Текст книги "Lead Me Not"

Автор книги: A. Meredith Walters

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Wow, I had really messed things up.

“I understand,” was all I said. I felt horrible, both physically and mentally. I should have gone home and gone to bed and worried about the mess I’d made in the morning. But the thought of possibly running into Renee was less than appealing. I wasn’t able to hide my emotions very well, and even though she was on most days still firmly up her own ass, my roommate still read me better than anyone.

I ended up wandering around campus. I felt achy, and I most likely had a fever, but I just couldn’t make myself go home. It was late, and very few people were still out. I finally sat down at a bench by the library and stared at a wall that was painted with bright greens and blues. The central image was a figure of a woman walking off a wooden pier into a sea of black sludge, her long blond hair waving behind her as she fell. Her face was nondescript except for her smile. It was as though she was happy to be going to her death.

Well, that was freaking depressing.

I stared harder at the picture, uncomfortable with the odd sense of familiarity I felt. Looking at the woman’s graceful yet agonized form, I felt as though I should recognize her.

Bothered by my increasing disquiet, I stood up and walked closer. This was not your typical campus painting of daffodils and laughing students. I had seen this particular kind of art several times before. I leaned in to try to see the details in the poor lighting. And there it was—the tiny patterns on the woman’s dress composed of dozens of Xs.

I didn’t notice any numbers or words in this picture, though, so I didn’t understand what its intent was. It was my understanding that X’s paintings held the clues to the location of the club Compulsion. But this picture seemed to have nothing to do with that.

This was a painting created for some other purpose.

“So what do you think?”

I looked over my shoulder to find Maxx standing behind me. I turned back to the picture, not bothering to answer him. The truth was, my outburst in the group had left me feeling raw and vulnerable, and seeing him so soon after making a gigantic ass of myself was embarrassing.

As he came up beside me, the sleeves of our jackets brushed against each other. Maxx inclined his head toward the painting and asked me again, “Well, what do you think of it?”

I shrugged, not really in the mood for small talk. My pounding head couldn’t handle a go-around with the group Romeo. I started to walk away from him when he grabbed hold of my arm.

“Wait, Aubrey. Please.” It was that word that did it. Please. It was uttered softly and sincerely. And it held me as fast and surely as if he had put his arms around me.

“Thank you for talking about your sister tonight,” he said quietly, tugging on my arm so I would face him again. Slowly I complied, looking up into his eyes. All coyness was gone, and I could see only genuine gratitude.

“You don’t need to thank me. What I did was wrong. I shouldn’t put my shit on you guys. You’re there for your own reasons, and they have nothing to do with me and my past,” I replied quickly.

Maxx slid his knuckles down my arm and took my hand in his. My fingers were curled into a fist, with his much larger palm surrounding it, protecting it.

“Don’t say that. What you said, what you showed me . . . us . . . was that you get it. And it made me feel, I don’t know . . . connected maybe,” he said. I didn’t know what to say. I was so tired, both from being sick and from trying so hard to hold it together. Tonight I had cracked. Some of the raging whirlwind inside me had leaked out in the worst possible setting.

But maybe it had helped. And that made my failure seem less . . . destructive.

His next words took my burgeoning pink fuzzies and flushed them down the toilet.

“You feel responsible for what happened to your sister, don’t you?” he asked, and my immediate reaction was to deny, deny, deny. I didn’t know him. I didn’t trust him. He had no right to the information he was digging for.

But when I opened my mouth, only the truth came out. “Yes, I do,” I responded. Maxx’s broad shoulders rose and fell with his deep breath. He seemed to find something in my words that fortified him.

His blue eyes darkened as he looked over my shoulder into the distance. “I understand that, you know? Feeling responsible for someone else and failing miserably,” he said with so much pain in his voice that I felt it in my bones.

He continued to hold my hand tight and secure in his, his thumb drawing circles on my skin. I didn’t say anything, I knew instinctively that Maxx needed to share something with me, but he needed to do it at his own pace.

The wind blew around us, chilling me, but I didn’t move away from him. “My brother expects a lot of me. Landon, you met him,” he said, looking down at me, his lips quirking into a tiny smile.

I smiled back. “He seemed like a nice kid,” I offered.

“He is. He’s a great kid. Better than me, that’s for sure,” Maxx said tiredly. I didn’t respond to that. What could I say? That’s not true, you’re a great guy! Because that would have been a lie. I didn’t know whether Maxx deserved that kind of commendation or not.

