

### Solitude of a Birdcage

a novel

### Brielle Skye

Gypsy Pen

PUBLISHING

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2010 Brielle Skye

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Gypsy Pen Publishing

For questions, address:

P.O. Box 1010

New York, NY 10156

Cover layout and design by Ellie Bockert Augsburger of CreativeDigitalStudios.com

Author photo by George Urbina of Lebeauphotos.tumblr.com

"Bird Cage" © Olga Nikishina of Dollar Photo Club

Ebook formatting by EbookLaunch.com

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

FIRST EDITION

ISBN 978-0-9916506-9-9

For my mom, who deserves a dedication

bigger than one I could ever give.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Acknowledgments

About the Author

#

Shame woke her.

The heat of it rolled through her, an explosion that started in the pit of her stomach and ricocheted off of her organs. In the dark haze between sleep and consciousness, she'd seen Van, her best friend. She'd heard Van's voice, saying it was okay to cry, felt Van's fingers wrap tightly around hers and squeeze.

Sitting straight up in her bed, she turned to the figure that lay beside her. Isaac stirred and reached for her, his hand falling on the empty pillow beside him. Even through the darkness, she could see his eyes flutter open. "Maxie," he said. "What's wrong?"

"Van," she said, breathless. Still disoriented from sleep, her eyes scanned the room. "Where's Van? What time is it?"

" _Sh-h_ ," Isaac soothed, placing a comforting hand on the small of her back. "Relax. It's only two, Van's still at work."

But Maxie's heart was hammering angrily against her chest cavity, guilt flooded her veins. Remnants of sorrow lingered from her dream. In it, she'd been fifteen again, sitting in the pitch black of the bedroom she'd once shared with Van, waiting for a call that would never come.

"If he was ever going to call," she thought aloud, "it would have been that night. My birthday."

Isaac rose to rest on his elbow. He took hold of her arm and gently pulled her around to face him. She couldn't. She kept her eyes low, her head turned. "Hey," he said. "Was it a nightmare?"

"No," she replied. It was a reminder. How _easy_ Isaac made it for her to forget nights like that one. Nights when it had been Van beside her, Van wanting to know what was wrong. Wanting to make it better. "We can't do this," she said. "We can't tell her."

Isaac took his hand off of her. With a sigh, he fell back down against the pillow. "Go back to sleep," he said, evenly.

"It was my birthday—"

"I'm not going to entertain this conversation."

"He didn't even _call_ , but Van was there—"

"Of course, she was! You lived with her, Maxie. Jesus. Where else would she have been?"

"You don't understand..." Maxie could almost feel the warmth of Van's palm against her cheek, as it'd been that night, catching her tears as they'd fallen. She could almost smell Van's perfume. Her shampoo.

Or maybe that was just Isaac. Why _wouldn't_ her friend's scent be clinging to him?

She opened her mouth to speak, but as she finally allowed herself to look at him, everything she'd been meaning to say slipped away. His eyes were closed and his brows were knitted together in frustration, yet he was still so handsome her words left her.

"I mean, seriously," he went on. "Aren't you sick of this? The hiding, the sneaking. I'm not a fucking teenager anymore. I'm not doing this."

When he realized she was staring at him, warmth mollified his hard gaze, and the corners of his lips curled up into a small grin. "C'mere," he said, taking her by the arms again and pulling her against his bare chest. "We're telling her tonight," he said, softer but with no less conviction. "We're telling her, and we're going to deal with the consequences. It'll be hard, but at least we'll have each other."

"But I'll lose _her_." Her best friend in the entire world.

"Maybe at first. But she'll get past it eventually. You both will. That's what it means to be family." His fingers were in her hair as he spoke, the tips of them moved gently against her scalp. Then he dropped a kiss on the crown of her head and, even in the midst of her guilt, she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in his embrace.

What was it about him that made her lose her sense of obligation? Her sense of loyalty? The answer came to her almost instantly.

_Everything_. Every single thing.

They made love. They held each other. They talked. They made love again. It was just after four in the morning when she untangled herself from his limbs and went to the kitchen for water. She pulled the jug from the refrigerator and as she turned to retrieve a cup, something caught her eye. Van's bedroom door. It sat slightly ajar, a thin stream of light bleeding out into the hall.

Van was home. Just in her bedroom.

