Chapter 16 Max

Chapter 16

Max

There's a feeling that comes over a person when they're waiting for someone to walk through a door and they finally do. At a party or a date. It's a moment of unrestrained elation, something almost indescribable, and yet we've all had that moment—waiting impatiently, anxious with nerves, wondering if maybe they might not walk through the door at all. Maybe they won't come. Maybe they changed their mind.

And then the door cracks open.

You look up.

Your eyes fixate on their feet first, eager to get a glimpse of that well-worn sneaker you bought for them or their favorite jeweled high heel. Your gaze trails upward, your stomach pitching with triumph, with awe, with thank-fucking-hell when you finally settle on the face you were waiting for.

Ella stares back at me with a similar expression, then pops her shoulders a little. A self-deprecating shrug, as if to say, "Here I am."

She came.

She's actually here and I can't bite back the slow-stretching smile as our eyes continue to tangle from twenty feet away.

"Do you want to dance?"

I flinch, forgetting there's a hand pinching my arm. A high-pitched voice floats to my ear and severs the connection, and it's not the voice I'm longing to hear. The girl beside me smells like pickling jars and floral perfume, but I miss the scent of citrus and honeysuckles.

"Not really." I shrug her hand off my arm. I hadn't even noticed it was there because I was too busy looking for someone I was never expecting to find.

I'm about to step forward when McKay tugs me back, his opposite arm slung around Brynn's shoulders. "Check it out, man," he says, scrolling through his text messages. "Party at Morrison's after the dance. He's got a keg."

"It's going to be a blast!" Brynn chimes in. "Morrison's parents live right on the lake. They're setting off fireworks later." She clasps both hands over her heart and glances up at my brother with a dreamy expression. "Think of how pretty the water will look painted in all those colors. How romantic!"

There aren't many things I'd rather do less. "Great. Drop me off at home on your way over so I can avoid that." When my focus pulls back to Ella, she's already been cornered by one of McKay's basketball buddies, Jon. He's leaning forward, whispering something in her ear. One meaty hand lifts to her waistline as her knuckles go white around the punch cup in her fist.

I'm on the move.

"Max!" Libby calls after me. "Where are you going?"

I ignore her. She's not my date so I don't feel bad about it. In three seconds, I'm worming my way between Ella and the basketball douche. "Hey, Jon. I heard they're giving away free beer at the punch stand. All ages. Tonight only."

Jon's eyes widen. "Sweet." He steps away, giving Ella a wink before he vanishes into the crowd.

I remove the punch from Ella's hand, set it down, then take the opportunity to circle my arms around her waist and tug her flush against me.

"Max." Ella's palms plant on my chest, though she doesn't push me away. "What are you doing? They never give out beer to minors. And he was just telling me about alley-oops." She feigns interest.

"I'm being a good friend and saving you."

"Saving me from an innocent conversation?" She glances up at me with only her eyes, long lashes fluttering thoughtfully. "You know me so well."

A grin spreads as my hands dip to her hips, holding loosely while our feet begin to move. Ella blinks away from my gaze but doesn't pull free. Her fingers splay against the front of my chest before she slowly glides them to my biceps and lets them rest there.

I swallow. Her touch is soft and hesitant, like she knows exactly where to put her hands but doesn't know if she should. "I didn't think you were coming tonight," I tell her, my voice hitching slightly. "I'm impressed."

We keep moving, keep swaying. The song changes to something slower, a sleepy country song. She glances across the dance floor toward my table. "I didn't mean to steal you from your date."

"She's not my date."

"I don't think she got that memo."

"I think she's got it now."

Ella's eyes lift to mine again. Tentative, unsure. Her hands are on my arms and my hands are on her hips, and she smells like citrus trees in the springtime. There's a feeling in my chest. It's the same feeling I had when I was in her bedroom that night, when she knelt between my legs and brushed careful fingers across my face, patching more than just a head wound.

On cue, her attention flicks to the butterfly bandage still taped to my temple. "How's your head?"

"Healing." My heart feels like it's healing, too, but I don't say that.

"I'm wearing a dress." Ella scrunches up her nose like the notion is detestable, then chuckles under her breath. "I haven't worn a dress in years."