“He looks up to me. He expects me to be this great and powerful person. To make our lives something better. I just can’t do that. It’s beyond me to be the sort of guy he needs me to be,” Maxx admitted, his voice breaking at the admission.

I was absolutely bewildered by the man who stood with me in the cold January air, his fingers wrapped around mine. He had handed me honesty. I could only do the same. It was only fair. It’s what this moment deserved.

“Jayme tried to tell me about her boyfriend, Blake. I wouldn’t listen. She wanted me to know what was going on. I ignored her,” I let out in the barest whisper.

Maxx’s hand squeezed mine. “Jayme was your sister?” he asked, and I nodded, feeling my throat tighten with a suppressed emotion I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a very long time.

I pulled in a shaky breath. “He’s the worst kind of evil. Blake. He hooked her on drugs, used her over and over again, and then left her to die. But maybe I’m even worse because I had the chance to save her and I didn’t. I was so focused on my own life I didn’t see how much she needed me.” My voice was a strangled sob.

Maxx pulled me into his chest, his arms coming up to press me close, as though I could burrow inside him and be safe. I curled my arms up underneath me and tried to get my breathing under control. I didn’t cry. I never cried. My tears had dried up a long time ago.

But I felt the seams of my world tearing apart as Maxx held me. Something had been altered in the fabric of my universe, and I didn’t know what that meant for me or for the man who held me.

I felt Maxx lean down, his breath fanning across my face. And still he said nothing. He just held me tightly against his body, and I thought I might have imagined the tiny kisses along the crown of my head.

But I hadn’t imagined how in the space of a few minutes I had calmed down. I could breathe easier, and I was able to unclench my fists.

After what felt like an endless amount of time, he released me. “You should get home,” was all he said, his hands returning to the pockets of his jacket. I felt disjointed by the abruptness of our physical separation.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed, unable to summon up any sort of smile to give him, even though I wanted to. I needed to rest. I was sick and tired, but just then I felt . . . all right.

Maxx swallowed; I watched his Adam’s apple bob. He wouldn’t look at me. He seemed suddenly wary and skittish and ready to be rid of me.

“Good night, Aubrey,” he said, turning his back and heading toward the parking lot.

I picked my pride up off the ground and turned to leave, a rush of emotion settling like a thick blanket of unease over my heart.

chapter
ten

maxx

i sifted through the pills in the plastic baggie, my fingers lifting, then dropping them. I wanted one. Just one.

One would be it.

That’s all I’d need to feel good.

At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

I didn’t consider myself an addict, though that was the label the court system wanted to give me.

They said I needed help, an intervention.

What I needed was a new fucking life.

I picked out two pills and set them in my palm.

I stared at them, as if waiting for the mysteries of the fucking universe to be answered.

Come on. You know you want me. We’d have such a good time together, they whispered.

“You know how to make me feel better,” I murmured, rubbing the smooth surfaces with my thumb.

Yeah, I was freaking crazy. Talking to my drugs was a sure sign of a serious mental break.

I had homework to do. I was struggling to stay above water. I was so damned close to graduating. I had made it this far. I made sure I did just well enough that I wouldn’t flunk out.

I owed it to Landon to try to make something of myself. I owed it to my dead parents, who had thought the boy they left behind was worth something.

The problem was I had lost all taste for the life everyone thought I should have.

The only taste I had was for the two tiny pills in my hand.

Never one for prolonging the inevitable, I popped the little pieces of happy in my mouth and crunched them with my teeth before swallowing.

I loved that moment when my arms went slack and my feet sort of disappeared. My mouth hung open, and my eyes drooped. My head stopped buzzing, and I stared at the TV, which wasn’t even turned on.

I’m not sure how long I sat there in my shitty apartment, staring at the dark screen, when my phone started ringing.

Ring, ring.

Ring, ring.

I patted the cushion beside me, but the phone wasn’t there. My head rolled to the side, and I tried to open my eyes, but they weren’t cooperating. My lips stretched into a smile. Damn, I felt awesome.

Ring, ring.

There it was. My phone sat on the coffee table, just by my feet, which were propped up beside it. Maybe my arms could stretch out and I could reach it, because right now they felt abnormally long.

I wished it would stop ringing. It hurt my ears, and I just wanted to lie there and think about nothing. Do nothing. Be nothing.

