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“Will you stop?”

I stare at him blankly. “Stop what?”

“This.” His grip tightens. “Acting like you don’t give a shit about anything.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Bullshit.”

I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me.

“Stop acting like I’m some stranger to you. Stop acting like we never…”

“We never what, Milo?” I snap.

His mouth closes just as his beautiful brown eyes sadden to the point that it physically hurts to look at them.

“What?” I bite out again. “We’re nothing.”

The words hurt so much coming out that I make myself repeat them.

“We’re nothing.”

When he still doesn’t let go of me, I slap his hands away.

“The sooner you realize that, the better.”

I take a step back, slipping behind the blank mask I’ve perfected over the past year.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need another beer.”

I turn away from him and start walking.

“You don’t drink, Max.”

My steps falter.

“You don’t drink,” he repeats behind me, louder this time. “Because you hate not being in control.”

I go completely still.

“You hate not knowing exactly what you’re saying or doing. You hate the thought of waking up the next morning and not remembering every detail of the night before.”

Don’t.

“Because whenever your dad brought your mom home after one of her binges, she could never remember where she’d been or who she’d been with. And you swore you’d never put yourself in that position. Never let yourself lose control like that.” His voice softens. “That’s why you don’t drink, Max. And you know how I know that?”

I stare straight ahead.

“Because we used to be friends. Because I used to know everything about you.”

I shut my eyelids.

“And then one day, you just…” His voice cracks slightly. “You pushed me away.”

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek.

“I went from knowing everything about you to having this wall between us, preventing me from knowing anything at all. And I still don’t understand why.”