Maxed Steel Read online

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Here we are again….

  Jersey U

  Ego Check

  Check In

  Watch Out

  Not My Thing

  Never Gonna Get It

  My One Regret

  Worked Up

  Old Trucks, Hot girls

  Pain In The Ass

  Becky and Chill

  Kill Me Now

  Sailboat Miller

  Come Sail Away

  The Park

  Gloves Off

  Road Rage

  Probably Gonna Need a Sign

  Wide Awake

  Family

  Work Out

  Surfs Up

  #Shesaidyes

  High Tide

  Home

  Epilogue

  NEXT IN STEEL

  Books by MJ Fields

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2021 by MJ Fields

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Jersey Girl Designs

  Edited by C&D Editing

  Proofread by Julie Deaton

  Proofread by Brittini Van

  Anchor: Autumn

  Synopsis

  Mila

  The six-foot-three, two hundred pounds of lean muscle, disgustingly defined by his white tee hugging … all that, with a backpack slung over his bulging broad shoulder is far from innocent.

  He’s Max Steel.

  He’s all sorts of grown up.

  And he’s my enemy … even though he doesn’t know it yet.

  Max

  For the past two years, I’ve been traveling the world, searching for the ultimate wave, while also secretly looking for what my entire crew has already found—their Forever.

  I already realized that I would never settle for less than what I knew growing up. Instead, I found myself.

  Content with that, I returned to Jersey to fulfill a promise made to my parents—to get an education.

  Move-in day at Jersey U, I run into the one girl from high school who had me chasing her.

  Back then, I messed up and lost her.

  Now she says she despises me, but I know better.

  Here we are again….

  This book is dedicated to you my cherished reader friends.

  I may be a bit misty eyed right now as I type this little note to you all, —listening to Clinton Kane, I don’t want to watch the world burn with someone else, on repeat— but seriously it’s totally warranted. Can you f’Ing believe we’re here again, at the end of another series in the Steel world!

  Me either!

  And what a year to write… to read… to escape, in Steel. It has truly been what has kept me half sane.

  Some of the Steel Crew books have held some angst, but I assure you this one —Maxed Steel—is like a warm hug, a belly laugh, a swoon feast, and the highest of highs to end the series with.

  With love, and gratitude to you all,

  Forever Steel,

  MJ

  PS- There is more coming and there may be a bit of a tease — and a hot AF cover reveal— at the end of Maxed.

  Jersey U

  Max

  “Welcome to Jersey U!” Dad booms through the speaker system of my new ride. Well, new to me, anyway. When the lease on the Beamer was up, I paid cash for the used Ford pickup truck. My brother-in-law, Brand, was impressed by my choice. Dad asked if it came with a ten—gallon hat, and I told them both it was paid for and, yeah, I was pretty damn proud of that fact. The conversation ended.

  Mom squeals. Her excitement could easily be mistaken for exaggerated, but I know damn well it’s no bullshit, not with my mom. “Are you excited to start college, Maximus?”

  I give her what she’s looking for, what she deserves—a big old, “Hell yes!”

  Truth be told, I have no desire to go to college or be part of an institution after the last year of high school. Luckily, I got a pretty cool break and spent the last two years traveling the world as a professional surfer right out of high school. Found myself on the waves, too. Well, the me who is now driving the roads of JU to start college at the ripe old age of twenty to fulfill a promise to Mom.

  Returning to school sucks harder than a starving whore, and that is no disrespect to the working women. Love me a working woman. All of them—blue collar, white collar, no collar. Hell, even those who wear a dog collar. Whatever bobs their buoy is bitchin’ to me.

  Surfing has always been my passion, and my escape. But things change. Traveling the world was expensive as fuck. Sponsorships have been great, but I don’t see myself making a career out of surfing. Too many unknowns. Take for example the two last competitions where I pretty much thought I was done. The first time in Gushe Den in Tel Aviv, Israel, and the next in Biscay, Bilboa, Spain. And although it’s not baseball where you have three strikes and you’re out, I was certain my third strike, so to speak, would not only lose me my sponsorships, and possibly my life, but it would also possibly ensure I lost the bank that I make from posting shit on social media. Went out on a high here in Jersey at a local competition and announced my plan to return to college before hitting the waves again.

  I never expected my parents to foot the bill my whole life—wouldn’t be down with living that way—but I did think I might have a bit more time. Never would have thought that douchebag, Marc Effisto, my cousin Tris’s ex, would rally a bunch of punks and internet gangsters to fight corporate America and pull some shit, causing Steel Incorporated’s stock to do a nosedive. Wish those idiots would think about their actions and maybe use one or two brain cells left in their heads when they pull that kind of shit and realize that it affects thousands of people’s lives. People who want a decent life, need a nine to five, health insurance, and the ability to put a roof over their family’s heads. Fools embodying the epitome of entitled fuck to take down people he wants to hurt with no thought about it.

