Chapter 17 Eli
SEVENTEEN
ELI
If we don’t get up soon, I’m going to say something I can’t take back. Something dangerous. Something that might sound exactly the same as I think I’m falling for you.
Because it’s there, buzzing in my chest like static every time I look at him—his arm heavy around me, his heartbeat steady under my cheek, his gruff warmth soaking straight into my bones.
I could stay here forever, tangled up in him.
But if I do, the words are going to slip out, and he’ll know.
Then he’d have to let me down, gently, I assume.
So I do the only thing I can. I pull away.
Max makes a low sound of protest, but I ignore it, pushing up on an elbow with my brightest smile.
“We need to go find lunch,” I announce, patting his bare chest like I’m dusting him off.
“And you need to get dressed before you freeze to death. I’d rather this not turn into a Weekend at Bernie’s situation, if you know what I mean. ”
His brows draw together, suspicious. “What?”
“You know—me dragging your frozen corpse around campus, trying to convince everyone you’re still alive? I don’t think I even know where my sunglasses are.”
That gets the tiniest huff of laughter out of him, and it’s enough to let me plaster over the ache in my chest with humor. If I can keep him laughing, keep him rolling his eyes at me, then maybe he won’t notice how hard I’m falling.
Max groans as though I’ve just asked him to move mountains, dragging a hand over his face. He pushes off the bed and stands up, pulling on a shirt and grumbling as he does, “You’re insufferable.”
I pause, glancing up at him with a tilt of my head and as close to a serious expression as I can. “You know, you say that a lot.”
His brows furrow as his head pops out of the shirt. “Because it’s true.”
I grin, but there’s a thread of challenge under it this time. “Yeah, but I’m starting to wonder—are insults your love language, Calder? Because if so, you’re practically serenading me. Impossible, insufferable, ridiculous…they are never-ending. It’s heart-warming, honestly.”
He stares at me, deadpan, and for a beat, I think he’s going to bark back something sharp. But his ears betray him, pinking at the tips, and that’s all the confirmation I need.
“Could be worse,” I add, standing and brushing past him on my way to the door. “You could be the strong-and-silent type. At least this way, I know you’re paying attention.”
Max mutters something under his breath that sounds akin to regretting it, but he’s tugging on a clean and dry hoodie over his shirt, getting fully dressed without another word.
And yeah, maybe it still stings, the way every compliment I dig for comes wrapped in barbs, but if that’s all he’s willing to give, I will take it. Because at least it means I’m under his skin.
The snow is deeper now, creeping halfway up to our knees as we slog down the sidewalk.
My cheeks sting with cold, my breath fogging in sharp clouds.
Beside me, Max doesn’t say much, no surprise there, but he doesn’t move away either.
We shoulder through the storm together, the silence thick but… not uncomfortable. Not for me, anyway.
We pass a crew of electric workers hunched around a tangle of lines, bundled in reflective jackets. I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips, tipping my chin toward them. “See? Hope. Maybe we’ll have lights and heat again before we freeze to death.”
Max just grunts, but I catch the way his gaze lingers on them, letting himself believe it too.
By the time we reach the sub shop two blocks over, I’m half-frozen, my toes long past numb.
The moment we step inside, heat slams into us, almost too much all at once.
I groan, peeling off my beanie and gloves, shaking melted snow from my sleeves.
“Two more minutes out there and I think I would have been a popsicle.”
Max exhales slowly, as if his bones are thawing along with mine. He unzips his coat and rolls his shoulders, and for the tiniest second, he looks…relieved.
The place is buzzing, the usual college hangout chaos: low music, clattering trays, laughter echoing from a table in the corner where a group of students are playing Jenga. Shelves of board games line the wall, battered from too much use, but the sight fills me with happiness anyway.
I am a little surprised that it’s so busy, but I guess this is better than freezing at the dorms if you’re stuck here like us. And I know that there are other students who stay instead of flying back home across the country or overseas, depending on where they are from.
