Page 129 of In Your Wake

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve been in love with you since I was eleven, Max, and I’m sick of pretending that I ever stopped.”

“No,” I croak, tugging my hand free and stepping back only to trip on the comforter bunched on the ground. I cuss, shaking my foot free. “That might be how you felt, but it’s not how you feel now.”

He takes my elbow, guiding me back toward him. “Yes, it is. Something happened over the last few weeks. I’m not sure what it is, but there isn’t a fraction of me—not one ounce of blood in this body—” he says, stabbing his chest with his fingers, “that feels like we aren’t more than friends. I’m in love with you, Max. And the thought that we’ve fucked up any chance at something bigger makes me hate myself so fucking much. We can’t be too late.” His brow creases with his frown, but his plea settles into me when his eyes connect with mine. “Please tell me it’s not too late—”

“You fucking prick!” I shout before he says anything else. I slam my hands into his chest with a thick thud, give him a shove, catching him by surprise, and he stumbles backward.

“I’m a prick?” he chortles. “Why, because I told you I love you?”

“On the day your dad died! As if I’m supposed to believe it on today of all days.” I keep charging at him. “And where was this declaration of love before? Years ago, before you…” My words fade and tears stream freely down my face, but I continue to push him, my tiny hands slapping against a hard wall of muscle.

He stands firm, absorbing every hit.

“You broke my heart. You left and didn’t care enough to check in. Not once.”

“Wait,” he says, frowning. “I broke your heart?”

I sniffle, blinking up at him, realizing what I’ve said. “That’s not the point. You don’t get it. This isn’t the time for—”

“Max, are you saying you were in love with me too?”

I can’t breathe. My chest is too tight to let air into my lungs.

“No, I wasn’t. I’m not. I fucking hate you.” I hug myself, suddenly freezing. “I hate that you came back. I hate that you’re in my life again. I hate that you’re saying all this now.”

My empty stomach churns and the room spins, making it seem ten times smaller. Every breath I draw in feels laced with acid and burns.

There was a time when this feeling would have impacted me differently. When I would have used sex to escape it, but sex is what brought me here.

I glance back at the bed, nausea rising in my throat. “I need to get out of here.”

Covering my mouth with my hand, I race away from his bedroom, down the hall, and out of the house as fast as I can, tears clouding my sight, Mitch’s revelation breaking my heart into a million tiny pieces.

28

Riptide

Mitch

The unseasonably mild weather, along with the thick cloud cover and gray sky, is like nature’s way of mocking me and my mood. As if it knows what’s happening deep in my heart in this small cemetery north of the sea.

With heavy pressure on my shoulders, I walk through the surprisingly large crowd, my chin down, my hands tucked into the pockets of my suit pants. Eyes land on me, followed by hushed whispers, and this is yet another time I wish I was nobody. Just another face in a crowd.

Ahead, I spot a fiery mane in a sea of drab, muted colors, and it’s like a bright spark in the dead of night. Even though seeing Maxine creates a desire to rush to her side, to take her into my arms and inhale her scent, knowing it will numb this oppressive ache in my body, I ignore her.

Since the service, she seems to be deliberately avoiding looking at me, and the reason is enough for me to hate myself.

Joanne and Hunter are with her. They chat with my mom for a bit, which leaves me unsettled and bothered, then hug and leave.

Mom looks up and catches me staring. Her eyes are so sad and full of conflict that it stings, even from across the lawn. She offers me a small smile, and I take a second before dropping my tense shoulders and making my way over.

I take her into my arms and kiss the top of her head. “How are you holding up?”

“Better than the weather,” she replies with a muted laugh, then shivers. I hug her tighter and catch Joanne hugging her kids before getting into her car and driving away.

“I can’t believe she had the nerve to show her face here.”

“Chi-Chi,” Mom says softly, but with no less warning. She weaves her tiny arms under my coat and around my waist, pressing her cheek to my chest. “Let it go. The anger. It’s ancient history now.”