Bad. Fucking. Move.
You pissed him off, guys. Royally. I haven’t figured out yet if it was the reason he came after you. You’d think it wouldn’t matter so much since Garcia’s business was a cover for the drugs. Unless…maybe your business was shady too?
I’m not sure. I haven’t tracked down any evidence of that, and honestly, I don’t know if I even care anymore. The only thing I care about is finding Fiona.
By the way, she’s still missing.
I can feel that she’s alive, as corny as that might sound. She’s out there somewhere. But it’s anyone’s guess as to what she’s going through. She could be hurt, scared, afraid—none of which I can do one fucking thing about. You’d think you could at least orchestrate something from the other side to see that she makes it home safely, but no, you’re probably too busy being a tragedy.
Like I said, every year my feelings about this day seem to change. I used to be angry at the world for taking the two of you away. Now I just think you both were stupid. So incredibly, fucking stupid.
Yeah, I said it. I’m not taking it back either. It’s your fault you’re not here. We could’ve had the beautiful wedding Mom dreamed about. If the two of you had lived normal, respectable lives we’d all be here today, probably fighting over what to watch on TV, eating dinner, or doing whatever cliché things families do and take for granted. We might not have had as much money, but who gives a shit about money now that you’re dead.
So thanks, guys. Thanks a lot. Oh, and by the way,
Happy Fucking Anniversary
Max
As soon as I close the journal, I leave the room, heading straight to Max’s bedroom door. I’m not really sure what I’m going to say when I see him; I just feel like I need to say something. I wonder if I’ll confess everything I just found out. Part of me wants to. But another part of me thinks that if the choice were up to him, he’d rather be left in the dark. Just like how there are no pictures of his family on the walls, he probably doesn’t like talking about them either.
Or is it just an excuse I’m making so I don’t have to tell him? Oh God—I don’t know. I run my hands through my hair, trying to make a decision. I knock on the door, still with no clue as to what I’m going to say. Hopefully I’ll figure it out when I see his face.
The door swings open.
“Hey,” I say, slightly breathless.
Max stands there, frowning. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me.
“Tell your annoying cousin to go away!” someone says in the background.
I go completely still. Is that—
Taylor leans over Max’s shoulder, giggling. “You’re not Trevor…Charlotte? What are you doing here?”
Yes.
Yes, it is.
My heart sinks. I can literally feel it dropping in my chest, taking my breath along with it.
I look at Max, searching for an explanation.
“Charlotte…” His dark eyes tighten for a brief second before going back to normal. Whatever he was about to say drifts off into silence. He stands up straighter, watching me with a stern, unapologetic look, as if he’s daring me to get mad, waiting for me to make some stinging remark. It’s almost like—I must be imagining things. Because it almost looks like he wants this—wants me to see him with her.
“Sorry.” I shake my head, stepping away. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
There’s something caught in my throat. And my eyes are stinging. I have to get away before one of them notice it too. Turning around, I hurry back to my bedroom, unable to get out of there fast enough. I slam my door shut behind me, locking it into place. Leaning back against it, I slide all the way to the floor.
Wrapping my arms around my knees, I stare ahead without seeing anything. All I see are Max’s dark eyes staring at me, tightening for that brief second, and I wonder what the hell it meant.
NINETEEN
Max
Sleep is a fucking mystery. I don’t get how some people can do it for so long. Trevor can spend whole days sleeping, up to twelve hours at a time, and that’s without ever once waking up. How he does that is beyond me.
I open my eyes, glance at the alarm clock, groaning. It’s 6:47 a.m., later than I normally wake up, but I can’t even feel good about it since I last remember looking at the clock around 3:00 a.m. Just once I’d like to sleep a full, uninterrupted eight hours without having to drink myself into sedation, but no. It’s like there’s a nervous tick in the back of my mind that jerks me awake when I’m out for too long. Escaping it is impossible.
Sending Taylor home was a bad idea. Sex might’ve helped. God, maybe it would’ve worn me out enough to sleep more than three hours. But after seeing Charlotte’s expression and feeling like I’d been rammed in the gut with a fucking wrecking ball, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. Taylor wasn’t even mad either. It’s like she knew something was up. All she did was kiss me on the cheek and told me to call her later. Then she left.
I’m glad Charlotte saw her. Or that’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Deep down I wanted her to find out. It had to be done. She needed to know what happened in the bathroom didn’t mean anything…and well, now she knows. Problem solved.
After dragging my ass out of bed, I grab some clothes and whistle for Batman. I need exercise. Maybe it will help erase last night from my mind.
By the time I’m downstairs, it’s already bright outside. I open and close the sliding glass door, coming to an immediate stop.
Charlotte peels the earphones from her ears, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. She’s wearing nothing more than a sports bra and the tiniest pair of stretchy shorts I’ve ever seen. I can’t stop staring. The girl has one amazing body.
