Page 85 of In Your Wake

The Last Word

Mitch

Morning comes late, or at least it feels that way. The sun peeks through the trees, through the canvas into the tent, and I stir, my eyes so hard to open it’s like they’re glued shut. Outside, people talk over the sounds of metal coffee cups being clinked by spoons. Someone pokes the fire, adding some logs that make it crackle. The scent of bacon makes my mouth water and my brain wake up.

What happened last night between Max and me is like a dream. Lofty, airy and not quite real.

Her side of the bed is empty. She’s gone. Her sleeping bag, already rolled up, sits at the foot of the mattress with her backpack. She’s ready to leave. To return home. To forget about all of this. As I should be.

I roll over, tucking my pillow under me, and hear her laugh mixed in with all the other sounds. I didn’t hear her leave this morning, didn’t feel the mattress dip. Then again, everything that happened after the woods is a blur.

I scratch my balls; my stiff boxers tucked into my pocket remind me it actually happened. All of it. This time I didn’t dream it.

After a long stretch, I rub my face and throw my feet over the edge of the bed. A twinge of pain shoots from my hip down my leg thanks to this half-deflated mattress. I get dressed in new clothes, shoving my dirty ones into my duffel bag, then with a deep breath, I step outside to face the day.

And Max.

What the hell will happen between us now? Will she want to talk about last night? Will she hate my guts?

In the kitchen area, I find her sitting across from Bethany, heads close in a hushed conversation. One that stops the minute I walk up.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice scratchy from sleep.

There’s a pause. The women stare at me, Bethany’s gaze filled with questions, and my chest tightens. Would Max have told her what happened?

“Sleep well?” Bethany asks, her hazel eyes hinting at something, and she hands me a cup for my coffee.

“Pretty good. How about you?” I reply, filling up my cup. My gaze darts to Maxine’s, and though Bethany answers, I don’t listen. I’m too preoccupied with how Max avoids making eye contact with me.

I was prepared to face this. I’d considered there would likely be some tension between us. Loads of tension, actually. But I’m picking up way more from Max. It feels like regret and makes my stomach roil.

Bethany goes quiet, likely sensing the unease between Max and me.

“I’m going to go wake Spence up,” she says with a soft smile. “Wouldn’t want him sleeping all day.”

Once she’s gone, I take her seat next to Maxine, who practically recoils as if I’m covered in shit.

“Morning breath?” I ask with a laugh, but she ignores me, focusing on her coffee instead. “Is everything okay?”

She side-eyes me, then offers me a tight smile. “Sure, never better.”

“About what happened last night—”

“Shh,” she hisses, glancing at our friends. They’re at least twenty feet away, but she seems worried they’ll overhear us. “Would you keep it down?”

“Weren’t you just telling Bethany about it?” I ask, pointing a thumb over my shoulder.

“I wasn’t.”

I tilt my head. “The two of you were huddled like gossiping teenagers.”

A frown creases her face. “And? We were talking about other stuff. Why would I tell anyone what happened?”

I ignore how her disgusted expression stings. “For real, Max, what did happen?”

She shrugs, dropping her chin. “I’m not too sure. But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ever?”