But it wouldn’t stop. It kept fucking ringing.

Didn’t the person on the other end realize I had more to do than answer the fucking phone?

I hoisted myself up and ever so slowly grabbed at the phone that just wouldn’t shut up.

I fumbled with the buttons as though my fingers had forgotten how to work. I laughed at how ridiculous it was.

Finally I connected the call and lifted the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” My voice sounded strange. No, it sounded like I was trying to have a good time. Fuck this fucker who was interrupting it.

“Fucking hell, man, I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour! Don’t you fucking know how to answer a goddamned phone?” the voice yelled into my ear.

I frowned.

“What?” I asked belligerently.

“What? Are you fucking serious? You were supposed to be here two hours ago! Gash is pissed. You know how he fucking gets when he’s pissed. Get your ass here now!” the voice roared.

“Is this Marco Polo?” I asked, sounding garbled.

“Are you fucking high again? That’s the only reason you’d risk an ass-kicking by calling me that. You’re supposed to be selling that shit. Gash is gonna shove it up your ass if you come here fucked-up. You were supposed to have the new location sorted already. It’s fucking Thursday, man. Please tell me you’ve found a place,” Marco begged, sounding panicked.

I knew I should probably be panicked too. Gash was not a guy you messed with. Marco was one of the doormen at Compulsion and had been a buddy of mine for a long time. He was also the guy who shaved a bit of extra cash off the intake every Saturday—cash that nicely lined our pockets. Between my drugs and his sticky fingers of stealthiness, we had created a nice little side business that was proving pretty profitable for both of us.

And the truth was I hadn’t found a location for the club yet. There were a couple of promising prospects. An old factory the next town over, a field on the outskirts of the city. But I had been busy. Between school, community service, and making sure Landon was taken care of, I was strapped for time.

But Compulsion was my bread and butter. It was how I made the money to stay at school. It’s where I sold the drugs that kept me afloat and put food in my baby brother’s mouth. I shouldn’t be shitting where I slept.

But I just didn’t care—not when I was feeling so fucking awesome.

“It’s all good, man. Stop stressing,” I slurred, rubbing at my bottom lip. My mouth felt numb. I could barely feel my tongue in my mouth. I stuck my tongue out and poked it with my finger.

I laughed. It was hysterical!

“Damn it! You need to get over here now! You need to tell Gash where we’ll be on Saturday. If you don’t, he’ll staple your balls to your ass,” Marco threatened, and I knew he wasn’t being dramatic. He was telling the fucking truth.

Gash was one scary dude.

I dropped the phone on the floor. The oxy had really kicked in, and my hands couldn’t hold the device anymore. I leaned over and tried to make my fingers pick it up.

Finally I was able to get it back to my ear.

“I’m coming over there,” Marco stated, and I snorted.

“Sure, come and get me. I sure as fuck ain’t driving,” I mumbled, hanging up the phone.

I closed my eyes, hoping I could enjoy the rest of my high in peace. I just needed a few minutes. That was it.

That was all I needed, and then I’d be fine. Perfect, even.

Screw the consequences.

My phone started ringing again, and I thought about ignoring it. It was probably Marco again with some lame-ass threat. He was such a cock blocker.

Again, the stupid thing kept ringing.

“What?” I barked into the phone, my hazy, happy feeling becoming harder to hold on to.

“Maxx?”

I sat up a little straighter and rubbed my face with my hand, trying to clear my head.

“Landon, what’s up?” I asked, trying not to sound as messed up as I was. My younger brother had no clue that his hero was such a fuck-up. I had so far managed to keep my arrest and probation a secret, but keeping him in the dark was getting harder all the time.

“Why do you sound so weird? Did I wake you up?” he asked. Even though Landon would turn sixteen in a few months, he acted years younger. Maybe that was my fault. I still treated him like he was a kid.

It made it easier for me to pretend he didn’t see me for who I really was.

“Uh yeah, that’s cool, though,” I lied effortlessly. It was quite a talent, the way I could slip in and out of roles. I could play the good big brother when I needed to. I had so many parts to play, I wasn’t entirely sure which one was real.

“Sorry, I can call back later,” Landon apologized. I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake myself up. But the drugs were weighing me down, and it was hard to give a shit about anything.

I didn’t want to give a shit about anything. It felt too good not to.

“Did you want something?” I asked, sounding like an asshole.

