Текст книги "Follow Me Back"

Автор книги: A. Meredith Walters

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

chapter

eighteen

maxx

lately, talking to Aubrey felt a lot like banging my head against the wall. I was getting nowhere . . . fast. Didn’t she see how much I was attempting to change?

I tried not to get frustrated, because I saw in her eyes how much she still loved me. But being kept at arm’s length was maddening when the connection between us was still as intense as ever.

I hated working at the coffee shop. The pay sucked and the hours were even worse.

Working at the stables was a little better. Sure, shoveling shit for ten dollars an hour wasn’t the best use of my time, but I got to be outdoors and no one really bothered me. I put my feelings aside because working my ass off was for a greater purpose. These were all steps in proving myself.

“You’re a hard worker, Maxx. I have to say that I’m impressed,” Mr. Wyatt said, watching me as I cleaned out one of the stalls.

I had gone straight from my shift at the coffee shop to the stables. I didn’t have time to change, so I was still wearing the brown T-shirt from earlier. I would have had time to run home and put on different clothes if I hadn’t stayed to talk to Aubrey.

Well, I had stayed only to be rejected by Aubrey. Again.

It was becoming a sad, pathetic pattern. “Thanks,” I grunted, lifting a shovel full of hay and manure and dumping it in a wheelbarrow. Mr. Wyatt patted a pretty gray horse named Harvey and inclined his head toward me. “Have you ever ridden a horse?” he asked.

“Sure,” I lied. I had never been on a horse in my life.

“Well, if you ever want to ride one of our beauties, come on out. You’re always welcome,” he said with a final pat on Harvey’s neck. Mr. Wyatt was a gruff fellow but he seemed decent. I knew that the offer wasn’t made lightly.

“Thanks, Mr. Wyatt. Maybe I will,” I said, wiping sweat off my forehead, knowing I left a smear of dirt behind.

“These guys could use the exercise. You’d be helping me out,” Mr. Wyatt continued, seeming embarrassed by his kindness.

“Of course,” I agreed, not letting on to the fact that I knew the old guy actually liked me. Mr. Wyatt reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash. “Here’s your first week’s pay. I don’t do checks.”

I took the money. “Thanks,” I said genuinely.

Mr. Wyatt nodded and left. I quickly counted the money and felt my stomach drop. It was only $250. I couldn’t pay bills and buy food with this meager amount. I was working my ass off and barely surviving. I left work feeling completely disheartened.

I walked into my apartment twenty minutes later and flipped the light switch, relieved when the lights turned on. I wasn’t sure how long I’d get by without paying my electricity bill before they cut my power. I collapsed onto the couch and let out a long, agonized breath. I needed to do something. I had to find a way to make some money.

There’s one place I could go for some quick scratch, my subconscious teased.

It was tempting. I missed the club. I missed the dark world where I was king. I missed the adrenaline rush of doing something I knew was wrong and getting away with it.

God, I missed the drugs.

I’ll always be here, waiting for you, my addiction whispered seductively in my head. My hands began to shake and something that felt dangerously like physical withdrawal racked my body. My heart started to pound and sweat dribbled down my back. I felt sick and dizzy. The need to use was overwhelming.

Get it together! I screamed silently to myself.

I needed to lose myself in something safe. I got up and rushed back to my bedroom and threw open my closet door. I dug around inside with my heart slamming angrily in my chest.

Get a grip, Maxx!

I finally found my sketch pad and a box of charcoal. I sat down cross-legged on the floor. The lighting was shit, but I didn’t need to see. I needed to feel.

My fingers moved almost mechanically at first, but then the fluidity of drawing took over. My breathing began to slow. My heart calmed down. The sweat dried on my skin. Minutes turned into an hour, my fingers never stopping.

When I was finished, I straightened my back, feeling stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. I stretched and held up the pad in front of my face and couldn’t help but smile.

The style was uniquely mine. Tangles of long hair becoming snakes as they reached down from the sky. Fingers sprouting up from the ground like talons.

It was warped. It was fucked up.

But it looked pretty freaking awesome.

I knew that I was good. Enough people had told me throughout the years that I believed it.

I thought with regret about that meeting with Mr. Randall all those months ago. I had really messed up something good.

It was the story of my life.

