Chapter Thirty-Six Max
Chapter Thirty-Six
Max
No distractions.
Don’t think about Keely.
Watch your instep—ouch, a little lighter on the balls of your feet next time.
Don’t think about Keely, how she laughs, how she smiles at you different from how she smiles at anyone else. At everyone else.
Tighten your core. Remember to breathe. Like how you taught Keely.
Don’t think about her. Don’t think about how you broke each other’s hearts.
“Simmons!” Coach’s voice snapped him out of his head. “It’s like you don’t even want to be here.”
Max slowed to a stop, hands splayed on his head. Truth was, he didn’t want to be here.
It’d been nearly a week since he’d left Keely’s apartment, both of them crying and pretending they weren’t, his chest on fire. A week of sleepless nights, his mind playing tug-of-war on what went wrong, whose fault it was, whether it truly was inevitable like he’d claimed.
All he’d wanted was for Keely to be open with him, and his fear had overtaken his tongue, his insecurities running the show.
Like everything else in his life, he’d imploded them. Imploded the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Maybe Max wasn’t meant to have good things. He was supposed to shoulder his hurt and carry his burdens on his own.
He was the anchor, after all. He only existed to drag others down with him.
Like Keely.
Don’t think about Keely, he chastised as he jogged back to his position. They’d been running relays this afternoon, and where normally Max settled in the longer he ran, today he was clumsy. Messing up strides, straining his calves, going slow, slow, too slow to win like he needed.
If he didn’t win, he’d lose everything.
His dreams.
His dad’s dreams.
His dad.
Keely.
Max fumbled the baton at the handoff, then his left foot dragged, catching on his opposite ankle.
“Damn,” Jazz said, trying to save it. They tumbled over each other, and Max’s knee skidded across the track, bright pain manifesting alongside drops of blood.
By the time Alex and Nolan showed up, Jazz was already on her feet, shaking out her muscles.
All of Max’s were tight, closing him in while out in the open. He was supposed to be better than this. He wasn’t allowed to stumble, to mess up. He’d been surefooted his entire life. He wouldn’t let himself mess it all up because of—what? Because of a girl?
Nolan nudged Max’s shoe with his own. “You good?”
Max grunted, wiping at his bloody knee. “I will be once we do that again.”
It didn’t get better. During the next heat, the wind blew too strongly and Max caught a whiff of peppermint from one of the passing teammates, which was a problem because (1) his head jerked in that direction, taking his eyes off the finish line and (2) it meant someone had passed him.
Coach took pity on them and had Max switch to hurdles. But he couldn’t get in the rhythm there, either, and his movements were too slow, his foot clipping again. Fall after fall after fall.
Max hadn’t fallen all semester.
Or maybe he had, and that was the real problem.
He’d fallen for Keely, but he’d never learned how to fall safely. No wonder he was so bruised and bloodied.
After four more abysmal attempts, Coach ended their practice twenty minutes early. “I’m done looking at you four today.”
They trudged in silence to the locker room, and Max checked his phone. Nothing. Why should he expect anything when they’d left things like they had? His fault. Everything was his fault lately.
Guilt slugged him in the stomach around the same time Alex slugged him in the shoulder.
“Dude. What happened out there?”
Max reared back. “Nothing happened, Alex. It’s called a bad day.
” He tossed his phone into his locker, aiming for the towel at the bottom.
It missed, cracking against the metal with an ominous thud.
That’s what his heart had done the day he’d found Keely in there.
“Thought you knew all about those from the way your splits look. So what’s your excuse? ”
Alex’s face went slack for a second, then morphed into reddened rage. “Oh, really? We’re doing this? What’s your excuse for being an absolute asshole, then?”
Movement blurred in his periphery, and Nolan pressed a firm hand to the gaping hole where Max’s heart used to sit. He’d thought it would have hurt, but he was numb. Did Nolan think Max would—what? Fight Alex?
It shocked him. He ran a hand over his sweat-dampened hair. “Do you really think that? Does everyone?”
Nolan and Alex shared a look, and Nolan spoke for both of them. “Kinda, yeah. You’re not a total asshole, but you sure as hell don’t let anyone close. Isn’t that lonely?”
Max sucked in air through his teeth.
“I know you’ve been going through it this semester, and I’m here for you. Or I’ve tried to be, anyway,” Nolan continued, voice steady. Max didn’t remember what steady felt like. “But we all have stuff going on. You wouldn’t know that, though, because you don’t ask.”
“I—”
“There is no ‘I.’ ” Nolan’s hand, still on Max’s chest, gave a tiny shove to emphasize his words. “We’re a relay team. We win or we lose. Together.”
“Speak for yourself. I’ve got two other events where I don’t have to put up with this.”
“Dude. Take a walk,” Nolan said.
Alex mumbled something under his breath Max chose to ignore. It didn’t matter anyway. He spun back around to his locker, grabbing his bag and his phone.
Max caught another whiff of peppermint and slammed the door. It echoed, bounced back at him from all angles. He hiked his bag over his shoulder and stared at Nolan. His chest pulled tight; his knee ached; his heart squeezed.
He blew a humorless laugh through his nose. “I thought you didn’t give up on people.”
Something like hurt flashed in Nolan’s eyes before a shutter came down over them. Then, all Max could see was himself, standing alone while surrounded by people.
“This isn’t me giving up on you.” Nolan swallowed, his jaw tight. “This is me giving you space not to give up on yourself. And I’m sorry you can’t recognize the difference.”
What the hell did that mean?
Max left the locker room, left the athletics building and the stadium altogether. He didn’t look back.
Spring had fully arrived now, so daylight lingered, casting everything in shades of Keely—golden light spilling over blooming flowerbeds, warmth hitting his bare skin, joy knocking at his heart, begging, just begging to be let in.
He wasn’t sure he knew how anymore.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and smoothed his thumb over the new ding in the corner. A souvenir from his little tantrum in the locker room. Something else he’d messed up.
Gritting his teeth, he dialed a familiar number and let it ring through his headphones.
His mom’s voice filtered in, and Max’s heart picked up pace. It was unusual for his dad not to answer.
“Max?” His mom’s voice was pinched, tired. “You there?”
“Hi, Mom. Is Dad okay?”
The silence stretched before him in a chasm, and he felt like he was free falling on flat land. Like he’d always be moving, never quite reaching the finish line.
“He’s. . . having a rough day.”
So was Max. That was the whole problem. All the days since his blowup with Keely were rough.
“Do I need to come home?” he asked.
“No.” His mom sighed. It was shaky—or Max was. Everything blurred together.
They caught up for a few minutes, but Max’s fear stretched before him, and he only half heard everything.
What was all this for if his dad wasn’t going to see him win?
If he didn’t win the scholarship, he had no chance of racing.
And if he won the scholarship, he still lost Keely.
Which was worse than all of it combined.