“We love too hard and too recklessly, I think,” I murmured.
“Let’s just hope we can walk away in one piece this time,” Renee said softly. And we sat there, supporting each other as heartbroken friends do.
I was pacing holes in the living room carpet when Maxx finally arrived. I opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, not letting him inside.
“Ready?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Ready,” I said, giving him a thin smile. Maxx ran his hands through his hair, and I found myself really looking at him. My misgivings kicked up a notch as I took in his appearance. He was wearing worn jeans that hung off his narrow hips. His chest strained under a red button-down shirt. He had rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. His hair fell in haphazard curls across his forehead.
He was thinner. His face more angular, his cheekbones more pronounced. His eyes were clear and steady. Absent was the bloodshot haze I had been used to seeing. He looked happy. Excited, even. It was a look that could prove lethal to my wishy-washy heart.
Because this was a new Maxx. Someone I had only seen in glimpses between withdrawals. Someone who had shown his face only briefly while I had loved and been consumed by him.
A stable Maxx. Calm. Competent. Together.
Angry, bitter Aubrey wondered if this, too, was an act. And if it wasn’t, I wondered how long it could last. Enough with the negativity! I chastised myself.
This Maxx smiled with shy reservation, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should or not. He spoke with consideration of his words. He thought before he acted. He was so completely different that it was hard to believe he was the same person. The connection we had always shared was still there, yet it strained and stretched in this strange new world we coexisted in.
We walked to his car silently.
“Do you want to listen to the radio?” he asked, fumbling with the ancient dials on his dashboard once we were buckled in.
“I don’t care,” I said, situating myself so I could get comfortable on the crunchy leather seats.
Maxx flipped to a rock station and pulled away from the curb in front of my apartment building.
“How are the jobs going?” I asked him, feeling like conversation was required.
“Not bad. But they’re mind-numbing and sort of pay the bills.”
“Sort of ?” I asked.
“Well, they don’t pay as much as I wish they would,” Maxx said with a hint of bitterness.
I didn’t know what else to say. I had never struggled so much with small talk before. Perhaps it was because there were a million things I felt I should be saying. Things I should ask him.
Should I talk to him about rehab? Should I ask him how he was getting along now that he had been discharged? Should I ignore the topic altogether and for just one day pretend that that particular darkness never had a place in our lives?
“I was thinking the other day how little I really know about you,” Maxx said suddenly, surprising me.
“What?”
Maxx shrugged. “You know some about my parents and you’ve met Landon, but I don’t know anything about where you came from. And I don’t think we’ve ever really talked about your family before. Not once in all the time we spent together did you ever tell me about your parents or your sister. The one that died.”
“Well, that’s the only one I had,” I retorted.
Maxx shook his head. “See, I didn’t even know that. What’s wrong with me that I never thought to ask you such fundamental questions like how many siblings you have or what your parents are like?”
I knew he was right. As deep and wild as things had been between us, it was startling to realize that I had never shared such simple things with him. On one hand, he knew things about me that no one else did. They were the sorts of things that could only be wrenched out of someone at moments of absolute vulnerability. I had opened up to him about my feelings of guilt and grief about Jayme. But when it came to the little things boyfriends and girlfriends knew about each other, we were completely deficient.
It felt strange to backtrack now. Particularly since we were no longer playing those roles in each other’s lives. I wasn’t sure I wanted to give him those tidbits of truth. I didn’t know what purpose it would serve. I was adamant that I wasn’t here with him in order to pursue a continued connection, yet I was here all the same.
Would it hurt to let him in . . . just a little bit?
“I guess we haven’t. My parents aren’t really a subject I like to talk about. We haven’t had much of a relationship since my sister, Jayme, died. They blamed me. I blamed me. It worked out better to have as little to do with each other as possible.” I kept emotion out of my voice. I was blandly neutral, giving nothing away.
He didn’t badger me for details; he just let that piece of information sit there between us. “What was she like? Your sister? Was she like you? Too smart for her own good?” Maxx asked, shooting me a sideways smile.
I stiffened instantly, not exactly prepared to dive into this particular subject. “Umm . . .” I began, my throat feeling suddenly tight.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” Maxx said softly, his smile slipping.
And then, just like before, I was talking. Without even realizing what I was doing, I opened myself up a little bit more. And it felt good. I enjoyed sharing my memories of Jayme. I needed to.
“No. She and I were nothing alike. Even though we looked alike, our personalities couldn’t have been more different. I’ve always been a little school-crazy. Good grades and getting into a decent college were really important to me.”
“Big surprise that you were always the overachiever. You were probably on the debate team and ran for school council, too,” Maxx deduced, chuckling.
“I was not on the debate team,” I huffed with feigned indignation.
Maxx made a point to control his laughter. “I’m sorry. I won’t make that assumption again.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music. “But I totally called the school council. What were you? The president?”
“Vice president,” I muttered under my breath, grumbling but without venom.
“I knew it,” Maxx said, smacking his hand against the steering wheel.
“Well, Jayme was always more interested in hanging out with friends and going out, even though our parents were pretty strict. I had a ten o’clock curfew until I left for college,” I told him.
