Adam is restless. Laying in bed, trying to focus on the video game he'd selected to distract himself, but it's impossible. His ankle itches under his cast in a spot he can't reach easily, his eyes feel gritty and tired, but worse than anything else, he can't stop thinking about Max. It's been well over a week since they've talked, and at first, he had given Max time because he knew- once the Acclaimed got attacked, and all the talk started up about the Devil's identity, and how isolated Max was and how he was deserving of all of this- and yeah, Adam definitely wants to go have a word or two with the commentary team for pushing that narrative- that it'd be something Max would overthink and get lost in for awhile, but now it's just taking too long.
He's talked more to Roddy than he has Max lately, and that's just not fair or acceptable. He had gotten to see Max briefly at the end of Dynamite, taking a few moments to analyze him, how exhausted he is, the worsening bags under his eyes, how the guilt was visibly weighing him down, but then he'd gotten beaten down and left motionless to end the show, and Adam had gone to the phone then, left him a message, but he hadn't responded, and ever since, Adam had spent his time like this, worried, unable to concentrate, or much of anything else.
Finally giving up on the video game, Adam tosses his controller aside and glowers down at his leg. If he could just travel, he'd be on the first flight out, forcing Max to communicate with him, try to sort things out, make it better one way or another. But he can't fly for another good month or two, at least, so Adam has no choice but to sit here and continue with the phone calls.
This time, though, he takes a different path with the message he leaves on Max's voicemail. "Max, listen to me. I've given you time and space, because I understand how bad you're feeling about the Acclaimed. But I'm worried, and I miss you. Please, Max. I don't like thinking about you alone- and commentary is wrong, you have options. Just please... come to Florida. We'll figure this out, but I... I have to see you," he rushes out before the phone cuts him off.
He puts the device down, leans against his pillows and exhales slowly, hoping it'll work. Hoping that within a few hours, there'll be a knock at his door and Max will let himself in, and everything will be fine. They'll brainstorm a way to make everything work- Adam will convince Max to let Joe help him- and everything will be fine. He hopes, anyway.
Max, please, he texts when there's still be no response to his voicemail. Staring at the screen until his eyes blur and his energy fades away entirely, Adam slumps back and drifts off.
How much time passes exactly, he doesn't know, but he wakes up in a rush when his phone starts vibrating in his hand. He immediately squints at it, hoping that it's ringing- that it's Max, but no, it's already gone dark. Adam exhales, scrubbing at his face, before pressing a button. Text from: Max
He breathes shallowly as he opens it, and then just stares.
Oddly enough, I'm... I'm already in Florida, Max's text reads. I was... going to come see you, but I think it's easier if I keep my focus right now. Safer, for sure. I promise, I'll do my best to come see you after Full Gear. I'm sorry, Adam.
Adam reads the message. Re-reads it. Grits his teeth, remembers Max's words on Wednesday- how he felt at fault for Adam getting hurt, for the Acclaimed getting hurt. How he felt cursed. "Shit," Adam mumbles, throwing the sheets off of his legs and grabbing for his knee scooter. His phone's next on the list of things to collect and he dials out. "Hey, I need a favor."
-x
Outside of doctor's appointments and that really frustrating time he'd spent at Roddy's, Adam really hasn't been out of the house much since the week he and Max had taken the boat out. Due to this, it dazes Adam a little as he's helped into the car, gives the address he wants to go to, and tries to settle in and get comfortable as best as he can with one leg propped up on the seat next to him.
No matter how much distance Max tries to put between them, Adam still knows him better than most and there's only one hotel in this part of Florida that Max trusts enough to stay in, so once the car pulls to a stop in front of it and Adam sits on the edge of the backseat, the driver collecting his knee scooter out of the trunk and giving it to him, it's easy to spot the vehicle that has to be Max's glinting in the mid-afternoon sun. "Thanks," he says, adjusting himself so his knee rests more comfortably.
