CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
2:15 p.m.
Emmy
Emmy jogged the half mile to her father’s house and spotted Max’s car in the driveway. A cocktail of relief and apprehension rose in her chest. With trembling hands, she worked the keypad and stepped inside. The house was dark. Deathly still.
“Max?” Her voice echoed in the upper levels. The wood floor creaked underfoot as she made her way through the dining room. At first, nothing seemed out of place, and then she spotted it: a crumpled blue blanket on the couch by the sunporch window, the shape of a person underneath. The shades were drawn. Emmy pulled the fabric aside, exposing the creamy skin of his shoulder, cold and clammy to her touch. “Max, are you okay?”
With a groan, Max’s head rolled to the side, his eyes red and irritated, and in a raspy whisper, he said, “I feel like shit.”
Emmy dropped onto the couch and ran her hand down his back, which was damp with sweat. “How much did you drink?”
“Just let me be,” he groaned.
“You know I’m not going to do that.” His fingers found hers. It felt like a lifetime had passed since she’d touched him. “Let me help. I’ll get you some water and run you a bath.”
Max squeezed her hand.
In the bathroom upstairs, Emmy turned on the faucet, letting the water spill into the basin. “Brush your teeth,” she instructed, clouds of steam rising in the room, and Max complied. She’d never seen him look so tired, like he’d aged five years overnight.
When the tub was full, Max slipped into the warm, bubbly water and closed his eyes, and Emmy slid down to sit on the tile beside him, her back against the wall. Max was safe. He was there with her. But apprehension welled; she’d heard Andrew and Kathryn fighting. Would things ever be good for any of them again? “Where are your clothes?”
“Downstairs in the dryer.”
“What the hell happened today? Javi called when you went missing. Kathryn is out looking for you. We need to call them; everyone’s worried.”
“My phone is dead. Don’t call my mom yet. I don’t want her to see me like this.” The water sloshed as Max ran a hand down his face, then shut his eyes. “I’m sorry being with me isn’t like your books. No happy ending here.” He opened his eyes to look at her for a brief second before his gaze went unfocused. He closed them again.
“You’re still high.” Emmy hung her head. “Jesus, Max. What did you take?” His jaw tensed. “Max, please.”
“Just something to help me sleep,” he whispered. Max’s arm hung off the side of the tub, and bubbles dripped from his fingertips. “Right before you got here.”
Emmy pressed her forehead to the cold porcelain and closed her eyes. This was worse than she thought. And she couldn’t escape it. She was caught deep in the web of the ugliest side of love.