Favorite Things (The Resident 2011 Fanfic)

Chapter 7

Max sat in a hard plastic seat waiting under bright fluorescent lights. That seemed to be all he had done the last three days. Waiting for morning to come to see if August made it through the night. Waiting for EMS to arrive to take the barely alive old man to the hospital. Waiting for doctors to tell him there was nothing more they could do. Waiting for August's heart to stop beating when they took him off of life support. Now Max waited for the paperwork to release the body to the funeral home so his grandfather could be buried next to his wife and daughter.

He had waited his whole life to be out from under the old man's thumb. His constant spew of volatile hatred. The crushing weight of constant disappointment. Always being compared to the man that took the life of his mother and then his own. He would never have to measure up to August's twisted set of expectations again. He was his own man.

Being his own man, however, had left him in a tumultuous state of confusion. Without August to dictate how he should feel, he didn't know what to feel. His mind alternated between guilt for not feeling remorse and relief that he was finally gone, but never grief.

He had no love for the only member of his family he would ever remember. What kind of person did that make him? That he could let his grandfather die without feeling anything. How could he be that cold? The fact that August probably would have done the same turned his stomach. He spent his whole life trying not to be his father. Had he turned into his grandfather instead?

Max pulled his phone from his pocket and opened his messages. He scrolled through the texts Avonlea had sent him over the past few days. Sweet notes letting him know how much she enjoyed their date. Worried texts wondering why he hadn't responded. Why hadn't he responded? He hadn't seen her in since that night. He couldn't bring himself to face her. He could barely face himself. Didn't she deserve better? Shouldn't he want better for her? He should, but he still wanted her for himself. If he should feel guilty about anything, it was that. His love for her was selfish. He wanted her even if it wasn't the best thing for her. He wanted her even though she would despise him if she ever found out who he truly was. He could live a lie his whole life, as many lies as it took if it meant being with her. He could and he would.

"Max?"

He looked up, startled by the sweet sound of Avonlea. Her brows were furrowed, her hands fidgeted with the hem of her cardigan she wore over her blue striped sundress.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was visiting Jason. He gets out tomorrow. What are you doing here? Why haven't you returned my texts?"

An employee of the hospital walked towards him. "Here you are, sir. Everything is in order. You'll be able to make final arrangements for services with the funeral home. I'm very sorry for your loss." He gave him some papers, shook his hand, and walked away.

Max looked over at Avonlea who was now seated. Her hand covered her mouth and her wide eyes searched his, hoping for an alternative explanation. He sighed.

"Oh, Max...I'm—I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"He had a massive stroke a few nights ago in his sleep. He was on life support, but I took him off early this morning. There was nothing they could do." He looked to the ground hoping the shift in eye contact conveyed some sort of appropriate emotion.

Avonlea stood and took a step forward. His arms fell to his sides as hers wrapped around his waist. She leaned her cheek on his chest. He let his hands rest on the small of her back. His chin rested on her head savoring the way she fit so perfectly against him. He could feel a small wet spot spreading on his shirt. She wept for a man she didn't even know. He hadn't shed a single tear.