CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Saturday, May 27
Kathryn
A violent storm rattled the windowpanes that afternoon, and outside her bedroom window, the world had fallen into midnight darkness. But just as it had come, the front rolled out toward the ocean, leaving a salt-tinged humidity in the air as Kathryn wrangled her hair in the bathroom mirror.
She checked the time: 5:55. As good a time as any to enjoy a glass of wine before her evening with Andrew. Setting her phone on her nightstand, she padded down the hallway, but from the top of the staircase, Andrew’s face appeared in her line of sight, and her heartbeat sputtered. The wrongness of it, of him, standing in her living room, hands tucked deep in his pockets. Her fingers were an inch from the banister, her steps frozen by a bolt of panic. It was invasive, like he was an intruder. “Andrew, what are you doing here?”
He flinched. “You—your message said to come in.” Confusion crumpled his face.
Fear spiked. Where was Max? Relief washed over Kathryn when she recalled seeing him speed away from the house earlier that afternoon, but she had no idea where her son had gone or when he’d return. She needed to get Andrew out of her house.
Andrew withdrew his phone, held it up. “You said to come inside,” he echoed.
Kathryn bounded down the staircase. He smelled freshly showered, with a dab of cologne somewhere. The smell she adored. But now it was a warning sign, blaring. They’d exchanged a few unremarkable messages, and she’d anticipated their regular Saturday-evening dinner, but he was an hour early, and she was certain nothing she’d said had invited him into her house. In front of Andrew’s slack stare, Kathryn’s heartbeat hammered. Andrew’s fingers sped to tap his passcode, and they leaned over his screen.
Kathryn: Dinner?
Andrew: You name the place.
Kathryn: Pick me up. 6? Just come in when you get here.
Andrew: You sure??
Kathryn: Yes. He’s not home. It’s fine.
She hadn’t sent any of those messages. Her eyes broke away and met Andrew’s. Silence crackled.
As if on cue, the front door swung ajar, startling both of them. Max stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
Andrew’s gaze fell onto his son before he took one step back, his eyes circles of apprehension. He’d certainly imagined meeting his son, but not in this way. Kathryn watched the muscles in his neck clench as he scanned Max head to toe and swallowed.
Kathryn’s eyes flashed to her son, taking in the two men in front of her with the same sense of helplessness as watching two cars collide. Max appraised Andrew. Pain shadowed his expression, and his eyes broke away.
A hot, stabbing throb deep within Kathryn; it was the sum of all her fears combined. Everything she’d worked so hard to prevent for twenty years now torn from her control. Panic blazed, the stabbing sensation now twisting, jagged.
“Max.” Kathryn stepped toward her son before his stony expression stopped her feet on the rug. Heat enflamed her face and chest. “Max, this is Andrew. Andrew ... this is Max.”
The two locked eyes again. Max swallowed, then Andrew, their movements mirrored in one another. A staticky beat, then Andrew jerked forward. “I—it’s nice to meet you.” His voice barely audible.
An eternity stretched while the three of them stood, frozen. A violent whack from inside the ice maker made them all jump.
“I think the three of us should sit down and talk.” Kathryn’s voice was just above a whisper.
Max strode beneath the archway that separated the living room from the kitchen and dragged a chair from the table before dropping into it. Kathryn seated herself across from her son, and Andrew followed. “Max, I know what you must be thinking,” Kathryn started.
“I promise, you have no idea what I’m thinking.” Max’s voice quavered.
Kathryn withdrew into her seat, like she’d been smacked by her son’s words. “Max—”
“Kathryn.” Andrew set his hand on top of hers. “Let me try to explain.”
“No, this is my—” Kathryn pleaded.
“Just let me try—”
Max’s eyes fell on Andrew’s hand and, as if Max’s gaze had burned him, Andrew retracted it, tucked it beneath the table.
Max stood and yanked the fridge door. He withdrew a beer bottle and let the door slam behind him. The clink of metal jingled as Max riffled through the silverware drawer; then came the hiss of the cap, which he let fall into the sink. Max turned back to the table and took a long drag from the bottle before he set it down and sat, rod straight, his fingers laced before him on the woodgrain, like a student about to begin their lesson. “I don’t care which one of you decides to talk, but I feel like I’m owed an explanation,” he said, the effort to keep his voice steady evident in his tone.