“I just thought you could come over sometime this week and help me fix up the car,” Landon said. I was supposed to be helping him fix up Dad’s old Mustang for when he got his license. But I hadn’t been to my uncle’s in over a month.

He sounded so goddamned hopeful. Fuck hope. It was a worthless bitch.

“I don’t know,” I answered noncommittally. Truth was, I had the time, just not the inclination. I didn’t want to put on my smiley face. I hated that fucking face.

Because I didn’t have the energy to be that other Maxx.

The one with way too much responsibility.

The Maxx that would fail miserably each and every time.

The Maxx I was trying to be didn’t fail at anything. He was on top of the goddamned world, and nothing would bring him down. People wanted him. He was the center of the fucked-up universe.

He was a guy who wasn’t alone.

“Yeah, I guess you’re busy and all. You can’t be some hotshot doctor without putting in the work. Hey, maybe Aubrey could help you study or something,” Landon teased, attempting some good-natured brotherly ribbing.

His unwavering faith in me made me sick. The mention of Aubrey put me on edge.

What the hell was I playing with her? And more important, was I really playing at all? Because being with her after group earlier in the week hadn’t felt like an act.

She had told me about her sister, and it made me . . . feel.

My heart had hurt. For her. For her pain.

And I had shared my own pain. My own hurt. Things I spent a lot of time denying even existed.

And for a brief moment, it had been real.

Comforting.

Safe.

I didn’t have time in my life for real.

It pissed me off.

My mellow high dissipated the angrier I became.

“Look, I gotta go, Landon. I’ll try to come by over the weekend,” I said quickly. I didn’t wait for Landon to say good-bye before I hung up the phone. I didn’t want to hear the disappointment in his voice.

I couldn’t handle his expectations. The weight of his dependency was like a noose around my neck.

I gripped the phone in my hand and then threw it across the room. Surprisingly, it stayed intact as it fell to the hardwood floor.

I felt like I was suffocating.

I needed numbness.

I needed to escape this shit reality I lived in.

I needed . . . nothing.

I picked up the baggie of pills on the coffee table and shook out three 30 mg tablets of oxy.

I heard a pounding on my door, followed by Marco yelling.

I ignored it.

I crushed the pills with the end of my Statistics textbook, swept the powder into my palm, then dropped it into my mouth. The bitter dust tickled the back of my throat and caused a loud coughing fit.

Marco could hear me, so he kept pounding on my door.

Too bad for him, I kept ignoring him.

The moment the drugs hit my system, everything was better . . . calmer.

They never let me down.

The high was my only constant.

When I needed it, it was always there, unconditionally. It didn’t need me. It didn’t weigh me down with unrealistic expectations. It was the most perfect relationship in my life.

It gave without expecting anything in return.

It was the best friend I had.

chapter
eleven

aubrey

i felt like a kid who had gotten caught by the principal smoking in the bathroom. Dr. Lowell had called me yesterday and asked me to come to her office after classes. I knew what this was about. Kristie had warned me she would be calling my adviser. But in the wake of my strange run-in with Maxx and the insanity of my course load, I had somehow forgotten about how badly I had messed up in support group.

Repression was a glorious thing.

Well, it was time to pay the piper. Face the music. Eat my goddamned words.

“Aubrey, come on in,” Dr. Lowell said from the doorway to her office. I picked up my bag and followed her inside. I took a seat in front of her massive desk after she closed the door.

“You know why you’re here,” Dr. Lowell said without preamble, getting straight to the point. I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Would you care to explain what happened last week in support group?” my professor asked, sitting down at her desk and folding her hands in front of her. Dr. Lowell was an attractive woman, one of those people who were aging gracefully. Her brown hair, which was only now starting to gray, was cut short and held back with a clip, and her face was wrinkle-free.

And I appreciated that instead of jumping to conclusions, she was looking at me thoughtfully, expecting a good explanation.

“I messed up, Dr. Lowell. I ended up sharing things I shouldn’t have in group. I got angry. These people are there to learn ways to change their lives, and they act as if they couldn’t be bothered. I guess I was sick of it. But what I did was wrong, and I understand if you think I need to leave the group,” I said quietly, ready to take my licks.

Dr. Lowell regarded me intently. She didn’t say anything for a long time; the only sound in the silent office was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

She slowly pushed her chair out from behind her desk and got to her feet. She crossed the room and filled her coffee cup from the fancy Keurig she had in the corner.

Why wasn’t she saying anything?

