“You certainly can,” her friend murmured, and Emmie shot her a look that said Judas!
“Everyone’s sitting over there,” Max said, indicating the long row of tables that had been moved together for his group.
“Not everyone,” Emmie said. “Believe it or not, you and your friends are not everyone.”
“Fair enough. My friends and I are sitting over there. There’s room. Do you want to join us?”
Emmie’s friend’s face was priceless, though Max didn’t know how to interpret it. She was surprised, intrigued, or scared to death. Maybe a combination of all three. Max made a mental note that the team should really work on its social skills. Branch out. The guys were awesome. Mostly. The girls could be cool too. When they wanted to be.
“I don’t think so,” Emmie said.
“Oh, come on.” God, was he really going to beg? Had it come to this?
“I’m here with a friend already. Do you know Marissa?”
Max reached over the table and shook Marissa’s hand. She was pretty. Pale and fine featured. Her eyes were—Max guessed—even wider now than they usually were, and he regretted that he was the cause of that.
Marissa bit her lip like she was deciding whether to say something or not, and Max pulled his hand back with a jerk. Oh no. He knew the look on her face. He knew what was coming.
Jade hadn’t gone to White Prairie, but somehow this girl seemed to know about their connection. Any second she was going to say the dreaded words. I’m so sorry for your loss.
Those words made everything worse. They brought him right back to the receiving line at the church. Jade’s mom looking ashen, drugged up on sedatives, her dad looking like he’d been hollowed out with a spoon.
The familiar shaking started somewhere below Max’s heart, somewhere over his stomach. In another second, the nausea would come. Then the sweats. He balled his hands into fists and pressed them into the cushioned seat as if he were in a plane, falling to earth, and he was bracing for impact.
Max felt Emmie press her right hand against the side of his left fist. He didn’t know if it was on purpose, if she was acting on instinct, or if it was some kind of miraculous accident. Didn’t matter. He felt it. The heat of her. The solid assurance of her. He still didn’t get it, this thing she did to him, but he wasn’t complaining and he wasn’t going to question it.
Emmie’s hand didn’t stay there for long, but it was enough. His heart rate slowed and nearly stilled. The plane leveled out. Max caught his breath.
“So how do you think you’re going to do in the tournament?” Marissa asked.
Max blinked. Then he almost laughed. He’d had it all wrong. This girl knew nothing about Jade. He’d freaked for no reason. God, he was weak. What a basket case.
Katie came up to the table in that second. She laid her palms flat at the corner of the table by Marissa and leaned toward Max, squishing her boobs together. Her long, red hair fell forward in soft loops. Max noticed, but it did nothing for him.
“Sorry to interrupt, but our food’s here.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll be right over.”
Katie stared at Max for a second longer, then bit the inside of her cheek. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“Yeah, sure,” Max said, taking another deep breath. “This is Emmie O’Brien and Marissa…”
“Cooke,” Marissa said.
“Oh yeah,” Katie said as if she were trying to place her. “Aren’t you in one of my classes?”
“We have sociology together,” Marissa said. Then, when Katie’s expression didn’t show the slightest bit of acknowledgment, Marissa added, “I sit a couple seats behind you.”
“Oh, right,” Katie said slowly, then, “Right!” She turned her attention back to Max. “So are you coming?”
“I said in a minute.” He didn’t take his eyes off Emmie. Her head was bowed, and her jaw was set. Max sensed Katie walking away, as well as Marissa turning her head to watch her go.
“Aren’t you going to go eat?” Emmie asked without looking up.
“I will.”
The corner of her mouth tightened, and she swallowed what seemed to be a pretty big lump. “Marissa,” she said, “you’re going to have to excuse us for a second.”
“Where are we going?” Max asked.
“Out.”
Max slid off the bench, and Emmie led the way to the door. Max heard Chris yell from behind him, “Hey, Shep. What up?”