Maxie could hear her shuffling around. For a moment, she stood frozen in her own panic. Wearing nothing but panties and Isaac's oversized tee shirt, there would be no denying what had been going on while Van was away. Especially not with him half-asleep in her bed.

She had to wake him, warn him. They planned on coming clean to Van, but not like this. Pivoting toward her room, she slammed right into a broad chest. Strong hands grabbed her before she could gather her bearings, and roughly turned her back toward the counter. She cried out as her belly smashed against the edge. She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand seized her by the mouth and jerked her back first. His fingers dug into her cheeks, his palms covered her nose. She couldn't even breathe, let alone scream.

She struggled against his iron grip for but a moment before the sensation of cold metal against her temple made her stop short. "That's right," a low voice rasped at her. The man leaned down so close to her that his lips brushed against her ear. "Don't move another fucking _inch_."

She didn't move. She didn't even blink. Her heart may have even stopped beating, but she couldn't be sure. Fear oppressed every other emotion, every other thought. "Is anyone else here?" the man demanded. Maxie's eyes went to Van's bedroom as it occurred to her that it wasn't Van at all shuffling around in there. So there was just Isaac.

She shook her head.

He lowered the gun and shoved her back down on the counter, pushing her face into the granite tile. Her heart pace quickened as the shirt she wore rose over the back of her thighs. She cried out, but once again, the sensation of the gun against her skin quieted her. "Shut up!" he ordered, pressing her face harder against the countertop. Pain vibrated through the side of her head. She felt as if it would explode under the pressure of his palm.

Was Isaac still asleep? What would happen if she yelled for him? What would happen if he came running out of the room to the sound of her distress with no idea of what was waiting for him? She would get them both shot.

With the gun still digging into her spine, the man lifted her shirt to reveal her skimpy, lacy panties. Maxie recoiled. She tried to rise, her hands flew back to stop him. "No, please!" she cried, tears blurring her vision. When had she started to cry? "Don't!"

Her hands battled with his for the hem of the shirt for a moment before he took her by her hair with one hand and jerked her head back violently. With the butt of his pistol, he delivered a swift blow that landed just above her brow. She crumbled instantly, right into the violent embrace of her assailant. The room spun beneath her as he shoved her, limp and dazed, back against the counter. "I will fucking hurt you," he growled, giving her head a sharp jolt. Reality was slipping away from her as the pain of her wound set in in sharp, furious bursts. She slowly raised her hand to it and looked at her fingers, decorated in blood. She blinked as darkness crept in, slowly framing her vision. "Do you understand me?" he barked at her. When she didn't reply, he gave her head another jar. This time she nodded.

Taking her by the back of the shirt, he shoved her to the middle of the floor. She could feel herself swaying on her feet. Her legs felt weak beneath her. For a moment, she stood there trembling, uncertain of what was happening, of what was _going_ to happen. What was he doing behind her? She couldn't hear him, he wasn't touching her, and yet, she could feel him, like an ominous shadow hovering over her. Finally, he said, "Take off your shirt."

Her eyes fell shut, her insides crumbled. Like a hollow, rotted floor, collapsing beneath the weight of her. A violent sob rose up from her chest.

"Hey!" he snapped. "Now!"

Helpless, her hands shaking, her shoulders heaving as she wept, she slowly pulled her shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor. The apartment was cold—or maybe it was just the menacing presence of her aggressor—and the hairs rose on her arms and the back of her neck. A moment later his icy fingers trailed down her spine, stopping at the small of her back to pop the elastic of her panties. She shuddered, weak with humiliation and shame. With a chuckle, he said, "Nice."

Maxie squeezed her eyes shut tighter as he circled her, the slightest bit of movement dizzying her. Stopping in front of her, he shoved her arms, which were crossed over her exposed breasts, down to her sides. "Your panties now," he said. "Take them off."

She dropped her head, slowly shook it. "Please—"

He was behind her again; she felt the gun prod her forcefully. "Now!" he barked.

Letting her eyes flutter open, she wondered if she preferred to just have him shoot her. Humiliate her, rape her, maybe kill her once it was all over, anyway, or just put her out of her misery now? But then, something shifted in the darkness. A silhouette, a figure. _Isaac_.

He came out of the shadows just enough to meet her eyes. His were black, and stone cold. His shoulders were squared, his jaw was taut. She inhaled sharply as he raised the small gun in his hands—he'd given it to her months ago, insisted she keep it in the drawer beside her bed despite her persistent claims that she'd never need it—and pointed it right at her. She inhaled, her eyes went wide, and then he pulled the trigger.

