Eighteen.

Finally got a little time to write. Didn't proof read any of it, so it is what it is. :-S haha

Max's POV

My last couple of days had been pure hell. Luckily, whenever Jordan and I showed back up at his house, Jodi handed me a piece of paper with a general location on it without a fight. I questioned her further, but she said that was all she knew. It also just worked out that a few days later, we had 3 off days; enough time to fly down here, win her back, and then fly back. So far, I haven't mentioned one bad thing. Everything was going according to plan, but that wasn't the part that worried me.


I had no idea what I was going to say when I headed off to find her, I still don't have an idea now as I pull up to a cozy looking cottage. What do you say to someone you love to make them want to love you too? How do you even start? And after you say what you need to, how do you ever make that enough?

All of these thoughts are jumbled in my head as I get out of my rental vehicle and start pacing. In the snow. Yes, I'm so worked up that I'm pacing outside in nearly subzero temperatures while snow pounds at my face from every direction. I rake my hand, my now nearly frozen hand, through my hair before pulling the hood to my jacket up in frustration. I lean back against the edge of the car, arms crossed against my chest, a far off gaze on my face and my lips puckered in concentration as I look at the tiny cottage in front of me, at the faintest glow of light inside.

Anybody that could see me now would think I was possessed with the way I just continue to stare at the view in front of me. Hell, if my body wasn't almost completely numb, almost entirely consumed with the ideas in my mind, I would probably think I was a little crazed as well. I look like a madman, standing here starring straight ahead of me with narrowed eyes, not paying the least bit of attention to the weather around me. I start to bite my bottom lip as I still continue to watch the house in front of me for the slightest sight of movement much like a vulture surrounds its prey or a lioness stalks its newest find.


As I sit motionless, not even letting the blinding snow cause me to blink, new thoughts occur to me. What if she doesn't change her mind? What if she sends me home alone once again? What if she's in there with him? As the last thought runs through my mind, I feel my hands ball into fists and then start to shake from all the tension in them. I push away from the car with more force than needed and start to pace again.

I'm the biggest pussy or panzy I know. Here I am, right in front of her, and instead of going up and knocking on the door, getting the answer I've been desperate to know for what feels like the longest time now, but instead of going and claiming what's mine, I'm standing outside in a damn snow storm, too afraid to approach the door.

She's always done this to me. She's always made me the slightest bit crazy, fogged my brain making it almost impossible for me to think things through. I've never thought it was a problem until now. I never really thought too in depth about what she made me feel, or what she made me feel like. I never analyzed it or tried to even figure it out, but these past few months, I've had a lot of time on my hands, and in that time I've thought about this mere question time and time again, only to come up with one solution; I have no idea why she turns my brain to mush. After thinking about it that hardcore, that simple conclusion is annoying as hell and quite disappointing. One would think after concentrating on something so hard and for so long, they'd come up with a brilliant explanation. Maybe I could have if her memories weren't clouding my every thought, making the light bulb in my head strain to go off, leaving me still desperately searching for my answer. And maybe that answer isn't meant to be revealed, but it was easier to think about that than the other question that frequently popped into my head; How could she do this to me? How could she throw away what we were finally creating again?

And then the word creation makes my mind go onto yet another rabbit trail. Inside of her is my child, the child she was anticipating on keeping from my presence. I've always been possessive. What's mine is mine, and I don't share well or easily. It wasn't until recently that that logic applied to a baby. I never wanted to have kids, her and I had discussed it before, back when we were in that 'I enjoy spending time with you' phase, but not the 'I'm in love with you' era yet. I could tell she was disappointed in my answer, but she shrugged it off quite simply because neither of us were looking for something long term, but instead someone to help liven up those quiet nights alone. Perhaps that's why we ended up loving each other; maybe the saying love is blind is absolutely correct in the sense that we were both blinded by what was happening, neither of us wanting to believe that what we had was special until it hit us both, and hard. And then all shit hit the fan, me screwing up monumentally and her running as fast as her tiny legs could carry her away from me. The idea of her trying to run away from me again as me mad as hell, triggering my legs to stomp in the direction of the small cottage, wanting nothing more than to tell her exactly how I feel about this.

I pound on the door, harder than probably needed, and then take a step back, taking a deep breath in an attempt to cool down my anger just a little bit. I need to be demanding, but in a blind rage probably won't do anything but scare her more.

She swings the door open slowly, but she isn't facing me right away, she's turned back toward the living room, turning off whatever music she was listening to before. She takes the Kleenex she has in her hands and dabs at her eyes before turning to face me. When she sees me standing there, she crosses her arms across her chest and her mouth falls open. As we both continue to stand there, I take the opportunity to get a good look at her. She looks exactly the same, and completely different all at once. Her brown hair surrounds her hair in gentle waves, the way I like it the most. Next I scan her face, noticing how her cheeks are slightly wet and her eyes have a tint of pink to them, meaning she's been crying no doubt. I see a new tear escape from her eyes before she rushes toward me, wrapping her arms around my neck. It's not until I feel the gentle swell of her stomach touch mine that my knees get weak.