The warmth in the shop is bliss, a cozy bubble against the storm outside, but the second we step up to the counter to order, something in Max shifts.
He keeps his voice low, clipped, barely looking at me while we rattle off our sandwich order.
His hand brushes mine once, totally by accident, but still, and he jerks it back like the counter’s on fire.
I frown, but don’t press. Maybe it’s the crowd. Maybe he just doesn’t enjoy being out in it. Doesn’t matter. I can be sunshine enough for the both of us.
After we order and pay, I drift over to the board games they have for use.
Scanning them before saying, “Pick your poison.” He shrugs.
But I’m already reaching for a game with half the pieces missing because that’s part of the charm of this place.
My grin widens as I pluck it off the shelf.
“Perfect. Connect Four. You ready to lose, Calder?”
We slide into a corner booth, trays between us, and I chatter while we start to eat, filling the silence with bad jokes and commentary on the game of Jenga going on a few tables over. He doesn’t give me much, just a grunt here, a smirk there, but I’ll take it.
When I drag out the Connect Four set from the box, it’s missing a bunch of blue pieces, so we end up sharing reds to make it work. Max raises a brow, unimpressed, but humors me anyway, sliding his chips into the slots with maddening precision.
By the time the grid fills, I’m grinning ear to ear. “Red wins,” I announce, popping one last piece into place. “That’s me.”
Max glances at the board, then back at me. “Half those reds are mine.”
I wave him off. “Technicality. Still red. Still me.”
“Not how it works.”
“Exactly how it works.” I lean back, smug. “I win. Admit it, Calder. You’ve been defeated by Christmas cheer and superior strategy.”
For a second, something flickers in his eyes—as though he wants to argue, maybe even smile—but he just shakes his head and goes back to his sandwich.
By the time I polish off my sandwich, most of the crowd has cleared out. The Jenga crew packs up with a chorus of laughter, and suddenly, it’s just a couple of students at the far window and us in our little corner booth. The air feels warmer.
I crinkle the paper around the cookie I insisted on ordering and set it between us. “Saved the best for last,” I say, breaking it in half. Max just eyes it, skeptical as always, but he doesn’t argue when I push his piece across the tray.
I nibble mine slowly, letting the sugar sit on my tongue, and before I know it, words are spilling out.
“You know, at home…Thanksgiving’s always this big deal.
My mom goes completely overboard—like, three different pies, even though there’s never enough people to eat them all.
Dad strings lights early just to bug the neighbors, and my sister makes us put on these goofy turkey hats she finds at the party store every year.
It’s…loud. Warm. Kinda chaotic, but in the best way. ”
I stare down at the cookie in my hands, picking at the loose crumbs. “It hit me earlier that…this year? That’s not happening. Flight’s grounded, everyone’s back home without me. Guess Thanksgiving just isn’t a thing for me this time.”
My laugh comes out softer than I mean it to, edged with something I don’t usually let slip.
“Weird, huh? First time in my life I won’t be crammed into a house full of family, trying to keep my uncle from burning the rolls.
And my nephew from sneaking cookies before dinner.
Although let’s face it, I help him sneak cookies. ”
I glance up, meeting Max’s eyes. He’s quiet, steady, unreadable as ever, but he’s listening. Really listening. And somehow, that makes my chest ache less.
Max breaks his silence after a long pause, his voice low but steady. “Your family…they know you’re gay?”
I blink at him, caught off guard by the question, then grin, leaning back in the booth. “Oh yeah. Not really the kind of thing I could keep quiet. I mean, me? Living in a closet? Please. There’s not enough glitter in there for me.”
One corner of his mouth twitches, but he doesn’t quite smile. I keep going, because if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s filling quiet spaces.
“Honestly, I didn’t even plan it. I was sitting on the couch Christmas morning—gifts ripped open, pancakes demolished, everyone half-comatose from sugar—and I just…blurted it. I think I’m gay.”
Max’s eyes sharpen, like he’s waiting for the punchline.
