chapter

thirty-six

aubrey

i broke several speed limits getting to Maxx’s apartment. My heart was beating angrily in my chest. I was feeling out of control as I pulled up across the street from the Quikki Mart.

I grabbed my purse and ran down the narrow alleyway. I took the steps two at a time, practically running over Maxx’s meth-head neighbor, who was going down as I was heading up.

“Whoa, lady, where’s the fire?” he asked, scratching at a sore on the side of his mouth. I didn’t bother to answer as I rushed past him.

My hands shook as I fumbled with my keys, finally locating the one I was looking for.

What did I hope to find by coming here? I asked myself as I made several unsuccessful attempts to unlock the door.

Proof that he lied? Proof that he was being honest? Confirmation that I wasn’t a total idiot for finally starting to trust him again?

I finally unlocked the door and went inside, noting that the place was dark and it was obvious he wasn’t home. I turned on the lights and stood in the middle of his living room, wondering what I should do next.

What was I even looking for? I didn’t honestly think that he’d leave a note saying “Out doing drugs, be back later.”

I marched purposefully back to his bedroom, throwing open the door with enough force that it bounced off the wall. I was raging on suspicion. These feelings were dangerous. I looked around, but nothing stood out.

I walked across the room and sat down on his bed, my heart in jagged pieces at my feet. I stared up at his painting of us, which now hung above his bed, wanting to trust that he wouldn’t throw away the possibility of that future.

Because Maxx loved me. I loved him. That should be enough for me to believe in him. But it was hard to overlook what I had seen and heard tonight: the painting for the club. April’s innocent admission that she had seen Maxx at the club. The growing concern over his attitude and unwillingness to tell me about his mysterious job.

I got to my feet and walked to the center of his room. I clasped my hands behind my neck, doing a slow circle as I took everything in. Nothing looked different. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t something hidden. Something he didn’t want me to see.

Compelled by distrust, I started opening his dresser drawers, rooting around in T-shirts and boxer shorts. My fingers clawed their way through his clothes, looking for the source of my unrest. I felt a momentary pang of guilt for violating his space like that.

What else am I supposed to do?

When I didn’t find anything there, I began to rummage through his bedside table, searching. Dreading what I thought I might find. But as I continued my search, coming up empty with every drawer and crevice I searched, my heart began to feel lighter.

I started to chastise myself for not giving Maxx the benefit of the doubt. I felt angry at how quickly I had rushed to the worst possible conclusion.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Aubrey Duncan,” I muttered under my breath.

As I began to talk myself into leaving, I ran my hands along the spines of books lining his shelf. Old, tattered copies of Tolstoy and Dickens. Some Jane Austen and Robert Browning thrown in for good measure.

Then I saw it. The white envelope was wedged inside a worn copy of Jane Eyre, barely poking out of the top. I didn’t really notice it at first, but something drew me back to it.

I pulled the dusty book off the crowded bookcase and carefully opened it to where the envelope was squished between the pages.

It was lumpy, and I could tell something was inside of it. I tore it open. Several small, round objects fell out, scattering across the floor. I bent over to retrieve them and froze, my fingers less than an inch from the offending objects.

Because it wasn’t empty.

It was full of tiny, hateful pieces of betrayal.

I was staring at what I was sure was the source of Maxx’s absence tonight.

Drugs.

I looked up at my painting over his bed, numb with the realization that that seedling of trust that had only just started to grow would never be able to take root. It started to die a painful death on Maxx’s bedroom floor.

I picked the bag up with a shaking hand. I noticed that the envelope was still sealed. The pills hadn’t been touched.

Maybe they were from before. My thoughts echoed with excuses and denial.

Then why were they still here? Why hadn’t he gotten rid of them?

I wrapped my fingers around the pills I gathered off the floor, holding them tight in my fist, and walked over to his dresser. With my other hand, I picked up the framed photograph I had given him and stared down at the innocent face of Maxx as a child.

I thought for the thousandth time what his life would have been like had he not been tragically abandoned by the people in that picture. I knew you couldn’t control death, but it was hard not to rail against a universe that orphaned two small boys and left them to fend for themselves.

I’m trying really hard not to be that guy anymore. The one who hurt you. Who disappointed you. Will you let me be that guy for you? Please?

Maxx’s desperate pleas bounced around my head, goading me with their dishonesty. In a fit of rage I dropped the pills and stomped on them, digging my heel into the floor. The pills gave a satisfying crunch as I smashed them to dust.

When I was finished I looked down at them, wishing I could feel something. But I wasn’t entirely sure what I was even supposed to feel. All I knew was I needed to face the man who had obliterated my heart—again.

And I knew exactly where I had to go.

I walked back through the apartment, slamming the door and heading down the stairs. Once back in my car, I sat there for a moment trying to gather my tattered thoughts.

I wouldn’t curl into a ball and cry about my betrayal. I was going to get answers.

And that meant going to the club.

chapter

thirty-seven

maxx

three hours earlier

after Marco left, I wasn’t sure what I should do. I pulled out my phone and dialed Landon’s number.

“Hey, Maxx,” he said after answering on the second ring. It was nice not having long conversations with his voice mail anymore.

“Hey, how about I come by for a bit and we can work on some random shit in the garage?” I suggested. The club didn’t open for a long time yet, and I couldn’t sit around my apartment thinking about my horrible choices.

“Yeah, okay. I’ve got a scooter I’ve been putting together if you want to help me,” Landon offered.

“Sounds good. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

I absently pulled an envelope of pills out of my pocket. I had begun carrying it around with me. In my mind, I thought of it as both a test and reassurance. If I didn’t succumb to the urge, I’d be able to go to bed feeling like I had won a small victory. But I also liked knowing they were there if things got too tough. If the effort to live this life I had been carving out for myself became too much, I had my old friend to fall back on.

It was fucked up. I walked back to my bedroom, pulled out the old copy of Jane Eyre that had been my mother’s, and stuck the envelope inside before putting it back on the shelf.

I’ll throw them out later, I promised myself, not wanting to think about the reasons for not getting rid of them now.

“Pass me the wrench,” I said to Landon, holding my hand out. I was covered in grease, but it felt good to keep my mind busy. It kept me from thinking too hard about exactly what I was going to do later that night.