I walked over to the corner of my room where I had stacked at least two dozen canvases. I slowly went through them, pulling out the ones that stood out. The ones that best demonstrated my ability.

Feeling impulsive, I pulled out my wallet and found the card Tatum Randall had given me over six months ago. I was actually surprised I had kept it.

Maybe there was a part of me, even when I was bombed out of my mind, that held on to this small possibility.

I quickly dialed the number on the crisp, white card before I could talk myself out of it. I chewed on my thumbnail as the phone rang and rang.

“Bellview Gallery, how can I help you?” a woman’s voice chirped in my ear.

“Um, hi, is Mr. Randall available?” I croaked.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Maxx– I mean X,” I fumbled, sounding like a moron.

“X?” the lady asked incredulously.

I gritted my teeth. “Yes, X. He’ll know me,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Okay, then, hold on. Let me see if he’s still here.”

I was put on hold and had to listen to five minutes of really bad elevator music.

Just when the horrible strains of John Tesh were about to send me over the edge, the phone clicked.

“X. Hello. I must say I’m rather surprised to hear from you,” Mr. Randall said. He sounded cold and less than thrilled.

“Yes, I understand. I didn’t make the best impression when we met,” I said, hating to grovel, but what other choice did I have?

“I believe that is an understatement,” Mr. Randall scoffed.

He was starting to piss me off and I had to work hard to rein myself in.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t in a very good place back then. Things have changed considerably since then.” I paused a moment, mentally preparing myself to beg.

“I wanted to know if you’d still be interested in seeing my work. I’ve put together some amazing pieces—”

“X, after our last meeting, I think it’s safe to say that you wouldn’t be a good fit for my gallery.”

I felt myself bristle at his automatic rejection.

“Sir, I get that I was a bit of a mess. I was dealing with some stuff. Not that that excuses my horrible behavior. But I don’t think it’s exactly fair—”

“Look, I’m sure there are a lot of other galleries out there that would be interested in you and your . . . eccentricities.” The jackass wouldn’t let me get a word in. “But Bellview Gallery isn’t that place. I’m sorry.”

I felt what little hope I had about possibly using my art to generate a livable income dwindle away.

I crumpled up my pride into a tiny ball and shoved it away. “Sir. Please. Just give me another chance. I think you’ll change your mind if you just see my work. My real work.” I sounded desperate. He had to hear it in my voice.

Mr. Randall was quiet for a bit. I chewed through the skin on my lip and tasted blood, the sharp sting keeping me grounded.

“I’m sorry, X. When I saw your street art I thought you were a different artist. I thought you were someone I could promote and nurture. Unfortunately, the impression you gave wasn’t one of someone ready to work hard and take their talent seriously. I just can’t take that risk. Not right now.” He actually sounded a bit sorry.

But he wasn’t as sorry as I was.

I couldn’t beg anymore.

“Okay, then. Well, thank you for your time.” I felt despondent. Dejected. Lost.

“Best of luck, X. I really mean that,” Mr. Randall said, sounding sincere.

I wanted to tell him where to shove his unnecessary well wishes.

But I held my tongue.

I hung up the phone and looked at the canvases propped against the wall.

I was quickly getting tired of being kicked when I was already down.

In a fit of anger I hurled the pictures across the room.

The one of Aubrey I had painted after getting out of rehab was split down the middle.

Broken and ruined.

Just like me.

chapter

nineteen

aubrey

i was drinking so much coffee that I threatened to float away. My caffeine drive had kicked up a notch now that I was making random stops at the Coffee Jerk throughout the day. I swear I was going to have to start earning stock options, given how much money I gave them.

“Hello again. Here for round two?” Maxx asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Yep,” I said, my mouth popping around the word.

“Caramel latte, extra foam?” he asked, already punching in my regular order.

“Yep,” I said again, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Our eyes met and clung for a moment before I broke the heated stare off. I looked away and pointed to a table near the door. “I’ll be over there,” I said quickly.

I sat down and put my bag on the table. I pulled out a packet of information and laid it out on the table. I looked down at the glossy pages. The words Department of Education stood out in a bright yellow. I opened up the catalogue and started thumbing through, looking at the offered classes: Teaching Principles, Classroom Learning Assessment, Classroom Management.

I had been thinking about my future a lot lately, and whether I was on the right path. My confidence in my ability to be a professional counselor had been shaken, and despite my efforts to put my best foot forward, I was terrified of failing again.

