Chapter Thirty-Four Max
Chapter Thirty-Four
Max
“Again,” Coach said.
Max had lost track of how many times he’d heard that word today. He’d been at the track since five this morning, trying to get his head on straight. It wasn’t working.
All he could think about was Keely. That phone call at the library had wormed to the center of his consciousness, forming craters and holes of worry and self-doubt.
She said they’d see this through to the end, and he had to trust her on that. But, as Sam so kindly pointed out, the end was closer than either of them realized. And the end was going to change everything.
As hard as he tried to run from the endless spiral of negative thoughts, they still caught up with him, no matter how fast he ran.
If his current splits were anything to go by, it wasn’t fast enough.
Coach grunted when Max crossed the finish line. “Maybe if you’d quit skipping out on practice, you wouldn’t be in this shape right now.”
Max’s jaw clicked. “I’m in great shape.”
“I’m not talking physical, Simmons.” Coach tapped the side of his head. “Up here. I can’t fix it. Only you can do that. Figure it out and stop letting it affect your game. While you’re here, the only thing you should be worried about is your feet.”
It echoed Nolan’s sentiment from when they were sprinting. Compartmentalization wasn’t something Max was ever good at—even less so with Keely. Much as she loved her checklists, she didn’t fit neatly in a box for him.
“That girlfriend of yours isn’t allowed here anymore, by the way.” Coach nodded once, hands on hips, then raised his voice. “No distractions. In fact, as of right now, practice is officially closed.”
The entire team groaned.
“You heard me.” An angry vein jumped in Coach’s neck. And in his forehead. “No girlfriends. No spectators. No pizza deliveries.”
Alex whined. “That was one time.”
“Twice,” Jazz muttered.
“Run it again,” Coach said. “Stay focused.”
Max wasn’t sure how to tell Coach that he could lock down practice all he wanted, but Keely would still be running laps in his head.
· · · · ·
“I’m sorry,” Max said when Keely’s front door opened. He hadn’t seen her in almost a week, and he was crawling out of his skin.
He had his whole speech planned out, the points he needed to lay out and apologize for in a little bulleted list inside his head. Keely would be proud.
Except it wasn’t Keely who answered.
Zoey rolled her eyes, stepping out around him with her bag over her shoulder. She then closed the door in his face, and locked it, leaving Max staring after her for a few dumbfounded seconds before he was forced to knock again.
The entire process repeated when Keely answered the door.
“Key, wait, no—” His head fell onto the wood, narrowly missing the metal peephole. He sighed. “I deserve this,” he muttered to the empty hallway.
“I agree,” Keely said from the other side of the door. After another beat, he heard a sound that might have been her clearing her throat. “But tell me why you think you do.”
Okay. The list. “I canceled on you twice with no explanation.”
The lock unlatched, and Keely’s face appeared through the sliver. Despite being a foot shorter than he was, she somehow managed to look down her nose at him. “I’ll accept one now, if you’re offering.”
“I owe you an apology, for starters. The dinner I canceled.” He hefted the bag of takeout. “All the study sessions. A thank you for the grades you’ve helped me rescue. Not to mention the incredible, spine-twisting org—”
She clapped a hand over his mouth and, with her other, pulled him through her door by his collar. “That’s enough of that.”
Only when the lock was engaged, sealing them in, did she turn back to him.
“What are you doing here, Max?” She crossed her arms. “And no excuses this time. Or funny business.” Her cheeks glowed pink, and he wondered if she was thinking about his truncated thought like he was.
He hadn’t been sleeping well since this weird tension had sprouted between them, and when he did sleep it was to dream of Keely over him, under him, in front of him. . .
He willed his blood to remain in his brain. He needed all his mental faculties to save face like this.
“Apologizing, honestly.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I’ve been so flaky. I think our meeting with Dr. Goff got in my head, and I heard Sam talking—”
“Sam?” Keely reared back. “What does Sam have to do with this?”
“Nothing. Forget I said that.” He shook his head. “I started seeing stuff that wasn’t there.”
Her lips parted, but he needed to get all of this out before she stopped him.
“I won’t cancel on you again without ample notice or an honest explanation. And I just. . . missed you.” His brow furrowed. Was he rambling? So what. Maybe she liked to hear him talk as much as he did her.
“I know things are coming down to the wire,” he continued, “but I wanted—needed a night with you all to myself. Before we get too busy with finals or theses or qualifying for divisionals. Outside of school or practice or any other obligations. For the next twelve hours, I only want to be obligated to you.”
She eyed the takeout bag with a steely gaze, crossing her arms over her chest. “Twelve hours?”
“We have a lot of making out—I mean, making up—to do.” He took a chance and winked. Then moved the takeout bag in front of his balls in case she decided to kick him there.
Thankfully, she let out a light, airy laugh, one that Max had missed tremendously over the last few days. “You’re ridiculous.”
He slid the food onto the counter, then took her face in his hands instead. “I’m ridiculously attracted to the way you look when you’re mad at me.”
“That’s so unfair.” Her breath hitched when he moved closer. “I want to look indomitable. Fierce.”
He leaned in. “And you do, Key. Completely. But you also look so—” he pressed his lips to her forehead “—so—” another to her jaw “—kissable.”
He waited, though, giving her the choice.
She closed the distance. Her lips were pillow soft, impossibly sweet despite the bite of peppermint just behind them. She tasted like the first warm sunny day after a bitter winter, coming home after vacation.
She tasted like Keely.
She tasted like. . . his.
Max grinned against her lips at the whimper that slipped out. He’d missed that, too, and if all went according to plan, he’d be hearing that later. Preferably as soon as she was fed.
Which reminded him.
