40. Max
FORTY
MAX
“Want to talk about it yet?” Nate asks, raising the barbell up from the bench he’s lying on. He’d asked me earlier after commenting on my sour face when I’d decided to tag along to his session after work. I ignored the question then.
My shoulders drop. With the adrenaline no longer riding my body, it feels heavy. “Fuck, I don’t know. Not sure I should or whether I should talk to Rosy first.”
He freezes, then inhales deeply. “What happened? She okay?”
What even is the protocol for shit like this? I’m her…friend, and Nate’s her more-than-friend, which feels like a bitter pill to swallow. So can I even talk to him about how her shit-for-brains boss treated her? Is this some sort of boundary I’m crossing, even if I’m just concerned?
Before I can answer, he drives the bar back up and places it on the rack, then sits up and pulls his phone out.
“She messaged. Dinner will be ready in thirty.” Pocketing it, he stands up and turns to me. “She okay?” he repeats.
“Yeah, she’s okay.” At least I hope she is, but it was hard having to leave her workplace when she asked. “I’ll talk to her at dinner.”
He grunts, then lies back down and finishes off his reps with me spotting him.
The delicious scent of dinner hits me as soon as I open our front door, and my mouth waters.
I shove off my trainers and rush down the hallway.
I round into the open space and abruptly halt.
Bry isn’t the surprise—it’s normal to find him in an apron, towel over his shoulder and concentrating on food.
Nor is it unusual for Noah to be seated at the kitchen island.
It’s Rosy standing beside Bry wearing the cutest striped apron as she helps to dish up dinner.
“You’ve been replaced, Bry. There’s no way you can cook something that smells that good and look as pretty doing it.
It’s settled, Rosy’s moving in with us,” I declare.
Strictly as a friend only, obviously. Friends can think of other friends as pretty.
Girls say that shit to each other all the time.
Right? Leaning over the counter beside Noah, I grab a potato.
A sharp sting has me yanking my hand back. “The fuck? How are you always so good at that?”
“You provide me with enough opportunities for practice.” Bry grins, twirling his tea towel, ready to flick it at me a second time if I try again. Rosy laughs, almost dropping the serving, and Bry reaches out a hand to her. “Here, let me finish this, and you can go sit?”
“I’m really no use to you in here at all, am I?”
At her subdued tone, I frown. Has something else happened? Or is she still bruised from how her boss treated her earlier? How do I even bring that up in conversation to ask her?
I follow as she goes to sit at the table, still wearing her cute apron.
“Hey, Rosy? About earlier, is everything—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she rushes to say, offering me a wooden smile that does nothing to reassure me.
Not worry? Seeing her treated like that was the fucking worst. The rage felt…
uncontrollable, especially when she retreated into herself like that.
She’s fast becoming one of my favourite people; everything about her shines and feels addictive.
Every thought, every smile, every moment of our… friendship is worth being treasured.
Before I can press any further, Nate comes over, two loaded plates in his hands and places one in front of Rosy. He puts the other down at the seat next to her. The seat he then takes.
She avoids looking at me, turning to thank Nate instead.
Noah arrives with another couple of plates, handing one to me. “Not like you to forget your plate.”
“Thanks. I was just checking in with Rosy about something.”
“Everything okay?” Nate asks, his gaze turning hyper-focused as he looks her over.
“Yup,” she emphasises, using that smile I’m not a fan of.
She’s purposely avoiding looking my way; I can feel it.
It’s frustrating, but cute she thinks avoiding me will make me drop the topic.
I will for now, because fuck, I need to eat and I can’t persuade her to talk to me whilst shovelling food in my mouth.
One thing at a time; plus, food helps me to think.
“This is good.” Cutting another wedge of my pie, I slide my fork under it and into my mouth. “So fucking good.”
“There are leftovers you can have for lunch tomorrow. Rosy helped too,” Bry replies, winking at her.
She shakes her head, sighing. “I didn’t. I chopped some things up and nearly ruined it.”
“Best chopped vegetables I’ve ever tasted.” I nod to her, waving a forked potato.
“Are you teasing me?” she bristles, her brows pinching together.
“No, honeybee. It was a bad attempt at a compliment,” I reaffirm, wishing I hadn’t put my foot in it. I know I’m trying too hard to try to make her feel better after the day she’s had. But it’s obviously not working.
She blinks, then nods and focuses back on her plate.
“Stop being weird,” Nate says gruffly, not even bothering to look at me.
“I’m always weird.”
“This is different weird.” This time he rolls his eyes, pointing his fork at me.
“Okay, maybe.” I pause, pressing my lips together. “But I don’t need lunch tomorrow. I’ve still got today’s leftovers in the work fridge,” I tell Bry.