Max’s face was stony, but his eyes were pleading, and Kathryn’s heart cracked under the weight of her guilt. It didn’t have to come to this. None of her best- and worst-case scenarios had produced this result. They should have been a team, a family. Instead, in her son’s cold expression, and Andrew’s desperate one, she saw only the culmination of her mistakes. And, as she’d feared, Max was paying the price. The decades’ worth of worry and energy she’d spent trying to shield him from the consequences of her decisions lay wasted. She’d waited too long to give her son the truth. And why? Because of her deep-seated shame? Because she cherished her indulgent evenings with this version of Andrew? Because she relished their secret life. It was selfish. These failures were hers and hers alone.
Max, Andrew, right in front of her, it was all too much, and Kathryn bowed her head and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Of course you are, sweetheart—” The chime of the doorbell. Kathryn looked to Max, then Andrew.
Kathryn rose, her legs trembling as they carried her across the floor, the electric snap of danger rising in the space. She turned the knob and light spilled into the room. Nick stood silhouetted in the brightness beyond the doorway.
Max’s voice came from over her shoulder. “Hoo-boy. Here it goes.”
A fresh bolt of panic. “Nick,” Kathryn snapped. “This isn’t a good time—”
“I got your text—” Nick said.
“Nick?” Andrew’s voice prickled the nape of her neck. Kathryn turned to see him rise from the table. “What are you doing here?”
Nick leaned into the room. “Drew?”
Kathryn’s head snapped back to the kitchen.
“Wait—you two know each other?” Max asked.
Andrew’s face paled. A twisted giggle rose from Max’s throat. “Oh wow, this is even better than I thought.”
Kathryn turned back to Nick, who folded his arms and said, “You told me to come get you at six.”
The puzzle pieces snapped into place: the texts. Andrew. Max. The precise timing of Nick’s appearance. Kathryn spun; Max’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Really, Max?”
Max leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his body, the beer bottle clutched in his hand. “Maybe you accidentally sent a text to the wrong boyfriend, Kat .”
Time beat in silence. Their collective gaze shifted to Max, and Nick brushed past Kathryn, who took a step back, her hand still gripping the door. Nick stepped closer and jabbed a finger at Max. “You. You did this.”
The strange smile pulled at Max’s mouth. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around. I thought maybe my mom had dumped you.”
Crimson flushed Nick’s face.
“What’s he talking about, Nick?” Andrew demanded.
“Max.” Kathryn shut the door. “That’s enough; this isn’t a game.” She marched back to the table while Max’s laughter pitched, filling the room, which buzzed like a live wire.
Andrew leaned across the table. “Cut it out.”
Silence enveloped the space.
“I don’t need this bullshit,” Nick spat. “You can fuck off, all of you.”
“Jesus, Max,” Kathryn cried, panic rising. How had Max gotten her phone? Andrew and Nick glowered at each other, and her stomach twisted. “Was all this necessary? If you had questions, you could’ve asked me.”
Max’s smile evaporated as his eyes narrowed onto Kathryn’s. He slammed the beer bottle on the table. “Ask? It’s not my job to ask!”
Kathryn sucked in a breath. “Max—”
“You let me go my whole life wondering about—about this other half of me, and you’ve never said a word. You let me wonder if he was dead.” He waved a hand at Andrew. “If he was in prison, if he had a real family and wanted nothing to do with us, with me—”
Kathryn’s eyes broke away.
“And then one day this dude who looks just like me shows up in our driveway, and not only do you not say a word—you go running off with him a few nights a week. Like I won’t notice. Like I’m stupid. For months. Who does that? What the actual fuck ?”
Kathryn gaped. When Max spelled it out, her actions weren’t just selfish; they seemed downright sinister.
“I told you this would happen.” Nick crossed his arms. “I told you I didn’t want to be involved.”
“Shut up, Nick,” Andrew barked, shoulders squared, and panicky heat rose to the top of Kathryn’s head.
Max leaned in, facing his mother. “So here’s your chance. Keep up your lies. Tell me he’s not who I think he is.”
“He is, Max.” Kathryn’s vision swam with tears. “Andrew is your father.”
Max nodded, and his gaze fell to the table between them. His lips moved, as if he were about to speak, then stopped. He pushed back and bounded up the staircase. The slam of his bedroom door ricocheted through the house.
Kathryn scaled the stairs two at a time and rapped on Max’s door. “Max, open up, please,” she begged. “Talk to me.”
She wasn’t aware of Andrew’s presence behind her until he spoke. “Let me try?”
