I don't.
I just don't want him here.
But Dad asked.
So I'll try.
I pull into the driveway and park. Kill the engine. Sit in the sudden silence, listening to the tick of cooling metal. The house is dark except for a few lights on the second floor.
Max's room. Probably.
I sit in the car for a long moment, staring up at that window. A rectangle of golden light in a sea of darkness.
How the hell am I supposed to do this?
I don't even have his number. And it's not like I can just ask Dad for it—that would be too obvious. Too forced.
I could catch him in the kitchen. Or the hallway. Strike up a conversation that doesn't sound like it's coming from Margot's worry and Dad's request.
I could ask him about school. About work. About literally anything that doesn't make this feel like an interrogation.
But what would I even say?
Max has been a ghost for the past week. Barely leaves his room except for school and work. And when he does, he looks at us like we're the reason he's miserable.
Hollow-eyed and gaunt and flinching at every sound like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Honestly? I'm fine with that. He wants to be a loner? Great. Stay in your room. Stay out of our way. That was the deal from the start.
But apparently Margot's worried. And when Margot's worried, Dad gets involved. And when Dad gets involved, I get roped into playing nice with the stepbrother who clearly wants nothing to do with us.
The stepbrother who looks at me like I'm the villain in his tragic backstory.
I get out of the car and head inside.
The house is quiet. Too quiet.
I take the stairs to the second floor, and as I pass Max's door, I pause.
The light is still on. I can see it bleeding out from under the door, a thin golden line against dark wood.
There's no light coming from underneath. Either he's asleep or he's not home.
Or he's sitting in the dark, doing whatever it is he does when he locks himself away from the rest of us.
I keep walking.
I'll figure it out tomorrow.
Find some excuse to talk to him that doesn't feel contrived. That doesn't screamour parents are making me do this.
But even as I think it, I know it's going to be awkward as hell.
Because Max Carter doesn't want anything to do with us.
And honestly? The feeling's mutual.
And with that attitude? I can see why he bounced around foster care for so many years before Margot finally took pity on him.
