(MAX)

A week had gone by without a word from Spencer. I was furious, humiliated, and most of all, heartbroken. I don't understand what happened that night. I tried to assure myself it wasn't me, but kind of hard to believe that when you are half naked on a man's lap and he practically throws you off of himself to get away from you.

I tried texting once the following morning. I asked if he was ok and apologized for moving too fast. I didn't hear back from him. I knew it was too good to be true. I went back to my normal routine, trying to pretend I wasn't hurt and that I didn't care one bit that he ghosted me.

It was early that following Sunday morning when I stepped out of the coffee shop, hands wrapped tightly around the warm cup as the cool November wind blew. I had just turned to walk toward my apartment when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.

I shrieked, startled by the sudden contact. Thankfully I didn't spill my coffee. I turned around to find Penelope looking at me sheepishly. I pulled out my earbuds as she frowned apologetically.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," she said softly.

"No, it's ok. I was just distracted and … it's ok," I repeated.

"I don't know if you remember me, I'm Spencer's friend, Penelope," she said as though I could forget such a vibrant wonderful woman.

"Of course, I remember you," I said with a small kind smile. "How are you?"

"I'm ok, thank you for asking," she said before looking nervously at my cup. "I know you already got your coffee, and you might be busy, but I wondered if you had a few minutes to talk?"

I really didn't want to discuss Spencer with her. I didn't want to discuss it with anyone but especially not his friends.

"Please," she said in a sad, soft voice.

She clearly seemed upset. Maybe something happened to Spencer and that's why I hadn't heard from him. I suddenly felt anxious.

"Um, ok, sure," I said as I turned back to the entrance of the coffee shop.

Once she ordered her drink, we settled into a booth in the back corner of the shop. My fingers were tangled nervously together as I waited for her to talk. She seemed to be considering something, so I decided to get the ball rolling.

"So, what did you want to talk about? I assume it's regarding Spencer?"

She nodded her head as she pursed her lips together.

"Look, I know this is awkward, me being his friend and all, but he doesn't know I'm here and truthfully, he'll probably be really mad at me for doing this," she began.

"Why? What's going on?"

"Well, that's the thing. I don't know what's going on. I just know I haven't seen him this depressed … well, in a long time," she said.

"I'm sorry. I wish I had an answer for you," I said shrugging.

I didn't do anything to him. He's the one who ran out on me. I should be the one pouting and being all depressed. He didn't have the right to be so miserable. This was his fault.

"I'm sorry for pressing you about this. I know it's really not my business … but Spencer … he's been through a lot and for the first time," she stopped as her breathing hitched and tears weld up in her eyes. "He was happy. He was the Spencer I remembered and now … I'm scared for him."

"Well, I didn't do anything to him," I said bitterly as I folded my arms across my chest.

"I wasn't insinuating –"

"He is the one who left me. I thought everything was going great until he ran out on me. Leaving me humiliated," I said angrily, my own tears threatening.

I saw her face change from sadness to shock. She blinked at me. Her mouth opened slightly.

"It's fine, whatever, I'm a big girl. I can handle rejection," I sniffled as I tried to casually wipe away the stupid tear that betrayed me.

"What do you mean he ran out on you?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter," I replied.

"It does matter. Very much. Max, I know this is weird and totally awkward for me to ask you," she said hesitantly. "Were you … being … you know … intimate?"

That was enough humiliation for today. I stood up abruptly and stormed from the coffee shop. I could hear her heels clicking as she chased after me. I must admit she is incredibly fast in those heels. She caught up to me within seconds.

"Max, please, hear me out," she begged.

"Leave me alone," I snapped.

"I can't tell you what happened to him. He has to be the one to tell you," she said urgently.

"I don't care what happened to him," I said.

"Trust me. You have to know. If you care even a smidge of an ounce for him, please talk to him. There is a reason he ran out on you, and it had nothing to do with you," she said no longer walking with me.

I stopped but didn't turn to face her.

"That line has been used thousands of times, Penelope," I said.

"I know. But this is different. Please talk to him," she said.

I thought about what she said, and I would be lying if there wasn't a part of me that needed to know what happened. I had nothing more to say and I wasn't going to make a promise I may not keep. So, without another word, I walked away, leaving her behind.

(xxxxx)

I stood outside his door. My hands trembling. Once I found out the truth, there was no turning back. Did I really want to put myself through this? Maybe it was best if I just made up my own excuse and left it at that.

I lifted my hand and dropped it back down to my side more times than I could count. My heart was racing, and my stomach churned. I had just decided I was going to leave when I heard my name called out behind me. I turned to see Spencer at the top of the staircase, looking at me with surprise.

Penelope wasn't kidding. He looked rough. He clearly hadn't shaved since I'd seen him last. His hair was a mess, his tie skew, and the circles under his eyes showed he hadn't been sleeping.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, in a curious tone.

I realized I had been staring at him with my jaw dropped and my eyes wide. Like I was caught stealing. My hand shot to my neck, and I massaged it nervously.

"I … um … I haven't heard … from you," I stuttered.

