Page 127 of Bitter Lies

“I know, I know I’ve been a dick. And I’m sorry. It’s just, I just…I don’t know.”

“Okay, I think you need to tell Mom and Dad.”

I’m greeted with silence, and I roll my eyes. “Max—”

“I know I need help. I…will you help me, please?” It’s been years, but this is the tone I’m familiar with when it comes to my brother and I’ve missed it and him so much.

“Look, I know I’ve been a jerk, Hals. I promise, on great grandpa John’s life, I’m good. Please, will you help me?”

“You know I will,” I give in. “What do you need?”

“I found a place. I can go today. But I can’t leave my car. And I need to go today, now, before I change my mind. Will you take me? Please?”

“What about Griff?” I ask because as much as I’d like to be there for Max, I’m not sure I can face him after everything, nor do I know if I can trust him.

“I can’t tell him, not yet. Please, I know I’ve fucked up. I know, and I promise to be better, to do better, but I can’t do it without your help, Hals.”

“I—okay, just let me, I’ll come there.” Maybe it’s foolish, but I have hope in my heart that Max can find himself again, and I could never stand in the way of that.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hesitant to see Griff because when all is said and done, he still makes my heart beat crazily, which is what I focus on as I stand on their stoop and knock on the door.

“Hey,” Max says, stepping to the side as he opens the door.

Cautiously, I walk past him into the living area. “Hey.”

The first thing I see is my remaining painting, still hanging on the wall, and I smile sadly at the visage, curious if they were just too lazy to take it down or if it was left there on purpose.

“My bag is in the back,” he says, and nodding, I follow him down the hall, pausing at my old room as I stare around bewildered because the walls are literally gone with drywall in their place. I guess I did more damage than I thought?

But I wish I had gotten the chance to take a picture or something because what I created on these walls was an important part of my journey, and now it’s gone.

What did Griffin think when he took them down? Did he understand? With a bittersweet pulse in my heart, I smile because even if he did, does it matter? Apparently not.

“Hals,” Max calls, and wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans, I head toward their rooms, dreading seeing Griffin, but his door is firmly closed, making me wonder if he’s avoiding me.

Ignoring the rush of dizziness at the thought, I step into Max’s room and glance around, noting he’s packed up everything as though he’ll be gone for the summer, with multiple suitcases by the door.

“How long is this program?”

I thought he was staying the summer here, before today, but it looks as though he’ll be going home after, maybe?

“I’m not staying here any longer,” he says, rooting around in his closet.

“You’re not?”

“No, I need my space.” He turns his head away, avoiding my gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, for I know his pain because love is truly fucking brutal.

He chuffs, his mouth twisted in a pained smile. “Yeah, well, you should be.”

“Huh?”

Swinging toward me, he says snarkily, “Blaming all the shit from your stupid past on me? I mean, really? It’s not my fucking fault everybody thought you slept with Bobby Moore.”

Really? Clenching my hands at my sides, I grimace. “But that’s what you told him.”

Does he even care that he contributed to years of pain and self-doubt? Apparently fucking not—maybe he doesn’t care about me at all.

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