Chapter 12 #2
“I thought you said there would be lots of characters to love this week,” I grumble.
Max laughs, which makes me scowl. I drag my head up enough to shoot him a glower from beneath my arm, but he cracks a smirk to himself and shakes his head. I lie back down, but keep scowling.
Jake pats my arm. “Guess you’ll just have to keep watching to get that sweet, sweet Silversmith content. Even if they’re not endgame.”
“Says you,” Max argues, but it’s playful, and sounds like a debate they’ve hashed out plenty of times before.
Jake laughs—loudly, a little brashly, and it’s enough to make me pick my head up to peer at him, confused because it doesn’t sound like his usual laugh, and a little hurt that there’s obviously some hysterical in-joke between them I’m missing.
“You crack me up,” he tells Max through loud guffaws, and pats me again to say, “Isn’t he hilarious?”
“Uh…”
Wait, am I in on the joke? Did I miss something?
But Max also looks startled, catching my eye and obviously as out of the loop as I am, and I find myself giving him a shrug in this strange moment of solidarity between us when faced with Jake’s sudden weirdness.
Jake sighs, recovering himself, seeming to catch the mood and realize we’re not all rolling around in fits of laughter. He runs a hand back through his hair and leans forward to reply properly to Max.
“Oh come on, you’re telling me you’ve got two insanely powerful characters with huge ties to destiny, a half-elf of noble birth with blood magick, and an elf warrior, a man of the people, with fated magick granted to him by the gods, and they’re not going to end up together? Moonsilver all the way.”
“Why’s it called Moonsilver?” I ask.
“Spoilers,” says Max.
“Next episode, actually. Do you guys want to stay to watch it? It’s the last one of the first season…
” Jake looks between us and I sit up properly now, under his gaze.
I pull my dress back into place, laying it neatly around my knees.
He smiles, hopeful, and turns to Max. “I don’t think Mom and Dad will mind if you guys stay for tea—maybe I can convince them to let us order some pizza, or something? ”
Max shrugs, looking so annoyingly affable that it sets my teeth on edge. Is he pretending to be friendly toward me, just like I am with him? “I don’t mind. I don’t want to intrude or anything.”
YOU ARE, I want to scream. YOU ARE INTRUDING! On this evening, on this potential romance, on all of it!
But now they’re both looking at me, and thankfully a more rational part of my brain takes over.
I reach for my phone to check the time, and bite my lip.
“I’m not sure…It’s going to be really late getting the bus back home…
” And I don’t dare call Mom or Dad to ask them to come pick me up, but I can’t mention that in front of Max.
I don’t need him knowing every horrible thing in my life.
The last time I stayed out too late, missed the bus home, and called for a ride home, Dad came to collect me and said it was no problem.
Then I heard Mom snapping at him because it was encouraging me to be irresponsible and we should both know better.
The time before that, Mom had picked me up and Dad told her that I had exams to study for and she clearly didn’t care about the impact on my schoolwork as much as she cared about being “the cool mom.”
Jake, of course, knows this, and he knows what I’m not saying, because his face creases in sympathy and he reaches over to give my hand a brief, wonderful little squeeze before he says, “Well, you could drop Cerys home, couldn’t you, Max?”
I cringe just as Max glances my way, and my cheeks flame; I’m sure he caught that.
“She’s only over by the garden center,” Jake’s telling him. “It’s not that far out the way. You’re that side of town anyway, aren’t you?”
He cannot be serious. A car ride, alone, with Max? I would rather deal with my parents! It’s a half-hour drive! Thirty minutes, when we barely filled three last week with small talk before Jake came upstairs with the grilled cheese. What would I even talk to Max about for that long?
“Really,” I fumble to say, “you don’t have to, it’s okay. I can figure something out. We can just leave the finale until next week, or—”
“No way!” Jake crows, laughing. He scoots over on the bed to wrap his arm around me and give me a playful shake, and I can’t even freak out at the fact that we’re pressed together from shoulder to hip, that his leg is bumping against mine, or that he’s pulled me against him.
Oh, the irony, that this is the moment I decide to have what feels like an out-of-body experience, watching this nightmare unfold in real time.
“There’s no way I’m letting you go straight from the season finale into the next one. It ruins the whole dramatic effect!”
“It’s all right,” Max says quietly, in his low voice, the words even and measured, his gaze somewhere near my knees. “I don’t mind, Cerys. And Jake’s right—the finale is the kind of episode that needs breathing room before you dive into the next one.”
I’m not so convinced—I haven’t exactly been sucked wholeheartedly into the show so far, and I’m not sure how much that will change in the space of a single hour-long episode. But they’re both waiting, both expecting me to agree, and I don’t really know how to decline without making things weird.
“Come on, Cer! For me?” Jake wheedles, tugging me closer. “Please?”
And it’s more time with Jake, isn’t it? Wasn’t that the goal here?
So I swallow, my mouth dry, and say, “Sure. Awesome. Thanks, Max. Sounds good.”