FH: Just Found Heaven Ch. 03: Tara

"Romantic entanglements are especially complex, and you and Sam have a unique relationship that started when you were kids. You protected one another from his dad and whatever fuckers were stupid enough to take the two of you on since I'm sure even teenage Sam and Max were cute badasses."

Max's lips quirked slightly when I gently nudged him with my shoulder.

"And then in the military you still had each other's backs. That level of near constant, high-intensity emotion creates a certain level of expectation between two people. You always have to be on. In a romantic relationship you also experience those instinctive urges to protect your person because you love them and want them to always feel safe and happy. But in most romantic relationships, there are also opportunities to briefly step away from your significant other and have some personal down time. Couples usually have different jobs, and their own private circles of friends whom they can spend time with. Generally, their schedules don't keep them in the same place all the time so they can take a break if they need to exhale. When they're ready to come back to center and be happy together they can be, because those small moments of separation help to keep the relationship balanced."

Max nodded silently, harder to read than a professional poker player. I felt my expression soften as my voice gentled. I was trying to channel professional Tara, using variations of words I'd used with other couples going through rough spots before, but even though I was spot on in my assessment, this was Max and being completely neutral was difficult.

"You and Sam have always had to juggle those two types of relationships without time to reset between the intensity, and that can be difficult," I continued as I reached for his hand because yeah, screw professionalism right now.

Max didn't look at me, but he curled those warm, strong fingers around mine and squeezed just enough that it was a hint as to what was going on in his head.

"It's one of the reasons that law enforcement agencies don't usually allow romantic partners to work together," I said, continuing with the professional shrinky talk because it got out the facts more effectively than me just shaking Max with a continual mantra of 'FUCK Connor,' until it sunk into his head.

"Not just because loving your partner and putting them first to guarantee their safety could put the lives of others in jeopardy, but also because if mistakes do happen as a consequence of one of those heart-guided decisions, most relationships can't survive the fallout. Guilt and resentment are always romance killers."

"So, you agree with Connor? That I couldn't give Sam what we both wanted because I had to babysit him?"

Max sounded more tired than angry though his expression was painstakingly schooled into perfect neutrality. I immediately shook my head, my voice heating as Tara the therapist completely vacated the premises and Tara the protective mama bear happily jumped back into the ring with gloves on.

"No. I think that you and Sam have a very complicated, multifaceted dynamic, and I KNOW that Connor was an asshole who I'd castrate with a spoon if he was still alive because the fucker seemed to possess an almost supernatural ability to get into people's heads."

Max glanced over at me when I hooked my bare foot beneath his ankle and jiggled it gently to get his attention. "Max, I know that you love Sam. So does he, and it sucks that it didn't work out between the two of you because I know your big ol' heart hurts, even though your equally large pecker is trying to prove otherwise to anyone with a pulse."

Max grinned at me, all perfect white teeth and dimples in summer tanned skin but the smile didn't lighten up his eyes with his usual levels of cheerful hedonism. "It's always a good time had by all."

I snorted softly. "We don't have even a fraction of enough time right now for me to point out how many shades of unhealthy it is to hide your emotions behind your freak flag. I've been there, I know. All that bed-hopping does is keep your heart empty, and your schedule packed with medical visits to make sure you don't catch any crud. It's exhausting, and you seriously need a new hobby to work out the heart sludge. You've already proven that you're a fantastic doctor, and that you screw with the enthusiasm of a baby demon. It's time for a change."

"Not like I have a lot of extra time on my hands between hospital shifts, Tara."

"I call BS because if you have time for a quickie on some random horizontal surface, you have time to watch a YouTube video on something like learning to play a harmonica. It would be a very dramatic backdrop for our exchanges of gallows humor."

Max's lips twitched. "Negative on the harmonica, though I used to play the guitar."

This time my own perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. "Did you really? Like elevator, easy listening guitar, or the long haired, all the girls and the more interesting boys want to bone you, electric guitar?"

I had my suspicions, but I wanted to hear it from him.

