suggested it, and she hadn’t even realised at the time that she was thinking of him when she’d decided to make it. It had always been his favourite.

Back when they were young, she used to bake for him every weekend. He’d come by after working the bulls or training, hungry and exhausted, and she’d have the kitchen smelling like cinnamon and bananas by the time he arrived. She’d never forget the way his eyes would light up when he saw the loaf cooling on the counter. That easy smile, the one that always made her heart race, even when she tried to pretend it didn’t.

Her hands moved on autopilot as she mashed the bananas, her mind playing through memories she hadn’t let herself revisit in years. She could almost hear his voice in the back of her mind, teasing her for adding too many walnuts one time, or for baking the bread just a little too long on another occasion.

He used to sneak slices before they’d even cooled, and she’d scold him playfully while he grinned like a kid getting away with something.

“Darlin’, you spoil me,” he’d always say, mouth full, and she’d roll her eyes but secretly love every second of it.

That was before. Before the injury. Before the fame. Before the day he’d left without saying goodbye.

She poured the batter into the loaf pan, her movements a little slower now as the memories tangled with the present. She couldn’t shake the image of him standing out in the driveway, washing her truck, fixing her porch, or that damn bouquet of sunflowers sitting on her counter now.

He was relentless, and she hated how much it was affecting her. It was so much easier to stay angry, to cling to the betrayal that had fueled her for years. But his persistence—it was wearing her down.

She wiped her hands on a towel and stared out the window above the sink. The sun was climbing higher now, lighting up the barn with soft golden hues. She glanced toward the porch, half-expecting to see him still there, but the driveway was empty.

She hadn’t asked for his help, not once. And yet, he kept showing up.

She could feel something shifting inside her, something that scared her more than she wanted to admit. He was getting through, bit by bit, and that made her angry—not at him, but at herself.

As she slid the loaf into the oven, she leaned against the counter, her arms crossed as she let out a frustrated breath.

“Why now, Max?” she muttered to herself, her eyes flicking toward the bouquet of sunflowers. “Why couldn’t you have done all this eight years ago?”

But deep down, she knew the answer. Back then, neither of them had been ready. He had been running from everything—his feelings, his fears, his dreams—and she’d been holding onto a fantasy that wasn’t real.

Now, things were different. They were both different. But was it too late?

As the smell of baking bananas and cinnamon filled the kitchen, she found herself lost in thought, wondering whether all of Max’s grovelling was just temporary—whether he’d stick around this time, or whether he’d bolt the second things got hard again.

She didn’t want to admit it, but the idea of him staying terrified her almost as much as the thought of him leaving again.

And the worst part? Despite everything, despite all the pain and resentment, she still cared. She still wanted to believe him.

As the oven timer ticked down, she glanced at the clock and sighed, grabbing her coffee from the counter. She took a sip, tasting the warmth and comfort of it, and for the briefest moment, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Maybe, just maybe, Max was winning her over after all.

She stared at the golden-brown loaf cooling on the counter, the smell of freshly baked banana bread filling her kitchen. She’d sliced off a small piece for herself—just to check that it was done right, of course—and, as soon as the familiar taste hit her tongue, memories rushed in. It tasted exactly like it used to—like weekends spent laughing, teasing, and sharing moments with Max that had once felt like they would last forever.

A thought crossed her mind before she could stop it. Should she take him some?

She frowned, standing in the middle of her kitchen, arms crossed. There was no reason to give him anything. If anything, she should keep it all to herself. But then again, he’d done so much for her in the last few days. The coffee, the repairs, the quiet way he’d just...been there, even when she didn’t want him to be. And now here she was, thinking about doing something for him.

"Fine," she muttered to herself, grabbing some wax paper and wrapping a few slices of banana bread tightly. She placed them in a small container, shaking her head at how ridiculous this all felt. "Just a thank you. That’s all."

Before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed her truck keys and the small container and headed out the door.

The drive to Max’s place wasn’t long, but with every mile closer, her heart pounded a little harder. When she finally pulled up outside his cabin, she parked at the edge of his driveway and hesitated for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.

She wasn’t going to knock on the door. No way. This wasn’t some grand gesture or olive branch. It was just...banana bread.

Taking a deep breath, she hopped out of her truck and quietly walked up to his front porch. She placed the container right by the door, gave one last glance at the house, and turned quickly on her heel before she could change her mind.

She was back in her truck and driving away in seconds, leaving the small gesture behind her like a secret she wasn’t ready to face.

