“I do want to talk about it, Aubrey. I really do. Just not right now. My head sort of feels like it’s going to explode.” She gave me a wry smile that I returned.

“This is definitely a head-explosion zone,” I agreed.

“So, Maxx . . .” Renee’s voice trailed off, letting me fill in the gaps for her.

“He asked me to go horseback riding with him,” I told her, grimacing.

“Horseback riding? Since when are you Annie Oakley?” Renee scoffed.

I rolled my eyes. “Since never. But I told him okay,” I said in a rush, putting the truth out there as quickly as possible.

Renee squeezed my hand again and dropped her head onto my shoulder. “What’s wrong with us?” she asked, giving voice to the very question that had plagued me for months.

“We love too hard and too recklessly, I think,” I murmured.

“Let’s just hope we can walk away in one piece this time,” Renee said softly. And we sat there, supporting each other as heartbroken friends do.

I was pacing holes in the living room carpet when Maxx finally arrived. I opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, not letting him inside.

“Ready?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Ready,” I said, giving him a thin smile. Maxx ran his hands through his hair, and I found myself really looking at him. My misgivings kicked up a notch as I took in his appearance. He was wearing worn jeans that hung off his narrow hips. His chest strained under a red button-down shirt. He had rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. His hair fell in haphazard curls across his forehead.

He was thinner. His face more angular, his cheekbones more pronounced. His eyes were clear and steady. Absent was the bloodshot haze I had been used to seeing. He looked happy. Excited, even. It was a look that could prove lethal to my wishy-washy heart.

Because this was a new Maxx. Someone I had only seen in glimpses between withdrawals. Someone who had shown his face only briefly while I had loved and been consumed by him.

A stable Maxx. Calm. Competent. Together.

Angry, bitter Aubrey wondered if this, too, was an act. And if it wasn’t, I wondered how long it could last. Enough with the negativity! I chastised myself.

This Maxx smiled with shy reservation, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should or not. He spoke with consideration of his words. He thought before he acted. He was so completely different that it was hard to believe he was the same person. The connection we had always shared was still there, yet it strained and stretched in this strange new world we coexisted in.

We walked to his car silently.

“Do you want to listen to the radio?” he asked, fumbling with the ancient dials on his dashboard once we were buckled in.

“I don’t care,” I said, situating myself so I could get comfortable on the crunchy leather seats.

Maxx flipped to a rock station and pulled away from the curb in front of my apartment building.

“How are the jobs going?” I asked him, feeling like conversation was required.

“Not bad. But they’re mind-numbing and sort of pay the bills.”

“Sort of ?” I asked.

“Well, they don’t pay as much as I wish they would,” Maxx said with a hint of bitterness.

I didn’t know what else to say. I had never struggled so much with small talk before. Perhaps it was because there were a million things I felt I should be saying. Things I should ask him.

Should I talk to him about rehab? Should I ask him how he was getting along now that he had been discharged? Should I ignore the topic altogether and for just one day pretend that that particular darkness never had a place in our lives?

“I was thinking the other day how little I really know about you,” Maxx said suddenly, surprising me.

“What?”

Maxx shrugged. “You know some about my parents and you’ve met Landon, but I don’t know anything about where you came from. And I don’t think we’ve ever really talked about your family before. Not once in all the time we spent together did you ever tell me about your parents or your sister. The one that died.”

“Well, that’s the only one I had,” I retorted.

Maxx shook his head. “See, I didn’t even know that. What’s wrong with me that I never thought to ask you such fundamental questions like how many siblings you have or what your parents are like?”

I knew he was right. As deep and wild as things had been between us, it was startling to realize that I had never shared such simple things with him. On one hand, he knew things about me that no one else did. They were the sorts of things that could only be wrenched out of someone at moments of absolute vulnerability. I had opened up to him about my feelings of guilt and grief about Jayme. But when it came to the little things boyfriends and girlfriends knew about each other, we were completely deficient.

It felt strange to backtrack now. Particularly since we were no longer playing those roles in each other’s lives. I wasn’t sure I wanted to give him those tidbits of truth. I didn’t know what purpose it would serve. I was adamant that I wasn’t here with him in order to pursue a continued connection, yet I was here all the same.

Would it hurt to let him in . . . just a little bit?

“I guess we haven’t. My parents aren’t really a subject I like to talk about. We haven’t had much of a relationship since my sister, Jayme, died. They blamed me. I blamed me. It worked out better to have as little to do with each other as possible.” I kept emotion out of my voice. I was blandly neutral, giving nothing away.

He didn’t badger me for details; he just let that piece of information sit there between us. “What was she like? Your sister? Was she like you? Too smart for her own good?” Maxx asked, shooting me a sideways smile.

I stiffened instantly, not exactly prepared to dive into this particular subject. “Umm . . .” I began, my throat feeling suddenly tight.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” Maxx said softly, his smile slipping.

And then, just like before, I was talking. Without even realizing what I was doing, I opened myself up a little bit more. And it felt good. I enjoyed sharing my memories of Jayme. I needed to.

“No. She and I were nothing alike. Even though we looked alike, our personalities couldn’t have been more different. I’ve always been a little school-crazy. Good grades and getting into a decent college were really important to me.”

“Big surprise that you were always the overachiever. You were probably on the debate team and ran for school council, too,” Maxx deduced, chuckling.

“I was not on the debate team,” I huffed with feigned indignation.

Maxx made a point to control his laughter. “I’m sorry. I won’t make that assumption again.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music. “But I totally called the school council. What were you? The president?”

“Vice president,” I muttered under my breath, grumbling but without venom.

“I knew it,” Maxx said, smacking his hand against the steering wheel.

“Well, Jayme was always more interested in hanging out with friends and going out, even though our parents were pretty strict. I had a ten o’clock curfew until I left for college,” I told him.

“Wow. I never had a curfew. But that’s because David never gave a shit where I was or what I was doing. Sometimes I would wish like hell he’d tell me to be home by a certain time. Then I would know that someone cared if I ever came back at all,” Maxx said, his smile now brittle.

My heart couldn’t help but twist a bit at the thought of Maxx growing up unloved and alone. So much of that sense of disconnectedness had formed the person he eventually became. The guy who had thrown himself into the club scene in an effort to belong somewhere. The guy who used drugs to stop feeling anything at all.