Our Broken Love (Angels of war series #4)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I rest my hands on the steering wheel as I bring the car to a stop after a spin around the block. Max is watching me with a satisfied smile, still giddy from my excited squeals as I drove the car.

"Do you love it?" he asks, chuckling when I launch across the console to tackle him into a hug.

I press several kisses on his lips, humming into his mouth, tangling my fingers in his thick hair.  "Yes, of course! This is amazing!"

"I know how much you love these cars. I have been looking for the perfect one for weeks," he says, nuzzling all over my face.

I relish in his affection, heart so happy.

"Scarlett and James are spying us from the window," I say when my gaze falls there.

Max pulls away to look at them, laughing when they suddenly disappear. "Nosey buggers," he says lightheartedly.

I go back in for a longer kiss, staring into his eyes as our lips touch and we smile. It's hard to explain how grateful I am... how touched I feel at him buying me such a thoughtful present.

"Game is on for your present now," I say, expecting the sour reaction from him.

"I don't need anything," he says, moving back to climb out of the car.

I follow after him. "Max."

His laugh meets his eyes. "Seeing you excited is all I need."

I find him so terribly hard to buy for because he has to justify everything, which is something I really admire, but when you're asking for inspiration and he shuts you down, it can be slightly draining.

"Fine. I'll surprise you then," I say, noting how he visibly cringes. "Why do you think you struggle with affection so much?"

When his head whips around, his dark brows pull in. "You don't think I'm affectionate, baby?"

The lost look he flashes is met with a bout of puppy dog eyes. "No," I rush to add. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" he whispers, grabbing hold of my hand to kiss my knuckles.

I'm a pile of mush then.

"Just an observation, but I feel like you sometimes struggle to accept kindness. Almost like you believe you're not worthy of it or something."

The quietness which follows is pretty heavy, the cogs turning in his head showing on his face. "I witnessed so much shit. Terrible tragedies that I could have stopped, yet I didn't because I'm a coward. I ran away from the danger instead of fighting it, so I made a pact with myself for a while to never allow happiness into my life. It isn't until I met you that my thinking changed, but it's hard to forget."

The heavy silence grows steeper, his eyes zooming around my face. I take his hand. "You deserve happiness, Max." He deserves everything.

"I sometimes feel like I don't deserve you," he says, brushing me off when I make a noise of protest, thinking that's a strange thing to say.

"Why do you say that?"

He folds his arms over his chest, avoiding eye contact. "I just don't. The things I've done in my past are really shitty. I'm a functioning alcoholic with anger issues. You could do a lot better."

"Yes, but you're working on those things," I respond back, not wanting him to fall into those dark thinking patterns again. I won't let him. "War is something I will never be able to understand, but I'll do my best to support you. I need for you to open up to me like this more often, okay? It helps me be on the same page."