Christmas with My Grumpy Ex (Feuding Hearts Christmas #1)

17. A Desperate Heart

17

A DESPERATE HEART

MAX

I stare at the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, my reflection distorted in its amber surface. The penthouse is silent, save for the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. How long have I been sitting here? Hours? Days? Time has lost all meaning since the gala.

My phone lies face down on the table, powered off. I can't bear to see the flood of messages I know are waiting. From my family, from the hotel staff, from... No. I can't think about her. About Ellie. The pain is too raw, too overwhelming.

A sharp knock at the door jolts me from my stupor. I ignore it, hoping whoever it is will go away. But the knocking persists, growing more insistent with each passing second.

"Maxim Wellington, I know you're in there. Open this door right now."

My mother's voice, stern and unyielding, cuts through the fog in my brain. I consider pretending I'm not home, but I know it's futile. Patricia Wellington is not a woman easily deterred.

With a groan, I heave myself off the couch, my head spinning from the sudden movement. I shuffle to the door, fumbling with the lock before swinging it open.

My mother stands in the hallway, her eyes widening as she takes in my disheveled appearance. "Oh, Max," she breathes, her expression softening from anger to concern. "What have you done to yourself?"

I step back, allowing her to enter. She moves past me, her nose wrinkling at the stale smell of alcohol and unwashed clothes that permeates the air.

"I'm fine, Mother," I mutter, closing the door. "Just... tired."

Patricia turns to face me, her eyes sharp and assessing. "Don't lie to me, Maxim. You're many things, but 'fine' is not one of them." She glances at the whiskey bottle, then back to me. "How long have you been holed up in here, drinking yourself into oblivion?"

I shrug, avoiding her gaze. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!" She steps closer, her voice softening. "Max, darling, talk to me. What happened at the gala? Why are you shutting everyone out?"

The mention of the gala sends a fresh wave of pain through me. Images flash through my mind—Ellie in that stunning emerald dress, the hurt in her eyes as I called her "just a friend," the way she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone with my cowardice and regret.

"I don't want to talk about it," I say, moving back to the couch and sinking down. "Please, Mother, just... leave me be."

But Patricia Wellington has never been one to back down from a challenge, especially when it comes to her children. She follows me, perching on the edge of the armchair across from me.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on," she says firmly. "You have too much life to live to become the walking dead, Max."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. Is that what I've become? A shell of a man, drowning in guilt and self-pity?

"You wouldn't understand," I mutter, reaching for the whiskey bottle. But before I can grab it, my mother's hand shoots out, snatching it away.

"Try me," she says, her voice gentle but unyielding.

I lean back, closing my eyes. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words and years of buried emotions. Finally, I open my eyes, meeting my mother's concerned gaze.

"I ruined everything," I whisper, the words tearing from my throat. "With Ellie. At the gala. I... I pushed her away. Again."

Patricia leans forward, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean, darling? What happened?"

The dam breaks, and suddenly I'm pouring out the whole sordid tale - Laura's parents showing up unexpectedly, their accusatory glares, my cowardly denial of my feelings for Ellie. With each word, the weight of my actions settles more heavily on my shoulders.

"I called her 'just a friend,'" I finish, my voice hoarse. "After everything we've been through, after the night we spent together... I reduced her to 'just a friend.' The look on her face, Mother... I'll never forget it."

Patricia is quiet for a long moment, processing my words. Then, to my surprise, she lets out a soft sigh. "Oh, Max. You're so much like your father sometimes."

I look up, startled. "What do you mean?"

She smiles, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Always trying to shoulder the weight of the world alone. Always afraid of letting people see your vulnerabilities." She pauses, then continues, "Did I ever tell you about the time your father almost walked away from our relationship?"

I shake my head, intrigued despite myself. My parents' relationship had always seemed so solid, so unshakeable. The idea that my father might have considered leaving is... unsettling.