  I have never been prouder of my parents, uncles, and Momma Joe than I was when that all went down. And that’s saying a lot. The respect I give them is one hundred percent deserved. In this case, though, they didn’t wallow. They held true to who they are and, before stepping away, they helped rally many of the employees who had been part of the business for years to take over Steel. Each of my uncles, their wives, my parents, and Momma Joe, who is my grandmother, used a huge chunk of their own bank to help those they knew would do good by what they built. So, now the employees own a huge majority of Steel Inc. and my family members just consult in their areas of expertise.

  Was it cool they did that? Hell yes, it was. They raised kids who aren’t afraid to work. I also knew they weren’t losing a ton of sleep over the business being taken down. Before it even happened, I heard Dad and Mom talk about cutting back hours to hang with their grandkids, my niece and nephews, and even heard them talking about retiring early.

  Loved hearing Dad talk about wanting to hang with Tags and my big sister, Bell, and work on their reality show, Convicted Ink, as well as tour with my sister, Kiki, and her husband, Brand, on the road. Brand is a country singer. However, I could have done without hearing Mom talk about how hot it got her thinking of Dad holding a “big, hard piece of steel in his hand.” I get the fact she
was talking about the tattoo gun, but I also got the innuendo.

  Not gonna lie, I love the way Mom and Dad carry on with each other—sexual chemistry still going strong—but that wasn’t all that has given them twenty plus years of marriage. Well, not that alone, anyway. Love is. The way he looks at her and gets flustered at times, and the way she looks at him and still blushes … that’s goals right there. That’s the end game.

  Call him Houdini, because my old man must be a magician who cast some magical spell on Mom back when they met, a spell he’s still casting today. She’s stunning, super smart, confident, a little nerdy, and she attempts to be a badass at times, which is comical but cute. My mom, she’s everything I have looked for in a chick and have yet to find. No shame in my game, either, I have dated a shit ton. I have always wanted all that. I want to roll over in ten years and not give a shit if the woman next to me has morning breath or is freshly waxed, because I am that crazy about her.

  I have heard the phrase used about cars and appliances, “They just don’t make them the way they used to.” Yeah, well, that’s a straight-up fact. Haven’t found one yet. Not sure there is a one for me.

  Must have been fifteen when I asked Dad one night what it took after he’d had a few too many drinks on the beach with my uncles. Pretty damn sure, if he had even one more drink in him, he would have dropped his shorts to prove that he was no magician. He did insist that he was “a prince and had a crown to prove it” before Mom jacked him back to the house. And let me just say this, he does that shit to get Mom riled up. Amuses the hell out of him.

  And let me also mention that it didn’t take me but a snap to figure that prince shit out, either. Took even less time to talk to my cousins, JT, Tricks, and Amias, about getting my own crown. Fuckers thought I was insane. Then My and I overheard JT and Tricks talking about doing the same fucking thing they gave me shit about. Did it, too. Tricks and JT got theirs done together, giving hashtag twinning a new meaning.

  I glance up at my rearview, where I have a picture of all nine of us, my crew, from the day we all moved to Mantoloking. What a fucking ride it’s been. And, as much as I hated my last year at high school, I miss being as tight as we once were. I mean, we’re still tight, but as we get older and have our own things going on, we slowly took separate turns in life. Change was inevitable. Becoming adults and shit, my sisters having kids, being an uncle, my cousins going through their shit, me going through mine. Can’t always be that crew of little baddies like we were in Catholic school. Gonna say it again, adulting sucks … Well, for some of us.

  Pulling into the designated parking, I hear, “After this, I’m going to take you home and—”

  I clear my throat, letting Dad know he hasn’t hit end on the phone and was closer than a pubic hair to subjecting me to a major amount of TMI.

  “So, we’ll meet you around behind your dorm, kid.” He chuckles.

  “Love that you’re here,” I exaggerate as I hit the screen, changing from car play to the phone and hold it up to my ear, “but—”

  “Gotta get those pictures, Max,” Dad says with a hint of caution in his voice. “Big day, you know.”

  I get we’re doing this for Mom, totally get it, so he doesn’t need to caution me one bit, but he does. Totally get that, too. Might be gross to even think, yet here I am, doing it, anyway. I’m guessing that’s making Mom blush and shit, which in turn is making his chest puff out and … let’s just say I’m real happy not to be sharing a suite with them tonight. like I have off and on for a couple years while traveling the world. The first few times, I was going to bust down the door and let Dad know he needed to hang the proverbial sock on the fucking doorknob to give me a heads-up, some time to turn the volume up on the TV loud enough to hit a decibel higher than Mom …

  Fuck. Yeah … nope. I am done thinking about that shit. Mom’s a catch, for sure, but she’s Mom, which makes it pretty nasty to be in my head.

  “You still there, Max?” Mom asks.