“Wow. I never had a curfew. But that’s because David never gave a shit where I was or what I was doing. Sometimes I would wish like hell he’d tell me to be home by a certain time. Then I would know that someone cared if I ever came back at all,” Maxx said, his smile now brittle.
My heart couldn’t help but twist a bit at the thought of Maxx growing up unloved and alone. So much of that sense of disconnectedness had formed the person he eventually became. The guy who had thrown himself into the club scene in an effort to belong somewhere. The guy who used drugs to stop feeling anything at all.
These tiny pieces of his past helped me understand him a little bit better. It certainly didn’t excuse everything that he had done, but I was better able to get the motivations. Maxx cleared his throat and forced a smile back on his face. “So Jayme was the party girl and you were the homebody, right?”
“Not entirely. I went out with friends. I had a life. I just had my priorities,” I said.
“I have no doubt you were the girl in high school I would never have had a chance with. You have always been way too good for a guy like me,” he said, chuckling in that self-deprecating way of his.
I didn’t respond. What would be the point?
Our coming together all those months ago was a perfect storm of circumstance. Maxx had walked into my life at a moment when I needed the chaos and insanity that he created, whether I had realized it at the time or not.
“Jayme was . . . unique. She had these crazy toe socks that were all of these different colors. When she was in a bad moo
d, she’d wear them, swearing they were the key to having a good day.” I shook my head, snorting. “I have no idea why I just told you that,” I said, feeling embarrassed.
“That’s cool, I had a pair of those toe sock things, too,” Maxx remarked, and I arched my eyebrow in disbelief.
Maxx shrugged. “Seriously. My mom got them for me when I was a kid. When it was really cold out I’d wear them around the house. They were ugly as hell, but fuck if they weren’t comfortable,” Maxx said, turning down a gravel road, rocks hitting the underside of his car with audible clangs.
“Jayme and I used to dress up in our mom’s skirts and blouses and would put our hair up in buns. We’d pretend that we were Amish. Our parents had taken us to Pennsylvania Dutch country one summer, and we became sort of obsessed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the awesome horse and buggies or those kick-ass bonnets.” I rolled my eyes and Maxx smirked. “We’d spend all weekend refusing to watch television or turn on lights. We’d light candles in our rooms and do stuff like try to sew scarves. It was kind of ridiculous.” I couldn’t believe I was admitting this to him. I wasn’t used to talking about Jayme like this. Not in a positive way, focusing on the good memories. But it felt good.
Better than good.
How was it that the man who had shrouded me in so much darkness was now giving me nothing but light?
Once we had started sharing these seemingly random stories, it was like neither of us could stop.
Maxx told me about sneaking into his dad’s bedside table and finding his nose hair trimmers and proceeding to shave baby Landon’s eyebrows off. I then told him about pretending to be mute for an entire day and how Jayme insisted on being my interpreter. We had developed our own version of sign language that we used until she died.
Soon I was chuckling. A deep, from-the-gut laugh that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. I barely realized Maxx had parked the car beside a large brick stable.
“We’re here,” Maxx announced, shutting off the engine.
I got out of the car and followed Maxx around the side of the building. It smelled like hay and horses and a lot like manure. I crinkled my nose.
“Mr. Wyatt?” Maxx called out, unlocking a gate and going inside. He held out his hand, and I took it without thinking. He pulled me after him, and I jogged a bit to keep up.
“Hi, Maxx.” A balding man with a threadbare plaid shirt and dirt-streaked jeans came out from one of the stalls, a shovel full of horse crap in his hand.
“Is it all right if we take out Brandy and Earl?” Maxx asked, still holding my hand tightly, almost as though he was worried I’d run off.
Mr. Wyatt nodded and swung the shit-laden shovel toward the stalls at the back of the stable. “Sure thing. Now, you said you had riding experience, right? What about your friend?” he asked. Maxx nodded and squeezed my hand. I nodded, too, though the truth was, I hadn’t ridden a horse since I had gone to summer camp when I was twelve.
“Okay, well, those two are gentle beasts; I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. Just stay in the corral,” Mr. Wyatt instructed.
Maxx tugged on my hand, and we walked in the direction of Brandy and Earl’s stalls. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.
Maxx nodded his head, his lips splitting in a huge grin. “Nope.”
“Figured,” I muttered, snickering.
“How hard can it be?” Maxx shrugged, and I finally saw some of that easy confidence of the boy I used to know.
“I think you’re about to be pretty surprised,” I warned.
“I’m a quick learner. I’ve helped Wyatt put on saddles a few times. I’ve got this.” Maxx pulled two leather saddles off the wall and lugged them over to a pretty gray mare with kind black eyes and the softest ears I had ever felt.
I cooed to her, scratching her neck. Brandy was a sweet and gentle horse, which was good, because I was beginning to think this experience was going to end up with either Maxx, me, or both of us falling on our asses.
Maxx hefted the saddle onto Brandy’s back, and she stood there patiently as he fumbled with the buckles.
He grunted as he repositioned the saddle several times before getting it right. I peered at it nervously. “Are you sure it’s on there correctly?” I asked.