"You sure you're going to be ok?" the driver asks, looking from him to the hotel and back. "I can wait, if you want-"
"No, thanks a lot. I'm good." He even adds an extra tip over the app for the guy's care, and smiles at him. "Bye."
"Ok, if you're sure," he mumbles. "Bye, then."
Once he's driven off, Adam makes his way slowly to the hotel doors, but something stops him. He turns and listens, thinking he hears something vague- in the distance... a video? Guiding the scooter back away from the doors, he ventures along the sidewalk that surrounds the hotel, relieved when it loops around towards the side door, then cuts off. It's just enough space for him to make the corner, and- "Max!" he calls out, gaping at his wayward tag partner, slumped against a bench, phone in hand. He can hear the echo of the video even clearer from here. "MAX!"
Max freezes, looks up and over, then fumbles his phone, almost dropping it, as he lunges up and walks at a fast pace over to where Adam is waiting. "What the fuck, dude?" he asks, glancing him over. "Should you even be out of bed? What the fuck-"
"Enough time's passed after my second surgery, I can get around, I just can't bear weight on it yet," Adam says, searching Max's face. "Besides, I'm sure my doctor would give me a pass if he knew it was either do this or put out a missing person's report out on my best friend."
Max rolls his eyes, burying his face in his hands. "Adam," he groans softly. "I'm not missing, I just-"
"Didn't want to be found?" Adam asks dryly.
"Needed time to myself. Where I could..." Max falters, pressing a hand to his lips.
"Where you could what?" Adam asks, voice softening as he looks at the pain in Max's eyes.
"Could be sure I wasn't going to get anyone else caught up in the middle of yet another of my messes and get hurt," he finally snaps out, turning sharply away and storming back towards the bench.
There is now a wide sea of grass between Max and Adam, but Adam thinks if he could just brace himself, he'd probably get over there alright. Hell, if he could mow the lawn in this thing, walking through grass shouldn't be impossible, right? But as soon as he tries, it starts sticking to his wheels, clinging to his one good leg, and he feels silly for not thinking about the different kinds of grass, different weather conditions, whatever. He freezes, feeling like the scooter's about to fall over and take him with it, which god, wouldn't both his doctors and AEW as a whole just be absolutely pissed at him for setting back his recovery in such a stupid fashion- when strong hands grip his shoulders, both succeeding in supporting him and guiding him back onto the sidewalk.
Once he's back on steady ground, his heart not racing quite so loudly in his ears, and everything in general has calmed down, he looks up to find Max staring at him, a concerned frown on his face. "Max," he breathes.
"Idiot, what are you trying to do, prove me right?" he asks, kneeling down to clean the remaining strands of grass out of the spokes of his scooter's wheels. "Are you ok?"
"I'm sorry," Adam breathes out, staring at him. "I... I just... I don't want you thinking like that about yourself, Max. You're not... you're not cursed."
Max waves him off impatiently, then cradles his face in his hands, forcing their eyes to meet. "Are. You. Ok?"
Adam closes his eyes. Nods. "Yeah. I'm... I'm physically fine." He trusts Max to brace the scooter, reaching up with his one hand and gripping his wrist. "Listen to me. My ankle injury was a fluke- it was definitely not your fault."
"Adam-"
"No, I know what you're going to say," Adam tells him, face set with determination to get this said. "But you're not the one to blame for any of it. I should've been out there with you from the beginning, not going in circles with Roddy over the phone in the back. I should've been more careful going down that damn ramp. But I didn't do either of those things, and my ankle exploded because of it. If we want to say that anyone's cursed, we should probably say I'm cursed. Not you."
"The Acclaimed-"
"-getting attacked wasn't your fault either," Adam says, squeezing his forearm. "How could you know what was happening? You were dealing with BCG. Whoever's doing that, putting that in motion, what happened to Bowens, Caster and Billy is on them. Not you, Max."