“Here ya go,” Maxx said quietly, sliding the steaming mug in front of me. “Department of Education certification in elementary teaching?”

I wanted to tell him to leave. To mind his own business. Instead I found myself telling him the truth. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just thinking through some other options.”

Then Maxx was sitting down across from me. “I thought being a counselor is what you wanted to do.” He looked concerned and I had a hard time meeting his eyes. I worried he’d be able to see straight through me as he had always been able to do.

I shrugged. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a teacher. That only changed after Jayme died. I just think that maybe I made my career choice based on the wrong reasons.” Why was I vomiting up honesty all over the place? And to Maxx, of all people? The last person I wanted to see into the heart of me.

“How is wanting to help people the wrong reason?” Maxx argued, frowning.

“How is this any of your business?” I asked coldly. Maxx sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, not put out by my pissy attitude.

“It’s not, I guess. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know anyway. I’m here if you want to talk.”

He was being sincere. I could see how much he wanted me to accept his offer. It would be so easy to open my mouth and tell him everything. To forge a type of intimacy that we had never really experienced together. We never had the chance to connect on a level separate from the angst and turmoil.

But I didn’t say anything.

I ignored him, my eyes trained on the booklet in front of me, not really seeing it. After a few awkward moments, Maxx cleared his throat. “Okay, well, enjoy your coffee. I’ll talk to you later.”

Aubrey, you are an idiot, I chastised myself. I turned to look at Maxx, who was walking back to the counter, his shoulders slumped. I opened my mouth to say something.

To call him back? I had no idea what I was going to do.

“Hey.” I was startled by the sudden appearance of my roommate. Renee sat down in the chair Maxx had just vacated. Her hair was windblown and wild, her cheeks flushed as though she had just run across campus.

“Hey,” I said back, resisting the urge to look at Maxx again. She took off her coat and draped it over the back of the chair. She glanced up at the counter, her eyes widening. “I didn’t realize Maxx worked here.”

I grunted noncommittally. She pushed my cup with her finger. “Is that why you’ve been walking around like a tweeker on a meth binge? Caffeine overload?” Renee narrowed her eyes.

“I’m just indulging my love of lattes. Nothing more.”

Renee shook her head and sighed, pulling the Department of Education brochure toward her. She frowned again. “What in the world is all this?”

“I’m thinking of changing my major,” I remarked breezily, as though it wasn’t a huge deal. Because it was a huge deal.

If I were to change my school trajectory, I would be essentially going back to square one. But the harder I worked to fight my way back into the counseling program, the more my doubt grew. I was beginning to question absolutely everything. It was unsettling.

“Change your major? Did you drink some crazy juice this morning?” Renee asked in disbelief. I understood why she was confused. This was completely out of character for me. But since meeting Maxx, out of character had become in character.

I glanced at Maxx out of the corner of my eye, unwilling to admit that perhaps he was a major reason for my change of heart.

“I just have a lot of thinking to do.”

Before Renee could respond, her attention was pulled to the light tapping on the window beside us. We both turned in unison. Devon Keeton stood on the other side of the glass, his red hair sticking up all over his head, his hands shoved into his pockets. Renee swallowed, her eyes darting to me.

“What’s that all about?” I asked, jerking my thumb in Devon’s direction. He tapped on the window again, seeming a little agitated when Renee purposefully turned her back.

“It’s no big deal,” she mimed, giving me a loaded look.

Renee fidgeted in her seat and continued to look through the course catalogue as though her ex-boyfriend, the same guy I caught her making out with only days before, wasn’t standing there, staring at her beseechingly.

“Is he just going to stand there all day?” I asked, unsettled by Devon’s stalker behavior.

Renee blew out a breath and rubbed her temples as though she had a headache. “I just want to ignore him. I don’t want to look at him. I just want to forget about him.” My friend looked tired, sad, and more than a little conflicted. Finally she got up and stormed angrily out of the coffee shop.

“Who’s that?” Maxx asked, wrapping a dish towel around his hand. We both watched Renee and Devon’s obviously heated exchange.

“He was her mistake,” I said with a clear edge to my voice. Maxx’s eyes flashed and he looked at me, picking up on the innuendo.

“Is that why you come in here three times a day for coffee you don’t really want? Because I’m your mistake?” Maxx asked, sounding angry.