Max followed Emmie out into the cold. The wind flung ice crystals up off the snowbanks, and the shards bit at their faces. Emmie turned to face him.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Max steadied himself. So the hand thing had been on purpose after all. “Yeah, of course. Totally fine.”
“Great,” she said, her mood changing from concern to irritation. “Then do you care to tell me what’s going on with all…this?” She made a hand gesture back and forth between their two bodies.
Max narrowed his eyes, not sure how to answer. She acted like no one had ever shown interest in her, which was impossible. “I like you. Why are you so surprised?”
“Well, you can’t. So stop it right now.”
“I can’t?” She was cute when she was mad, but Max wasn’t going to be an idiot and point that out. Especially since he could see cute-mad slipping very quickly into scary-mad, and he didn’t want to lose any ground.
“No,” she said. “You can’t.” The wind picked up, and Max’s hair snapped at his face, but he didn’t go back inside.
Emmie made a sound, as if she’d about had it with him.
“Listen, Emmie,” he said. “You can’t make me not be interested in you just by stomping your foot, but if you’re not into it, that’s fine. No harm, no foul. Just thought you should know how I felt.”
She rolled her eyes, “What’s your game?”
“You mean hockey?”
She shook her head in frustration. “No, I mean your angle. What are you after? What do you want from me?”
She gritted her teeth, and Max groaned internally. He suddenly saw himself as a tail-wagging Labrador retriever trying to make friends with a rabid badger. “Come on, Emmie. We can at least be friends, right?”
Her lips tightened, and she shifted her weight. “You don’t want me as a friend.”
This time Max couldn’t hold back a smile. “Don’t I get to pick my own friends?”
“You already have. They’re all inside. And let me tell you, your friends and me—you and me—we don’t mix.”
Max glanced toward the window where Jordy (back in his glasses) and Chris were laughing, warm hands reaching across the table for warm food.
“Not ‘don’t mix,’” Max said. “Haven’t mixed. It’s an important difference. And just because they haven’t been friends with you before doesn’t mean they can’t be now.”
Emmie shivered, and Max regretted having left his coat inside. Tiny ice pellets skittered across the salted sidewalk. Emmie looked toward the restaurant windows, and Max could tell this conversation was about over.
“Listen,” she said, her teeth now chattering like castanets. For a second, it sounded like she was going to cry, but that couldn’t be right. This was Emmie O’Brien. Sure enough, when she looked up, her eyes were dry. “Don’t you have a hockey scholarship or something that you’re trying to get?”
The question surprised him. “What the hell does that have to do with anything we’re talking about?”
“The work crew. I’m not exactly out of the woods yet,” she said, looking at Max directly, perhaps for the first time since they’d come outside. Then she looked away again. “You don’t want my kind of trouble interfering with any good thing that’s coming your way.”
Max touched her chin with his thumb and tried to turn her face back toward his, but she jerked away at his touch. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Sorry,” he said, kicking himself mentally. “It’s a bad habit.”
&nbs
p; “What’s a habit?”
Jesus. Hadn’t Quack Linda been working with him on this very thing all last month? You don’t have to always express yourself with your hands, Max. Use your words. It made him feel like a toddler. Use your words. Keep your hands to yourself.
“Emmie, please look at me.”
She did. But only reluctantly.
“Can I be blunt with you?” he asked. “Do you mind if I’m blunt? ’Cause you’ve got to know. Right now, I think you might be the good thing that’s come my way. I mean…” And then he heard himself. He sounded like a Hallmark card, and she was looking at him like he was an idiot.
He didn’t blame her, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as what he could have said—how meeting her made him feel like a drowning man whose big toe had suddenly bumped against a sand bar. Meeting her had been just as sudden, and just as surprising, and it brought with it just as much hope for rescue. But thank God he didn’t say any of that.
Max tried again. “What I’m trying to say, Emmie…That scholarship you’re talking about…If something doesn’t change for me, I’m not going to get it. Hanging out with you…That would be a definite change.”
