I started to go into trauma response mode again, just like when I read Todd’s letter. I didn’t want to think about this moment—about the implications of what I’d just learned. I wanted to get back in the passenger seat and ride. I wanted to finish our job and find some success in today. And somehow find a way to face all my failures tomorrow.
Chapter 11
Max
It was getting easier to hate my best friend the longer he wasn’t here to defend himself.
Who was I kidding? There was no defense for what he’d done to Daisy. Not when there were a million other ways to battle his demons. People he could’ve asked for help. Conversations he could’ve had. There was no defense for running.For leaving her to pick up every piece, pregnant and alone.
She wasn’t alone, but she might as well be for how hard she pushed back against every offer of help. I understood because I knew her, because I’d been the one who’d listened to the stories and comments and pain that shaped her past, but that didn’t make it any easier for me to get through that barrier.
“One Blue Moon and one house Pinot.” The waitress doled out the drinks from her tray—the beer for me, the wine for my brother. “Know what you want to order?”
I motioned to Nox to go first.
“Lobster roll.”
“Same,” I said because I didn’t want to think about it.
As she walked away, I pulled the beer to my lips, turning away from Nox as I took a long drink.
I wasn’t much of a drinker, especially after dealing with Todd’s entry-level alcoholism over the last couple of years. A social glass of wine with investors or a beer with my brother or cousins was the extent of my enjoyment.
“Rough day?” Nox broached the silence, swirling the wine, and for a second seemed more interested in the wine glass than the dark contents. But only for a second before taking a sip.
It was almost comical to see him drink wine. Old Nox had never been a wine drinker. Always whiskey and cocktails. But that all changed when he got back from Murano.And it wasn’t the only thing.
“Something like that,” I muttered, taking another swig as I stared out the salt-stained window at the Rusty Scupper, the glass just as clouded as my thoughts had been since I’d dropped Daisy off an hour ago.
We’d finished the afternoon deliveries, just like she’d wanted, and I didn’t bring up a damn thing about what had happened. I wanted to respect her space, but I also wanted to help her figure out a solution. She’d kill me for thinking it was my fault, but it was. All I’d been focused on was getting her a safe place to stay and something to do where I could keep an eye on her and make sure she was okay.
I hadn’t thought about fucking insurance. But now I was.
Now, I couldn’t stop thinking about it—how she was canceling doctor’s appointments. Her desolate expression outside the van was burned into the backs of my eyelids, the sound of her chest heaving like she wanted to vomit again but wouldn’t let herself on repeated in my ears, and her eyes glazed like they’d been dammed up, prevented from crying for days. Like she hadn’t let herself cry again since the night I’d brought her the bag of maternity clothes.
After our last stop, I’d suggested burgers and fries at this pub in Stonebar. It was nice and quiet, right on the way back and onthe water. I figured we could talk there about what she was going to do and how I could help.
But she said no. She said she was tired and wanted to go back to the apartment. It was bullshit. A lie. She was reeling, and she didn’t want to let me in.
“Because you disappeared too, Max. For the last almost six months.”
That was the worst of it. It wasn’t watching her break down that killed me. Don’t get me wrong. It hurt like hell, but it was this—it was hearing those words that was the fucking worst. When she looked at me like Atlas with the world on her shoulders, the weight of everything bringing her to her knees, she still didn’t feel safe enough to offload any of it.
“Because you disappeared too, Max.”
I hadn’t disappeared. I’d been fucking dying. Propping up their relationship from the shadows, knowing I was digging my own grave. But I couldn’t tell her that. I couldn’t confess I’d been there the whole damn time. I had to be okay with letting her think that because to call her out would mean calling attention to the lies I’d told her. And the four years of secrets I wanted to keep.
So I dropped her off and texted Nox, someone who was as crotchety and acerbic as I felt right now, and asked if he wanted to meet for dinner and a drink. We settled on the Rusty Scupper because it was a local watering hole far enough on the outskirts of Stonebar that the tourist crowd didn’t venture to it, and it was about halfway between town and Dad’s.
“What happened?” Nox asked, looking at me like I’d been staring off into space for some time now.
I took another swig of my beer, deciding whether I wanted to answer him or not. Theor notwon out. “Nothing,” I grumbled and chugged another sip.
Nox swirled the red wine in his glass and heaved a sigh. “Okay, let me try this again. What happened with Daisy that’s got your balls in a bunch?”
My bottle clanked on the table. “Nothing happened.” I’d asked him here to get minorly intoxicated, not be interrogated. “How’s the workshop coming along?”
He blatantly ignored me. “So you’re telling me this silent, snappy version of you is just the standard progression of your world record?”