She wondered if it all happened in slow motion; growing tense as the deafening _bang_ of the gun vibrated through her entire body, her eyes slamming shut just a half a second before she felt drops of wetness land on the bare skin of her back, the sound of the intruder's body hitting the floor with a _thud._ And then the silence, the blackness, the numbness that followed.

Isaac didn't miss a beat. He rushed forward and as soon as she felt his hands on her, she collapsed in his arms. Locking her in his embrace, he led her away from the limp body at their feet. She pressed herself against him, wrapped her arms around him, sobbed desperately into the curve of his neck. He lifted her and brought her to the living room where he wrapped the small duvet from the couch around her bare shoulders.

For a moment or so, he said nothing as she cried, just held her heaving, quaking body to him, rocked slowly back and forth, ran his hand through her tousled hair, and rested his lips reassuringly on her ear. She struggled to breath, her heart beating so hard and so fast that her chest hurt. Her ears were still ringing, her head was throbbing, blood fell in slow, vein-like streams down her face. She could barely see through the throbbing pain in her skull, through her fear, through her shock. "Relax, sweetheart, I'm here," he finally whispered. "I'm right here. Focus on my voice. Feel my heart beat. Can you feel it? I'm right here."

He pulled back to take off his own shirt and then pressed it to her head.

"It's not that bad. Don't worry, you'll be fine," he assured.

And then she jerked back, her eyes wide and wild. She tried to get to her feet but Isaac held her.

"Hey, hey," he said, gently. "Just calm down, you're safe now." Her breaths grew short and quick when her eyes fell on Van's bedroom.

"No," she whispered, peering around the dark apartment. "Isaac—"

"Relax," he said, "just relax—"

" _Sh-h_!" she hushed, frantically. Where was the second intruder? Had he fled during the commotion, or was he still there? Maybe he was watching them at that very moment. "Isaac," she murmured, her voice barely audible, her eyes impossibly big as she looked up at him. "I think there's someone else here."

He peered back at her, and then around the apartment. "Alright," he said, still so collected while Maxie sat before him, hyperventilating from uncertainty, shock, blinding fear. Slowly rising, he tucked her behind the couch and wrapped her fingers around the gun in his hand. "Do you remember how to use it?" he asked.

Maxie blinked. She wanted to tell him _no_. She wanted to say that she couldn't take the gun, because there was no way she'd be able to pull the trigger if necessary. She wanted to beg him to just stay with her, to kneel in the corner beside her, to never leave her sight. But instead, she swallowed hard and managed a choked, "Yes."

He nodded and turned to go off into the darkness. "No!" she cried, reaching for him. He turned back to her and kneeled down to meet her terrified eyes.

"I'll be okay," he assured. "Just trust me, alright? Sit right here, don't move, don't make a sound. I'm going to call the police and then come right back for you."

She shook her head but he was already pulling away from her again. More tears sprang forth as he carefully peeled his wrist from her fingers, which dug into his skin. "I love you," he said, and pressed a short but passionate kiss on her lips. It was almost comforting, reassuring, like a promise.

She watched as he stole into the kitchen, grabbed the dead man's gun, and then disappeared into the shadows. Maxie sat, struggling to keep her breathing even. She was trying not to blink, trying not to jump every time she thought she heard a noise. Her hands holding the small gun shook. The smell of the dead man's blood was making her nauseous. Minutes passed. Long, unbearable minutes that felt like hours, days. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe no one else was in the apartment. Maybe they were safe—

Two thunderous gunshots shattered her thoughts. She shrieked, pressed herself more firmly to the back of the couch, tightened her grip on her own gun. She couldn't control the sobs that erupted from her chest. The terror she felt was paralyzing. Where was Isaac? Why didn't he come back to get her?

She pulled a hand off of her gun to quickly sweep it over her eyes, then placed it back against the metal. Her palms were sweating, her hands quaked, she thought she would throw up any second. She needed to see Isaac. She needed to hear his voice, to feel his arms around her. She needed to know he was okay. Where was he? What was going on?

He told her it would be okay, but she didn't know if she believed him. He told her not to move, but she didn't think she could oblige. Taking a deep breath, she slowly rose on shaking legs and took a step through the darkness, still holding the blanket around her. The silence of the apartment was just as deafening as the gunshots. Had anyone heard them? Maybe the police were on the way.

