There was a pause, then, almost like he’d read my mind, he said, “I don’t have one, by the way.”
My heart did a stupid, slow flip.
“Well… maybe you should get one. So that they’ll stop asking.”
I wanted to bite the words back immediately.
“I don’t know, too much work. Promise.” His tone was half-sarcastic, half-hopeful. “You and me, always? You’re easy.”
I wanted to say, ‘Yes, forever.’ But I was with Jackson, and Max didn’t know.
“I’m down,” I said, lightly. “Bonnie and Clyde style.”
He was quiet for a few beats, and then?—
“What is that thing that people do where they say if they’re not married by 40, they’ll marry their best friend?”
“I don’t know. But is that what you want? A friendship pact?”
A hesitation came across the line, and then he said, “I’ll take it.”
On his end, I heard the quiet creak of a mattress, the shift of his weight. Then silence, long enough for me to listen to his breathing.
“I think about it sometimes.” His voice was so soft I almost thought I’d imagined it.
My throat went tight. “Think about what?”
“You. Me. What it’d be like if…” He trailed off, with a faint laugh like he was shaking his head. “Never mind. Dumb.”
“Max.”
He didn’t answer.
“Tell me,” I pressed. “You can tell me anything.”
If he told me he wanted me, I’d probably dump Jackson. But the feeling of Jackson’s hands around my throat from days earlier snapped me back to reality.
“You’re such a fucking whore, Mackenzie,” he had hissed after secretly listening to mine and Max’s conversation. “Such a fucking whore for him. Can you be a whore for me?”
There was a darkness inside Jackson, one I couldn’t escape. Even if Max knew, he wouldn’t be able to save me. No one could.
A long breath came over the line, like he was surrenderingsomething. “I just… wonder what it would be like if we weren’t always saying goodbye.”
And there it was. The unnamed thing between us. That ache. That gravity.
“Me too,” I whispered. “All the time.”
His exhale was almost a groan. Then, because he was Max, because we couldn’t stay in it too long, he said, “So… did the gluten-free stuffing taste more like paper or dirt?”
The memory fadedlike the sun slipping behind the horizon, but the ache it left deepened in my chest. Max’s hand was still wrapped around mine like it was meant to be there, likeIwas meant to be there, next to him. We never talked about that night, about that phone call, but it lived between us anyway.
A soft breeze danced across the lake, pulling strands of my hair across my face. Max reached over and tucked them behind my ear, fingers lingering, brushing against my skin just a little too long.
“You, okay?” His voice was gentle, as if we were still miles apart, talking on the phone instead of sitting right beside each other.
“Yeah,” I murmured, looking away. “I missed this place.”
“Me too.”