“Of course.” Maxx stepped close, leaning down until his mouth was next to my ear. “Don’t be scared, Aubrey. I won’t let you fall,” he said softly, his voice low.
I shivered at the feel of his breath on my neck. I couldn’t help it. It was an involuntary reaction to his proximity.
I helped Maxx drag the second saddle over to the next stall and put it on Earl’s back. Earl seemed stressed. He pawed at the ground and didn’t act overly thrilled to have Maxx attaching the saddle to his back.
“This one seems kind of hard to handle, Maxx,” I said, eyeing the horse apprehensively.
“Nah, Earl’s awesome. Wyatt rides him all the time.”
“Mr. Wyatt has also been riding horses for years. He probably makes it look pretty easy,” I offered, not trying to be a negative nelly. But the last thing I wanted was to take Maxx to the hospital with a broken neck.
“You’ll see, Aubrey. I’ll be riding this horse like a pro in no time,” Maxx stated with enough self-assurance that I almost believed him.
He was able to attach the saddle to the back of his horse a bit more easily than he could with Brandy, but when it came time to mount Earl, the ornery horse wasn’t having it. Earl moved around, not letting Maxx get a strong grip on the reins so he could pull himself up.
“Uh, I don’t think he wants you on his back, Maxx.” I chuckled, watching Maxx try to control the uncooperative horse.
“He’s just being moody,” Maxx griped, trying to put his foot in the stirrups again. Earl took a step forward, and Maxx lost his balance, falling into a pile of horseshit.
“Fucking hell!” he yelled, and I lost it. I started laughing so hard that I couldn’t breathe. Maxx struggled to his feet and promptly lost his footing again and fell onto his back.
“You could help me out here, Aubrey,” Maxx said, holding out his hand.
“Sorry, it’s just you’re in a literal pile of shit there, Maxx,” I pointed out.
“You’re so damn funny,” Maxx muttered.
I grabbed his hand and started to pull him up, when he gave my arm a hard tug and I fell beside him in the manure.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” I shrieked, trying to stand up but losing my footing, just as Maxx had. The crap seemed to be sucking me down.
It was Maxx’s turn to crack up, but the humor of the situation was now lost on me.
The smell was atrocious, and the squishy feeling between my fingers was making me nauseous.
I looked down at my ruined clothes and at Maxx. His eyes were twinkling, and he was grinning even though we were sitting in horse poop. He looked happy. Maybe the happiest I had seen him since that day we had gone sledding.
And then I wasn’t pissed anymore.
We managed to help each other up just as Mr. Wyatt came in to see what all the commotion was about.
“Well, that’s not exactly how you ride a horse,” he said dryly, and that set us off again.
“I’m guessing the two of you are going to need a shower,” Mr. Wyatt mumbled, shaking his head at us.
“If you don’t mind, sir,” Maxx said, calming down.
“Come on, then. I have some extra clothes. And I’m sure I can find something of my wife’s for you,” Mr. Wyatt said, inclining his head in my direction.
“Thank you, Mr. Wyatt,” I said, biting on my lip to stop from snickering.
The head stable hand led us to a shower cubicle at the back of the building that had several towels hung over the door. It was a little grimy and looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned for a while.
But it was either wash myself in there or smell like horseshit.
I’d choose the moldy shower.
“It’s going to be cold
. But I’m not letting you in the house smelling like that,” Mr. Wyatt said, leaving us to our shower.
“Uh, can you turn around, please?” I asked Maxx, feeling silly, considering how many times he had seen me naked in the past.
But things had definitely changed in that department.
Maxx did as he was asked. I quickly stripped and got into the shower, turning on the water and screaming when the frigid water hit my skin.
“Fucking hell!” I screeched.
I hurriedly rinsed off and wrapped myself in a towel, exiting the shower. Maxx was still standing there, now with a pair of linen trousers and a pink frilly shirt in his hands. His eyes heated as they took in my state of undress.
“Doesn’t exactly look like your style,” I joked, feeling uncomfortably hot under Maxx’s gaze.
He blinked, as if realizing that he was blatantly staring. He handed me the clothes. “Uh, yeah, these are for you.” He cleared his throat and then went in the small shower cubicle.
I quickly got dressed and realized Mrs. Wyatt must be several sizes bigger than I was. The shirt gaped open, and I had to tie a knot in the bottom so that it fit properly. I was just putting on my socks and shoes when Maxx got out. He had wrapped a towel around his waist, and I couldn’t help but stare at the droplets of water that clung to his chest.
In my efforts to get over my feelings for this complicated man, I had conveniently forgotten the intense physical attraction we shared. The lust. The desire. The longing that made it hard to breathe.
But I felt it now. It reached out and squeezed my insides, making it impossible to move.
He looked at me, his wet hair slicked back away from his face, his blue eyes hooded.
I licked my lips, and Maxx’s eyes dropped to my mouth. I remembered this feeling. This wanting and waiting that had always consumed me.
“Here you go,” I said, breaking the moment by handing him a pile of clothing Mr. Wyatt had left for him.
“Thanks,” Maxx said, taking the shirt and jeans from my hands, his fingers brushing against mine.
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