“I like coffee,” I muttered, looking back out the window. Devon tried to reach for Renee, but she put her hands up, stopping him. I could see that she was crying. She shook her head violently, her red hair flying around her face.

“Aubrey,” Maxx said softly, grabbing my attention as surely as if he had shouted it. “We’re not them,” he said quietly, picking up on a thought I had mulled over more than once.

He still stood there, twisting the damn dish towel around his hand. He was gnawing on his bottom lip again, a sign he was anxious.

“We’re us. And that’s not such a bad thing, you know,” he continued quietly.

I sighed, not responding. Because, really, what could I say? He was right. We weren’t all bad. Even though there was some really messed-up stuff between us, there was also some beauty as well. Because of Maxx, I had been able to open myself up in a way I hadn’t been willing to do in three years. Because of Maxx, I started to become the Aubrey Duncan I used to be. Spontaneous. Open. Vulnerable.

I had to find a way to get past this anger I felt toward him. This bitterness was clawing a hole through my gut. “I know,” I finally admitted, watching as Renee shouted something at Devon and turned away, walking quickly down the path toward the parking lot. Devon stood there, looking at a loss. If I didn’t know what an asshole he was, I might have felt sorry for him. Because he seemed honestly heartbroken.

Serves the abusive fuckhead right!

“How about, instead of coming in here three times a day, you let me take you somewhere?” Maxx said, startling me.

“What?” I asked, my mouth gaping open like a fish’s.

“What would you say if I wanted you to spend the day with me? Out of the coffee shop, that is,” he said, his mouth curving upward in a hesitant smile.

I was hit by a wave of déjà vu that had me sucking in a painful breath.

Spend the day with me, I recalled him saying that first morning we had spent together. I remembered exactly what we were doing when he had asked me to blow off classes and be with him.

Just for today. No classes. No work. Just you. Just me. Just us together.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen, Maxx,” I said, showing both of us exactly how different things were between us now.

Because that time, all those months ago, I had done exactly as he had asked, no hesitation.

Maxx stopped twisting the towel in his hands and dropped it onto the table.

“I’m not asking you to run away with me, Aubrey. I’m just asking for a few hours. I could come by after you go to the library and take you out to the farm where I work. The stable manager said I could ride the horses sometime. That’s it. If you have a horrible time, I’ll never ask you to come out with me again,” Maxx stated.

Horseback riding? The randomness of it reminded me yet again of how much I missed that spontaneous side that only Maxx brought out in me. “You just won’t give up, will you?” I asked, feeling myself giving in. Because I already knew the answer. And I hated that the part of me that still loved him didn’t want him to give up. Ever.

I sighed and looked up, meeting the eyes of the man who stood in front of me with his heart in his hands, hoping that I would reach out and take it.

“Okay,” I whispered. I felt as though I were standing on a precipice, ready to topple over.

“Really?” Maxx asked, his smile turning into a full-blown grin. He looked as though he had just won the lottery.

It was sort of irresistible.

And by the sinking feeling in my gut, I knew I was in trouble.

chapter

twenty

aubrey

why had I accepted Maxx’s invitation?

I had a strong feeling that the world I had only just gotten back on track was about to change all over again.

I sat on my couch only an hour after leaving the coffee shop, the brochure for the Department of Education in my lap and a thousand different possibilities for my life floating around in my head. I was feeling completely and totally overwhelmed.

Renee walked through the door in the middle of my silent freak-out looking much calmer than she had earlier. “Are you all right?” I questioned her.

My friend collapsed on the couch beside me. “I’ve made a mess of stuff,” she said, her admission rough in her mouth.

“You want to talk about it?” I asked, giving her the opportunity to share with me what was going on with her. My curiosity was killing me. I wanted to know what Devon said to her. I wanted to know what exactly she was doing with her abusive ex-boyfriend. I wanted to grill her more about Iain and what had happened between them. Renee put her hand over mine that still clutched the course catalogue and squeezed. The comforting gesture was clearly for her as much as for me.

“I do want to talk about it, Aubrey. I really do. Just not right now. My head sort of feels like it’s going to explode.” She gave me a wry smile that I returned.

“This is definitely a head-explosion zone,” I agreed.

“So, Maxx . . .” Renee’s voice trailed off, letting me fill in the gaps for her.

