That much hope had brought Max to his knees.
Apparently if he didn’t let himself weep like a little girl to relieve this emotional pressure building inside of him, he was in danger of hitting the ground in a dead faint.
Jules crouched beside him, checking for his pulse. “Are you okay? You’re not, like, having a heart attack or a stroke, are you?”
“Fuck you,” Max managed, swatting his hand away. “I’m not that old.”
“If you really think heart disease is about age, then you definitely need to make an appointment with a cardiologist, like tomorrow—”
“I just . . . tripped,” Max said, but when he tried to get up, he found he still hadn’t regained his equilibrium. Shit.
“Or maybe you needed to get on your knees to pray,” Jules said as Max put his head down and waited for the dizziness to pass. “That excuse sounds a little more believable, if you want to know the truth. ‘Hello God? It’s me, Max. I know I’ve been lax in my attention to You over the past forty-mmph years, but if You give me a second chance, I’ll make absolutely certain this time around I’ll tell Gina just how much I love her. Because withholding that information sure as hell didn’t do either of us one bit of good, now did it?’”
“I did what I—“ Max stopped himself. To hell with that. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“That’s right, you don’t.” Jules ignored Max’s attempt to push him away, and helped him to his feet. “But you might want to work up some kind of Forgive-Me-For-Being-a-Butthead speech for when you come face to face with Gina. Although, I’ve got to admit that the falling to the knees thing might make an impact. You’ll definitely get big points for drama.

Autore: Suzanne Brockmann