"I like it." Smiling, I take a step back, pluck one of her hands from my arm, and motion to spin her. She's caught off guard at first, stumbling in her peach heels, but she follows my lead and does a clunky pirouette before tumbling against my torso.

When she pushes herself up, her cheeks are flushed and a sheepish smile pulls. "Sorry. I told you I can't dance."

"It's all about the rhythm and the glide," I remind her.

"Right. Because that worked like a charm when it came to stone skipping."

I twirl her again and it's marginally more graceful. "You'll get the hang of it."

"Dancing or stone skipping?"

"Both."

A slackening steals her shoulders and a lightness overrides the uncertainty in her eyes. She relaxes with a weighty exhale as my right hand laces with her left hand and we find a mutual rhythm. Ella glances down at our feet before peering back up at me, still clinging to that smile. "I look like a giant carrot," she says.

"I like carrots." I spin her and this time it's effortless. "How's the crayon doing?"

"Healthy and thriving."

Spin.

"Have you been watering it?" I ask.

Twirl.

"Yes. I even moved it to my desk for prime sunlight."

The song changes again. The music picks up with a livelier beat as "Gold" by The Ivy spills from two giant speakers propped on the stage. Our feet move faster. I spin her a few more times and watch as a sheen of sweat glistens on her hairline and multicolored strobes sprinkle gemstones in her eyes. Her hands are curled around my biceps again, this time with conviction. She's looser, more comfortable. Our chests press together, and when our eyes meet through the flashing lights, I decide to dip her.

My hand snakes around her back as I latch onto her hand to hold her upright.

And when I dip her backward…she squeals.

It's an organic burst of joy, her leg lifting, her hair coasting behind her in a mass of red ribbons. She squeezes my hand in a deathlike grip before I swing her back up and she spills forward, collapsing against me in a heap of laughter.

I'm grinning like I'm drunk on something. My lips are stretched wide, teeth flashing, cheeks aching. Both of my arms wrap around her and I hold her to me as we continue to dance.

"I can't believe you didn't drop me," she says, hips swaying, legs in motion.

"Really? I thought you had more faith in my arms. You're always looking at them."

"Ugh." She gouges her fingernails into said arms. "You're imagining things. Your arms are uninspiring at best."

"We'll see about that whenever we finally decide to arm wrestle."

"We can right now. Let's settle this once and for all."

I shake my head. "I'm not bored."

After twirling her in another successful spin, I take my chances and dip her again. This time her ankle gives out, not expecting the maneuver, and she clings to my biceps with a white-knuckled grip, her leg flying out to wrap around my thigh for steadiness. I'm too busy catching her to fixate on our precariously tangled limbs. My heart stutters for a moment before I pull her into an upright position, ensuring her balance is restored.

We both pause, breathless, faces mere inches apart.

And then she smacks me on the chest.

"What the hell, Max?" A big smile spreads, overriding the outrage in her voice. "You almost dropped me."

"I would never drop you." Her leg slides down mine until her heel is planted back on the dance floor and our pace slows to a steadier rhythm. "I'm good at catching things, too."

It's not long before Brynn rushes toward us, pulling McKay with her as he continues to text on his phone one-handed.

"Ella!" she shrills over the thundering music. "Oh, my God, I'm so glad you're here."

Reluctantly, I release Ella as Brynn slithers between us, a beam of hot pink. Ella's eyes flick to mine, her smile still gloriously intact, before her gaze pans to Brynn.

"I'm here," she says, her hair knotted and dance-mussed.

Brynn shoots me a sideways glance. "Do you mind if I steal your girl?" She follows it up with a wink.

My hands slide in my pockets. "She's not my girl, Brynn. We were just dancing."

"Guess you don't mind, then." She grabs Ella by both hands and flails their arms around. "Woo!"

I can't help but laugh and Ella can't, either. I watch the girls bop and sway, hair flying, sequins glittering with grins to match.

McKay sidles up beside me and bumps my shoulder with his. "You looked like you were having fun."

"I was."