“Are you feeling okay?” Noah asks. “You’ve never missed a meal…”
“What? No, I ate with Rosy. Fuck, imagine not eating a meal?! That’s like not breathing. Wouldn’t my stomach start eating itself?”
“Relax. I was joking.” Noah laughs, patting my back in what I think he means to be a reassuring gesture. But my heart is still pounding a little over the idea of having a self-cannibalising stomach. “You two had lunch together?”
“Um, yeah. Max surprised me at work, and we went to a café.” It almost sounds like a question, as if she’s unsure she should be admitting to it. Does she not want to be seen with me?
“Oh, the place you mentioned with the croissants?” Bry jumps in. “I’d love to give it a go sometime. You’ll need to take me.”
“Sure, yeah. Ah, I can do that,” Rosy agrees, but the hesitancy is still there, so maybe it’s not me. What’s going on in that worried mind of hers?
“That why you’ve been weird all fucking day?” Nate questions me. “Because of lunch? You say something stupid?”
Rosy’s eyes are like lasers piercing into my skin; now I can almost feel all her questions.
“Yes, stupid things were said, but it’s all fine now,” she says before I can.
“No, don’t minimise this. Nothing I said was stupid. Standing up for you will never be stupid. You shouldn’t be spoken to like that,” I declare, my appetite strangely gone as I drop my cutlery and lean back in the chair.
Nate growls, the sound rumbling through his chest as fists clench on the table. Makes my actions earlier feel better; I wasn’t overreacting. If Nate had been in my place, I’m sure as shit fists would have flown.
“Max! Please, just leave it. Peter was right. I should’ve checked in before going out for lunch. I work there; it’s my job to be there,” she pleads, her voice elevating and her eyes wide.
Fuck, that hurt look on her face is the worst. Why does it feel as though she always looks at me like that?
“How often?”
“What?” She turns to Nate.
“Does he talk to you like that? Your boss?”
Rosy shuffles in her seat, and her gaze drops to her plate. She takes a minute before she replies. “He talks to me the way he’s supposed to, the way employers talk to their employees. How he talks to…others.”
My eye twitches; she doesn’t seem confident in her own words.
Noah clears his throat. “No one is reprimanding you. I think we’re just wanting to make sure that you're treated well.” He leans across and places his hand over hers.
Her shoulders drop slightly.
I snort, unable to listen to her make excuses for him. “He’s a fucking bully. He threatened you—”
“Maxi, please.” She cuts me off, her sob filled plea as she says my name slices through my stomach.
“Going to fucking talk to this prick,” Nate curses, his voice hard.
Rosy stands abruptly, and her chair screeches across the floor.
Her hands shake, and she wipes roughly at her tears.
Doesn’t work, though; as soon as she does, more reappear, sliding down her cheeks.
It feels the worst to see her cry…but can’t she see how not okay it is for him to treat her like that?
“No, stop it. None of you is interfering in my life. Because it’s my life.
” She sniffles, and it hurts to see her so torn up over this.
“You can’t all just come barging into my life and make decisions for me.
I’ve lived my life without you all just fine.
I don’t need you coming in and…and changing it all. ”
“That’s not what any of us are trying to do,” Noah says, before the rest of us can say something stupid. “But we care about you, Rosy.”
“Then respect my decision.” She hiccups, her eyes locked on the table rather than looking at any of us. Her lashes glisten, and it tears something up inside me to see her like this.
How do people do it? How do they stand aside and watch someone get emotionally abused and not do anything about it?
I might not have seen much of the interaction between Rosy and her boss, but her body curled in on itself as soon as she saw him, and that was a familiar, automatic reaction. There was nothing one-off about it.
None of us immediately say anything, because how can we?
“Thank you for dinner, Bry. It was really lovely. But I think I’m going to go home. It’s been a long day. I’m tired…” Her stilted words trail off as she nods, unwinding the apron and placing it gently on the back of her chair.
“You’re always welcome, Rosy.”
Nate stands, his chair screeching as she leaves the table.
“No, please? I’m just going to go home and sleep,” she whispers.
The front door thuds with finality behind her.
“Should someone…?” I ask, not really sure what anyone should or shouldn’t be doing right now.
“I don’t know. I think she wants space. Going over there will reinforce that we’re not listening to her.” Bry sighs, reaching across the table to pick up her empty plate, stacking it on his before heading to the kitchen sink.
“Noah can go. You can talk her round to forgiving us,” Nate says. I’m unsure how he thinks that will work.
“I think I agree with Bry,” Noah replies, swiping a weary hand across his stubbled jaw.
“Fuck. Fine. I’m going to the gym.” Nate shoves his chair in and stalks to the door. He takes the same steps Rosy did, except whilst hers were rushed and timid, his are heavy, enraged.
“We’ve already been,” I call. Why would he want to torture himself there all over again? I mean, we haven’t even had dessert yet.
“So? I’m fucking going again.”