Page 85 of Rules

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“I already told you, there is nothing to thank me for. This is all you.”

“You let me punch you and throw you around like a rag doll, but more than that, you gave me back my confidence. When you asked me to join you this morning without saying what we were going to do, I was happy to be able to stay. And yes, part of it was because it’syou, but now I realize a part of me was scared to go back. If I’m here, with you, I’m safe, but out there…” The rest of her sentence stays hanging in the air, but she doesn’t have to finish it for me to understand. “So yeah, thank you.”

My fingers lace with hers, and I give her a strong squeeze. “Everybody needs a little help and reassurance every now and then.”

She huffs a laugh, but there is nothing funny in her tone. “Not you.”

I shake my head. “Even me.”

Feeling my throat close on me, I look away. I’ve never talked to anybody about this, but after Brook opened up to me yesterday, it feels wrong not to do the same for her. “You already helped me more than you can even imagine, Brook.”

A beat passes in silence, then two. She watches me with confusion, a frown between her brows, as I clear my throat and start talking.

Chapter Thirty-Two

BROOK

Patiently, I wait for Max to explain how exactly I helped him. I can see that he’s uncomfortable, so I wait him out, giving him the space he needs to open up, although I want to know, and I want to knownow.

It was hard not to feel exposed and vulnerable after everything that happened. I confided in Max, told him my deepest secrets. I’m emotionally drained, but part of me, a big part, feels relieved. Relieved there is somebody out there who knows what happened to me and doesn’t judge me. Yet, there is this other part that wants him to do the same. To have Max bare himself to me so I’m not the only one feeling this way.

Clearing his throat, his eyes finally find mine. His hand that’s holding on to mine is clammy, but neither of us pulls away. It’s like we need this connection between us. Need to have an anchor to hold on to.

“I was seven years old when I started understanding that I wasn’t like the other kids in my class.” He closes his eyes for a second—in embarrassment or just to clear his mind? I’m not sure. But I do know I saw a flicker of pain and frustration in his stormy gaze a second before he looked away.

“It’s normal that starting school, starting to learn, is an adjustment for all kids, but it was a real nightmare for me. I tried to explain it to my teachers and my parents, but they thought I was lying to cover my laziness. Lettersdancingon the page,” he laughs bitterly. “Can you imagine their faces when I tried to explain it? But there was no better description than that; there still isn’t.”

My heart aches for him, the little misunderstood boy he was and the young man sitting in front of me.

“You’re dyslexic,” I whisper, squeezing his fingers to draw his attention. Max lifts his head, surprise written in his eyes.

“What?”

“Dyslexic. It’s a learning disorder. It affects your ability to interpret words, letters, and symbols,” I explain. “And before you give me that freaked-out look, no, it does not make you stupid and I don’t think of you as such. You’re smart, but your brain works in a different way than most people’s.”

“H-How do you know that?” he asks, wide-eyed.

Did he really think I didn’t notice? After all the time we’ve spent together studying?

“I’ve heard of it before.” I shrug, playing it off. I knew Max and figured he was keeping it a secret because he was ashamed of it or something, so I never wanted to make a big deal out of it. I tried asking him about it once, but when he went cold, I decided to let it go. “But I never saw it first-hand until I met you.”

“So the spreadsheets and stuff?”

“That’s to help you learn easier. I looked it up online when we were working on that Spanish project. It said that organizing material differently and keeping important information and keywords organized in a visual manner should help your brain form the connections and conclusions more easily.”

“It does.” He nods, a small smile forming on his lips. He turns to the side, leaning against his forearm to look at me. “Thank you, Brook.”

“You’re welcome.” With his burning gaze on me, I feel the color rise in my cheeks, but I can’t break our stare. Smiling back, one of my hands reaches forward and brushes back a damp strand of hair that fell in his face. “How did you do it… before?”

“Jeanette. She always believed me and did her best to help me, but even she doesn’t understand the extent of it all.”

“There are professionals who can help you with studying. There are more techniques to help you organize…”

“I know,” Max interrupts me, his expression going dark for a moment. “It’s just… one of my teachers tried suggesting it to my parents when I was younger, and they didn’t want to hear about it. The only thing they heard was “disability” and the Sanders family is not disabled.”

“Learning disabilities are more common than people think, and they’re nothing to be ashamed of.”

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