The Better Man. Amy Vastine

attention was nothing new. One of Max’s favorite things about his job was working the room, sparing no one from his charm. He was used to women watching him, flirting with crooked smiles and batted eyelashes. Those looks fueled his ego nicely.

      This was not that.

      Kendall was currently talking on the phone, but she was also watching Max tour the room with one of the subcontractors. The crease between her eyebrows was the dead giveaway that she wasn’t flirting. She was judging. Why was she judging him? All day he felt like he wasn’t meeting some standard.

      As soon as she got off her phone, he intended to find out what her problem was. He finished with Joe the subcontractor and strode over to Kendall, who, even though she was looking right at him, didn’t seem to notice he was headed her way.

      “I bought you breakfast and still I feel like you’re holding the whole fainting spell against me.”

      She startled when he spoke. “What?”

      “Is there a problem I should know about?”

      She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes as she peered at his. “Brown,” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear. She was officially odd.

      “What?”

      “What?” She pulled her head back and folded her arms across her chest.

      “You’ve been staring at me all day,” he said, trying his best not to seem confrontational. “I’d be flattered if I thought you were simply appreciating my awesomeness, but I don’t think that’s it.”

      Kendall’s gaze fell to the floor. “Sorry. You remind me of...someone.” She shook her head and made eye contact again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

      “Apology accepted. It’s actually good to know there’s somebody out there who looks like me. Especially the next time I get picked out of a lineup for robbing a bank. I mean, the last time, they wouldn’t take my word for it when I said it must have been my evil twin,” he joked, but she didn’t laugh. In fact, she may have thought he was being serious. “I’m kidding.”

      She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time he was talking. “Okay, well, I’m heading out to make sure our flooring gets delivered on time.”

      “Well, until tomorrow, then,” Max said, stepping out of her way. “Don’t forget to eat something for breakfast.”

      Confusion clouded her face for a moment before the light came on. She smiled and laughed at herself. It was the kind of smile that gave her lines that bracketed her mouth. She had full lips and lots of white teeth that had to have spent some time in braces when she was younger. “I will definitely eat something so you don’t have to pick me up off the floor, Mr. Jordan.”

      “Max,” he corrected.

      “Right.” Her smile faded for some reason. “Max.”

      * * *

      MAX HAD THIRTY minutes to get from the Loop to the corner of North Avenue and Milwaukee Avenue. Joe, the helpful subcontractor, told him to jump on the Blue Line because a cab would cost him a bundle and take too long this time of day. Max was used to getting around in the safety of his own car. Everyone in L.A. had a car, hence the massive traffic problems. Chicago had its issues, but many of the people behind the wheel were making money doing so or commuting from the suburbs. True Chicagoans, Max had been told, walked, got around on bikes, or unlike everyone he knew back in L.A., they used public transportation.

      The CTA station was crowded and smelled like a dirty bathroom. A man in a stained shirt and muddied khakis wove his way through the waiting commuters. He held out a paper cup that contained maybe a buck in change if he was lucky. “Spare somethin’?”

      Max dug in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. He pushed it into the cup. “Get a good meal tonight,” he said.

      The man’s face broke into a grin of appreciation. “God bless.”

      Max tipped his head and smiled back as the man moved on.

      The woman next to him snorted. “He’s just gonna buy some booze with that money, you know.” Dressed in a navy suit and flashy running shoes, she held on tightly to her humongous designer purse with one hand while the other scrolled through something on her phone. Neither the diamonds in her ears nor the rings on her fingers looked like they came from a Cracker Jack box. She could have easily spared a dime.

      “Maybe. Maybe not. You never know someone’s story until you ask them to tell it,” Max said as the train pulled up.

      “Pfft.” The woman rolled her eyes and made her way toward the train.

      She was probably right. It was very likely the guy would use the money for some vice rather than food. Still, there was also a possibility he’d buy dinner with it. That was enough for Max. Things happened. Sometimes life threw people a curve ball they weren’t expecting and all they needed was a hand up. Max had no problem offering help to others, though he had trouble asking for or accepting it himself.

      When Max was twenty-two, he found out his mother was panhandling after she had lost her job working as a blackjack dealer in a Las Vegas casino. He was thankful for the people who offered her help. Who knew what else she would have been willing to do to keep from starving. But he hated that she’d hidden her desperation from him, opting to beg strangers for help instead.

      He had taken her in after that, even though he was living in the tiniest apartment in all of California. She stayed for about two months, then she met some guy who persuaded her to follow him to Denver to start a church. Thus began her “religious” period.

      Max’s mom made him look at everyone a little differently. Her weaknesses taught him to trust no one to take care of him but himself. Her quirky strengths reminded him that people were interesting creatures, capable of both good and bad, depending on the day. To keep his faith in her, he had to have some in everyone else. Everyone except his father. His father lacked any redeeming qualities, he was sure of it. Anyone who would walk away from a pregnant woman and lay no claim to his son didn’t deserve forgiveness or understanding.

      Max wasn’t going to be that kind of man. He was going to be a better man than his father. That was what he told himself as he rode the Blue Line to meet his lawyer. He had to believe that if he had any shot at winning joint custody of Aidan.

      Wayne Faraday’s office was three blocks from the CTA station. Max managed to walk there and still be on time. The temperature had begun to drop as the sun set. Chicago weather in early fall was unpredictable. Sometimes it felt like summer wasn’t ready to go, and the next day it was rainy and forty degrees. Max dreaded his first Midwestern winter.

      Wayne’s administrative assistant was a young guy with blond hair and black hipster glasses who always wore a bow tie and skinny pants. Max imagined he spent his free time in offbeat coffee shops where people drank lattes, ate organic muffins and competed in poetry slams. “Mr. Jordan. Right on time. Mr. Faraday will be with you in just a minute. He got a call right before you walked in.”

      “No problem,” Max said, taking a seat—the only seat—in the reception area. The law firm of Faraday and Associates was small. In fact, the name was a bit deceiving. There actually weren’t any associates. Wayne worked alone, but he had a passion for fathers’ rights, which made him the man for this job. Max needed someone who knew what he was doing and was willing to take him on as a client, given the fact that Max’s case wasn’t particularly strong. At least not yet.

      Picking up a copy of Men’s Fitness magazine, Max tried to occupy his thoughts with something other than his crazy day. He still struggled to shake the strange feelings Kendall Montgomery had stirred in him. It had been a relief when she’d explained he simply reminded her of someone else. Hopefully that meant the constant staring would come to an end. Of course, it was the way she looked at him that was unnerving. Even when she smiled, there was this sadness about her. Like it made her sad to see him. That was an unpleasant thought.

      Maybe