Rather than it creating space, he takes a step closer to me and grabs both of my wrists and holds them at my sides. “Talk to me,” he demands, his voice still calm. Too calm.

I stare at him defiantly, waiting for him to release his grip and let me go. I know that it’s useless to fight against him. There’s no way I’ll win.

“Ace, talk to me.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity when someone cares about you.”

“YOU DON’T CARE!” I scream. Tears of anger and sadness escape my eyes in thick streams. “You don’t care,” I repeat, staring at his face through the blurriness of my tears.

“You’re the one that left, not me.”

“You hated me until my dad died.”

“You left me, Ace. You got scared and left me in the middle of the fucking night. I didn’t hate you. I needed to know what was going on! What was I supposed to do?”

“I wasn’t leaving you, Max! I was freaked out. I was twenty and you were talking about us moving in together, and all I could see was my future becoming what someone else expected of me. I felt like I was going to fail you. What was I supposed to do?”

“I wanted you to work for us!”

“I did, Max! Every day I worked for us! I gave you my freaking virginity!”

“You gave me your virginity!” Max repeats with a dark chuckle. “I gave you my fucking heart! You didn’t break me when you left—you destroyed me.”

“You gift wrapped your heart six months later for another girl,” I snap.

“What did you expect me to do? You moved across the country! You met someone new.”

“You let me go!” With each word, my volume lessens until it’s nearly a whisper, my tears coming in thicker streams. I’m crying so hard, I’m not sure what Max’s reaction is to my outburst. I’m still attempting to process the revelation myself.

As my body begins to slide down the wall, I feel his arms encircle me, and I welcome the comfort, crying a million tears for what we had, and what we both let go of.

I continue mourning as he holds me on the couch. I hear the soft rumble of his words that are imperceptible over my own grieving. Occasionally, my crying dissipates, and then a new wave hits me, and I cry for Sarah losing her unborn child and for Kitty being sick. I cry about loving Max and not being able to let him go, and for my father dying and not grieving properly when he did. I cry again for the pain that I’ve caused my friends and family, and the relationship that I now have with my mom. Each time a new wave of tears racks my shoulders, Max holds me a little tighter.

When I wake up, the clock on the cable box informs me it’s just before noon. I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but I know it wasn’t long ago, and my head aches with the excruciating pain that comes after you sob as I had.

I look over to see Max asleep on the longer side of the sectional, looking peaceful and content. I stare at him for a moment without the fear of being caught. His face has the shadow of stubble from not shaving for a couple of days, and his hair’s longer than I’ve ever seen it before, making him look slightly less intimidating. My eyes fall to his left hand and trace over the tattoo that’s just as apparent as it was the day we got them. Hers. The word feels like it’s mocking me.

I have to stand up to prevent myself from reaching out and following the contours of his cheekbones like I used to when he was mine and I had that right.

In the kitchen I fill a glass with tap water and rummage through the cabinet that I know they keep medicine in and find something to help with the throbbing in my temples.

The yearning to touch Max returns as I approach the couch and without reason or thought, I slide in beside him, pressing my chest to his.

Quiet murmurs stir me from my sleep, and I know from the giggle that one of the voices is Kendall. I yawn and nestle my face against my pillow, and realize with a jolt that it isn’t my pillow, but Max’s shoulder. My eyes fly open as I recall how I got myself into this compromising position. I remain perfectly still and work to devise a plan to sneak out unnoticed.

Max’s right arm is beneath me. His left, however, is draped around my waist and his hand currently rests on my right butt cheek. Max used to always intertwine our legs while we slept, usually securing his place by hooking his foot around my calf, just as it is currently.

I know Max is a fairly light sleeper, and therefore my chances of getting out undetected are low, but I have to try.

Slowly, I begin to pull my right leg out, causing him to stir nearly instantly when our bare skin pulls free from one another like removing a Band-Aid. In turn, Max tightens his grip on my backside, making me jump and his right arm to flex against my lower back, pulling me even closer to him.

I press my lips together, realizing what a dumb idea my dire need for closeness had been. I should have cuddled with Zeus. At least that wouldn’t have caused me to explain to my ex-boyfriend why he’s about to wake up with me glued to him.

I slowly crane my neck to see if I can see how our legs have repositioned and notice the cranberry colored throw covering part of our legs. I’d been using that blanket last night—on the other end of the couch.

My thoughts of this morning fire back in rapid succession as I retrace my steps and come up with the confident conclusion that I’d left the blanket on the far side of the couch. Meaning that at some point Max had woken up and retrieved it before returning to cuddle with me in this too-small space.

Rather than slowly, I quickly try to pull my leg free, expecting more resistance than what I’m met with, causing my weight to shift backward and reminding me that trying to avoid inevitable and awkward situations like this is useless.

A small scream followed by a rather loud thud caused from me hitting the floor alerts Max, and has his body shoots up from the couch.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking down at where I’m sprawled on the floor.

I nod quickly and climb to my feet, feeling my cheeks heat. “I’m okay.”

“You always have wiggled a lot,” Max says with a lazy smile on his full lips.

I’m not sure how to respond, so I simply nod again, wondering if he was awake through part of my failed escape mission.

“So how was hanging out with Sarah and Hank?” Kendall asks in a cheery tone as she walks in holding two pizza boxes.

My neck snaps to where she’s standing. The trigger for my dire need for snuggling up beside Max last night, hits me.

I sit back on the couch near Max’s feet, no longer feeling steady, and grip the bottom of my pajama shorts, rolling the hem between my thumbs and forefingers. I don’t want to share Sarah’s nightmare. It isn’t mine to share.

“It was…”

“It sucked,” Max says, moving to sit upright. “Some asshole was a total jerk to Ace at the bar last night so she and Sarah came home, but Sarah ended up not feeling well, so Ace had to take care of her.”

I glance at Max, overtly aware that he’s referring to himself as the asshole from the bar, since I hadn’t spoken to anyone other than the girl that was trying to discern if he was my boyfriend.

He looks at me and for the first time since I’ve been back, his face unguarded as he gives me a small smile. “She really helped Sarah a lot. It was a rough night.”

I glance back at my fingers that are now tying themselves in the tassels of the throw blanket.

“That really sucks. I hope she’s okay.”

I try to assure her with a smile, but I can tell with her answering expression she knows something more occurred.

“I figured since you guys were asleep at four in the afternoon it must have been a long night.”

“It is always wise to look ahead, but difficult to look further than you can see.”