“He asked me to go horseback riding with him,” I told her, grimacing.

“Horseback riding? Since when are you Annie Oakley?” Renee scoffed.

I rolled my eyes. “Since never. But I told him okay,” I said in a rush, putting the truth out there as quickly as possible.

Renee squeezed my hand again and dropped her head onto my shoulder. “What’s wrong with us?” she asked, giving voice to the very question that had plagued me for months.

“We love too hard and too recklessly, I think,” I murmured.

“Let’s just hope we can walk away in one piece this time,” Renee said softly. And we sat there, supporting each other as heartbroken friends do.

I was pacing holes in the living room carpet when Maxx finally arrived. I opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, not letting him inside.

“Ready?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Ready,” I said, giving him a thin smile. Maxx ran his hands through his hair, and I found myself really looking at him. My misgivings kicked up a notch as I took in his appearance. He was wearing worn jeans that hung off his narrow hips. His chest strained under a red button-down shirt. He had rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. His hair fell in haphazard curls across his forehead.

He was thinner. His face more angular, his cheekbones more pronounced. His eyes were clear and steady. Absent was the bloodshot haze I had been used to seeing. He looked happy. Excited, even. It was a look that could prove lethal to my wishy-washy heart.

Because this was a new Maxx. Someone I had only seen in glimpses between withdrawals. Someone who had shown his face only briefly while I had loved and been consumed by him.

A stable Maxx. Calm. Competent. Together.

Angry, bitter Aubrey wondered if this, too, was an act. And if it wasn’t, I wondered how long it could last. Enough with the negativity! I chastised myself.

This Maxx smiled with shy reservation, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should or not. He spoke with consideration of his words. He thought before he acted. He was so completely different that it was hard to believe he was the same person. The connection we had always shared was still there, yet it strained and stretched in this strange new world we coexisted in.

We walked to his car silently.

“Do you want to listen to the radio?” he asked, fumbling with the ancient dials on his dashboard once we were buckled in.

“I don’t care,” I said, situating myself so I could get comfortable on the crunchy leather seats.

Maxx flipped to a rock station and pulled away from the curb in front of my apartment building.

“How are the jobs going?” I asked him, feeling like conversation was required.

“Not bad. But they’re mind-numbing and sort of pay the bills.”

“Sort of ?” I asked.

“Well, they don’t pay as much as I wish they would,” Maxx said with a hint of bitterness.

I didn’t know what else to say. I had never struggled so much with small talk before. Perhaps it was because there were a million things I felt I should be saying. Things I should ask him.

Should I talk to him about rehab? Should I ask him how he was getting along now that he had been discharged? Should I ignore the topic altogether and for just one day pretend that that particular darkness never had a place in our lives?

“I was thinking the other day how little I really know about you,” Maxx said suddenly, surprising me.

“What?”

Maxx shrugged. “You know some about my parents and you’ve met Landon, but I don’t know anything about where you came from. And I don’t think we’ve ever really talked about your family before. Not once in all the time we spent together did you ever tell me about your parents or your sister. The one that died.”

“Well, that’s the only one I had,” I retorted.

Maxx shook his head. “See, I didn’t even know that. What’s wrong with me that I never thought to ask you such fundamental questions like how many siblings you have or what your parents are like?”

I knew he was right. As deep and wild as things had been between us, it was startling to realize that I had never shared such simple things with him. On one hand, he knew things about me that no one else did. They were the sorts of things that could only be wrenched out of someone at moments of absolute vulnerability. I had opened up to him about my feelings of guilt and grief about Jayme. But when it came to the little things boyfriends and girlfriends knew about each other, we were completely deficient.

It felt strange to backtrack now. Particularly since we were no longer playing those roles in each other’s lives. I wasn’t sure I wanted to give him those tidbits of truth. I didn’t know what purpose it would serve. I was adamant that I wasn’t here with him in order to pursue a continued connection, yet I was here all the same.

Would it hurt to let him in . . . just a little bit?

“I guess we haven’t. My parents aren’t really a subject I like to talk about. We haven’t had much of a relationship since my sister, Jayme, died. They blamed me. I blamed me. It worked out better to have as little to do with each other as possible.” I kept emotion out of my voice. I was blandly neutral, giving nothing away.