"They were fine- you were doing fine- until I gave in and became friends with you. If I had just-"
"No," Adam refutes again. "We were not fine without you, Max. I... I was floundering after my concussion," he says quietly. "Nothing felt right. I couldn't get my feet under me again, it was all off-centered and wrong. Then you and I had that match, and the tag tournament happened, and... it all clicked, out of nowhere. You saved me and my career in more ways than one, Max."
Max looks like he's been doused in cold water, eyes wide and lips parted as he tries to make sense of what Adam's saying. "It... it's not possible," he says quietly.
"As for Caster, well, not only are you constantly striving to be a better person, but I think you put him on a similar road," Adam says after a moment. "At least I think he's calmed down some on the unwanted advances."
"A little," Max says with a shaky chuckle. "But, still-"
"No buts," Adam tells him, relieved to hear even that small of a laugh from him and refusing to let him backslide into dark, negative thoughts now. "You're no more cursed than any of the rest of us for choosing this business as our main livelihoods. Wrestling isn't easy, Max. People get injured, they get attacked. It doesn't mean it's your fault. Ok?"
"I guess."
Adam tugs lightly on his arm. "Say it."
"Oh, come on, Adam-"
"Nope. Say it." He squeezes Max's forearm again and Max closes his eyes, squaring his shoulders and exhaling slowly.
Opening his eyes, Max stares at Adam. "It's not my fault."
Not the most believable thing Adam's ever heard him say, but it's a start. They'll work on it. Adam smiles up at him. "Max," he says softly. "Please come home with me. I know you don't have a lot of time before you have to fly out for Collision tomorrow, but... we'll find something to do. Please?"
Max's eyes are wide, and wet, and Adam fears he's going to decline the offer, and Adam will have to spend the rest of the day camped out at this hotel until finally he gives in, wasting what little remains of their time together before Max has to fly out to be there for the shows leading into Full Gear, but eventually, finally, he nods. "O- ok. if you're sure."
"100%," Adam says, letting his hand ease down until their fingers are interlaced. Max nods wearily and they walk side by side carefully towards where Max's car in parked. "C'mon. I'll have to sit in the backseat so I can prop my leg up, but it's not that big of a deal."
"Sure," Max says, moving around to pull the door open and helping Adam inside. Once the knee scooter is stored away safely, he gets into the car and stares out of the windshield for a long, tense moment, fingers rubbing against the steering wheel.
"Max?" Adam murmurs, trying to lean forward to get his attention without hurting himself worse. "Max? What's wrong?"
Eventually Max gives himself a hard shake, seemingly coming back to reality, and he glances over his shoulder to look back at Adam. "I, uh. I really missed you too," he says quietly, digging his nails into the steering wheel, leaving rough little indents when he eventually releases it.. "I'm really sorry. For, uh, for ignoring your calls, Adam. For making you feel obligated to chase me down like this."
Adam shakes his head, leaning closer, gripping Max's shoulder. "You're my best friend, Max. I didn't feel obligated to do anything. I wanted to find you, I needed to make sure you were ok." Adam reaches out and puts an awkward hand on the side of his face, smiling when Max finally twists to properly face him. "I'm really glad you are. I was so worried..."
"I'm so-"
"If you apologize again, you might need the knee scooter more than me," Adam warns him with a soft chuckle, and Max nods, eyes wide.
"Point taken," he says, squeezing Adam's hand. "Ready to go home?"
Adam smiles at Max, before nodding. "Yes, I am."
He leans back and watches as Max drives smoothly, confidently, through the familiar roads back to Adam's place. Things aren't going to be easy- the Acclaimed are still injured, Max still hasn't agreed to let Joe be his tag partner Saturday, and he just has too much stress on his shoulders for even Adam to remember it all. But they're together, that's the first important step to figuring the rest out, and Adam knows some of it will resolve itself after Full Gear. The rest will as well, eventually.
Because, after all, nothing is better than the two of them when they're together.