I shake my head. “No, I feel fine.” Besides being tired, but that’s from the shitshow I’ve endured over the past couple of days. “Are you and Mamma feeling okay?”
“We’re good.” The creases of his forehead crinkle. “Don’t worry about us. You just take care of yourself and that boy in there.” He gives me a hug. “I’ll admit, when I first met the punk, I didn’t think much of him. I thought he was a weak pushover, but I was wrong. He has a quiet strength he keeps hidden, but it’s there.”
“He’s a good friend—maybe my best friend.” I’m a little embarrassed to be talking about my relationship with Max with my dad, but it seems important, so I humor him.
“Well, I’d always imagined you’d need someone with a backbone of steel and a razor wit to put up with your shit. I guess I was wrong.”
“Hey, that’s mean.” My lips jut in a pout. “I thought my dad was supposed to be on my side.”
A low chuckle shakes his chest. “I’m always on your side.” He slips a flare gun into my pocket. “I love you, Half-pint, more than you’ll ever know. Now, get back inside, keep the doors locked, and keep an eye on him. I’ll come back in the morning. You shoot—” He points to the gun. “—if you need me. Either me or Mr. Miller will be keeping an eye in this direction all night. I’m not sure if there’s gonna be enough people for a proper patrol, but if so, I’ll make sure they watch for it, too.”
He strides to his bike and straddles the frame.
“Get some rest, Daddy,” I call out. “I love you, and tell Mamma I love her, too.”
“Will do, kiddo.” He gives me a salute, spits out the toothpick, and rides away.
I go inside and use the restroom. When I come out, I notice Max’s larger form is smushed into the furniture and it looks uncomfortable.
He needs to sleep in his bed.
Gently, I shake him awake. “Let’s move to the bedroom, okay?”
“Huh?” he mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Your bed. Come on, it’ll be more comfortable.”
Slowly, he stands. He reminds me of a stiff old man trying to unbend his spine. “Let me use the bathroom really quick.”
While he does his business, I open doors until I find what I think is probably his room. Dirty clothes grace the corners, and heavy metal band posters cover the walls. On his nightstand sits a framed picture of him and Kat, both sticking their tongues out at the camera. Next to it is a school picture of me.
“What? How’d you get this?” Mamma must’ve given it to him. It’s sweet, and my heart melts a bit. I should be embarrassed he keeps a picture of me next to his bed, but instead, I feel honored. It’s like he considers me a part of his family.
I wander around his things. I’ve always been curious what his personal domain looks like, especially since he sees mine all the time. There aren’t many personal items—a basketball under a desk, several spiral notebooks on top, and a closet. A bottle of cologne sits on a dresser, which is missing a couple of drawers, and a comb and aftershave line the base of the mirror. That’s it—nothing else.
It’s simple in here, and I like it. No frills, no expensive gadgets, and no putting on airs. Genuine, like him, even if he does have a small streak of criminality deep inside. I smile. At least he stole things because he didn’t have any other choice. The more I think about it, the more honorable it is. He did what he had to do to save his sister and keep them from being separated.
While waiting, I straighten his gray sheets and fluff his two flat pillows, then turn the thick comforter. His smell wafts to my nose and I breathe it in.
“Do you know how many times I dreamed about this?”
His voice makes me jump and I spin around, a half-scream escaping my mouth before I clamp it shut.
“You scared the shit out of me.” I take his hand and lead him to the bed, not failing to notice his face is paler than before, like it’s nothing more than a translucent covering framing his skull.
He tries to smile, but it falls flat. Letting me pull him to the bed, he sits on the edge and removes his shoes and socks, then his shirt. With slow movements, he lifts his legs and scoots over, patting the vacated spot beside his hips.
My eyes trail his trim chest. He’s too skinny. He should eat more.
“Max, are you…” I sit on the edge and turn to face him as he props his upper body against the headboard, “are you feeling okay?” It terrifies the hell out of me to ask, but I can’t help myself. He looks worse after sleeping several hours—when he should look better, or at least somewhat rested.