“Max,” she said, and once more that calm she exuded washed over him like a tidal wave. “I’ll be your friend. But that’s all this is going to be.”
Max exhaled. It wasn’t everything he wanted, but it was enough. “Good. Great.”
“Now,” she said, starting to move past him, “I’ve got to get back to Marissa.”
Right at that moment, Chris stepped outside.
“Dude,” he said, flipping his hair and not so subtly checking Emmie out. “Food’s getting cold.”
“So, I’ll see you in the morning?” Max asked Emmie, and he could tell Chris’s interest was piqued.
“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Emmie said. “Not like I have a choice. But I want you to know, I meant what I said.”
“I heard you,” Max said.
Emmie looked at Chris, who was grinning like a madman, then she rolled her eyes and pushed between them to go inside. Max couldn’t help but smile. They were going to be friends.
That night, Emmie thought about what Max had said about him being interested in her. And then she dismissed it.
The idea might have given her a warm, happy feeling deep in her belly, but she would never fit with him, or with his crowd. She didn’t even think she wanted to. Sooner or later, the garbage in her life would float to the surface, and she didn’t want Max anywhere near her when it did. He didn’t deserve that kind of stink.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DRIVE-BY
THE NEXT MORNING
Max’s alarm clock went off in the middle of Jack Duncan, one of the weekend radio guys saying, “Too bad it’s a Saturday. Fifteen inches of fresh powder…Kids might have got a day off if there was school today.”
“Doubtful,” said the other guy in the booth. “Plows have been out all night.”
Max opened his eyes to slits and peeked over at his window, which was whitewashed with a sheet of snow. He rolled over and groaned, covering his head with his pillow.
His door creaked open, and his mom’s voice called in to him. “Your alarm’s gone off twice now, honey. Time to get up. You’ve got the work crew. Dress warm.”
Groan. Groan again. Mumble.
“Was that supposed to be an attempt at communication?” she asked with a small laugh. Max didn’t have to open his eyes to know she was smiling. His mom tried so hard to act normal. To make light conversation. To make a joke. He loved her for how hard she worked at it, but the reason behind it all pinched at his gut. She kissed the top of his head. “Caveman grunts aren’t going to get you anywhere with me, baby. Rise and shine.”
Max nodded, then waited for her to close the door before he rolled up to sitting. M&M’s on the brain. Or at least one Em, and he had the erection to prove it. He was both excited and terrified to see her today.
Last night’s conversation hadn’t gone nearly as well as he’d hoped, but she had at least talked to him. And she had been the one to suggest they talk alone. But then she’d put him in the friend zone. That hadn’t been part of the plan, but he’d take what he could get.
The other unexpected thing was that when Max had got back to the table, Katie and Lauren told him that Emmie had gone to WPHS in ninth grade. Back then, Katie had just introduced him to Jade, and they’d started to date. He’d never even noticed Emmie. That was hard to imagine now.
Katie said there were rumors that Emmie had to leave after ninth grade because she got knocked up by some sketchy guy. She’d had the baby, given it up for adoption, and now she was back. The guys made no comment on Katie’s story, just kept their heads down, eyes on their plates. The girls, however, were all over it.
“Seriously?”
“Ninth grade?”
“What a skank.”
Max hadn’t believed any of it, and his opinion hadn’t changed by morning. Not that he’d think badly of Emmie if it was true, but it just didn’t sound right. His alarm went off again, and he sent Emmie a text.
Hey, it’s me. Max.
After a minute…
Yeah, I know. You put your name in my phone.
Right. He smiled to himself. Max pictured her sitting up in bed, sheets sliding over her shoulders, pooling around her waist. He wondered what she wore to bed. Maybe nothing.
He quickly pushed the image away. They were just friends.
So, are you going in today?
Seriously?
Can I give you a ride?
I have my own car.
Yeah, but I know all the shortcuts.
Give it up, Max.
