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“Max.” Scott scanned the mess. “What the hell is wrong?”
“Nothing.” Max waved his bottle of Jameson around the room. “Just cleaning fucking house. Almost done.”
“You call this cleaning?”
“You got a problem with my methods?”
Scott eyed him irritably. “As a matter of fact, I do. How ‘bout you do this when you’re sober.”
“Fuck sober.” Max turned and studied some stuff on another shelf, as if debating which one to send flying next. Sure enough, a second later, he reached for a statue, his raw green eyes blazing with intent.
Shit. Scott dashed over and grabbed his wrist. “No.”
Max bristled.
“Max. Just stop.”
“But I’m not fucking done.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve done enough.”
Max’s angry expression wavered, as if Scott’s words had struck a chord. He frowned and looked away. “You’re right… I have.”
But he wasn’t talking about the mess. Of that, Scott was positive. He was talking about Sean, and most likely how he’d treated him. Thick guilt suddenly surrounded Max like a shroud.
Scott sighed. “Come on. Let’s move this party to the kitchen.”
“Good idea.” Max nodded. “Could use another beer.”
“Because, clearly, you’re not drunk enough.”
“Nope. Still standing.” But as Max ambled toward the door, his clumsy strides gave him away. He was a whole lot more wasted than Scott thought.
Scott eyed the big-ass bottle Max clutched by the neck. A fifth, half empty. Had he drank all that tonight?
Max grunted, clipping the doorframe with his shoulder as he left.
Scott shook his head. Yes. Yes, he had.
Groaning under his breath, he followed Max into the kitchen. He just wanted to leave and go see Tad.
Max plopped his bottle of whiskey on the counter and opened the fridge. “Want one?” he mumbled, grabbing a beer.
“Nah. Gonna be driving.”
Max slid him a glazed look. “Tad’s?”
“Yup.” Scott gestured to his duffle. “Sleeping over.”
“Nice,” Max muttered. He grabbed the bottle opener, then scowled as he fumbled to work it.
Scott frowned. “You sure you need that?”
The cap went flying. “Positive.”
Max tipped up his beer and downed nearly half of it.
Scott watched him, heavyhearted. His best friend was miserable. Was trying to rebury a part of himself that Sean had managed to awaken. Which forced Scott to wonder; maybe he shouldn’t’ve encouraged Sean, shouldn’t’ve incited him to pursue Max at all. Maybe by making Sean think he could win him, Scott just fucked both guys over bigger than shit.
His frown deepened. He’d just wanted his friend to be happy, and Sean had continuously proved capable. But Sean was never the issue. The issue was always Max. If only his head and heart could call a truce.
Max swiped up his Jameson again, putting a bottle in each hand, and gestured toward the stairwell with his chin. “I’m gonna… head downstairs… You have fun over at Tad’s.” But before he could take more than three freaking steps, his whole body listed to the right.
“Whoa—Jesus, Max.” Scott quickly grabbed his arm.
Max paused to catch his balance. “Damn… Faulty flooring.”
“Uh huh… Like your faulty fucking ass.”
Max’s brows furrowed. He looked at Scott. “You sassing me, bro?”
“You gonna do something about it if I am?”
Max narrowed his eyes, then swayed against Scott’s hold. “You bet your sassy ass I am… Just lemme finish my beer real quick.”
Scott sighed and looked at the ceiling as Max downed the rest of his ale. But when Max turned to get another, Scott flat-out stopped him. “No fucking way. You’re already wasted.”
“Not nearly enough. Still standing, remember?”
“Max. You’ve got work in the morning. You’re gonna have a wicked hangover.”
“Good.” He tipped up his Jameson next.
“Really? You’re gonna be like that?” Scott pursed his lips. “Fine. Then I’m taking your drunk butt to bed.”
Max frowned. “You mean the basement.”
“No, I mean your fucking bed. So you’ll be lying down when you finally pass out.”
Max laughed incredulously. “Gee, thanks, Mom. But I think I can take care of my—whoa.” He stumbled forward as Scott marched him from the kitchen. “Scott. What the fuck?” He dug in his heels.
But Scott wasn’t playing, not even in the slightest, and had Max to the staircase in seconds. Pausing at the base, he turned to his friend. “You taking these on your own, or am I throwing you over my shoulder?”
Max stiffened, then glowered. “You’re such a dick.”
Scott grinned and ushered him upward. “Love you, too.”
* * * * *
Sean pulled up in front of Max’s house just a little before nine thirty, cut off the engine, then pocketed his keys. God, he was nervous, but also really excited. Couldn’t wait to finally be close to Max again.
His heart pounded anxiously. He wished it’d calm down. After all, this little visit was going to be quick. Probably over and done within minutes. He drew in a breath and tried to relax, but all he could see was Max’s face.
Shit. He hoped Max wouldn’t be mad, and that he’d see this short-lived social call for what it was. A small, friendly gesture lacking any ulterior motives. He probably wouldn’t even go past the front stoop.
