Page 27 of Surviving the Break
“Then our neighbor got called in to work the graveyard shift, and her boys came over to spend the night. I took a sudden turn for the worse.”
“Ah,” he interrupted, “I see where this is going.” He kicked both feet up on the stone edging of the fire pit, satisfaction and humor a beacon on his handsome face.
“Smart man,” I said. “Of course, I hadn’t put it together at the time. My mother eventually did.” I wasn't sick; I was sad. “I woke up the next morning, and the kids were all gone. She had a small bag packed and said we were taking a road trip. Just the two of us.” My lips inclined, and Max hung on my every word. “I wept, right there, and she pulled me to the floor and held me in her arms. A weight left me, leaving me lighter than I’d been in days. Her capacity to love was my selfish undoing. She was all I had, but I hadn’t been all she’d had. At least that’s what I believed. ‘Of course, baby,’ she’d said when I asked if she was sure she just wanted me. Her words were my cure.”
Max planted his feet on the grass and pushed himself up in his chair, his elbows resting on the arms. The fire was now little more than embers. He searched my unflinching stare and then whispered, “They’re damn near transparent now.”
My forehead creased until I remembered his comment about my eyes growing lighter when I spoke of my mother.
“Did you and Damon fight over her?”
“Nah, Damon didn’t take well to warm-heartedness. Mom found creative ways around that, though. Even if it meant resorting to tying a grown man’s shoes.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “So, Marisol taught you to never let a moment pass you by,” he said, and my eyes widened in surprise. He remembered. “And your mother…”
“And my mother taught me how to love.”I’d know how to love you, Max.
His eyes darted to the ground, as if my thoughts telepathically filtered into his head. “Friendship looks good on you, Ash.” A subtle reminder of where we stood.
I made a sound somewhere between agreement and disappointment. Why were we wasting time with this dance neither of us knew the steps to? “When’s the last time you went home to Kentucky?”
“Quite a subject change.”
“We’re getting to know each other, right?”
After a long pause, he said, “I haven’t been back since I left.”
“Because of your breakup?”
He nodded.
“What about your family?”
“I miss them terribly,” he croaked out, then glanced at the beer bottle in his hand accusingly before setting it down.
“What did they do to warrant your distance?” Had they played a role in things in some way?
“It’s...safer this way.” He stared at me like he was taking me apart. Attempting to figure out where things were headed. How much blood he’d have to spill for me tonight.
I moved to the edge of my seat, and he metaphorically hung from his. His chest rose and lowered at a clip in response to my disposition. “Sometimes when we’re hurt, we stop living in an attempt to establish safety. Not living isn’t safe at all. It’s downright dangerous.” The crackling of burning wood saved us from complete silence. I let him ponder my words. They left him breathless. Then, as neutral as I could, I asked, “Are you ready for ourfriendshipdate?”
He masked his trepidation poorly. “I’ll make sure I am by tomorrow.”
I twisted my wrist to check my watch. Midnight. I met his nerve-stricken stare and said, “Tomorrow is now.”
11
MAX
Hayden and I did our best not to be around each other after our friendship ended. If it was unavoidable, we were cordial. I told my parents we’d had a fight. After asking for the hundredth time if we’d made up and being told no, they finally gave up. I suspected they went through their own sort of grieving from the loss of him, as in a lot of ways it signified the loss of me.
A year later, Granddad died. Hayden found me that night sitting by our pond. He sat next to me, shoulder to shoulder, for what felt like hours, neither one of us speaking. Twigs snapped beneath predatory feet in the distance, and cicadas sang in the canopy of trees. He reached out and touched my thigh; his hand trembled. “I’m ready,” he said.
NO MATTERhow hungry Pluto might have been, if he knew I would be eating too, he’d wait until I settled in at the table so we could dig in together. I’d forgotten to feed him last night after Ash left, so he was especially short on patience this morning. I’d filled his bowls, which were stationed near my chair, and he sat there impatiently while I poured cereal and brought it over to the table. “Should we say grace?” Pluto growled. I hid my smile behind my first mouthful, milk dripping down my chin, and he dug into his meal ravenously. I enjoyed our morning routine.
While in the middle of remembering how Ash had once again shredded my meat from bone last night and fighting off the nervous nausea about our date scheduled for later that evening, the doorbell rang. Puzzled as to who it could be, I crept to the peephole, then cursed in exasperation of how on edge I’d become before opening the door wide for Pete. “What are you doing here?” I snatched him in for a hug.
He grunted from the impact. “Happy to see you too.”