"I tried the rock and roll thing, and it definitely accomplished the whole drawer dropping phenomenon from both sexes, but I was better at acoustic. I'm good with my hands because the slow and steady doctor thing translates well to those beats. So does the Louisiana drawl when I sing."

Max grinned at me when I blinked. The man was just full of surprises today.

"You sing? Since when? I'd know if you serenaded the shower stall. I didn't spring for extra soundproofing when I renovated the downstairs into an apartment, and I've hung out on your couch watching Scandal more than a few times while you were washing off evidence of whatever sexually acrobatic sin you'd been indulging in earlier."

This time Max laughed outright. "Dayum, woman. I'm not that bad. Sometimes I'm just washing off hospital antiseptic, and the puke of whatever drunk jackass gets put on my rotation after ramming their car into a lamppost."

"Tomato, tomato. The point is that you sing, and with that slow and low James Earl drawl, I'm pretty sure you'd kill at karaoke nights so it's going to be you and me at the next one. We might even scrounge you up a guitar because if you're as good as you're coyly hinting at, we can probably get all of our drinks comped for the night."

"Oh, I'm not being coy, sweetness. I'm very, very good. We'd get all our drinks comped and get offers lined up for next time."

I rolled my eyes but if Max could be cocky then we were getting somewhere. "And that would be fantastic if the point of karaoke night was to get laid. Unfortunately, bubba, the only person you'll be taking home is me or it defeats the purpose of you finding another outlet to work out your feelings about Sam."

I squeezed Max's hand again because his eyes sobered and I could feel the tension creeping back in. "I know that loving someone who can't love you back hurts and SUCKS BALLS . My dad isn't my romantic ever-after, but I was a daddy's girl growing up all the way till I finally decided to fly my happy little rainbow flag in our very behind-the-times- town. So, having him refuse to acknowledge, and accept that I'm deliciously dykey hurts like you wouldn't believe."

Max's expression softened when our eyes met, and I nodded slightly.

"Yep... it totally kills when people can't love us in the way that we want them too but as corny and cliché as it is, time does heal. It does. I also want you to remember that today's nuptials aren't the consequence of you not loving Sam enough. It's just proof that you love him enough to always put him first, even when the decisions you make for his happiness tear your own heart out."

Max didn't say anything, but his teeth grazed my knuckles gently when he brought my hand to his lips before pressing a kiss to the same spot and returning our linked hands to his thigh.

I gently swiped my thumb over the top of his hand. "You're giving Sam away in safekeeping to a man who is emotionally available in every way and can give Sam all the things that you want him to have. And that my friend, isn't the action of a selfish person. Connor was just a dick. Please remember that ok?"

Max's lips quirked into a faint smile before he nodded slightly. He probably wasn't actually convinced, but he was a doctor and he realized that we had to triage the situation as best we could right now.

"All right, darlin'. If you can survive a day looking like a Disney fetishist's princess fantasy, I can manage that one little thing."

His smile deepened, becoming more genuine when I let go of his hand and punched him in his right arm hard enough that he rubbed at it even though he was grinning. It was completely at my expense because I could feel all that lean muscle beneath his shirt sleeve. I didn't hit like a girl, but walls felt no pain, and Max had been hitting the gym as hard as he had any willing piece of ass lately.

"Hey, remember what I said about convincingly playing the role of heartbroken best friend if you fall off this ledge."

I ignored his soft chuckle as I huffed and toyed with the end of my braid, suddenly hit with the urge to make a drastic change because God knew that whatever photos were taken tonight of me in this getup were going to circulate for the next umpteen years.

"Maybe I should go back to my natural color," I mussed aloud.

Max swept me with a surprised look before he grinned slowly. "I'd never have guessed the carpet didn't match the drapes. Then again, you're completely missing all carpet so you can't blame me."

I offered him a toothy grin of my own. Although neither of us needed a repeat of last week's horny hijinks that had been inspired by a lot of good bourbon and even more lonely curiosity, I couldn't deny that Max's intimate medical knowledge of human anatomy combined with an extremely healthy oral fixation had made me go from 0 to 120 in record time. Just like he couldn't deny how much he'd approved of being on the receiving end of my 7-inch, clear iridescent dildo. I'd only ever enjoyed it with female lovers before that night, but based on how hard Max had come, it was an equal opportunity pleasure stick.