We both glance over at Libby at the same time. She's dancing with Jon and another group of girls. I wait for McKay to say something scathing. To bust my balls or give me shit.

But he surprises me.

"Glad to see it."

We share a soft look and I bump his shoulder right back.

Another hour rolls by, filled with dancing, laughter, and tropical punch. McKay brought a flask to strengthen his drink, which worries me because of our father's history with substance abuse. I hate that he needs alcohol to have fun.

I sure as hell don't need it. I'm already soaring, high on a natural buzz, watching Ella let go and set herself free in the school gymnasium, her hair damp with sweat, mascara running, and eyes more vibrant than I've ever seen them.

As she gifts me with another smile, I zone in on a smattering of freckles along the bridge of her nose. I've never really noticed them before. They resemble a faint constellation, little stars that only come alive when you take the time to truly look.

I frown.

It's then I realize I might be in trouble, because I shouldn't be noticing things like that.

Legs? Sure. Tits? Of course.

Nose freckles?

Doomed.

***

It's a short ride back to the house where we make a pit stop to drop me and Ella off before the kegger. I'm smooshed in the back seat of the truck between Libby and Ella, while Brynn sits up front with McKay and details every second of the last few hours. She's driving, since McKay was drinking and also because it's been her "biggest dream in life" to finally drive our junky truck.

The enthusiastic pitch of her voice fades out because I'm too aware of my body pressed to Ella's on my left. Arms flushed, thighs smashed together, her bare knee knocking with mine every time the tires skim over a pothole. Long hair tickling my shoulder, the scent of it overpowering the smell of stale cigarette smoke and old leather interior.

Her hands are fisted tightly in her lap as her giant purse rests between her feet, and I catch the way she glances up at me every now and then in my periphery. The evening's adrenaline has dampened, turning her quiet, and it's been a valiant effort to keep my palms clasped around my kneecaps. All I want to do is reach for her hand and lace our fingers together, which is borderline concerning. I don't know why I want to do that.

When we pull into the driveway, Ella shuffles out of the truck first, her heels crunching atop gravel. "Thanks for the ride," she says, already motioning to take off across the street. "See you guys on Monday."

I slide out behind her, offering the group a hurried goodbye, then slam the door shut and chase after Ella, who is halfway to her house. "Hey, wait up." The truck pulls out of the driveway and guns it down the quiet street until all I hear are high heels clapping along the pavement and singing cicadas. "Ella."

She falters, glancing over her shoulder at me. "What's up?"

"You're running away."

"I'm not running. I just thought…" She slows her feet, glancing at my house across the road, then back at me. "I thought the night was over."

My eyes pan skyward. The moon hangs high, a silver glow in a stretch of black, and the stars are twinkling and bright. The dance might be over, but the night isn't. "Let's go to the bluffs."

This brings her to a full stop. Ella pivots to fully face me, the breeze stealing a few pieces of her hair and tossing them across her face. "The bluffs?"

"Yeah. I promised you stargazing and it's the perfect night for it."

She blinks. "Stargazing."

"Why not?"

"I'm…" Squeezing the strap of her purse, she peers down at her dress and high heels. "Well, look at me. I'd love nothing more than for this dress to be stripped off of me and discarded on my bedroom floor."

Her eyes pop.

My throat works as a flickering of heat zips across my chest.

"Yikes." She forces out a laugh and looks away. "That came out remarkably suggestive. And now I'm mortified."

I school my brain to conjure up less indecent thoughts because friends don't picture friends naked. That would be rude and inappropriate.

When I don't respond because my brain is being rude and inappropriate despite my redirection attempts, Ella clears her throat and steps toward me. "You know what? It's fine. We can be fancy for the stars tonight. This will be the only time I wear this dress, so I might as well make it last."

Elation trickles through me. "Yeah?"

"Sure. Let's do it."

A smile tugs at my lips when I think about spending more time with her. Just us, one on one. I can't even remember when I preferred the company of another person over my own solitude, but it's been years. McKay used to be that person. "Great," I say, trying not to sound too eager. "I'm going to check on my dad real quick and grab a blanket. Do you mind waiting out here?"

