Chapter Thirty-Nine Max
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Max
Later that night, the entire Simmons family filtered in through their front door, raucous laughter following in their wake. They’d grabbed pizza on the way home, and Jacob had already told Max no less than five times he had plans to decimate him at Madden tonight.
Max’s relay team had snagged the bronze medal, easily securing their place at regionals. He’d pulled out a silver for the hundred-meter dash, and didn’t medal for hurdles but still snagged a qualifying slot.
And he was fine with all of that. Dad got to see him race. To watch his sacrifices pay off in real time.
“Max,” his mom said while she helped his dad get settled in his chair, a prime viewing spot for the video game tournament which would ultimately end in a broken piece of furniture. “Get the paper plates down, please.”
“Just a second.” Max hefted his new medal. Like his dad said, this one was for Max. “Wanna add this to my wall.”
He took the stairs two at a time. If he didn’t hurry, Henry would eat all the pepperoni pizza and Thomas would take the good controller.
Max added this newest medal to the collection hanging from the wall above his bed. A horrible design choice, because on the off chance he ever had a girl in here, the headboard would rattle them together.
His gut bottomed out. He didn’t want any girls but Keely in his bed, and there was a subzero chance of that happening now.
God, he’d really screwed up. How was he supposed to shift his priorities so late in the game? He’d been programmed his entire career to view success as being first. Sacrifice, discipline, work ethic.
Somewhere, though, he’d let his insecurities come through and ruin his relationship with Keely. At first he thought if he’d worked harder, he would still have her, because that’s how winning worked.
You couldn’t put rules like that around people, though, and that’s all Max had been trying to do. First with his relay team, then with Keely. Even with himself.
Laughter erupted downstairs. He wanted to be there, with them.
He breezed toward his door when something flapped in his periphery.
The picture from spring break, the one of him and Keely when they were kids, sat atop his dresser. He thumbed the edge. He remembered slipping it in his pocket before he’d left her house that day.
God, he’d wanted to kiss her so badly on that roof. She’d looked so pretty with the setting sun glowing in a halo around her face.
Then her voice had broken around the words “Keely’s such a nerd.” He’d put tears in her eyes—and he’d wanted to kiss them away.
Keely was a nerd. She had atom earrings. A framed picture of Marie Curie on her living room wall. She enjoyed reading textbooks and reading him to filth because he didn’t.
He regretted upsetting her, but he didn’t want to take the words back. Keely with science at her fingertips was unstoppable, and sexy as hell. She made him want to be a better runner, devote himself to his craft the way she had hers.
The edge of the picture bent around his grip.
He might not have his priorities completely straightened, but he could start.
He eyed the clock. Six thirty.
Could he still save this? Was there enough time to turn it around?
Max ran out to his car, ignoring the questions from his family. His backpack was still stuffed in his trunk from after the meet. It was possible he left a trail of old clothes, a tennis shoe or sweat towel, as he tornadoed through the house and back up to his room.
He flung his laptop lid open and cracked his neck.
It was going to be a long night, writing an essay from scratch with no outline. He’d be fine. He’d—what had his dad said? Figure it out? Hell, maybe it’d be easier, since it was about Keely.
As the hours ticked by, Max hunched over his computer, pulling passion from all the new places Keely had touched.
His grades, which she’d completely turned around despite only having a few solid weeks to do it. The study methods and compartmentalization, breaking things down to a granular level when the picture became too big.
The enthusiasm of the children at school, her ability to not only hold their attention but to get them asking thoughtful, intelligent questions that had Max himself wondering, leaning into the quest for more knowledge.
She’d even made life better at the best place on earth.
At the shelter, she improved their surrender process and paperwork.
Built it from the ground up, really, and now the rescue had maximum information when choosing proper care for a new animal.
She made bath time more efficient. She had Farah Pawcett eating out of her hand.
Max knew the feeling.
At some point, his dad came up and dropped off half a pizza, knocked on the door frame twice with a shake of his head, and shut the door behind him.
Max ate straight from the box as he chicken-pecked the new essay.
He knew she didn’t need him to do this; he’d read her most recent essay, and she’d always been the better student anyway. She was probably going to win regardless of his interference. But he needed to do this. Needed her to know how he felt, what he’d learned from her.
It might not even work, which was okay. And, if by some miracle he did win, he’d help her find another, better scholarship for grad school.
Reach out to a few sports agents for himself and see if there were any low-hanging sponsorship opportunities he hadn’t thought of before.
Get a job, pay her rent, wash her. . . laundry? Her dishes? Her hair?
Whatever he could do, however he could prove this to her. Starting with this.
He looked at the photo of their younger selves again, now taped to the wall behind his computer for him to look at whenever he needed an extra boost.
Finally, at 11:52p.m., he sat back and made one final click on his computer.
The screen changed; a new message was displayed. Your application has been submitted.
Max grinned from ear to ear.