"I tip my colorist extremely well, and helped her close the door on her toxic on-again, off-again relationship with her ex. She's very very grateful."

Max snickered, reading between the lines. Hey, I didn't slut shame when sex marathons were done for the right reasons. I just didn't like seeing my bestie bedding random strangers because he was being haunted by the ghosts of missed opportunities.

"I'll bet she was. So, what's your natural color?"

Max leaned into my personal space, peering at the top of my head. I knew he didn't see a thing beneath the warm blonde to give away my natural color, which was several shades deeper, and much brighter than strawberry blonde, but thankfully light years away from the dreaded carrot top. Like I'd said, my stylist was a genius.

"Bright auburn. Classic red-headed step child which feels so disturbingly true in the case of my parents."

Max grinned and whistled. "Oooh a natural redhead. That explains a few things."

"The sass? The temper?"

"Nope, these tiny freckles." He gently tweaked my nose. "And why you're my best bitch. Red is my signature color."

We grinned at one another like two fools when he dropped the Steel Magnolia's reference, complete with Julia's slow drawl. The movie made a frequent appearance on our Netflix rotation since we could both relate having grown up in the south where the gossip was good and the preconceived notions sometimes not so much.

The remining tension in the air ebbed, the angst contained for now, so I tossed my braid back over my shoulder. "In that case, red is absolutely on the horizon if you find your guitar. We can take Miami by storm like a much cooler Sonny and Cher."

"If we get our act down solidly, we can be the adult entertainment at the first birthday festivities for Sam and Ben's kid."

My eyebrow arched and I paused with my arms over my head, the satisfying stretch I'd been going for, momentarily interrupted. I counted one Mississippi times 3, expecting a Danger Will Robinson! moment, but Max just shrugged as my hands settled onto my own knees.

"You don't look surprised, so I guess you already knew. Makes sense since you're close to both of them. I just found out today."

"They just told me a few days ago. But that's neither here nor there. What matters is that at no time during our entire loving, shrinky-dink situation did you think that might be something to bring up and process?"

Max shrugged again. "Honestly? No, because Sam having a kid is probably the best proof that I could ever have gotten that I'm not the right man for him."

"Because you don't want kids?"

He seemed to consider that for a moment. "I like kids. I mean, I love Emma and Addie, and if you ever decide to bust out a mini me, then that's an entire new generation to worship their uncle Max like the god he is." He smiled crookedly. "But if I'm completely honest, kids wouldn't have been on the table for Sam and I because I couldn't even tell him how I felt, so all other doors were off limits too. It wouldn't have been a natural development for us because I couldn't have made him see how good a man he is or that the entirety of both Emma's Girl Scout Troop, and Addie's soccer team make goo-goo eyes of hero worship at him because he's one of the few dads who actually show up."

"Well, he is the resident DILF, so there's that," I agreed with a grin because it was common knowledge to everyone except Sam, that the reason that Emma always outsold any of the other girls in her troop when she set up shop outside of Ben's church with Sam, was because he always wore the same battered blue jeans and his muscle tee version of the scout troop's t-shirt.

Max smirked. "Yeah, 6 feet and 4 inches of GI Joe hero."

"That he is, but you're really okay with that? Even with all the feelings? Because to be honest with you, I played the therapist card when they told me, and argued for a puppy as a first step instead."

He chuckled then nodded slightly, a slight curve to the corners of his mouth. "I love Sam, but I couldn't have given him that. Ben can because that fucker truly can work miracles. So, today is right. It just..."

" FUCKING BLOWS ," I said, supplying the words when he hesitated.

Max nodded as he laced our fingers together when I reached for his hand. "What about you, sweetness? Kids on the horizon for you when you find your lady love?"

I swung my bare feet lightly over the edge of the roof, admiring the bright pink polish which was extra glossy in the sunlight. It wouldn't last the weekend. I had a habit of going barefoot because my toes hated confinement.

