I hesitated, then stepped out of the car, walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and tugged at Maxwell Harrington's sleeve. "Maxwell!"
He must have been too drunk to sleep, his stomach churning. At my call, he stirred awake.
He blinked slowly, his dark eyes scanning the surroundings. His voice was faint. "Did you bring me back?"
I nodded, unsure if he was truly lucid. "Let's go. It's late."
It was nearly midnight. As a pregnant woman, I had no energy left to stay up with him.
He sat up straight, his tall frame rising from the seat, yet made no move to get out. Silent, his dark eyes wide—seemingly innocent, but I knew his temper: moody and unpredictable.
After a pause, I asked, "Do you need help getting out?"
"I'll just sit here for a bit," he said, then stayed put in the car