Max laughed but didn’t respond. He looked down at his phone while the screen went black. Then, for whatever reason, he smiled at his reflection.
Max got to the sheriff’s department right on time, but he was not the first to arrive. He’d hoped he was going to be early enough to get a seat beside Emmie, who was in her usual first-row spot by the window. Unfortunately, there was already a guy sitting—and sleeping—next to her. The second row was full, too, so it was the farthest back for him again.
Max climbed in, feeling tight from all the layers of clothes he was wearing. Emmie was dressed in an oversize winter coat and her usual bright-pink hat. She kept her warm gloves on even though she was in the van. Her arms were folded over her chest. Dan McDonald arrived last and seemed pleased to see they were all there ahead of him and in their places. He didn’t get in the van, but leaned into the open door to speak to them.
“We’re shoveling out a halfway house today.”
Emmie lifted her head from the window and looked toward Dan. “Which halfway house?” she asked, barely concealing the note of anxiety in her voice.
Dan glanced at Emmie and held her eyes for a second, giving his head the tiniest of shakes. It seemed like he was sending her an unspoken message because she slumped back against the window as if he’d answered her question. What was her problem with halfway houses? She didn’t seem like the type to judge.
“I hope everyone is dressed appropriately,” Dan said. “I’ll be driving separately, and I’ve got shovels and plenty of extra hats and gloves, so don’t think you’re getting out of it just because you came unprepared.”
Someone in the row ahead of Max groaned.
“Ah, don’t be too disappointed. I also brought a Thermos of hot chocolate. Okay, let’s go. I want to see a whole lot of shoveling from all of you. If you’re cold at the beginning, you won’t be for long.” He glanced at the driver, then slid the van door shut.
Emmie pulled off her hat, and her mass of wild curls tumbled down over her shoulders. Shit, Max thought. Good thing he got stuck in the back row. If he was sitting behind Emmie, it would have been tough to resist touching her hair, and then he’d hear about it.
It took them about twenty minutes to get to the work site. The driver pulled up to a tan brick building, three stories with about a dozen wi
ndows across, evenly spaced. All in all, the place was completely unremarkable. How many times had Max driven by it without notice? After today, he’d never drive by it again without remembering that he’d spent a day with Emmie O’Brien here.
The memory of her pressing her hand against his fist while they sat at the Happy Gopher made this snowy mess look even better. Warmer. In fact, he might actually love this place, this nasty brick building with its shitload of snow. Seriously. Did a disproportionate amount of snow fall here, or did all the neighbors generously share their portions just to give the juvenile delinquents something to do?
Emmie’s shoulders sagged, and she made a little noise that told Max she was thinking the same thing. She pulled her hair together and gave it a twist, exposing the back of her neck. Max’s stomach tightened.
“It’s going to be deep, and it’s going to be wet,” the van driver said. Max blinked his eyes twice, then fought back a smile as Chris spoke up in his head: That’s what she said.
“That means the snow is going to be very heavy. No macho men today, please. Bend at the knees. Take it off in layers. No macho women either, Em.”
They all climbed out, and the wind bit at Max’s cheeks. He zipped his coat higher and swung his arms back and forth to keep the blood moving. Emmie grabbed a shovel right away and got to work. The snow on the sidewalk was up to her knees.
All the guys on the crew grabbed shovels and spread out around the building, taking a section of sidewalk. Max purposefully started working in an area that was close to Emmie, so they could talk. He waited for her to initiate it, but she never did. She just kept her head down and her arms moving.
The driver was right; the snow was heavy. Max thought it might be too heavy for Emmie, but she seemed to be handling herself okay. Every five minutes, Max inched his way closer. Twenty minutes later, he and Emmy were shoveling in crisscross patterns, scraping up the fall-over snow that the other’s shovel had left behind. Their noses were red, and their jeans and gloves completely soaked, but Max felt warm all the same.
“Hey, Emmie?” he asked.
Cold Hard Truth Page 7
