Stand (Black Addiction Book 3) by T. Gephart Page A

rule out any career change into the medical profession. I sucked as a nurse. I mean realllllly sucked, the water I was trying to pour into his mouth spilling across his chin and down his chest. My effort to help, making him splutter.
    “You really are trying to kill me.” He coughed, sliding the bottle out of my hand and into his own. His shirt wet, as he used his other hand to wipe his chin. “You need to relax.” His smiled returned, as he walked us to his apartment.
    Relaxing was not something I could see happening right now. I don’t know how he was blasé about it or how he couldn’t hate me.
    Anyone else would have probably looked like a scary mutant.
    But not Max.
    His lips had puffed, slightly swollen, but not so much that they were distorted, in fact most of the people I know would have paid big bucks for the same effect. Even the welts weren’t that horrible. If it had been me, I’d have looked like I had some freaky skin necrosis. At the very least—okay, I was drawing at straws—I hadn’t ruined his beautiful face.
    He unlocked his front door, the process taking less than a second before we had walked into the dark open space. His hand reached for the light switch so the room flooded with brightness.
    “I’m so sorry.”
    I wasn’t sure how many times I’d said it, but it wouldn’t be enough. Honestly, I felt terrible. What’s worse is that I had always known about his intolerance to strawberries and in the panic I’d forgotten.
    “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m going to be okay. It’s really not that big a deal.” Max moved closer, his hands moving down my arms, the paper bag still tight in my grip.
    “Can’t you just be angry at me?” I shook my head as he pulled the paper bag from my fingers and tossed it onto the coffee table, its existence meaning his new pad was now fully furnished. “I swear you being so cool with the situation is making me feel worse.”
    Not once had he blamed me, and if there was anyone at fault, it was me. Instead he wrapped me in his arms and pulled me close to his chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the hug or the steady beating of his heart that gave me comfort.
    “Do you remember that time you borrowed my car and hit a trashcan and scraped paint off the fender?” He laughed, his hand gently pulling back my hair.
    “Oh God, how could I forget? I threw up three times before I worked up the courage to tell you.”
    It had been terrible. Not because I was worried about him being upset, but because I hated that I’d wrecked his beloved car.
    “Did I yell? Or lose my shit?” He tilted his head to the side waiting for me to confirm what he already knew the answer to.
    “Well . . . no.” He hadn’t even been upset. Just kissed me, asked if I was okay and told me accidents happened. He didn’t even let me pay for the repair, saying it added character to the car and left it as it was. At the time I thought it had been incredibly sweet—the perfect boyfriend—now I know I should have insisted.
    “What about the time you washed my white vintage Soundgarden T-shirt with a pair of red socks? Did I fly off the handle then?” Max smiled, his hands moving to my chin.
    I had come home from college over summer. I had spent more time with him and Joey than my own family. He hadn’t let me pay for groceries even though I was another mouth to feed and he was earning minimum wage so I did his laundry to try and thank him. I probably should have checked what was already in the machine before adding whites, his T-shirt coming out a lovely shade of pink when it was done with the spin cycle.
    “Are you trying to remind me of everything I’ve done where I sucked? Clearly I was a terrible girlfriend.”
    If there had been a time Max had been upset at me then I hadn’t been around to witness it. Not to say that he didn’t have a temper, I’d seen him get his hulk out when it mattered but that fury had never been directed at anyone he cared about. Not even his