Maybe Dr. Lowell was a secret sadist and enjoyed watching her poor, panic-stricken students squirm.

“Would you like a cup, Aubrey?” she asked, holding one out.

I nodded, never able to say no to coffee. I took a sip of the gourmet blend, refusing to allow myself to appreciate the taste when I was most likely going to be seriously reprimanded. But damn, this stuff was tasty.

“I don’t want you to leave the group,” Dr. Lowell said finally, after I had polished off half of my coffee.

I blinked in surprise. “Really? Because when I spoke to Kristie she seemed to think my presence in the group wouldn’t be appropriate anymore,” I said.

Dr. Lowell rolled her eyes. Yes, my hard-as-nails professor actually rolled her eyes.

“Kristie is an excellent counselor, but she can be a little rigid sometimes. We’re all human, Aubrey. Part of this process is for you to learn your boundaries, to understand the limits in a group dynamic. You will only ever learn those things with hands-on experience. I would be doing you an extreme disservice if I were to remove you from the group. We all make mistakes. That’s not to say you didn’t act inappropriately. Because you did.” She looked at me levelly. “I just don’t think you need to be raked over the coals for it.”

Dr. Lowell returned to her seat behind her desk. “When I was first out of grad school I had just gotten my license, and I was running a court-mandated anger-management group. All of those attending were known abusers; they had all been convicted of assault, usually on family members. They were a nasty bunch of men. And they treated me like I was a joke. To say I didn’t take that too well, particularly since I was a lot more hotheaded in my younger days, is a bit of an understatement.” She laughed, and I found myself smiling too.

I just may escape this meeting in one piece. Hallelujah!

“I dumped a glass of water on a group member’s head. He apparently hadn’t liked what I had to say and had called me the B word.” I gaped. I would have done a hell of a lot more than dump water on his head.

“To say my superior was unforgiving was putting it mildly. You have to remember, times were different then, and women were only just starting to be accepted in the workplace. This was the seventies, and while advances had been made in gender equality, it still felt like the stone ages. I was put on professional probation for three months, and I wasn’t allowed to facilitate another group until I attended my own anger-management classes.”

Dr. Lowell chuckled. “So you see, you’re not the only one who has ever had to learn to control her emotions and remember to act professionally.”

Dr. Lowell sobered. “Now, we both knew going into this that it would be difficult. It’s hard under typical circumstances, but given your personal experiences I knew it would be doubly so. Would it be helpful if you and I were to meet weekly to process how group is going and to assess your participation?” she asked me.

I tried not to be offended. My behavior was what landed me here. But I couldn’t help but be insulted. It felt as though she were telling me I was too cracked to be able to function.

“No, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I responded stiffly, forcing a smile.

Dr. Lowell nodded. “Well, if at any time you’re having trouble, please don’t hesitate to come and see me. You know my door is always open. Now, let’s talk about where we go from here. Kristie was far from happy when we spoke. And I can’t afford to have her questioning this department. The community-services board works closely with the university to assist with the training and volunteer hours for our students. She’s going to expect some action to be taken.” Dr. Lowell rolled her eyes again, and this time I had to laugh.

Her opinions regarding Kristie Hinkle were pretty clear.

“So I think for the next few weeks, dial it back a bit. Contribute, but don’t take over unless she asks you to. I’ll explain to Kristie that you and I have talked, and I will have her compile weekly progress notes. I have no doubt that if there are any further issues, you’ll hear about it. So will I,” Dr. Lowell finished drolly.

“I’m sure,” I agreed.

“Okay, then, I think we’re finished here. Enjoy the rest of your day,” Dr. Lowell said, already turning back to her grading.

I picked up my book bag and slung it over my shoulder, relieved that the meeting was over and I hadn’t lost a limb or two. Only my dignity had been dinged.

I had the rest of the day to finish up my research paper for Social Psychology. I headed toward Longwood University’s rather impressive library, my steps lighter than they had been when I had left the apartment that morning.

I headed straight for my usual spot, a secluded four-person table on the second floor. It was hidden behind the horticulture section, not exactly a popular spot for students, so I was rarely disturbed. I unloaded my books and pulled out my baggie of snacks, getting ready for an afternoon of research.

I was making good headway with my paper when I felt a presence in my tiny nook. My pencil froze in midsentence, and I looked up and had to swallow my groan.

“Is this seat taken?” Maxx asked, pulling out the chair opposite me.