"I don't know. I used to think maybe yes when Nate was still alive because cousins are cool, but now... I'm not sure. I'd have to find someone I loved enough to wreck my body for if I lose the whole rock, paper, scissors game to decide who will say goodbye to their feet for nine months."

Max laughed aloud. "If that's how you want to decide who becomes bio mom, I'm terrified to think of how you'd choose a donor. FYI, most of the samples come from exuberant young guys who are happy to wack off for money they tell people is for college, but that usually goes towards their new gaming systems which they're glued to in between wacking off."

He laughed again when I swatted him.

"Gross. OK so adoption might be the route unless my one-day-lady has another option like an obscure cousin willing to spend some time with a nudie rag and a dixie cup to help impregnate me."

"Or, you always have me."

It was rare when I was left completely speechless, but hello hot damn, that's exactly what Max's statement had managed, and I blinked owlishly at him as his warm gaze met mine with obvious amusement at my silence.

"What?"

Instead of yelling gotcha, Max offered a crooked, but easy smile. "You always have me," he repeated, before adding, "And no, I'm not suggesting a down and dirty, boots under your bed situation. But, if you're going to do a turkey baster baby, knowing who the daddy is, and what all his quirks, numerous as they may be are, might not be the worst thing in the world. It'd at least avoid some Good Son sperm. Adding a future serial killer to our family ranks is a negative for me."

I blinked again, apparently still stunned. "You'd... you'd do that for me?"

"If you and your future wife wanted me to, of course I would. You're like a sister to me, though considering what we're talking about, and the fact we're both from the deep south, that might not be the best example."

"But you just said you didn't want to be a daddy," I protested when Max grinned because well, hello, this wasn't a conversation I ever thought I'd be having with him of all people. My protesting also served the purpose of keeping away the suddenly high-def images of a baby with my wild red curls and Max's mischievous, dimpled grin worming its way into every heart in our inner circle, and then beyond because no hybrid of Max and me would settle for less than complete world domination. The neighborhood could also use another resident DILF to keep Sam company during Girl Scout cookie season.

"I said I wasn't sure if I could be a daddy and that's still true, but I also love you, and you'd be a great mom so if it'd make you happy, of course I'd be honored to volunteer. Regardless of the kid's genetic code, I'd always be UNCLE Max. Always around, always having their back, and ALWAYS their momma's best bitch," he said, tweaking the end of my braid in a gentle tease though his tone was steady, confident.

I'd managed to keep my tears back during my conversation with Sofia earlier when we'd been talking about Nate, but right now, my eyeliner was being threatened by the unexpected wave of emotion that was hitting me hard.

Damn Max Melone.

I didn't bother trying to verbalize all those feelings. Instead, I threw my arms around him and braced my chin on my own arms around his neck so I wouldn't smear any of my cosmetic war paint on the shoulder of his dress shirt. I felt the soft rumble of his laughter more than I heard it as his arm came up around my back to return the squeeze.

On more than a few occasions Max and I had teasingly discussed the possibility of a future where we'd spend our twilight years together if neither of us ever settled down, hitting on pool boys and serving girls while living out Golden Girls fantasies. But, while I always wanted Max to be a permanent fixture in my life as much as he wanted me in his, we weren't ever going to be the matching wedding ring type for obvious reasons. But if we ever met our forever people and they agreed to it... well then, Max and I would always share an extra special bond through a mini us.

"I love you, Max Melone," I murmured, and I felt his smile against my hair before he pulled back to brush a kiss across my forehead.

"I love you too, Red," he said, making my heart clench all over again because Nate would've approved.

"You just need to meet your forever girl first."

"Well, today's not the day," I said, employing the rapid blink trick again like I had earlier with Sofia. "After three times being a bridesmaid and catching that damn bouquet every single time despite my steadfast attempts at avoidance, I'm convinced that the only people every truly happy at weddings are the ones getting married, and maybe some of the long-time married folks. The rest of us single souls find solace in the open bar."

"Maybe, but being single also means being free to enjoy yourself without guilt if you meet a gorgeous girl tonight who wants to turn up the heat and melt down those Frozen walls to make you her personal wet dream."