He didn’t badger me for details; he just let that piece of information sit there between us. “What was she like? Your sister? Was she like you? Too smart for her own good?” Maxx asked, shooting me a sideways smile.

I stiffened instantly, not exactly prepared to dive into this particular subject. “Umm . . .” I began, my throat feeling suddenly tight.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” Maxx said softly, his smile slipping.

And then, just like before, I was talking. Without even realizing what I was doing, I opened myself up a little bit more. And it felt good. I enjoyed sharing my memories of Jayme. I needed to.

“No. She and I were nothing alike. Even though we looked alike, our personalities couldn’t have been more different. I’ve always been a little school-crazy. Good grades and getting into a decent college were really important to me.”

“Big surprise that you were always the overachiever. You were probably on the debate team and ran for school council, too,” Maxx deduced, chuckling.

“I was not on the debate team,” I huffed with feigned indignation.

Maxx made a point to control his laughter. “I’m sorry. I won’t make that assumption again.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music. “But I totally called the school council. What were you? The president?”

“Vice president,” I muttered under my breath, grumbling but without venom.

“I knew it,” Maxx said, smacking his hand against the steering wheel.

“Well, Jayme was always more interested in hanging out with friends and going out, even though our parents were pretty strict. I had a ten o’clock curfew until I left for college,” I told him.

“Wow. I never had a curfew. But that’s because David never gave a shit where I was or what I was doing. Sometimes I would wish like hell he’d tell me to be home by a certain time. Then I would know that someone cared if I ever came back at all,” Maxx said, his smile now brittle.

My heart couldn’t help but twist a bit at the thought of Maxx growing up unloved and alone. So much of that sense of disconnectedness had formed the person he eventually became. The guy who had thrown himself into the club scene in an effort to belong somewhere. The guy who used drugs to stop feeling anything at all.

These tiny pieces of his past helped me understand him a little bit better. It certainly didn’t excuse everything that he had done, but I was better able to get the motivations. Maxx cleared his throat and forced a smile back on his face. “So Jayme was the party girl and you were the homebody, right?”

“Not entirely. I went out with friends. I had a life. I just had my priorities,” I said.

“I have no doubt you were the girl in high school I would never have had a chance with. You have always been way too good for a guy like me,” he said, chuckling in that self-deprecating way of his.

I didn’t respond. What would be the point?

Our coming together all those months ago was a perfect storm of circumstance. Maxx had walked into my life at a moment when I needed the chaos and insanity that he created, whether I had realized it at the time or not.

“Jayme was . . . unique. She had these crazy toe socks that were all of these different colors. When she was in a bad mood, she’d wear them, swearing they were the key to having a good day.” I shook my head, snorting. “I have no idea why I just told you that,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

“That’s cool, I had a pair of those toe sock things, too,” Maxx remarked, and I arched my eyebrow in disbelief.

Maxx shrugged. “Seriously. My mom got them for me when I was a kid. When it was really cold out I’d wear them around the house. They were ugly as hell, but fuck if they weren’t comfortable,” Maxx said, turning down a gravel road, rocks hitting the underside of his car with audible clangs.

“Jayme and I used to dress up in our mom’s skirts and blouses and would put our hair up in buns. We’d pretend that we were Amish. Our parents had taken us to Pennsylvania Dutch country one summer, and we became sort of obsessed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the awesome horse and buggies or those kick-ass bonnets.” I rolled my eyes and Maxx smirked. “We’d spend all weekend refusing to watch television or turn on lights. We’d light candles in our rooms and do stuff like try to sew scarves. It was kind of ridiculous.” I couldn’t believe I was admitting this to him. I wasn’t used to talking about Jayme like this. Not in a positive way, focusing on the good memories. But it felt good.

Better than good.

How was it that the man who had shrouded me in so much darkness was now giving me nothing but light?

Once we had started sharing these seemingly random stories, it was like neither of us could stop.

Maxx told me about sneaking into his dad’s bedside table and finding his nose hair trimmers and proceeding to shave baby Landon’s eyebrows off. I then told him about pretending to be mute for an entire day and how Jayme insisted on being my interpreter. We had developed our own version of sign language that we used until she died.

Soon I was chuckling. A deep, from-the-gut laugh that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. I barely realized Maxx had parked the car beside a large brick stable.

“We’re here,” Maxx announced, shutting off the engine.