Pulling the covers to his waist, he tugs me against his naked skin and caresses my shoulder.
I kick off my shoes under the blankets and toe them to the floor, where they drop with a satisfying thud.
“Lookout, I’m tired, sad, and angry, but with you next to me, I’m whole, if that makes sense.” His voice rumbles against my back. “Don’t worry so much, okay?” The words slur, as if he’s drifting off.
“Okay,” I whisper, and trust him, letting my body sink into his firm, warm muscles and close my eyes.
Chapter Forty-Five
The gray dawn of morning peeks through Max’s yellowed window blinds.
I glance to see if he’s awake and the bed’s empty. “Max?” His spot is still warm under my fingers.
Retching sounds emit from the hall, and I throw off the covers and leap to the doorway.
It starts again, this time deeper and louder.
“Max!” I bust open the bathroom door.
He’s bent over the toilet, his chestnut hair hanging to the side of the rim. With the back of a hand, he wipes his mouth and leans back on his calves. “Tilly.” His words are a whisper. “Sorry I woke you.”
“Are you fuckin’ crazy?” I drop to my knees and stare into his face. His eyes are red and glassy, and his face is flushed. Sweat drips from his forehead. “Jesus Christ. You’re burning with fever.”
My head spins. No, please no. Not him, too.
He sways a little and I grab his upper arms. “Come on, get back to bed. I’ll bring a trash can.”
With a tired nod, he reaches for the edge of a cabinet and lifts himself with a shaky arm.
I slide under the other and support his weight as he and I shuffle toward the bedroom. When I get him settled into the mattress, I place the small trash can on the nightstand.
“Sorry to be trouble.” His eyes search my face. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“So you were just going to stay in there and suffer?” Anger clips my words, and I want to hit something. I want to break every window in this house. I want to scream until my throat bleeds. Instead, I close my eyes and breathe, willing the fury back down.
His gaze slides toward the window. “I didn’t want you seeing me like this.”
“God, Max.” I lean over him and push several wet tendrils of hair from his eyes. “Do you think I’m that shallow? That I’d care what you look like when you’re puking or shitting? I thought you knew me better.” I try to keep the anger from my voice, but some of it slips through.
Licking his lips, he shakes his head against the pillow. “So crude.” He lets out a soft laugh. “I know you wouldn’t care, but I care.”
“Men.” Propping a hand on my hip, I take a backward step. “I’m getting a cool cloth for your face, then you’re drinking some water.”
“No sense, Lookout. I’ll puke it up.” A grimace twists his mouth. “And it’ll make my stomach hurt worse.”
I feel so helpless. If this is the same virus Kat had, and there’s no reason for me to believe it’s not, then I know he only has a few hours left. No. I won’t accept it. Swiveling on my heels, I sprint to the kitchen before he sees tears springing into my eyes.
Just need something to do. He’ll drink this, and if he throws it up, I’ll give him more—I’ll drown him in it if I have to.
I scavenge the counters and cabinets for acetaminophen, aspirin, or ibuprofen, but he doesn’t have any k
ind of medicine in the house. An urge to kick the cabinet overcomes me, and I slam my foot against the thin door. This is such bullshit. I draw in a shaky breath and calm myself. He doesn’t need to see me upset. He’s going to be fine, and me throwing a tantrum won’t help.
Once I find a cloth, I pour water into a bowl and bring it to the bedroom.
“Hey.” His half-lidded eyes widen and his white teeth poke through his smile. “You look like an angel.”
“If you don’t drink this, I’m going to be your devil.” I lay the cool cloth over his forehead and he sighs. Placing the end of a straw in his mouth, I tap the side of the cup. “Drink.”
His lips purse and he sips.
“More.” I narrow my eyes, as if daring him to refuse.
“Can’t.” He pushes away the straw and turns his head. “Stay with me for a little while, okay? I wanna talk.”
