Chapter 61 Layers
Veronica's POV:
When Max finally stopped the bike, we were in the middle of what looked like woods.
God, it felt like I'd just stepped out of a storm and come to a sudden, jarring stop.
My legs were shaky as if I'd climbed off a mountain... my heart still racing from the ride along with the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
I pulled off my helmet, and the sudden quietness was almost disorienting after all that noise and speed.
The surrounding woods looked peaceful to even look at—with tall trees, along with leaves rustling in the breeze, and the birds calling to each other in the branches. It was just too pretty... serene even.
But this was where he brought me for our first date?
I followed Max as he walked down a narrow path between the trees, my confusion growing with each step. Then the trees opened up, and I saw them.
Headstones.
Rows and rows of them, looking weathered and varied, all of it were stretching across a gently sloping hill.
Oh no.
A cemetery.
My mind immediately went to the worst possible conclusion.
Was Max really the kind of person who liked to have sex in cemeteries?
I mean, judging by everything I knew about him—it wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility, right? Maybe this was some kind of thrill-seeking thing... more like a taboo he got off on.
"You know what, Max," I said quickly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I read somewhere on the internet that very unholy spirits live in cemeteries. We can't really be, you know... what I mean. Anything wrong we do here might have some consequences..."
Max stopped walking and glared at me sideways, looking down at me with amusement and something I couldn't quite read. Then he smiled faintly, shaking his head.
"Relax," he said. "We're not here for that. This is just a quick visit on our way."
Heat flooded my face as I realized how ridiculous I must have sounded.
Of course. Of course, we weren't here for that. God, Veronica, what is wrong with you?
I watched, embarrassed and confused, as Max walked further into the cemetery with purpose, like he knew exactly where he was going.
He stopped in front of a particular grave, one that looked well-maintained despite its obvious age.
The headstone was elegant, simple, with flowers already wilting in the built-in vase.
Max knelt down, pulling fresh flowers from inside his leather jacket—I hadn't even noticed he'd been carrying them.
White lilies, delicate and beautiful. He removed the old flowers carefully and replaced them with the new ones. His movements were tender and reverent.
I moved closer, close enough to read the inscription on the headstone.
Elizabeth Marie Ashford
Beloved Mother
1975 - 2018
"In our hearts we hold her memory close."
Oh god.
His mother.
The date—I did the quick math in my head. Today was her death anniversary.
Guilt crashed over me like a wave. Here I was, making crude assumptions and stupid jokes about spirits and sex, and Max had brought me to visit his mother's grave. On the anniversary of her death.
I felt like the worst person alive.
Quietly, carefully, I knelt down beside Max. I didn't know what to say, didn't know if I should say anything at all.
So instead, I just pressed my palms together and closed my eyes, offering up a silent prayer for a woman I'd never met.
A woman who had raised this complicated, confusing, beautiful man beside me.
I prayed for her peace. I prayed for Max's healing. I prayed for forgiveness for my own thoughtlessness.
When I opened my eyes, I glanced at Max. He was completely still, his head bowed, his hands resting on his knees.
His face was calm—more peaceful than I'd ever seen him. All the chaos and energy that usually radiated from him had settled into something quiet, and he looked so contemplative.
This was a different Max. Not the party boy or the bad boy or the mysterious thrill-seeker. This was someone who carried grief with him, who came to his mother's grave and brought her fresh flowers.
We stayed there for several minutes, the only sounds the wind in the trees and the distant call of birds. Then Max stood, and the moment seemed to break. He offered me his hand, pulling me to my feet.
"Thank you," he said softly. "For being here."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
As soon as we got back to the bike, as soon as we left the quiet sanctity of the cemetery behind, Max transformed back into his usual chaotic self. It was like watching him put on a mask, and slip back into the persona everyone expected.
"So our next stop is our actual destination," he said with that familiar cocky grin, swinging his leg over the bike. "Pull up, baby."
He was back. Just like that.
I laughed, climbing on behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist.
But I couldn't help but shake the feeling of how he'd looked just moments ago—kneeling at his mother's grave, grieving in that quiet, private way.
How many people got to see that side of him? How many people knew it even existed?
The café was in the middle of nowhere—literally.
We'd turned off the main road onto what looked like a dirt path along with passing farmland and empty fields, and then suddenly there it was.
A small, weathered building with a hand-painted sign and mismatched chairs on the porch.
I was reluctant to even get off the bike. I looked at Max skeptically.
This was our destination? This tiny, rustic café that looked like it hadn't been updated since the 1970s?
But Max walked in like he owned the place, and even more surprisingly, started talking to people as if he knew them.
Most of them were elderly—white-haired men playing chess in the corner, old women sipping tea and chatting, a couple that looked like they'd been married for sixty years sharing a slice of pie.
They all greeted Max warmly. By name.
"Seriously," I said, catching up to him as he waved to an old man who called out something about "the usual table." "I thought you only partied in expensive VIP clubs."
"Not always," Max said, leading me to a corner booth with faded vinyl seats and a wobbly table. "There's an old-age home nearby. I come here to eat whenever I volunteer there."
I stopped walking.
Actually, stopped mid-step, my mouth falling open.
"Seriously," I said, my words coming out strangled. "What is going on here? You're like a different person right now."
Max looked back at me, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "What? You thought you had me all figured out, Whitmore?"