She takes a sip from her water bottle, then pours it over her head. The water streams over her face and neck, trickling down between her breasts and…holy fucking hell.
It takes me a moment to find my voice. “Going for a run?”
Her shoulders stiffen upon noticing me. “Coming back from one.”
She averts her gaze, as if she’d rather look at anything but me. Yep…she’s definitely pissed. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now.
“Didn’t realize you were a runner,” I say, trying to make conversation.
She shrugs. “I used to exercise everyday. Now that I’m back on a schedule, I figured it would be a good time to start again.”
“I see.”
This isn’t going that well.
I’m not sure what to say, but I really don’t want her to leave either. I’m starting to think I may not be able to fix this, and the thought terrifies me. This is exactly the kind of thing I’ve been trying to avoid since the moment she got here. I should’ve listened to my gut and stayed away from her from the start.
Charlotte steps around me, reaching for the door handle.
“Hey, hold on.”
“I have to get ready for work,” she says, sliding the door open.
“Just fucking talk to me for two seconds.”
After a long pause, she turns back around, puffing out a tiny breath. “Okay. Talk.”
I rub the back of my neck, unsure where to begin. “I, um, want to apologize for last night.”
“Are you referring to how you made out with me, and then decided to sleep with your company’s receptionist two seconds later?”
Wow, she cuts straight to the point. I swallow, realizing she’s not planning to make this easy. “I’m sorry for leading you on, Charlotte. Kissing you was a bad idea…but I really don’t want it to change things.”
She finally looks at me, leveling me with the weight of her icy gaze. “Leading me on? Are you serious?”
“Isn’t that why you’re mad?”
She laughs once. “Max, I was looking for a rebound. That’s all.”
“A rebound?” Why does that word feel like a knife to the chest?
“Yes, a rebound. I just got out of a really long relationship, remember? The only thing you led me into believin
g is that you wanted to have sex with me when clearly anyone would do.”
I open my mouth to say something, but I’m still too stunned. A fucking rebound? This whole time—that’s what she wanted?
“And to make things worse,” she continues with her rant. “You made me feel dirty. Finding you with someone else so quickly after kissing me made me feel cheap. That’s why I’m mad.”
“I…”
I feel like an idiot. None of this should come as a surprise. She came down here to escape her break up with that douchebag football player. She’d do anything to get over him, or she wouldn’t have fed into the delusions of a botánica salesman. Of course she was looking for a rebound. Why couldn’t I see that?
“Still need to get ready,” she reminds me sharply. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
“Yes,” I say quickly, trying not to sound as pissed as I feel. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”
“Fine, whatever. I accept your apology.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.” I scowl. “You said you wanted to be friends.”
“I changed my mind.”
“You can’t do that.”
She folds her arms over her chest, jutting her chin out. “And why not? Just because I agree to accept your apology doesn’t mean I have to like you. You can’t force me to.”
“Yes I can.” I pause, trying to think of something. “I know—I can fire you.”
She puts her hand on her hips, staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “You wouldn’t.”
I nod smugly. “Perks of being the boss.”
“This is grounds for a lawsuit, you know.”
I groan, losing my patience. “Dammit, kid. You were the one who wanted to try this friend thing. So fucking be my friend, all right?”
We’re both silent for a few seconds until I see a flicker of amusement in her eyes. I call her out on it. “Aha—you’re not mad anymore!”
“I didn’t say that.” She tries not to smile, but fails.
I grin back at her, knowing at this point I’ve won. “You still want to be my friend.”
“Must be because you’re so damn likable, right?”
“Just admit it, kid. You’re not mad anymore, and you still want to be my friend.”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine, but you have to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“You can’t make out with me anymore. I don’t care if you can’t help it. The next time you start kissing me, I’m going to assume it’s because you want to be my rebound, and if that’s the case, you better finish what you start.”
Just thinking about what she’s making me promise makes my jaw drop. It’s just not something I’d expect her to say. “Deal,” I agree.
She looks at me skeptically for a few moments, and then gives a little nod of approval. “All right. We can be friends again.”
“Effective immediately. Trev and Steph are going out tonight for their anniversary. I have no one to hang out with.” I give her my best take pity on me face.
“After what happened yesterday, I’d think you’d be happy about that.”
“Believe me, I’m relieved as hell to get them out of my hair, but I could still use the company.”
“Okay, we can hang out, but I have an online test that has to be completed tonight.”
I nod. “After you finish, of course.”
She starts to leave, then turns back again. “You know, if you’re bored, you could always come by the office.”
“Nah, been there. Not my thing anymore.”
She shakes her head at me. “You own the place, Max. If it’s not your thing, maybe you should figure out a way to liven the place up. Just a suggestion.”
“Noted. By the way, you’re going to be late.”
She looks at her cell, checking the time. “Crap—you’re right. See you later!” She hurries into the house, closing the door behind her.