“Of course.” Placing the cup on the nightstand, I scoot in beside him and lay my head on the other pillow. I don’t want to make his fever worse by adding my body heat to his. “I won’t leave you.”
He turns his head to me and stares at my face, which is inches from his. “Do you know what my biggest regret is?” His breath is hot and a bit acrid.
I frown. “Why are you asking me this?” The tone of his voice makes me uneasy.
Dragging a finger along my jaw, his gaze follows the trail. “The biggest regret of my life was leaving you on Thanksgiving and giving Emory another chance.” His tear-filled eyes reach mine. “If there was one moment I could redo, it would be that one.”
“Shut up, Max. I already forgave you.” His fingers skate across my cheekbone and I let myself lean into the touch for a moment.
“But I didn’t forgive myself. I don’t know why I did such an imbecilic thing. Thinking with something besides my brain, I guess.” His thumb and index finger grab my chin, and he forces my stare to his. “You’ve never cared where I lived or about my reputation. You accepted me as I am, even though you knew I wasn’t perfect. She never did, and I ruined what I could’ve had with you.”
I hold my hand over his mouth. “Shut it. Stop talking.” His words feel like a last confession, and a sob breaks from my chest. “Please? Stop talking like you’re going to d-die.”
“Tilly,” he murmurs, “I am going to die.” His hand drops from my jaw to curve around my neck. “And I’m okay with it. It means I’ll see Kat soon.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I clutch at the sides of his head and shake him. “You are not going to die, you hear me? Stay with me. Fight it.” Collapsing onto his chest, I can no longer contain my agony. Shaking and sobbing, I let him circle an arm around my shoulders. “I won’t let you die.”
“I want you to promise me something.” A large hand rests on the small of my back.
“What?” I ask warily, wiping my eyes and pulling away from the inferno blasting from his skin.
“You have to promise first.”
“You’re batshit crazy. I’m not promising anything until I know—”
“I love you,” he says.
Though they’re just three simple words and he’s said them before, their power is like a punch to my gut and I shut my mouth, not knowing what to say.
“And what’s more, I’m in love with you. I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, but things never worked out.” He slides a finger under my palm. “I don’t expect you to say it back, but I wanted you to know, to get it off my chest. So please, just say you promise, Tilly. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” His jaw clenches again, as if he’s riding out a wave of pain.
“Okay, fine. I promise. Whatever it is you want, I’ll get it. Okay?” I flip the cloth over so the cool side rests against his burning flesh. “And I love you, too.” I can’t say I’m in love with him because it doesn’t feel right, but I do love him. More than a brother, but not quite on the level of a soulmate.
“Good.” His lips twist for a moment and he bites back a small moan. “I wish I’d taken the chance to know you earlier. With more time—” He closes his eyelids for a moment. “—I think I could’ve made you fall in love with me. Well, if not for my screw up with Emory.”
So he knows I’m not in love with him. This makes me feel even worse, but I can’t force something that isn’t true, and I won’t lie to him.
“I told you I forgave you for Emory. We weren’t technically dating so I had no right to be jealous or mad.” I stroke his arm. “Stop talking, anyhow. You need to conserve your energy.”
“You’re feeling okay, aren’t you?” he asks while his gaze searches my face and body.
I nod and sit up, removing the washcloth and dipping it into the bowl on the nightstand, then wiping his face.
“If the worst happens—”
“Shut the fuck up, Max.” Wringing the rinsed cloth of excess moisture, I fold it and place the rectangle of cloth on his forehead again, anger making my movements stiff and jerky.
“You’re tough, Tilly. If things get bad, though, you need to become tougher. Your biggest weakness is trust—you give it too easily.” His chest expands with a deep breath, and he twists his neck to stare at me, the cloth sliding over an eyebrow. “Find a purpose after everything is done, but always be on your guard. There are people who would jump at the chance to take advantage of you. You need to survive.” He uses an index finger and slides it across my arm. “Bury the past—this town, me, Kat, everything—if you have to.”