She took another step, and another and another, through the wide pool of sticky blood and into the hallway. She wanted to call out to him, but feared getting someone else's attention instead, so she moved mutely throughout the apartment. The living room was empty, the front door hung slightly open. Did someone leave? _Where was Isaac?_

She treaded softly and slowly down the hall. The bathroom door was closed. Van's door was closed. Her bedroom door was open. She paused, breathed, carried on. Just before the open door, she paused again, breathed. Then, pointing the gun, she turned into her bedroom.

Her body went cold.

Her blood stopped pumping, her heart stopped beating, she stopped breathing. She may as well have died right there, standing. Without him she couldn't live. She didn't exist.

Sprawled out on the floor beside her bed, motionless in a growing puddle of his own blood, was Isaac. Shot in the head.

#

THEN

Maxie was high. As high as a kite, as a comet, as high as something even higher than a comet. It was Christmas evening and she plodded down a snow covered sidewalk of New York City, her hands lodged in her pockets, her wool hat pulled low over her face, nearly covering her eyes. The freezing wind blew fiercely, whipping her hair across her cheeks and sending icy chills up her spine that made her whole body shudder. Yet, somehow, it didn't bother her.

No, she was walking on cloud nine. _Above_ cloud nine, actually. Floating there. The fact that it was Christmas and she should have been somewhere warm, surrounded by family and loved ones was irrelevant. In fact, she preferred to trudge through the arctic winter while her thoughts moved about her mind in disarray, like the snow as the breeze carried it in every direction. Every few moments she'd lose herself in contemplation and forget she was even outside, walking, cold and headed nowhere. And then moments after that, a new notion would swoop in and take her thoughts elsewhere.

At one point, she considered that her family might starve that evening; she'd left the apartment earlier that afternoon and never returned to prepare Christmas dinner. And then she wondered what restaurants were open, because they'd surely order takeout. Or maybe they were still waiting for her to come home and cook. Probably not. Considering no one had even called her to see where she was in almost two hours, they'd probably forgotten she wasn't there. Maybe _she_ would grab takeout—

And that was her last thought before she stepped off of the curb and a loud horn sounded, violently jerking her back into reality just in time for her to get a good look at the shiny black car that slammed into her as it screeched to a halt.

Her eyes fluttered open—or, at least, she thought they were open. Everything was black. For a moment, she felt as if she were floating again, floating in nothingness. But then the sensation of the pavement on her back became palpable, and the sharp pain in her skull followed suit. She blinked and raised her hand to her head, struggling to subdue the throbbing pain in her temples. Slowly, the darkness that plagued her vision began to fade, and the world took shape around her. She could see figures hovering over her, lights were nothing but bright blurs in the background, voices and cars and horns sounded distant, though the ringing in her ears was loud and clear.

"Are you okay?" a voice asked. It wasn't until she felt his hand on her shoulder that she realized he was kneeling down beside her. "Can you hear me?" His voice was deep and calm, even a bit soothing. She tried to get a better look at him, but it was no use. Her vision remained limited to blurred shapes. "Hey," he repeated. She felt the tips of his fingers on her face as he pushed her hair back. "Can you hear me? Miss?"

Hadn't she answered him already? She blinked again but it didn't help. "Yes," she finally managed. "I can hear you." _I just can't see you_.

"Are you okay?" he repeated.

"I'm fine." Was that true? She _felt_ fine. Except for her vision, but she was pretty sure that would be fine after a while, too.

"Can you move?" She didn't know. She hadn't tried. "Wait, no, you probably shouldn't. The paramedics are on the way."

Suddenly, her heart pace quickened. Ambulances, paramedics? Hospitals? They all made her anxious. As if on cue, the scream of sirens echoed in the distance. "No, I'm fine," she said quickly, reaching for the man and grabbing a handful of air instead. So her coordination was a little off, as well. She settled on the pavement for support. "No paramedics. I'm okay."