“Come on,” he said, pulling back to turn toward the food. “I’ve gotta feed you. I know how you forget to eat when you’re busy.”
He unpacked the burgers and fries, remembering her order from the night of the auction. The shakes were well on their way to melted, the cherry sinking down through semisolid whipped cream, but Keely’s face lit up at the first sip all the same.
They took their food to the couch, and Keely threw on a random show as background noise.
He’d really missed her. All the negative thoughts and spirals didn’t exist when she was around. The restlessness in his body disappeared. He felt. . . stretched out, relaxed in a way his honed athlete’s body rarely was. She put him at ease.
He hadn’t known anyone—or anything outside of running, for that matter—could do that for him.
“How’s your dad?” Keely asked, licking a glob of ketchup off her thumb.
His bite went down roughly for more than one reason. “He’s decent right now. He’s basically reached his med tolerance, so they’re giving him a few weeks to recover. Lots of scans, PT, bloodwork in the meantime.”
“Will he be here for graduation?” She coughed and took a large swallow of her shake. “I mean, physically able to attend.”
“That’s the plan,” he said quietly, “but it’s a game time decision. He has an appointment the day before with the doctor to make sure things are good to go.”
Her eyes glistened, and his heart chose to call it something other than pity.
“Is he. . .” Keely shook her head violently, ducked her head to focus on the food in front of her. “Never mind.”
“Is he going to die?” he asked when she wouldn’t, the words burning but familiar. It was the same question he asked himself every single day. What drove him harder at practice. What put one foot in front of the other when all he wanted was to give up. “Is that what you mean?”
She looked up at him through wet lashes. Her nod was so small he almost missed it.
“I don’t know,” he rasped. “One doctor says a few years, another says eight months. There’s really nothing to do but wait and see.”
A drop of water hit his face, and he looked up, sure Keely’s ceiling was about to cave in. But it was normal, smooth, off-white, and Max’s face only grew wetter. It slid down his neck in hot rivers, and he wiped it away with a groan that broke open on the end.
He would have cracked completely down the middle if not for the arms that appeared in his periphery, wrapping around him, holding him together.
“I’m so sorry, Max.”
He buried his face into golden hair, hoping some of her warmth would rub off on his suddenly frigid soul. He was shaking.
She pulled the food from his lap and placed it on the coffee table before taking up its spot, throwing her legs on either side of his hips and winding her arms under his.
“There.” Keely was soft, barely a whisper. Her heart raced against his. “That’s better. Go ahead. Continue.”
“Thanks,” he croaked through a laugh. Then, more seriously, “This might be the best hug I’ve ever had.” He held her hips, supple and warm through her leggings, and the exact right size for his hands.
He didn’t deserve her gentleness, not after he’d made an ass of himself this week. He wasn’t strong enough to pull away, no matter how much he should.
Instead, he burrowed closer.
She tensed, just for a second, before melting.
“When you get sad. . .” Her breath was hot on his neck, her mouth close enough that her lips brushed his skin with every word. “Do you want to stay that way?”
Peppermint flooded his senses; if it was so great for concentration, why was his mind so blurry? “What do you mean?”
“Do you want to sit in the sadness,” she repeated, silk now blanketing her words, “or do you want to be distracted?”
A stronger man could resist.
But Max had been strong for too long, for too many other people and, dammit, Keely made him weak.
His fingers dug into her lower back. “Distract me.”
A satisfied hum rumbled through her chest, her lips curling into a smile. Then, in a move that proved she would always have the upper hand over him, she dropped her weight, settling her center over the growing bulge in his jeans.
“Keely,” he hissed.
She ground her hips down again. He threw his head back and she licked the pulsing vein in his neck. It elicited a wanton moan that she echoed.
She liked this, he realized. Liked being in control.
Or maybe she liked him.
Which was fine, because Max was already half in l—
Her phone’s ringtone blared.
“Sorry,” she said, dragging herself along Max as she reached for it on the coffee table.
“Let it ring out.” He thrust up, his cock rubbing the seam of her leggings.
She jerked, squirming in his lap. “Max.”
If she kept doing that, he’d bend her over right here, screw anyone who might walk by out in the hall. He tightened his grip. “Key, please. Can’t you call them back later?”
She grabbed it anyway, scrambling to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed. “This is important. Two minutes.”
He threw his head back so far it missed the couch and hit the wall instead.
At least it gave him something else to focus on aside from his raging hard-on and the roller coaster of his emotions.
The fear of losing his father, the lust still thrumming in his veins for the girl taking a private phone call in another room.
Why did she keep slinking off? He’d believed her when she’d said it wasn’t about the scholarship, that they’d see it through to the end, but what else would she need to keep from him like this?
He was opening his heart and she was shutting him out just when he’d realized he needed her there. Wanted her there.
He grabbed his phone and scrolled mindlessly through his socials as a distraction, but it wasn’t enough. Eventually he stood and walked the hall, half in search of her and half in need of the toilet.
The bathroom was empty, but he did pee, wash his hands, and poke around a little.
He finally found the source of his deepest desires. A little roll-on bottle of peppermint oil sat on the vanity next to a red hairbrush with a claw clip around the handle.
He rolled some onto his neck, hoping it’d help calm him the way it did Keely. The way Keely herself calmed him.
She still wasn’t back when he re-entered the living room.
Maybe she’d laid down on her bed to take the call and fallen asleep?
Or maybe it had been bad news—or something had happened with her parents.
If it was as important as it seemed to be, she’d probably be crushed if it didn’t work out in her favor.
Whatever it was, he needed to make sure she was okay.
He padded down the hall to her bedroom and grabbed the handle.
“I’m very honored,” Keely said, her voice brimming with excitement.
Max’s stomach sank.