“No one even blinked,” I say, laughing. “Dad goes, oh, we’re supposed to announce what we prefer? Okay. I’m straight. Mom just pats my knee and says, We knew already, sweetheart. And then my sister demanded the last piece of bacon before I could grab it.”
I spread my hands, cookie crumbs scattering. “That was it. Non-issue. Like I’d said the sky was blue or it was sunny outside. But they didn’t make me feel bad about it. And any guy I bring home is treated exactly the same as a girl would have been.”
For a second, Max just stares at me, unreadable. Then his gaze drops to the table, jaw tight, and I wonder if I’ve said too much.
“You bring a lot of guys home?”
“A few.” I shrug and pop the last bite of cookie into my mouth, chewing slowly, then glance across the table. “What about you?”
Max’s head lifts just a fraction, as though he didn’t expect me to ask.
“Does your family know?” I press gently. “About you?”
For a long moment, the only sound is the hum of the soda machine and the scrape of a chair across the floor on the far side of the shop. His jaw ticks, muscles working like he’s chewing glass.
Finally, he exhales. “Yeah. They know.”
I wait, giving him space, and to my surprise, he keeps going.
“Right after I graduated high school. I thought I was being careful, but they caught me. With a guy. In my room.” His mouth twists, humorless. “Didn’t go well.”
My stomach knots.
“They kicked me out that night,” he says flatly. “Told me not to come back. My dad…made sure I got the message. He pounded it into me until I was pretty sure he was trying to kill me.” His hand clenches on the table, knuckles white, but he doesn’t look at me. “Haven’t spoken to any of them since.”
The words hang heavy between us, nothing like the playful banter we’ve been trading. I feel the ache of it deep in my chest.
And suddenly, so many things click into place. The way he goes stiff whenever I touch him in public. The clipped tone around crowds. The reservation, the distance, as if he’s always bracing for someone to look too close. Or confront him for liking boys.
It’s not that he doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want me. It’s that he’s been taught to believe it’ll cost him everything.
I swallow hard, forcing my voice light even though the weight of what he just shared presses down on me. “Well… that explains why you glare every time I even think about holding your hand in public.”
His eyes flick up, green and sharp, but softer than before. Like he knows I see him now, maybe more than he wanted.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table.
“Max…” He stiffens at his name, as though he already regrets opening his mouth.
I lower my voice, softer now. “You know…you really could come home with me for Christmas. My mom—she’d just…
she’d be your mom. That’s just how she is.
Instant adoption policy. You wouldn’t even have a choice in it. ”
His head snaps up, eyes flashing. I know he wants to argue, but I hold his gaze, steady and sure.
“I mean it. She wouldn’t care about anything except making sure you ate too much pie and took home cookies you’d never finish.
That’s who she is. That’s home for me. And it could be for you too, if you wanted.
No strings. I can introduce you as a friend. ”
Max’s jaw works, like he’s grinding down a hundred responses into silence. I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curl tight against his cup, but I also see the flicker in his eyes, as if the idea is one he’s never let himself want before.
I grin, a little crooked, trying to lighten the edges. “Besides, if you don’t come with me, who’s gonna stop me from stealing all the turkey bacon on Christmas morning? My dad’s powerless against me.”
Max shakes his head, a faint scoff escaping. “You don’t know what you’re offering, Starling.” His tone is hard, shutting the door on the idea before it can even form.
I bite back the urge to push, to insist I do know, that I meant every damn word. Instead, I force my grin back into place and lean over to steal the last corner of his cookie. “Guess I’ll just have to suffer through Christmas without you, then.”
His lips twitch, as if he almost wants to smile, but he doesn’t. He leans back instead, stretching an arm across the back of the booth, creating distance again.
I let it slide. For now.
Because the truth is, I meant what I said. My mom would love him. My family would love him. But if Max isn’t ready to believe that yet, then I’ll wait. I’ll be patient. Sunshine can melt even the thickest ice—it just takes time.