He attempted to object, but she ignored him. She pushed herself into a sitting position, and a sharp pain shot through her side so suddenly, so ruthlessly, that her mouth went dry and her teeth clicked and nausea rose in the pit of her stomach. She opened her mouth to cry out, but a breathless gasp emerged instead. She shut her eyes tightly and reached for the man again as she started to spin. She felt as if the ground was whirling under her, fast and unsteady, jerking her back and forth so violently her stomach turned. She moaned as the pain in her ribs ricocheted off her insides, vibrating all the way up to her shoulder and down to her leg. Where did the clouds go? she wondered. The moon and the stars and steady flow of her thoughts? They were all gone, replaced by painful reality and a throbbing head and agonizing jolts shooting up and down her right side.

She inhaled deeply, and everything went black.

Before she opened her eyes, Maxie gripped a handful of the soft blanket draped over her. She inhaled the scent of her surroundings; she listened for the ominous silence. Before she opened her eyes, Maxie knew that she was in a hospital. Exhaling heavily, she finally opened her eyes and peered around. She was lying in a narrow bed with white sheets and grey rails, wearing a pale blue nighty. She could see again, her head wasn't throbbing, and the burn along her right side had subsided to almost nothing. She slowly sat up and her body shuddered as an unnerving chill ran through her.

When was the last time she'd seen the inside of a hospital room? She remembered the day as if it had just passed, though it had been years ago. A hospital room, much like the one she was in, had been the last place she'd seen her mother alive. Pretty much alive, anyway.

"Oh, you're awake," came a voice from across the room. Her neck snapped in the direction of the dim corner, where a man occupied an armchair. She recoiled and sank down further into the mattress, jerking the thin sheet up to her chin. "Sorry," he said quickly, raising his palms to her. "I didn't mean to scare you."

He looked tired and unkempt. His large body fit awkwardly into the small chair. Had he been sleeping like that? she wondered. It appeared so. "Who are you?" she asked, her eyes sweeping over him.

The man stood, and as he came toward her, she sank into herself. He was across the room, at her side, in just three smooth, confident strides. His massive frame towered over her.

He outstretched his hand and she took it, losing her own in his long fingers. "My name is Isaac," he said.

He was looking her straight in the eye, and she felt unsettled under his gaze. He was beautiful. Even in his wrinkled, slept-in clothes and with bags under his eyes and his six o'clock shadow growing darker, the man was absolutely stunning. His sun-kissed skin tone glowed beneath the dim lighting of the room; his eyes, low and calm and liquid brown, remained captivatingly intense. His lips—Maxie couldn't help but stare at his lips—were full and shapely, and when he moistened them with his tongue, gently biting down on the bottom one, she nearly lost her breath.

"I'm Maxie," she finally choked out, willing herself to tear her eyes off of his perfect, symmetrical face.

"Maxie," he said, still holding onto her hand. "Maxie... As in Maxine?"

"As in Maximilienne."

His eyes widened. "You're French?"

She nodded. "My mother was."

The corners of his lips turned up into a small grin, his eyes sparkled. Still, they hadn't strayed away from her face. Did she look as flushed as she felt? " _Parlez-vous français_?"

" _Un peu_ ," she replied. "Just the basics." He nodded, still grinning lightly. "Isaac," she said. "How long have I been here?"

His grin faded. "A few hours. Listen, I'm sorry about hitting you. How are you feeling? How are your ribs?"

Her ribs? Oh, yes. Her ribs. She'd forgotten about those. "They're fine."

"They don't hurt? Three of them are bruised."

"They feel fine."

He nodded. "How about your head? You got a concussion."

"My head is fine, too. Did you sleep in that chair for _hours_?"

He glanced back at the small chair in the corner. "The nurses wanted to contact your family, but we couldn't find your wallet and your cell phone is locked. I didn't want to leave you alone, so..." His voice trailed off. "I'm sorry again. It's Christmas, your family's probably worried." He pulled out his cell phone. "Is there someone you want to call?"

"No," she said, pushing the blanket to the side. "I should probably just get home." He stepped back as she lowered her feet off of the side of the bed. His eyes fell on the nighty, which was hiked up, practically to her hips, revealing her bare thighs. He looked away as she quickly lowered it.

"I think the doctors wanted to keep you overnight. For observation. You hit your head pretty hard."

"It's fine," she repeated. "Anyway, my roommate is a nurse. She'll look after me." She went to the small table beside her bed and grabbed her clothes, which sat folded neatly on the surface. Still wearing the nighty, she slipped on her jeans before reaching for her bra, then paused and looked at Isaac.

