Surprise. Anger. Indignation. And then something seemed to break inside of him. He covered his face with his hands and sank down to the floor.

My mouth gaped open, and I didn’t quite know what to do. I was not expecting this reaction. I anticipated the denial, a witty comeback about how I was imagining things, or even an arrogant confession. Maybe I even expected an apology. But what I hadn’t counted on was Maxx falling apart.

I was horrified with myself that I had led him to this. Where had my sensitivity gone? Where was the woman who wanted to help people? And wasn’t Maxx, sitting there, looking lost, a person who needed my support?

I was acting like a scorned girlfriend instead of the counselor I was learning to be. Maxx’s addiction had a strong hold on him; that was obvious. But it wasn’t the using that bothered me, though that was bad enough.

It was the selling. Pushing that nasty stuff on other people. Sure, he wasn’t standing on a street corner selling drugs wrapped in bubblegum wrappers to schoolkids, but in my mind he was taking advantage of people at their most vulnerable, people like my sister.

That’s what made me sick.

But mostly, I was pissed because I had started to see the man he was underneath. And it was so much more, so much better than the guy who sold drugs to a bunch of strung-out college kids. I took a step toward him, then another, until I was standing over him. He wouldn’t look up at me. I didn’t know if it was because of shame or guilt, or that he just didn’t want me to see exactly what he was. But I already had.

I kneeled down in front of him. “You come into support group every week giving the same sob story. You need saving,” I said harshly, losing all filter over my thoughts, my emotions taking over. “Who are you trying to fool? Kristie? The other group members? Me?” I asked. “Or maybe yourself. Because you can’t like the person you see in the mirror. You can’t enjoy selling drugs to support a habit that will ultimately kill you. Wake up, Maxx!” I said, my voice rising.

Maxx’s head shot up. “You don’t know who I am, Aubrey! You have no f**king clue!” His face was flushed, and his eyes flashed. I had never seen Maxx so worked up, and it was intimidating.

But I wouldn’t back down. “Oh, stop it. So you think because you have it rough, that gives you the right to sell that shit? To take everyone down with you? You lie each and every time you come here! You’re not trying to get better! You’re not looking to get clean! Just be honest with yourself and everyone else,” I yelled.

Maxx leaned forward, getting within an inch of my face. “If that’s what you really think, if that’s who you believe I am, then why the hell are you still here?” he demanded, his face darkening.

I swallowed and got to my feet, putting space between us. But Maxx was on the offensive now.

“You are so f**king naïve, Aubrey. So egocentric. You think you can stand there and pass your f**king judgments. I know that you don’t get it. That you feel betrayed,” he bit out. “What you don’t understand is that at least when I’m being someone else, when I’m that messed-up guy at the club, then I don’t have to be me!” he barked.

“And what’s so horrible about being Maxx Demelo?” I asked, wanting him to be honest, just for a moment. I was looking for that breakthrough so he could see what was at the root of all of this.

“Because I’m a f**king failure!” he screamed. He scrubbed his hands down over his face and then balled up his fist and hit the wall with a force that made me yelp.

Tears slipped down his face, and he hit the wall again. He covered his face with his arms and yelled, the cry muffled by his sweater. I could feel myself softening toward him; that twinge that only he could give me was starting to replace the anger. I looked around, relieved that we were still alone.

Maxx dropped his hands and stared at me with eyes that were haunted and utterly lost. “I’m a failure,” he whispered. “And anyone who expects me to be otherwise will only be disappointed.” He looked at me sharply, and his meaning was clear.

Don’t expect more from me than this.

“It’s nice to feel wanted. To have people need me for something that I can actually give them. I like knowing I can take a pill and none of this matters. I don’t feel the guilt. I don’t feel the weight of all this shit,” Maxx growled, pulling at his shirt above his heart.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “So don’t talk to me about what you think I should be doing or not doing. Because you don’t know a f**king thing about me.”

I was at a total loss about what to say. I was no longer standing there as Aubrey, future counselor. I was Aubrey, a young girl trying to save a sad boy I had, against my better judgment, come to care about.

“I can’t save myself, Aubrey. I know that. I’m a lost f**king cause.” He was so angry. He stalked toward me, grabbing hold of my face, and froze me with the strength of his glare. I couldn’t tell if he was pissed at me or himself. Most likely it was a little bit of both.

He shocked me by slamming his mouth to mine with such bruising force that I tasted blood. He pulled away just as suddenly as he had kissed me. He was wild and out of control. He was totally impulsive and unreadable. I wasn’t sure what he would do next.

He continued to hold my face tightly between his hands. “I want you, Aubrey,” he said in clear, succinct words. His fingers dug into my skin, and I tried not to wince.

Maxx held me tightly, as if he were worried I’d run away. A conflicting, rational part of me was still contemplating doing just that. I knew better than to get mixed up in whatever Maxx was. He was hands-off in every possible way. But that didn’t change the charge I felt around him—or how the destructive, broken man called out to the woman who wanted nothing more than to fix him, to save him, to make his world right again.