Kathryn rounded on him. Andrew was close, too close, backing her into the space between his body and Max’s bedroom door. “No, you need to get out of here. Now.”
“You can’t keep him away from me forever, Kathryn—”
The gravity of the last few minutes fanned a fire within her that erupted into an inferno. The bruised feelings of Nick and Andrew were her fault—always, it seemed—but the heartbreak in Max’s expression eclipsed all the mistakes she’d made in her life. Now they were all tangled in the web she’d spun, and she had to get Max out of it. “Yes, I can,” she cried. “I can and I will if I have to. This”—she waved at Max’s bedroom door—“is exactly what I was trying to avoid.”
Emmy’s bedroom door flew open, and the girl crossed the hall, her eyes round. She brushed past Kathryn and Andrew and knocked on Max’s door. “Max, it’s me. Open up. Please.”
A pulse of silence. Kathryn’s mind whirled, wondering what Max had seen when he’d had her phone. It was all there, in black and white. Not only would her texts have confirmed Max’s suspicions about Andrew, but they would have revealed all the times she’d slipped into Nick’s bed after a long day.
“Max,” Emmy begged, and knocked again. Max yanked his door, and all three jumped.
“Sweetheart, listen—” Kathryn pleaded.
Max’s face was crumpled, his eyes narrowed on Kathryn. “I don’t want to talk to you. And I definitely don’t want to talk to him .” He jabbed a finger an inch from Andrew’s face. Then Max reached for Emmy’s wrist, she slipped inside, and the door closed again.
Kathryn faced Andrew. “You need to get out of here.” Her words stabbed him, she could see in the way his brows pinched. She stomped down the staircase. “You too, Nick. Out.”
When Nick came into her line of sight, his arms were still crossed, his stance wide.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. What the fuck are you doing here, Nick?” Andrew demanded over her head.
Fear crept up her spine. She was there, physically between the men, her secrets tearing through the thin film that had contained them all those years.
“I’m out.” Nick held up his palms. “This is your mess, Kat. You can deal with your shitty kid and his little girlfriend that you let live with you , and all the fucked-up shit going on in your world. And you got yourself sucked into it, Drew, after I warned you not to.”
Nick strode across the rug and threw the front door open, then slammed it behind him. A wave of muggy air rolled into the room, and Nick’s absence filled the space, like a ghost. Andrew’s chest heaved, but Kathryn’s mind spun. Max. His girlfriend?
Nick knew everything that went on in town.
Moments snapped into place. Bits of conversations. Max’s expression when he looked at Emmy from across the dinner table. The orchestrated six feet of space between them on the couch. The particular stillness of the house when she came home each evening. Kathryn rarely saw Max and Emmy interact. She’d been stupid, blind to it all. For months. Max wasn’t being unfriendly to Emmy; he was hiding something. The same way she’d hidden Andrew. It all screamed at her, if only she’d been paying attention.
Andrew shook his head no. But Kathryn’s feet were already moving, taking the steps two at a time to Max’s bedroom door once more. “Max. Emmy. Get out here. Now.”
A pulse of silence. Whispers from the other side of the door? Then Max yanked it open, his face stony.
“Come downstairs.” Kathryn padded down the steps into the living room, this time lava flowing through her veins, hot and slow. Max descended the staircase, flanked by Emmy, her cheeks aflame. Kathryn motioned to the couch. “Sit,” she ordered.
Kathryn hardly noticed Andrew, a statue on the living room rug.
Emmy perched on the edge of her cushion, while Max shot Andrew a glare before he slumped down. Kathryn stood before them, and for a moment all she could hear in the dense silence was the thud of her own heart. Max’s and Emmy’s eyes burned onto her as she drew a steadying breath. “Tell me what the game is: you two hide out in your rooms when I’m home? You don’t address one another in my presence, but as soon as I leave ...” Her words hung in the air. Mortification flowed. She’d allowed herself to be blinded by Andrew.
“You wanted us to get along.” Max leaned back, folding his arms.
Kathryn looked to Emmy, where she knew she’d find the truth. “How long has this been going on?”
Emmy swallowed.
“What does it matter?” Max barked.
Kathryn drew a long breath and shifted to her son. “It matters, Maxwell, because she’s an underage girl living in my house.” She looked at Emmy. “How long?”
Emmy’s voice was small. “It started a few days after I got here.”
