Maddox slumped into the seat beside me, leaning back in the chair with lazy confidence. His hair was still slightly damp at the ends where water clung to the strands. He’d showered and changed since I last saw him, and he was wearing a shirt. I preferred him without one. “I thought you could use this,” he said, pushing the drink toward me.
I told myself it was nothing. Just a drink. It had no meaning, other than Maddox was capable of doing nice gestures, of thinking of someone other than himself. “Thanks.” I grinned. “I wasn’t actually sure you’d make it to class.”
“Me neither.” He smirked, one corner of his mouth lifting. “How did you sleep?”
My cheeks warmed slightly, heat creeping up my neck at the implication behind his question. Thank God for the cold drink. I took a sip before I replied. “Um, good. I think. Thanks for staying, and I’m sorry about my mom.”
“Your mom seems cool. At least she didn’t throw a pan at me or call the cops.”
I shot him a playful glare. “Why do I get the feeling you’re speaking from experience?”
He cocked a dark eyebrow. “You ever been hit by a pan? I don’t recommend.”
Amusement tugged at my lips as I took another sip, the cold sweetness hitting my tongue and sliding down my throat. The second dose of caffeine would help once it kicked in. I’d been dragging ass most of the morning. “What did you do with it?”
Confusion descended into his light-green eyes. “With what, Hales?”
My stomach cartwheeled at him insistently calling me by my last name. “You know what,” I said, dropping my voice. “Thethingfrom last night.”
The knife.
The playfulness in his expression drained away, replaced by a cold glint. “I took care of it.”
“You got rid of it?” I leaned closer, needing to understand what that meant.
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “What did you expect me to do with it? Frame it? Hang it on your bedroom wall?”
I rolled my eyes, but the knot in my shoulders loosened fractionally. “So it’s gone?”
“Did something happen?” he asked, his body angling slightly toward me, those green eyes flaring. “Did you get another note?”
I shook my head, my ponytail swishing with the movement. “No.”
“And your mom will be home after school?”
“Yeah. As far as I know.” I fiddled with the straw, rolling it between my fingers.
“Did she say anything about this morning?”
I smiled despite myself, remembering the conversation we’d had after Maddox left. “She said you were cute.”
His mouth tilted upward immediately, a full grin breaking across his face, genuine, unguarded, and so different from his usual careful expressions. “Well,” he said, leaning back with exaggerated satisfaction, “at least she has good taste.”
I snorted inelegantly. “Funny. She said the same thing about me.”
“That’s because she’s clearly brilliant.” He reached over and flicked the spine of my notebook, the paper rustling.
“She’s not like most moms.”
His smile faded slightly, a seriousness settling over his features. “You’re lucky. I’d give anything to have my mom back in my life.”
The grief barely contained beneath the surface of his tone made my chest ache painfully. “It must have been hard,” I said gently, my hand moving without conscious thought to rest on his forearm. “Losing her.”
I knew the basics of what happened to Willow Corvo. A quick Google search had told me enough to understand the shape of the story. She’d been shot, a tragedy wrapped in headlines and speculation and questions that had never been fully answered. Death was something I was all too familiar with.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the desk. “It was.”
Three little words carrying the burden of years. But the way his shoulders turned slightly inward, creating a barrier, told me the rest of the story wasn’t coming anytime soon.