Understanding, he turned to face the wall so she could finish dressing. With some soreness, she got out of the nighty and managed to get one arm through her bra strap, but when she lifted the other, sharp pain shot up her side. She cried out, and Isaac nearly spun around before stopping himself.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She, too, turned toward the wall, the wall opposite his, arms tightly over her breasts with her naked back to him. She gripped her side with her free hand, slouching slightly to the side as she waited for the stinging to subside.

"Maxie? Are you alright?" Isaac pressed.

"Umm, yeah," she said, though she looked down at her bra, only halfway on her body and not even snapped, and wondered how she would managed to get it all the way on by herself. Holding her breath and bracing herself for the pain, she slowly tried lifting her arm again, but her aching ribs wouldn't allow it. Finally, she decided against the bra all together. "I'm almost done," she said, breathlessly. How could a task as small as putting on a bra, something she did every single day, be so tiring? she wondered. However, putting on a shirt quickly proved to be even more difficult, and incredibly painful.

After what seemed like hours, Maxie finally threw down her shirt in frustration and leaned on the bed to gather her bearings. Isaac still faced the opposite wall, and she stood behind him, still bare from the waste up, holding her breasts with one arm and her ribs with the other. "How are you doing back there?" he asked.

She sighed. "I can't do it."

With furrowed eyebrows, he slightly turned his head, cutting his eyes in her direction. "Do what?"

"Put on my shirt."

For a moment, he didn't reply, and then he asked, "Can I... I mean, do you want me to help?"

She turned her back to him again. "No, I'm fine. I can do it." She reached for her shirt, but only held it in her hand. She didn't actually believe that she could do it. But was she supposed to let a stranger—one who hit her with his car, at that—help dress her? Taking a deep breath, she got one arm into the shirt. She groaned and winced as she put her head through the appropriate hole next. And then, when it was time to lift her other arm, her ribs objected and she cried out and doubled over in pain.

"Okay, wait," she heard Isaac say. And then she felt his warm hands on the cool skin of her bare back.

"No!" she cried. "Don't look at me!"

"I won't," he said, gently. "I promise, I won't look. Just let me help you. You're only going to hurt yourself more." Maxie remained bent over, her arm still tightly over her chest. "Please," he said. "I just want to help. It's the least I can do." She nodded but didn't move. "Can you stand straight?" he asked.

She breathed. "In a minute."

He waited. After a minute, she slowly rose and turned to him. She kept her eyes straight ahead on his chest as he carefully lifted her arm while the other shielded her nakedness. She grimaced in pain as he got it into her sleeve, and then shuddered as he pulled it down over her belly, lightly grazing her skin with his fingertips. "There," he said, without stepping back. He stood so close to her that their chests nearly touched, so close that the masculine scent of him filled her nostrils.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice just above a whisper. Still avoiding his eyes, she moved to put on her shoes, and he followed.

"Just sit," he said, taking the rain boot from her hands and kneeling before her. Her eyes widened as he slipped it onto her foot, and then put the other on her, too. Then he stood and carefully pulled her up to help her into her coat.

"Thank you," she repeated.

"It's the least I can do," he said again. "Listen, are you sure you won't consider just staying? It's only one night."

"My roommate will take care of me," she assured him.

He nodded. "Well, I'll drive you home, then."

"You don't have to."

He shook his head. "It's the least I can do."

When Maxie stepped into her apartment, her roommate, who'd been lounging on the couch, jumped to her feet.

"Maxie!" Van cried, rushing toward her. "Where have you been? We were waiting for you! We thought—" She stopped when Isaac stepped inside behind her friend. Her eyes widened a bit, her mouth fell agape.

"Van, this is Isaac," Maxie introduced. "Isaac, this is my roommate—"

"Savannah," Van said, stepping forward and extending her hand. Isaac took it.

"Nice to meet you."

Maxie winced as she pulled off her coat. Isaac quickly moved to her side to help lower it off of her shoulders, and hung it beside the door. Peering around at the apartment, she asked, "Where is everyone?"

"They left," Van replied, still gazing at Isaac.

" _Left_?"

Finally, she turned her attention to Maxie. "Well, Max, what do you expect? It's almost one in the morning now; they had a long ride home. Mom says to call her when you get in, though."

"I thought you said they were worried," she grumbled.

"They were! We _all_ were. We thought something might've happened."

"Right, but they didn't want to stick around to find out. Got it."

Van rolled her eyes. "What happened to you, anyway?"