“C’mon, Bat,” I call out, stretching my arms over my head.
The two of us take off running at full speed. The sun is already out and blazing, so I know I’ll have to make this quick for Batman’s sake.
The heat doesn’t bother me though. I feel different, like I can breathe again. Knowing things are better with Charlotte lifts a huge weight off my shoulders. I’m still not thrilled about the rebound thing. But if that’s all it takes to set things right, fine. I can deal with a bruised ego.
***
I order pizza while waiting for Charlotte to finish her test. She’s been in her room for two hours now, and I’m worried she may not have meant what she said. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. So I knock on her door.
“Come in.”
I walk into the room, seeing her perched behind the desk, the bright light of her laptop glowing on her face. She’s staring at the screen, her brows pinched together. Her hair is piled on the top of her head in a knot with messy curls sticking out of it in every direction. “I’m almost done, Max,” she says to me. “I didn’t realize how many essay questions were going to be on this exam.”
“Anything I can help with?” I sit down on the edge of her bed.
“Nope. I’m on the last question.” She rubs her stomach. “I’m getting really hungry. What about you?”
“Got it covered. I ordered pizza about twenty minutes ago.”
“How do you know what kind I like?”
“I don’t. That’s why I got all of them.”
“All of them?” She looks at me over the rim of her laptop, narrowing her eyes.
“Well all of the important kinds. Pepperoni. Cheese. Hawaiian. Sausage. Oh, and veggie. Just in case you’re one of those people.”
“Veggie is my favorite.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course it would be.”
“Exactly what are you going to do with all the leftover pizza?” she asks me.
“Have you met Trevor?”
She nods at that. “Good point.”
Leaning back against Charlotte’s pillows, I look around the room. She hasn’t changed it much, but all of her stuff is scattered everywhere. The energy feels different in here.
Furious clicking and typing ensues as she finishes up. She’s kind of adorable like this, hunched over her computer, biting her bottom lip whenever she’s deep in concentration. She’s kind of a geek. I’d never have guessed.
“Did you go to college?” she asks me out of nowhere.
“Spent two years at a community college, but once the blog took off, Trevor and I didn’t have time to go to class.”
“I still can’t believe the Gritty Voice started out as a blog,” she says, her tone in awe. “How did it happen?”
“It wasn’t the plan,” I say, shrugging. “Just a hobby. Then Trevor and Steph started writing with me. I think people related to its voice. We weren’t afraid of anything—calling people out by name, their businesses, whatever it took. Then I put some money into it, got the right people working for me, and it just sort of exploded into this huge media source.”
“That’s really amazing, Max.”
I know she’s right. It is amazing. Anyone else would feel on top of the world by the Gritty Voice’s success. I just don’t have the passion to run it anymore. The whole thing started out as a way to find Garcia. Now that it’s gone in a different direction, my drive is gone.
The doorbell rings at the same time Charlotte closes her laptop. “Just in time.” She grins.
A while later, we’re both sitting in front of the TV with five boxes of pizza spread out on the coffee table. We’re cracking up watching a show about four guys who take turns pranking each other in public, laughing so hard we’re barely able to get our food down.
When I stop to think about it, it’s strange. I’ve never been friends with a girl before so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it feels surprisingly easy. Just like watching TV with Trevor, except Charlotte isn’t as annoying. Now if I could just get rid of the part of me that is attracted to her, t
his might actually work out.
The show ends, and Charlotte raids the cabinet below the TV in search of something else to watch. “Got anything good in here?”
“I don’t know. They’re mostly Trevor’s.” I stand up and toss Batman a piece of my leftover crust. “What do you want to drink?”
“Either juice or water.” She kneels down on the floor, flipping through stacks of DVDs. “Looks like he has an affinity for romance. Never would’ve guessed.”
“His favorite is Titanic. He bawls like a baby every time.”
She laughs at that.
I head into the kitchen to the fridge. “Orange-mango okay?” I call out.
“Sounds good.”
When I open the freezer to get ice, I notice four new cartons of ice cream sitting on the bottom rack, all of them labeled Max in black Sharpie ink. Grinning, I pour Charlotte’s juice and grab myself a can of coke.
“Did you happen to notice that the freezer is now stockpiled with Häagen-Dazs?” I ask, plopping back down on the sofa.
“Wonder who did that,” she replies casually while pretending to read the back of a DVD.
“Uh-huh.” I set her juice down on the coffee table to crack open my can of coke. “Since we now have enough to last us a decade, I’ll go ahead and share with you.”
She grins. “How charitable—ooh, have you seen Game of Thrones? I watched the first two episodes with one of my sorority sisters. It was really good.”
“Haven’t seen it yet.”
“But you have every season…do these belong to Trevor too?”
“No, they’re mine. I’m just waiting for the author to finish the last book before watching the series.”
She looks up at me curiously. “Why?”
Rebounding Page 14