Max had spent the morning out in the barn, fixing a broken fence panel that had been bothering him for days. The work had done wonders for his mood, keeping his mind off her and everything swirling between them. He knew he had to be patient, that winning her back wasn’t something that would happen overnight. But damn, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t hard.

As he finished up, the sun high in the sky, he walked back to the house, wiping the sweat from his brow. He was about to open the front door when something on the porch caught his eye.

A small plastic container, carefully wrapped, sat by the door. For a second, he just stared at it, confused. Then recognition clicked, and his heart did a little flip.

Banana bread.

He crouched down and picked it up, opening the lid to find a few perfectly sliced pieces, just like he remembered from years ago. It was the same banana bread she used to bake for him when they were kids—when they’d spend lazy weekends together, when things were easy and right.

He blinked, the realisation slowly settling in. She had brought this for him. After everything, she had taken the time to make something and leave it for him, even if she hadn’t stayed to say it herself.

His chest tightened, and for the first time in a long while, Max felt a rush of something that wasn’t guilt or regret. It was happiness, pure and unfiltered. She might not have said the words, but this was a step. A small one, but it was enough for him to hold onto.

He sat down on the porch, leaning back against the wall, and took a bite of the banana bread. The familiar sweetness hit his tongue, and it was like being transported back in time—to when she used to make it for him, to the laughter they’d shared, to the love they’d both felt before everything had gone so wrong.

Max smiled, closing his eyes and savouring the taste.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew there was still a long way to go before things could ever be right between them again. But this? This was a win. A quiet, small win, wrapped in wax paper and tied with memories of what they used to have.

For the first time in eight years, Max felt like things might just work out.

He finished the last bite of banana bread, letting the taste linger as he sat on the porch, the empty container beside him. His mood felt lighter than it had in days, like maybe things were finally starting to fall into place. With a satisfied sigh, he stood up, stretching his sore muscles before heading back inside.

His place was quiet, the kind of quiet that had always felt like a weight, but today it didn’t bother him as much. He tossed his sweaty shirt into the laundry basket and grabbed a towel, heading toward the shower. The hot water felt good, washing away the grime from the morning’s work. His mind wandered back to her —how she’d left the banana bread, how she was starting to soften, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

He smirked to himself, running his hands through his wet hair. He’d take it slow. He had to. But there was hope now, more than he’d had since he first came back.

Just as he stepped out of the shower, still dripping water, a loud pounding came from the front door. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it loosely around his waist, and frowned.

“Who the hell...?”

The pounding came again, louder this time, like whoever was on the other side had zero patience.

“I’m coming, hold your horses!” Max called out, running his hand over his face as he crossed the small hallway. He swung the door open to find Leslie standing there, arms crossed, looking as stern as ever.

“Les? Where’s the fire?” he asked, eyebrows raised, still clutching the towel around his waist.

Leslie’s eyes barely flicked down at his bare chest, clearly unimpressed. She held out a shirt—a work shirt.

“I don’t know how you pulled it off, but here.” She shoved the shirt into his chest. “You start tomorrow morning. Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”

It took a second for her words to register, but when they did, his eyes widened. He stared at her, blinking, his heart thudding in his chest.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Leslie didn’t crack a smile, but there was a glint in her eye. “Looks like someone finally decided to forgive you. Don’t make me regret it.”

Max felt a grin spread across his face, his chest swelling with relief and something close to joy. Forgiven. He’d finally been forgiven.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Les, I—thank you. I mean it.”

She stepped back, eyeing him up and down one last time. “Don’t thank me. You earned it—barely.” She turned to leave but paused before heading back down the steps. “Oh, and Max? Maybe next time, put on some damn pants before you open the door.”

Max laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Noted.”

Leslie waved him off and headed back to her truck, leaving Max standing in the doorway, shirt in hand, the towel barely holding on. He stepped back inside, shutting the door behind him, and let out a long, deep breath.

He’d done it. He’d actually done it.

Not just the job, but her. He knew Leslie wouldn’t have come to offer him work if she hadn’t forgiven him. It wasn’t much—maybe just a sliver of forgiveness—but it was enough.

A smile tugged at his lips as he walked back to his room, pulling on the shirt Leslie had brought, staring at her barn logo in the mirror. Tomorrow, at six in the morning, he’d be working at the barn, just like he’d wanted.

And, maybe even more important than that, she was finally letting him in—just a little, but enough to give him hope that there was still a chance for them. He wasn’t going to waste it.

He glanced at the clock. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

part five

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