Read Online Make It Right by Megan Erickson - Free Book Online Page A

his degree wasn’t anywhere near what he wanted to do.
    And a Sunday off? Unheard of.
    “You sure?” Max asked, know as soon as he did, Jack would like to be questioned.
    “Did I stutter?” Jack turned, his dark eyes pinning Max to the back of the couch.
    He gulped. “Nope.”
    Jack faced the TV again.
    Another half hour and Max was home free, climbing into the truck with an empty cookie container. He tapped his phone on his chin and thought about checking on Lea. But he didn’t have her number. And if he did, he didn’t know what to say.
    In her mind, what did he do exactly? Just give her a ride? Is that all she thought?
    Because that visit took a lot out of him. He hated hospitals. The smell alone made him nauseous.
    But Lea’s concern for her cousin reminded him of Alec’s mom. When he was in eighth grade, he and Alec were climbing trees. Max grabbed a weakened branch and it cracked. He fell with a crash of rotted wood and dried leaves right on his arm, breaking it.
    Alec’s mom didn’t baby him, but she showed concern. She allowed him to whimper in pain, she gave him ice and wrapped it on the way to the hospital. Alec rubbed his shoulder to ease his aching muscles.
    And when Max’s dad met them at the hospital, he thanked Alec’s mom and told her he had it from there. And then they sat in the emergency room while his dad joked about Alec’s mom “babying” Max.
    He loved Alec’s mom, but he’d been sure not to get hurt in her presence again.
    His brothers might have shown him some comfort if they’d all grown up in a different household, but under Jack Payton, showing concern was weak.
    You took pain like a man, without complaining. Without flinching. And heaven forbid you cried.
    But Lea didn’t know that.
    Before he could change his mind he dialed Kat.
    “Hey,” she answered cheerily. She’d never been that happy when they dated.
    “You with Lea?” He thought it was a good chance, and he didn’t have her number.
    Pause. “No. Why?”
    It was on the tip of his tongue to ask for her number, to hear that musical voice and make sure she was all right. But he chickened out. “I wanted to check on her. And ask how Nick is.”
    “Oh. Well that’s . . . nice of you.” Max fought to roll his eyes at her pause before nice . “Nick was released today and she’s doing well. And . . . she really appreciated what you did.”
    That warmed him more than he thought it would, so he only grunted in response.
    “You want me to tell her you called?” Kat asked.
    Max knew he was chickening out before he said the words. “Nah, that’s okay.”
    M AX WATCHED W AY NE scarf down his dry food. It looked gross—little star-shaped kibbles the color of red clay—and smelled worse. Like if a cow and a tuna had a baby and then a monkey farted on it.
    Wayne didn’t seem to mind. The foul-smelling food was probably gourmet compared to trash or flea-infested rats.
    But just because his cat didn’t mind eating trash didn’t mean he had to, right? Max furrowed his brow and walked out to the living room, sinking down onto the couch and digging his laptop out of his bag.
    He typed “homemade cat treats” in his Internet browser search bar and scanned the results. He clicked on a blog and scrolled through a woman’s mile-long blog post featuring a dozen professional-quality pictures of her long-haired cat in various positions, in some sort of soft light. The cat looked like it was fed sushi-grade tuna and brushed with a comb made of solid gold and extinct rhinoceros horns.
    Max glanced over at Wayne, who had followed him and sat in front of him licking his paw and running it over his shredded ear.
    “You’re just as good-looking to me,” Max grumbled. Wayne deserved as much as this stupid cat in the pictures with its pink sofa. So Max would make him special cat treats. He was a good cook. As the youngest boy, he’d been relegated to kitchen duty most of his life. He perfected his chocolate-chip cookie