Her gaze drifts to my house across the street, settling on the side window where a yellowy light glows from behind the makeshift curtains. She looks at me, blinks. "No problem. I'll change my shoes."

I can tell she wants to join me, but that's out of the question. We're finally making progress in the friendship department, and the last thing I want to do is scare her away when she fully comprehends the disaster that lies on the other side of that piss-poor siding.

Sending her a quick nod, I jog toward my house and slip in through the front door. My father took sleeping pills before the dance, so he's probably passed out cold. I grab an old quilt off the back of the sofa before calling out to him. "Dad?"

To my surprise, he answers. "In here, son."

When I reach his bedroom, I spot him sitting up in bed with a book in his lap. "Hey," I say. "Thought you were sleeping."

"I was." He stares off into nothing before glancing my way. His cloudy eyes defog as he gives me a brief once-over. "You look handsome, Maxwell."

"Thanks. The Fall Fling dance was tonight."

"Did you take a pretty girl?"

I think of Ella dancing in my arms, looking stunning in her sunny-orange dress, her eyes and smile just as bright. "Yeah, I did."

"That makes your old man proud. I should get some pictures for the wall."

Once upon a time, we had walls brimming with photographs, canvases, and mismatched frames. Memories lined the plaster. Fishing trips, camping adventures, and family barbecues were displayed in every hallway and love-filled room.

Now the hallways are empty, the rooms barren and cold.

Even saying we have walls is a stretch.

Before I can respond, my father sits up straighter and his attention snags on my butterfly bandage. "What happened to your head?" he asks, tone laced with alarm.

Swallowing, I lift my hand to the covered wound. He doesn't remember that night. He has no recollection of smashing a lamp to the side of my head and tackling me to the floor in the exact spot I'm standing in. "I fell down by the lake," I lie. "I was running and tripped over some hedges."

His face screws up with distress. "I worry about you, Max. You're always running off alone and I fear one day you'll never come back."

A dark sadness rolls through me as I step backward out of the room. "I'll always come back, Dad. Don't worry." What I want to add is: I have nowhere else to go .

But I don't.

"You should give her flowers."

I hesitate, stopping in place before making my exit. "Flowers?"

"For the girl you brought to the dance," he says. "Girls like flowers. Your mother enjoyed white roses because they symbolized eternal loyalty." His silvery-blue eyes glass over for a beat before he picks up the book in his lap and settles against the shoddy headboard with a sigh. "I preferred to get her red roses. Maybe that's why she left me."

I stare at him for a few breaths before scratching at my hair and retreating from the room. "Good night, Dad."

"Good night."

Moments later, I'm in the middle of the street with an ivory quilt bunched underneath my arm. Ella fidgets near the side of the road, toeing at a patch of grass, adorned in a fresh pair of sneakers. She's still wearing her dress. "Sorry for the wait," I tell her. "Ready?"

I watch her eyes pan to my house before she nods. "Ready."

We make it to the bluffs after walking in comfortable silence, and I lead Ella to a small clearing atop a grassy hill underneath a sky of stars. My heart fumbles at how romantic the scene feels, despite my original intent. Something has shifted between us, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. It's alarming, exciting…unanticipated. It's the last thing I ever wanted, and yet I seem to be chasing the feeling head-on, caught in a whirlwind of new emotions.

I glance around at the little oasis as grass smashes beneath my feet, still damp from recent rainfall. The horizon blends dark earth with a deeper blue sky, and everything looks so… magical . I've been here a hundred times and it never felt like anything more than nature splashed with starlight.

The difference is I've never been here with her.

My throat feels tight as I inch forward and mutter, "Come on. I'll lay the blanket out over here."

"Wait." Ella snatches my wrist, stopping me, her eyes filled with the ancient glow of the moon. Letting out a sigh, she straightens and lifts her chin. "I will stargaze with you in my orange dress, Max Manning, but only under one condition."

"Okay. Anything."

She lets go of my wrist, glances up at the sky, then turns back to face me. "Promise me that this is not a date."

A smile blooms. I untuck the quilt from under my arm, drape it out across the grass, and gesture for her to have a seat. "I promise you, Ella Sunbury," I lie through my teeth. "This is not a date."