“Lacey,stop.” I don’t mean for it to come out as stern as it does, and when she stops and stares at me, looking hurt, I want to apologize for snapping.
But there’s something else happening inside me right now. The version of me from fifteen years ago, walking into a studio to find his pieces on the floor. A clear message from everyone in the program with me that I was not welcome.
I moved out here to get away from all that. The entire motivation behind finding a plot of land in the mountains was to never risk my art being seen again. Which is why I switched to making furniture. At the time, it didn’t feel like art, but it gave me something to do with my restless hands.
Then Warren caught a glimpse of my pieces and wanted to sell them. I couldn’t say no to the money. And now it’s turned into this thing — something I have to do. The only way to let out the creative energy inside me.
And now here Lacey is, wanting to make a website. Wanting to put me back out there again, just like I wasout therein school.
Not happening.
“Max,” she starts, but I shake my head, grab the paint brush and turn back to what I’m doing.
More than how I feel about this, I don’t want her to read into it. Don’t want her to think it’s a big deal.
I especially don’t want to have to talk about the events in my past that led me to this moment. First, because it’s fucking mortifying. And second, because I’ve spent more than enough time ruminating, turning my childhood over and over in myhead, looking for some secret morsel. Some bright side of the picture that I couldn’t make out before.
But after years of looking, I never did.
“I have no interest in doing a website, or videos, or social media. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring it up again.”
With that, I go smoothly back to painting as though nothing happened. And I can only hope Lacey will, too.
CHAPTER 13
LACEY
What thehellwas that?
Max goes back to working on the spot under the windowsill like nothing happened, like he didn’t react to my proposal like I’d said we should light his head on fire. I blink at him for a second, gears turning in my head, trying to figure out what that response was about.
It’s beyond being shy — it was immediate and unwavering. Like I’d challenged some deeply held belief of his.
For a second, as I slowly pick up the roller and start painting again, I run through the wildest possibilities. That Max is some sort of fugitive, and he doesn’t want to make videos or have a website for his furniture because he’s got to keep the cops from finding him.
Or maybe he’s a foreign diplomat, running from an unfair government. Or in witness protection — maybe he’s a valuable asset to a case taking down a drug lord.
But my gut is telling me it’s none of those. Why would he get himself involved with me if he had something to hide? If it wasimportant that he kept completely to himself, he would have turned around and left me on the side of the road that first day when I stopped to ask for directions.
For the next hour, we paint in silence, despite the fact that I’mdyingto say something, to dig into this. I want to ask him what happened to make him so afraid of putting his stuff out there. I want to talk to Warren — who must be selling his things at the general store — to learn more about what people are paying, and how he’s marketing them.
I feel like my mother must feel about me. That Max has so much potential, and all I want is for him to share it with the world.
Even though he wants nothing to do with that.
“Looks good to me,” he says, and I jump, realizing I’ve been painting over the same spot for the past ten minutes, running through the thoughts in my head.
I’m the kind of person who hates not knowing, and as I turn to face him, I have to fight the urge not to ask him right now what that whole thing was about.
It’s like when I first got here and put together the list of things I’d need to fix in the cabin. Jumping into the first task — putting up that light — is what nearly got me electrocuted. I could have hurt myself or started a fire, all because I tend to give in to theswing first, ask questions latermindset.
That approach helped me a lot in the early moments of my career. I got a lot done with that hyper-focused, singular vision sort of mode. But while it helped me climb the ranks at Gaia, it’s also part of the reason I lost time with Jasper. It’s what made me push my own projects to the side, repeatedly say no to my friends, and work nights and weekends.
It occurs to me, not for the first time since arriving in this state, and on this mountain range, that slowing down might help me avoid making so many mistakes. It might help me get back some of the things I care most about in life.
The look on Max’s face — wary, even slightly hurt — stops me from asking, or pushing. I realize, maybe for the first time in my life, that I want him towantto tell me, rather than just beating the truth out of him.
This time, I’m not going to swing first. This time, I’ll take it slow. One day at a time. Let things happen as they happen.