"I got hit by a car," she said, matter-of-factly. "Some jerk forgot how to use his breaks or something."

"Oh, my God!" Van cried, rushing to her. Maxie glanced at Isaac. He was grinning lightly. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? What did the guy do?"

"He—"

"He was the perfect gentleman," Isaac piped up. "He carried her to the sidewalk after she passed out from the pain in the middle of the street." Van's eyes bulged. Maxie lowered hers as heat rose to her cheeks. "And he followed the ambulance to the hospital, and waited around while she slept, to make sure that when she woke up, she'd be okay."

" _You_ went to the hospital?" Van asked squeezing Maxie's hand.

"I was unconscious. I had no choice."

"As soon as she woke up, she checked herself out," Isaac said. "The doctor's wanted her to stay overnight, for observation, but she said her roommate is a nurse—"

"A genius nurse," Maxie added.

"—who would take care of her."

Van frowned. " _Max_."

"What's wrong?" Isaac asked.

"I'm _not_ a nurse."

"You're not?"

"She practically is," Maxie said.

"I studied nursing for a semester and a half. That hardly counts."

Isaac turned to Maxie. "You _lied_." He sounded appalled. She couldn't help but smile.

"Sit down," Van said, carefully helping Maxie down onto the sofa. "What did the doctors say?"

"They said I'm fine—"

"She has a concussion," Isaac said. This time, it was Maxie who glared at him. "And bruised ribs."

Van's frown deepened. She moved Maxie's arm and pushed her shirt up to reveal her black and blue skin. "Christ! Look at you!" Maxie stole a glimpse of Isaac. He was staring at her with a tight jaw. Looking away, she pushed Van's hands off of her shirt so she could lower it. "No, no. It looks worse than it is."

"Are _you_ a nurse now? You should've just stayed in the hospital."

"Why?"

"Well, they'll give you pain meds—"

Maxie held up the Tylenol Isaac had purchased for her while she'd slept. "Check!"

"—and wrap them for you, too—"

"Don't you have gauze?"

"Ugh," Isaac said, shaking his head. "Is she always this stubborn?"

With a roll of her eyes, Van replied, "She's _never_ this stubborn." She lifted up Maxie's shirt again to examine her side. "I can't believe you were hit by a car. How hard did that guy hit you? Jesus, did he even apologize? Who was that jerk?"

Isaac cleared his throat. "That jerk would be me."

Van's eyes widened and Maxie burst into laughter, then moaned in pain. " _You_ hit her?" Van cried, jumping to her feet.

"Yes. And to answer your questions, I don't think I hit her that hard, and yes, I did apologize."

Van raised her hand to her forehead. "Well, I guess it could have been worse."

"Umm, excuse me. Head trauma and bruised ribs here," said Maxie.

"Thank you for bringing her home," Van said, tilting her head to the side as she gazed up at Isaac. "I hope it didn't ruin your Christmas."

Maxie raised an eyebrow. "He hit _me._ "

"Actually, this is probably the most eventful Christmas I've had in years," said Isaac.

Van's eyes lit up. She ran her fingers through her thick hair. Maxie frowned. "Really? You weren't spending the holiday with anyone special?"

"Ah, no. I was actually coming back from the movies when I..." He paused and grinned. "Ran into Maxie."

Van threw her head back and laughed. Hard. Too hard. Maxie glared at her friend. Was she flirting? Van took a strand of hair between her fingers and playfully swatted his arm. Oh, yes, she was flirting indeed. Flirting with the man who hit Maxie with his car. Weren't there rules against that?

"You know, you look familiar," Van said.

Maxie rolled her eyes and leaned back. She winced in pain. This time, Isaac didn't notice.

"I was thinking the same thing about you," Isaac replied. _Oh no, he is_ not _falling for it._ "Have we met?"

"Well, I don't know. Do you live around here?"

"No, I live in Brooklyn. I'm in the area sometimes, though."

"Hey, wait," Van said with a snap. "You've come into _Bottoms_ _Up_ before! The bar on 47th and—"

"Eighth?"

"Yes!"

Isaac smiled. "Sure, I've been. Once or twice."

"Yeah, yeah! I remember now! You came in with a split eyebrow last month! I bartend there, on the side." _On the side of what?_ Maxie was waiting for him to ask, so Van could reply, with her infamous faux-modesty, _I model_. To her surprise, however, he didn't ask.

Recognition flickered in his eyes. "Oh, right. That _is_ where I know you from."