“Around the same time this sperm donor”—Max waved an arm at Andrew—“showed up in our driveway.”
Another wave of mortification. Kathryn took an unsteady breath.
“Kathryn,” Andrew interjected. “Maybe everyone should take a break—”
Kathryn silenced him with a palm. She exhaled through her nose, then reset. “I find it to be extremely ... disrespectful”—she looked to Emmy—“that you two hide things from me while you’re together in my house.”
“Kathryn, I’m sorry,” Emmy burst, her cheeks aflame.
Kathryn saw the girl’s hand flutter. Emmy’s instinct was to reach for Max, and Max’s to reach back. He weaved his fingers between Emmy’s, and they clung to each other.
“Babe.” Max’s tone dropped and from his side profile, Kathryn watched tenderness transform his face. “It’s okay. We have nothing to be sorry for.”
She’d imagined lust, the thrill of secrets. But in Max’s and Emmy’s actions, recognition swept over her: the two were besotted. The kind of love she knew too well, the kind that framed the perception of life going forward, the kind that resulted in crushing heartbreak. This was the thing that would shatter her son. A bolt of fear.
Max turned to his mother, fire blazing behind his eyes. “You’re such a hypocrite.” His lips curled. “You sneak around with this dude.” The floor creaked when Andrew shifted. “I’m an adult, Emmy’s of age; she can have sex with anyone she wants to.”
Kathryn watched embarrassment flow over Emmy.
Max tightened his grip on Emmy’s hand and turned to her. “Come on, baby.” He jerked a thumb toward the staircase. “Let’s get our stuff. Let’s go.” Emmy sat, frozen. Max looked at Kathryn. “We’re going to Washington. Together.”
The floor spun beneath Kathryn’s feet. “You can’t leave,” she hissed.
“Why the hell not?” Max cried. “I can do whatever I want, and you can’t stop me. You don’t know how it feels to be in love. You’ve never had a lasting relationship. You run around fucking whoever you want while you kept me locked in the house my whole life.”
Kathryn’s eyes flicked up to Andrew’s. Everything she’d been hiding her son from had been useless. Andrew was there, witnessing the fallout of her failures as a mother. Her son was closing her out. Every bit of power was inching away. Her armpits pricked with sweat, panic rising. And Harper was going to lose Emmy.
Kathryn looked at the girl. Maybe she could reason with her, stop the two from leaving. “Honey, you’re young and you think you’re in love and I get it—I’ve been there. But you weren’t here a year ago when Max was kicked out of school. You weren’t here when he almost killed himself driving drunk. You think you know him, but you don’t. This is what he does; he’s reckless. First, it was drinking; then it was drugs, and now it’s you. But you need to think about this before you run off to another state with a boy. You’re going to get hurt.”
Emmy’s head jerked. “Kathryn, no—”
“You’re still seventeen for three more weeks.” Emmy’s eyes were round with fear. “You need to go back home to your mother.”
But Max’s voice overpowered hers when he leaned forward and boomed, “This is bullshit. You can’t make her go back there. Harper doesn’t care about her.” Max stood. “She’s almost as bad as you are.”
Kathryn’s face ignited, and Max’s expression confirmed he’d struck his intended target.
“You want to talk to me about keeping secrets? About being reckless?” Max leaned over his mother. “You’re the one who’s running around with your sloppy leftovers from twenty fucking years ago.” His eyes ping-ponged between Kathryn and Andrew. “Have you run out of dick in this town and now you’re making the rounds again? Isn’t it uncomfortable for you to look at his face? Isn’t he just a reminder of the worst mistake you’ve ever made, or at least a reminder to use a condom this time around—”
The crack of Kathryn’s palm on his cheek silenced the room. Emmy and Andrew gasped in unison. Regret swept Kathryn, a tidal wave. Her hand burned. Max’s eyes welled.
Kathryn covered her mouth. Max deserved a better mother than the one he’d gotten. She’d failed him. Completely. And now Andrew saw she was the worst mother in existence.
Max’s eyes narrowed, his voice granite. “You’re right. I am fucked up. But I’ve learned from the best.” He strode from the house, the slam of the front door rattling the floorboards, and Kathryn collapsed onto the couch, her face in her hands. There was tearing deep in her diaphragm as she tried to suck in a breath but couldn’t. She opened her eyes to catch Emmy’s shape disappearing out the door.
Max was gone. Despite her best efforts, he’d slipped from her grasp.