“Actually, I usually work here . . . alone,” I said slowly and clearly, hoping he got the point.

Maxx was either being purposefully obtuse or didn’t understand the concept of subtext. I was pretty sure it was the former. He gave me a toothy grin and dropped his bag on the table, knocking over my carefully organized notebooks and highlighters.

I gritted my teeth and moved my things out of his way.

“Whatcha working on?” he asked.

“Shh, keep your voice down. You’ll get us kicked out,” I scolded, letting him see how annoyed I was to be interrupted.

Maxx held his hands up. “Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.”

I gave him a curt nod and bowed my head over my book again. I tried to focus on my reading, but with the smell of his aftershave filling my nostrils, I was finding concentrating with Maxx sitting so close pretty much impossible.

When I had written the same sentence three times in a row, I dropped my pen and rubbed my temples.

“Got a headache?” Maxx asked.

“No, just having a hard time focusing,” I muttered.

“Am I distracting you?” Maxx teased.

I dropped my hands on the table with a bang and cringed. I looked around, hoping the librarian wouldn’t toss me out on my ass.

“I sit back here so people won’t bother me. I’ve got a lot of work to do,” I pleaded, really hoping he’d get up and leave.

Maxx cocked his head to the side. “I’ve been trying to place that accent since I first met you. Southwest Virginia?” he asked, not bothering to address my earlier statement. Clearly he was here for the long haul, and I just had to suck it up.

“North Carolina,” I corrected before thinking about it.

Shit!

Do not engage, Aubrey! Do not engage!

“Ahh, a southern gal,” he said, tapping his pencil against his book.

“Mmm-hmm,” I said unintelligibly, hoping that would be an end to it.

I should have known better.

“Where in North Carolina?” he asked a second later.

“What is this, drive Aubrey crazy with a million questions?” I barked.

“You’re so touchy when you’re studying,” Maxx said, biting his lower lip to keep from laughing. My eyes were drawn to his mouth, and I found myself staring at the full curve of his lips.

Stop it!

I cleared my throat and started packing up my things. There was no way I’d get anything done with Maxx there. I might as well try studying back at the apartment and hope it was Devon-free.

“Don’t leave. I’m sorry, I’ll be quiet,” Maxx promised. He reached out and put his hand on top of mine, stilling me. “Please.” He wielded that word like a weapon. It took the wind out of any and all arguments.

It was annoying.

I settled back in my chair and opened my book up again.

“Fine, but seriously, Maxx, I have a lot to do,” I said, shocked at how quickly I had given in.

Maxx nodded and promptly opened up his own books.

I tried to get back to my research paper, but again, I couldn’t focus. I looked over at what Maxx was working on and saw that he was looking through an Advanced Corporate Finance textbook.

“I thought you were supposed to cure cancer? How does corporate finance help you become a doctor?” I found myself asking.

Maxx looked up at me, and I couldn’t look away. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel like the only person in the world. The only thing that mattered. How was he able to do that? He was so damned magnetic; it was like I was being sucked into his force field, or he was a gigantic black hole that could swallow me up.

“I don’t see being Dr. Demelo in my future,” he responded, his eyes never leaving mine. Did he realize the effect he had on people? I was almost certain that he did, and that was a dangerous power to wield.

It was impossible to read him, and I had always prided myself on my powers of intuition. But when it came to Maxx, I came up disturbingly blank.

“Why not?” I asked, shutting my book. There was no sense in pretending I was going to get any work done. I was in the middle of Maxx 101.

Maxx coughed into his hand and looked away, breaking our connection. “Just not my thing,” he answered.

I was prepared to dig—all the way to China, if I had to.

“Well, what’s your thing then?” I asked, cradling my chin in my hand as I looked at him. The alcove we were sitting in suddenly felt stiflingly warm and almost claustrophobic. I was wearing a turtleneck, and I wished I had worn something lighter. I was hyperaware of how much I was sweating.

I was sure the sudden heat wave had everything to do with the temperature in the library and absolutely nothing to do with the boy who sat across from me.

Maxx smiled a small, secretive grin, and instead of answering, he turned the tables. “What’s your thing? Counseling, right? Is that about your own issues or do you have some kind of savior complex?”

I sat back, debating whether I should be insulted or not. I couldn’t tell whether he was trying to be rude or if it just came naturally. He asked the question with just the right amount of condescension to goad me into defending myself.