“Oh,” Max says. “Aw, fuck. C’mere, Flame.” He wraps his arms around me again, not seeming to care when my tears soak the material of his shirt. “I’m not going far, just to college. And I’ll be back often. Thanksgiving’s just a few months away—then, a nice, long break for Christmas. Then, Easter and spring break, and then summer. You’ll see me all the time.”
I shake my head miserably. “I won’t.”
“You will,” he counters.
“Iwon’t,” Iinsist. “No more late nights, or reading, or doing math, science, or English. Iwon’t.”
Max exhales a long breath. Takes a step back. “You can always call me,” he says. “Literally any time. And text me. If you need help with homework or test prep, tell me. IfIneed help with essays—which, let’s face it, I will—I’ll be texting you. But not just for that. If someone’s bothering you, tell me. Being far away doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop protecting you. Got that?”
I shouldn’t believe his words. He’s going to have a completely new life in college—new friends, new activities, less time to spend with the young, annoying groundkeepers’ daughter. But, for the sake of avoiding a complete mental breakdown, I allow myself a moment to believe it—just one moment. Only long enough to clear the tears from my eyes and help me calm down a touch.
“Got it?” Max repeats, his tone a bit stronger, more commanding. It’s the same one he uses when he’s playing sports and barking orders at his teammates.
I nod.
“Now, turn around and let me put on your gift. Nobody was selling the right shape, so I had to get it custom-made.”
I almost burst into tears again. I’m never going to have a friendora crush that matches up to Max. He’s thoughtful, kind, funny, and mean when he needs to be. He’s perfect.
I hand him the box, turn around, and pull my hair over my shoulder. A cool weight touches my neck as Max puts on the necklace and closes the clasp. I finger it, trying not to cry again.
“Now, give me a hug,” he requests.
I turn around and fling my arms around him. He chuckles, resting his chin on my head. The height difference between us is comical, but I still feel so protected in his arms.
“Text me,” he says. “And I’ll text you. Seriously, Flame. This isn’t goodbye. Okay?”
I nod, letting myself feel a flash of hope. “Okay.”
Chapter Nineteen
Max
The first thing I feel when Ember literally tips over, nearly falling face-first into a puddle of her own vomit, is crippling fear. This results in me giving the doctor a black eye, assuming that he did something to her, before he reminds me of her sleep cycle and postulates that this is probably how it usually goes, considering how long she stays awake between resting.
I still make him run every test under the sun—check her heart, her brain,everything. All of it comes back normal—he even comments that her brain activity indicates that her medial temporal lobe, or whatever the fuck that’s keeping her from remembering me, is showing significantly more activity—as is her prefrontal cortex.
I don’t care about that as much as I should; principally, I care about making sure she’shealthyand fuckingawake. Watching her fall limp will go down as one of the most terrifying experiences in my life—and I’ve lived through some seriously terrifying shit.
Eventually, the doc tells me I just need to wait this out and that she’s as physically healthy as she can be, given all the damage that’s been done to her.
After threatening him to find a way to help her, I carry her back to our apartment. Strip the sheets, remake the bed, and tuck her safely beneath them.
She looks absolutely angelic as she sleeps. Midnight-black hair haloing her head, lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering. I wonder what she’s dreaming about. I wonder when she’ll wake up, when I’ll get to see her eyes again. I panic that she mightnotwake up again—then reassure myself that she will. Shehasto. Nothing else is an option.
Nevertheless, I spend the next hours in a panic-state. I have rounds of the perimeter to make, unit leaders to talk to, debriefs to attend, but I push all my duties to the back of my mind. Cain told me earlier that it was acceptable if I pulled back a bit to see to my chosen, considering I needed to have her trained and integrated within three months—something that will be no easy feat, knowing what I know about Ember.
Eventually, Greyson texts me that he’s coming up to talk, which forces me to abandon Ember’s side. If I were being smart, I’d tie her up to make sure she doesn’t come at me when she awakens, but… right now, the thought of her trying to kill me is more relieving than frustrating. After watching her drop over, heaving, I had a moment of sheer terror thinking she might’ve died, and that really took it out of me.
Besides, I’ve removed all the sharp objects that she could use. The furniture is drilled to the floor, the closet and bathroom are locked with a biometrics scanner. She won’t get her hands on anything thatactuallyenables her to kill me.
With great reluctance, I approach the front door and swing it open. Greyson stands there, imperious eyebrow arched, looking me over with an unimpressed look on his face.
“You look like shit,” he greets.
And he looks too fucking relaxed and happy for my tastes, which probably means he was just spending time with Scarlett.Prick.
“It’s not a good time,” I grumble.