  “Sure am, pretty lady,” I say, holding my phone to my ear with my shoulder. I grab my backpack out of the back and fling it over my shoulder. “Be there in fifteen.”

  “Head held high, Maximus Steel,” Mom says with a mixture of a smile on her face, some pride, and emotions laced in her voice. “We are so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Love you. See you in a bit.”

  I end the call, shove the phone in my back pocket, shut the door, and hit lock on the key fob. Then I look around the parking lot, the farthest from my dorm by a good fifteen-minute hike, but it saves bank to park in the outskirts. So I then commence the hiking.

  Head held high, Maximus, I think.

  The winter of my senior year was the only time in my life that my head wasn’t held high. Had an accident that could have killed Amias, damn near ruined his career in the MLB. Got a DUI and knew for a fact that I hadn’t drank then drove, not that night, not ever.

  What I did do was take a drink at the bar that I had picked My up from. It was offered by a stranger—something I never do. Thought it was water, and it was, but there was a little something extra in the mix.

  Took a few months to get that straightened out, but my head hung low. Real fucking low for a time, and every morning, Mom, who I’m pretty sure is the only person who truly believed me, would push up on her toes, give me a peck on the cheek, and tell me, “Head held high, Maximus Steel.”

  That was the first official rocking of the proverbial boat within the crew. Nothing verbal, and it only lasted a few weeks, but fuck if that silence didn’t hurt.

  I look across the campus at all the smiling faces of students and the wobbling smiles of parents leaving their kids, possibly for the first time. Well, except that guy who’s staring at his daughter, and appears as if he can’t wait to hit the Jersey Turnpike and not look back until December. She doesn’t seem to notice though, as she has her nose in the air, absorbing everything new in her surroundings.

  I’m sure there’s a story there, yet it’s none of my damn business.

  Walking past a Frat House house with some Greek lettering on the front, lawn littered with babes in bikinis around half a dozen blow-up kiddy pools … Well, not that girl. Okay, yeah, she’s got bottoms on yet no top-, not that I can see, anyway, without closer inspection. I’m also one hundred percent sure that would be the point in her little—or big; who the hell can tell when she’s in that position, anyway?— display. No judgment here. She’s putting it out there that she’s confident, probably has a nice rack, and an open mind.

  My mind, however, is on getting to my dorm, getting Mom her pictures, getting Dad on his way to get to whatever plans he’s got conjured up, and seeing who I have been paired up with.

  My sister, Bella, tried pushing me to get on the social media pages set up to help students find a roommate. Sounded like a chick thing to do, so I opted out. She’s taunted me about it, telling me that she hopes I didn’t get stuck with some freakshow, yet saying it in a way that I know damn well she’s hoping for the opposite just so she could bust my balls.

  Doesn’t mean shit to me. I’m Max Steel- I’m easygoing, know how to have a good time, and I get along with just about anyone.

  Turning down Crossroads Avenue, I see a small gathering of about half a dozen chicks holding signs over their heads.

  “The Future Is Female!”

  “Boys Will Be Boys Accountable For Their Actions!”

  “The Opposite Of Feminism is Ignorance!”

  “We Will Not Go Quietly Back To The Kitchen!”

  “My Favorite Position Is CEO!”

  “Real Men Are Feminists!”

  “None Of Us Are Free Until We All Are Free!”

  The last one looks completely out of place with its hot pink handwritten scrawl, and I can’t help but chuckle when I read: “Women Who Lead, Read!”

  Behind them is a table of some sort. I’m pretty sure it’s covered in tee-shirts folded and sitting there for sale. All I can do is think to myself, Mom needs
one of those.

  Well shit, I think, as the sign falls on top of the dark-haired girl’s head.

  The gentlemanly thing to do would be to go ask if she was okay, but I have gotten pretty good at reading the room—or, in this case, the quad. Doing that could cause some sort of unnecessary accusation that my concern was misguided.

  It’s not.

  And … there she goes.

  I cheer her on inside as she lifts the sign while moving behind the tall blonde.

  Ego Check

  Mila

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I grumble as the sign I have hoisted up over my head, splashed with the hot pink words, “Women Who Lead, Read,” comes crashing down on me.

  Not at all surprising.

  “What is it?” Lindsey, my roommate, asks as she looks around for the cause of my outburst. No doubt worried that our little demonstration is being targeted by some anti-feminist group of frat boys.

  “It’s all good,” I say, attempting to right the sign as I duck behind the others in this pathetic group of eight females brave enough to man—or, should I say, woman—the quad on move-in day here at JU.

  Because hell no will I tell her that the cause of my outburst is the boy in a man’s body, walking toward us. Dirty blond, tussled, movie star hair; blue eyes no doubt dancing in amusement because he always seems so … amused, covered in aviators; shit-ass perma-grin spread across his smug face that is covered in a dusting of scruff, hiding those dimples that give off an air of innocence.