“Stop talking crazy.” How high is his fever? “You’re not making any sense.”
“You’ll understand one day.” One side of his mouth tips upward and his lips quiver. It’s a ghastly sight considering his face is the color of chalk and his eyes are so rimmed in dark circles he looks like a raccoon. My heart clenches at the sight. “Now, for your promise.”
I cross my arms over my chest and bring my other leg onto the bed and tuck it, staring him down.
“I want you to leave me.”
“What?” It comes out as a shriek.
“You heard me,” he whispers. “I will not have you cleaning my ass or watching me puke out my intestines, then have to bury my body. I won’t have it, Tilly.” Strength fills the last sentence, turning his breathy voice into his normal pitch.
“You’re not going to die. And there’s no goddamn way I’m leaving you to suffer alone.” Clenching the sheets in my fist, I lean toward him, glad for the contact because a sudden urge to slap his face rises in me, and it’s shameful, but I want to lash out—to deny this is happening.
“You promised.”
“But I didn’t understand what I was promising.” My tears drip against his naked chest and I can no longer control my emotions. I pummel his skin and curse, blubbering words that make no sense.
Instead of fighting, he wraps a hand around the back of my head and tries to pull me to him. He’s so weak, I easily resist at first, but then collapse into his burning arms and unleash my sorrow.
After a few minutes, I regain control and sit up, remembering he’s ill and I should be comforting him, not the other way around.
His hand finds mine and he squeezes three times.
I grip it tighter.
His breathing comes a little faster, and he grimaces again. “Take this.” With his other hand, he pulls the little stress ball from a denim pocket.
“No, it’s yours.” I shove it away. Taking it would be like admitting defeat.
“Please.” It’s the plea that gets to me, and I snatch it away without even looking at the stupid thing.
“Fine, but don’t expect me to do anything with this useless piece of junk.” A soft chuckle floats in my direction. “It’s also dirty and has a hole in it.”
“It got me through a lot of things. You’d be surprised…” His eyelids drift closed.
“Hey, wake up.” Gripping his shoulders, I give him a rough shake.
“Don’t worry, I’m not dying yet.” His glassy eyes find mine. “Sleepy, that’s all. But I want you to go now an
d promise you won’t come back. Let me have some dignity, Tilly.”
If someone took a chainsaw to my sternum right now, it couldn’t hurt worse than his words.
“But, Max, I—”
“You promised, Lookout.” Fury blazes across his face. “Never return here again. Put me out of your mind if it hurts too much, but do not come back here. If you really love me, then do this last thing for me.”
And with this, I’m bound to my promise. In a way, I understand why he doesn’t want me to come back, and I would probably feel the same way. I wouldn’t want him to see me in death; my excrement and body fluids seeping through the mattress, the putrid stench of decay forming, overriding the pleasant memories.
“Max…” I hang my head, unable to say anything else. This is the worst nightmare I’ve ever experienced. “At least let me bring some water in here for you to drink, and a bucket in case you need to… you know…” I make a vague gesture toward the bathroom.
He nods, maybe realizing I can’t just leave him with no means of helping himself.
Half dazed, I lug several gallons of water, the food from the pantry, and find an old five-gallon bucket from outside and plop several rolls of toilet paper next to the trashcan. I turn in a circle, wondering what else I can do to ease his suffering.
“Come here.”
Immediately, I kneel next to the bed.
With a slow shift, he turns on his side and props his scruffy cheek on the inside of his arm. “Do you remember when we were up in the tower, and that sphere scanned you?”
“How can I forget? It scared the fuck out of me.” I’d give anything to go back to that night. Was it only two days ago? It marked the beginning of the end.
“I think,” his face twists for a couple of seconds, and he breathes through the cramp, “I think there’s something special about you, like maybe you’re immune or something. That thing could—and should—have shot at both of us, yet it didn’t. Instead, it scanned you and flew away. So, when you’re out there, be extra careful. If it spared you, then there must be a reason and it can’t be good.”
The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Page 23