Patricia leans back, her eyes distant with memory. "It was early in our relationship. Your father was still struggling with the loss of his first love - a girl he'd known in college. He was convinced that loving me meant betraying her memory."

The parallels to my own situation are not lost on me. I lean forward, hanging on every word.

"One night, at a charity event much like your gala, he introduced me as 'just a friend' to some of his old college buddies," Patricia continues. "I was devastated. I thought... well, I thought it meant he didn't truly care for me."

"What happened?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

A small smile plays at the corners of my mother's mouth. "I confronted him. Told him he couldn't have it both ways - either he was all in with me, or he needed to let me go." She reaches out, taking my hand in hers. "It wasn't easy for him, Max. He had to confront his guilt, his fear of moving on. But in the end, he chose love. He chose me."

The weight of her words settles over me. "And you... you forgave him? Just like that?"

Patricia shakes her head. "Not 'just like that.' It took time, and work, and a lot of honest conversations. But I loved him, and I knew he loved me. That was worth fighting for."

I pull my hand away, standing up to pace the room. "It's different with Ellie and me. I've hurt her too many times. I've pushed her away, denied my feelings... How can I possibly expect her to forgive me?"

My mother watches me, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and exasperation. "Max, darling, sit down. There's something I need to tell you."

Reluctantly, I return to the couch. Patricia takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself for what she's about to say.

"When your father died," she begins, her voice soft but steady, "I thought my world had ended. The pain was... indescribable. For months, I could barely function. The thought of ever loving again, of ever being happy without him, felt like a betrayal."

I nod, understanding all too well the feeling she's describing.

"But then, one day, I realized something," Patricia continues. "Your father wouldn't have wanted me to live like that. He wouldn't have wanted me to shut myself off from love, from life. Loving again, being happy again - it doesn't erase what we had. It honors it."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. I think of Laura, of the life we had together. Had I been so caught up in my guilt, in my misguided attempt to honor her memory, that I'd been dishonoring the very essence of who she was?

"Max," my mother says gently, pulling me from my thoughts. "Laura's death was not your fault. And loving Ellie... it doesn't mean you loved Laura any less. It means you're healing, you're living. That's what Laura would have wanted for you."

The truth of her words washes over me, and suddenly I'm crying - deep, wracking sobs that shake my entire body. Patricia moves to sit beside me, pulling me into her arms like she did when I was a child.

"Let it out, darling," she murmurs, stroking my hair. "It's okay to grieve. It's okay to heal."

I don't know how long we sit there, my mother holding me as years of pent-up guilt and grief pour out of me. When the sobs finally subside, I feel... lighter. Not healed, not completely, but as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

"I've made such a mess of things," I whisper, pulling away to wipe my eyes. "With Ellie, with Amelia... God, what must Amelia think of me?"

Patricia smiles softly. "Your daughter loves you, Max. And she adores Ellie. She wants you to be happy."

"And Ellie?" I ask, a flicker of hope igniting in my chest. "Do you think... do you think she could ever forgive me?"

My mother stands, smoothing down her skirt. "That, my darling, is something you'll have to find out for yourself. But I will say this - love like what you and Ellie share doesn't come along often. It's worth fighting for."

She moves towards the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. "Clean yourself up, Max. Shower, shave, put on some clean clothes. Then go to her. Tell her everything you've told me. Be honest, be vulnerable. And most importantly, be the man I know you are - the man who's capable of great love."

With those parting words, she's gone, leaving me alone in the silence of my penthouse. But for the first time in days, the silence doesn't feel oppressive. It feels... expectant. Full of possibility.

I stand, my legs shaky but my resolve firm. My mother is right. I've spent too long hiding from my feelings, too long letting guilt and fear dictate my actions. It's time to fight for what I want - for who I want.

As I head to the shower, my mind is already racing, planning what I'll say to Ellie. I know it won't be easy. I know I've hurt her, pushed her away too many times. But I also know that what we have is worth fighting for.

I've been given a second chance at love, at happiness. This time, I'm not going to let it slip away.