I realized I never planned what I was going to say. I guess I thought I would just be angry and go off on him but seeing him in person wiped away any fury I'd previously felt.

"Yeah," he huffed as his head dropped. "I'm sorry … about that."

"Are you ok? You don't look so good," I said, ignoring his apology.

He just shrugged.

"Can we talk?"

He peered up at me through the mess of curls. His eyes radiating a pain. One that I had seen reflected in my own before. I could see him fighting something within himself and was more than surprised when he slowly nodded his head. I thought for sure he would say no. As he unlocked the door to his apartment, I suddenly remembered something.

"Wait, where's your son?"

"He's spending a few days with family," he muttered.

I followed quietly behind him as he flipped on a few light switches and placed his satchel at the door. After locking the door, he gestured to his brown leather couch straight ahead in the living room.

"Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything to drink?" he offered.

"No, I'm ok. Thank you," I said as I curled into myself on the couch.

His voice was monotoned and I could now understand why Penelope was so worried about him. He clearly wasn't doing well. I heard him rustling around in the other room and moments later he sat down on the single chair that matched the couch I was sitting on.

He clasped his hands together as his eyes stared a hole into the area rug below our feet. I guess once again I was going to be the one to get this ball rolling.

"So, what's going on?" I said bluntly.

He looked at me before shrugging his shoulders again. I wanted to be patient with him but if he wasn't willing to talk, we were going to get nowhere.

"Look, I don't want to pry into your life, Spencer. But I need some answers. As much as I want to pretend it didn't hurt that you ran out on me in such a vulnerable moment, I can't. It hurt. It still does and I need to know why," I said, surprised by my own admission.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," he said wetly. "It's not you –"

"Ugh, it's not you, it's not you, do you know how sick I am of hearing that? If it's not me, then what the hell is it? Because it sure felt like it was me as you were throwing me off your lap and rejecting me," I said feeling my blood boiling.

"Max, please, you have to believe me. This isn't about you," he repeated.

"Then what is it, Spencer? Tell me," I demanded.

He shook his head as it dropped. I could see tears dripping on to his pant legs, leaving wet stains.

"I can't tell you," he whispered.

"Why? If it isn't about me, why can't you tell me?" I asked in a less harsh tone.

I saw his shoulders shaking as he kept himself hidden from me.

"Because it's about me," he whimpered.

I stood watching him completely conflicted. A part of me wanted to run. I've had enough drama to fill one lifetime, why on Earth would I want to willingly put myself through more. But he looked so small and broken.

I slowly stood up and walked closer to him. Bending down until my knees and bottom touched the floor, I placed my hand gently on his shoulder. He looked at me through blood-shot, water-filled eyes. They pleaded with me not to make him tell his secret.

I debated what to say. I knew that kind of hurt, and I knew instinctively he was ashamed of whatever his secret was.

"Whatever happened to you," I began softly, "it doesn't change how I see you. Whatever it is, it's not who you are. It doesn't define you."

I felt my lip tremble at the words I spoke, that had been spoken to me that helped release some of the pain I had felt. He let out a choked sob as his head dropped again. I sat quietly next to him as he cried, running my hand soothingly on his shoulder. It had easily been ten minutes before he spoke, barely audible.

"It's a long story," he said in a gruff voice.

I listened silently.

"I can't … tell you all of it … not right now anyway," he sniffled. "I just … you should know … my son wasn't … he wasn't … God, help me," he cried as he threw his head back to stare at the ceiling.

A fresh set of tears streamed from his eyes as I sat waiting to hear what I was pretty sure he was about to tell me. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly in mine. He looked down at me and then our hands.

"It wasn't consensual," he whimpered.

I sat up on my knees and wrapped my arms around him. It was the only thing I could think to do as I let his confession hang in the air around us. I knew it was hard for women to deal with rape, but I couldn't imagine that weight it held on a man.

Society still forces the archaic notion that men need to be strong and unbreakable. No wonder it crippled him mentally, emotionally, and physically. It all made sense now and the guilt of pushing him to talk about it rose within me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered as my own tears slipped past my lids.

He held me tightly, his face buried in my shoulder as he cried. My one hand rubbed his back as the other tangled in his curls, cradling him to me. We stayed like that for an unknown amount of time. It had to be long enough that my knees were aching.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he suddenly whispered as he lifted his head from my shoulder.

I shook my head no, as I cupped his face. My thumb brushed away a stray tear.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. It was just a misunderstanding. Water under the bridge now," I said gently.

He gave me a small, grateful smile.

"You look exhausted," I said letting go of him and slowly standing up. "You should get some rest while you can."

He nodded as he stood up. He used his hands to wipe at his face as he followed me to the door. I unlocked it and opened the door before turning to face him again.

"Take any time you need and when you feel ready, call me," I said grabbing his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you," he barely whispered.

(xxxxx)

A/N: oy! Heavy chapter! Don't worry, they won't all be like this! At least we got one big bomb shell out of the way. Stay tuned for more – plenty of good things to come! xoxo