“Fucked up?” Max said. “Yeah.”
Nate bit the side of his lip and hesitated. “You think Flynn knew?”
“Maybe,” Max spat out. His mouth twitched and he looked down at his shoes. “I don’t know. If he did know, then it’s his fault, you know. Not mine.”
“Not Teddy’s.”
Max huffed out a dry laugh and shrugged that off. Just like he always did. He’d always found it easier to just lean into being the fuckup, rather than risk getting mad with his dad. Nate supposed it was a lot easier to judge from the outside, when you didn’t get a couple of grand a month in “letting it go” allowance.
“Why are you telling me this now?” he asked.
The silence dragged out for a second as Max licked his lips. “There was no postman this morning,” he said. “It was Flynn. I might have told him we fucked.”
Nate punched him. He’d not really planned it out. There was just a hot, breathless ball of anger in his chest and he couldn’t come up with the words to get it out. His fist caught Max on the cheekbone. The impact rocked Max back on his heels and jabbed a sharp pain through Nate’s wrist.
“Fuck.” They both said it at the same time. Nate shook his hand out, the pain in his wrist a dull throb, and Max rubbed his eye gingerly.
“Why do people keep hitting me?” Max asked.
“Because you’re a dick.”
“Still. Use your words.”
The “sorry” caught on the tip of Nate’s tongue. It was almost genuine—Nate didn’t want to fight with his best friend—but not quite. He choked it back and picked up the clipboard instead. It gave his hands something to do other than punching Max again.
“In future, Max, stay right out of my sex life,” he said.
Nate angrily ticked one of the to-do boxes and nearly tore through the paper. Max shifted awkwardly in the corner of his eye. He shoved one hand through his thick dark hair and left it stuck up on end.
“You not going to call him?” he asked.
Nate waved the clipboard at him. “I’m working. I can call Flynn later, if I decide I want to.”
“That might be too late.” Max reached around and shoved his hands into his back pockets. His shirt pulled tight over his shoulders as he rocked back on his heels. It looked cocky, and Nate had known Max long enough to know it was the exact opposite.
“What did you do?”
“… I thought if I called Flynn and told him I’d lied about having sex last night, I’d not have to tell you,” Max said quickly. “I called the garage. Apparently he’s quit.”
“It’s his business.”
“He’s closing up,” Max said. He took a deep breath. “The kid that works there said he’s leaving the island. Today.”
Nate swallowed and looked down at his hands, his fingers tight around the clipboard. He felt a sodden mixture of regret, fear, and denial that wedged up behind his rib cage like papier mache. For the second time that day he didn’t know what to say.
“Okay. Well, that’s up to him.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Max yanked the clipboard off him. “Go. Talk to him.”
“If he doesn’t want to stay—”
“Then say goodbye. Get his number. Sext him. Whatever.” Max grimaced at the words he’d said. “Don’t just let go. You’ll regret it.”
“You don’t know that.”
Max grabbed his shoulder. “I’ve let a lot of things go.” He turned Nate around and gave him a shove toward the door. “I regret most of them. Don’t be like me.”
“The wedding,” Nate protested halfheartedly. He wanted to go—in his mind he was already halfway to the door—but he gestured helplessly at the finery surrounding them. “What if something else goes wrong? Teddy is already angry with me over the other night.”
