I got to my feet and walked to the center of his room. I clasped my hands behind my neck, doing a slow circle as I took everything in. Nothing looked different. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t something hidden. Something he didn’t want me to see.
Compelled by distrust, I started opening his dresser drawers, rooting around in T-shirts and boxer shorts. My fingers clawed their way through his clothes, looking for the source of my unrest. I felt a momentary pang of guilt for violating his space like that.
What else am I supposed to do?
When I didn’t find anything there, I began to rummage through his bedside table, searching. Dreading what I thought I might find. But as I continued my search, coming up empty with every drawer and crevice I searched, my heart began to feel lighter.
I started to chastise myself for not giving Maxx the benefit of the doubt. I felt angry at how quickly I had rushed to the worst possible conclusion.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Aubrey Duncan,” I muttered under my breath.
As I began to talk myself into leaving, I ran my hands along the spines of books lining his shelf. Old, tattered copies of Tolstoy and Dickens. Some Jane Austen and Robert Browning thrown in for good measure.
Then I saw it. The white envelope was wedged inside a worn copy ofJane Eyre,barely poking out of the top. I didn’t really notice it at first, but something drew me back to it.
I pulled the dusty book off the crowded bookcase and carefully opened it to where the envelope was squished between the pages.
It was lumpy, and I could tell something was inside of it. I tore it open. Several small, round objects fell out, scattering across the floor. I bent over to retrieve them and froze, my fingers less than an inch from the offending objects.
Because it wasn’t empty.
It was full of tiny, hateful pieces of betrayal.
I was staring at what I was sure was the source of Maxx’s absence tonight.
Drugs.
I looked up at my painting over his bed, numb with the realization that that seedling of trust that had only just started to grow would never be able to take root. It started to die a painful death on Maxx’s bedroom floor.
I picked the bag up with a shaking hand. I noticed that the envelope was still sealed. The pills hadn’t been touched.
Maybe they were from before.My thoughts echoed with excuses and denial.
Then why were they still here? Why hadn’t he gottenrid of them?
I wrapped my fingers around the pills I gathered off the floor, holding them tight in my fist, and walked over to his dresser. With my other hand, I picked up the framed photograph I had given him and stared down at the innocent face of Maxx as a child.
I thought for the thousandth time what his life would have been like had he not been tragically abandoned by the people in that picture. I knew you couldn’t control death, but it was hard not to rail against a universe that orphaned two small boys and left them to fend for themselves.
I’m trying really hard not to be that guy anymore. The one who hurt you. Who disappointed you. Will you let me be that guy for you? Please?
Maxx’s desperate pleas bounced around my head, goading me with their dishonesty. In a fit of rage I dropped the pills and stomped on them, digging my heel into the floor. The pills gave a satisfying crunch as I smashed them to dust.
When I was finished I looked down at them, wishing I could feelsomething.But I wasn’t entirely sure what I was even supposed to feel. All I knew was I needed to face the man who had obliterated my heart—again.
And I knew exactly where I had to go.
I walked back through the apartment, slamming the door and heading down the stairs. Once back in my car, I sat there for a moment trying to gather my tattered thoughts.
I wouldn’t curl into a ball and cry about my betrayal. I was going to get answers.
And that meant going to the club.
chapter
thirty-seven
maxx
