Page 23 of Moving Forward

She brings her hand up to my cheek and cups it. “He really hated you.”

I cup her hand with my own. “I deserved it,” I admit.

“Do you deserve it now?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still want to die?”

I hesitate. “Some days.” There’s no lying to myself or her. If I had my shit under control, I wouldn’t be cutting my old wounds open. “I wish I could’ve stayed away from you.”

“I wish you could’ve too.” She steps back and starts walking in the direction we were going before. “I’m also glad you didn’t.”

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About halfway to the Millers’ house, I lead us into a neighborhood that will still get us back to their house but extend my time with Max. It’s an obvious deviation because the other way was a direct shot from downtown to the Millers’. Max doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, she studies each of the craftsman houses. Does she see what life she could have had with Ethan inside their windows?

“So . . . you paint, you bake, you save innocent young women from drowning in their own tears . . .” she says after a spell of silence.

I figured if neither of us got the courage to speak, we never would, so I’ve been racking my brain for something to say that wouldn’t sound stupid. I’m not exactly communicator of the year. Luckily, she’s saving me from that. Although from the way her voice is shaking, she must be just as nervous as I am.

I shove my hands in my pockets. Might as well give it a try. “I’m planning on building an ark for the next good cry. I’m sending out the invitations in twos tomorrow.”

She laughs softly, which is exactly what I was aiming for. Her shoulders relax and the smile reaches her eyes, creating a tiny sparkle, like her spirit is waking up. I suddenly yearn to see that sparkle brighten and to hear her laugh again. I want to be the cause of it.

“. . . anyways,” she continues, drawing out the word for courage, but then she fumbles and covers her face with her hands. “I have no idea where I’m going with this! I’m not very good at this whole . . . getting-to-know-you thing.”

It’s taking all of the restraint in the known universe for me not to touch her. Everything about her captivates me and I find it impossible to look away—like she’ll disappear if I do. My life has been nothing but darkness for so long it’s hard to believe anything good can light it up again. I half expect her to be some delusion I’ve created to keep myself from fading away—and I’ll wake up later, still in bed, surrounded by emptiness. Alone again.

“Me either,” I assure her.

She glances up at me, the sparkle at about a thousand megawatts now. The look she’s giving, yeah, kind of makes me wonder if I hung the moon or something. She shouldn’t be looking at me like that . . . but god it’s hard not to like it. “Makes you kinda hate the people who can talk to anyone, huh?”

“Definitely,” she says with relief. “Glad I’m not the only freak around these parts who isn’t very good at starting up conversation. I mean, I look at Ellie and she has absolutely no trouble talking to strangers. Me? I hate it. I’m a step away from socially inept.”

Funny, for years I’ve been convinced that people think I’m a freak. The freak with the anger management issues. The freak who put Ethan Miller in the hospital. The freak who only leaves his boat when no one else is around. The freak they’re terrified of, who disgusts them. I already know I’m socially inept. But Max makes it almost sound okay. Nice, even. I’d happily be either of those things if it meant being closer to her.

Max’s eyes widen and she backtracks. “Not that I don’t want to be here with you right now. You’re a stranger . . . but I already feel like I know you, and I want to get to know you even more . . .”

“Damn, Max,” I chuckle. “Slow down. Ease off the reverse. I was just thinking about how much I like what you said. How it kind of makes me feel normal. You didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Oh.” She pulls the sleeves of the sweater down over her hands. The movement draws my eyes to her legs, which, even though she’s short, look about a mile long in nothing but my sweater. Luckily, she doesn’t catch me ogling her, thank God, or else she’d notice the lump in my throat I can’t seem to swallow. “You are normal, though. You shouldn’t think you’re anything but.”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure I agree,” I answer, offering a half shrug, trying to reassure her that I’m okay with it. She doesn’t say anything, but her forehead wrinkles adorably. “I want us to get to know each other too. And this whole talking thing . . . it’ll get better once we’re used to each other.”

“I’d like that,” she admits. “For us to be used to each other.”

I turn my head away to hide the giant fucking grin that takes over my face. The happiness that comes along with being around her is almost too good to be true. I don’t deserve it. Whatever this is, it’s way above me. She’s way above me.

Right now, I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it. She’s making me feel so alive—more than any razor can.

“So, you went to college with Ellie? That’s how you met?” I ask before I do anything stupid. Like drop to my knees and thank her for breathing life back into me.

She nods. “I met her through Ethan. We were instant best friends. We ended up moving into an apartment together our sophomore year.”

“You’ve graduated, then?”

“Yeah, as of May,” she sighs, looking a little lost . . . and terrified.

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