"Wow, what a small world! Is your eye okay?"

"Oh, yeah, good as new."

"What happened to it, anyway?"

Maxie sighed and slowly rose from her seat. She plodded to the kitchen and opened the freezer to gather ice. The place was a mess. She hadn't been there to cook, so her family had takeout, of course, just as she'd guessed. Plates and cups and food and empty containers still littered the table, for her to clean, no doubt.

"Long story," she heard Isaac reply.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I'm being so rude. Why don't you have a seat? Let me get you something to drink." Again, she touched his arm, this time as she motioned for him to sit. "We have juice and soda. Or bottled water, if you like."

He hesitated for a moment, as if to decline, and then he raised his eyes to Maxie, who quickly lowered hers. "Sure," he said, setting down on the sofa. "Bottled water is fine."

Van rushed to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "Max, where's all the water?" Maxie nodded toward the counter where the bottles sat, still packed up and warm. Van huffed in frustration. "They're not cold, Isaac. I'll just pour it in a cup with ice for you."

"Thank you," he replied.

Van went for a cup. She sat it down beside Maxie and leaned in close to her friend. "Oh, my God, he is gorgeous!" she whispered. Maxie glanced back at him. He was looking right at her. Yes, he was gorgeous. Perfect, even. She looked away.

"Yeah."

"I think I'm going to go for it, Max." _Haven't you been going for it for the last ten minutes_? "I mean, you always tell me to be proactive about these things. Well, this time, I'm going take your advice. I think he's into me. I remember when he came into the bar in November. I think he was into me, then, too, but it was so busy that night, I didn't get a chance to really talk to him. This is like destiny." _Was that what it was?_

"Sure, Van," Maxie replied, sealing the bundle of ice she had into a plastic bag.

"Hey, you don't mind, do you? I mean _you_ weren't—?"

"Huh?" Maxie said. "Me? Well, not really, but—"

"I mean, you have Alex already." Right. Alex. The man Maxie had been dating for nearly a six months already. Funny, she hadn't thought of him all night.

"Yeah," she said. "Of course."

Van beamed. "Great! Wish me luck!"

Had Maxie wished her luck? She wasn't sure. Either way, Van was sashaying back to the living room to give Isaac his water. "So," she said, sitting down beside him. "You should really let me make you dinner sometime, just to thank you for taking care of Maxie." _Ha!_ That was a joke. _Van_ making dinner? That wasn't appreciation, it was vengeance. What was she trying to pull, anyway? "And maybe you can tell me that story about how you split your eye open like that. Over some wine."

"Okay, well, I'm going to head to bed," Maxie said. "Pop some more pills, ice my ribs."

Isaac stood. "Are you feeling okay?"

Van stood. "Oh, Maxie's a trooper. She'll be fine."

Isaac briefly cut his eyes in Van's direction before looking back at Maxie. "Maxie?" he said.

"She's right. I'm okay."

"You'll call me if you need anything?"

"Actually, I didn't get your number."

"I'll take it and give it to her," Van offered.

Isaac opened his mouth to object but Maxie smiled. "Yeah, sure. Do that." Slightly deflated, he nodded. "Thanks again, Isaac."

"I hit you with my car."

She chuckled. "Yeah, well. Thanks for not killing me, then."

He chuckled. "Good night, Maximilienne."

"Good night, Isaac."

She turned away, went to her room, and shut the door behind her. For a while, she lay awake in bed and listened to the hum of Van and Isaac's chatter. Often, Van's laughter would carry into the room. Once, Isaac's did, too. And Maxie wished that the ice against her ribs could numb the ache in her heart, as well.

#

NOW

Maxie sat on the couch, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. She felt outside of herself, as if she were floating above the room, watching the herd of detectives, policemen, paramedics, medical examiners, and even lawyers swarming around her apartment. She just sat on the couch, finally clothed, but still covered in dried blood.

Isaac's blood.

Cops shot questions at her like bullets; she answered them robotically. _Did you know your attacker?_ I don't know. I never saw his face. _Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to hurt you?_ No. _Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to hurt Isaac?_ No.

A different officer: _Isaac shot him_? Yes. _With who's gun?_ Mine. _Where did_ you _get the gun?_ Isaac gave it to me. _Why?_ For protection. _How far away was he when he shot the man?_ A few feet. _And then what happened?_ Isaac went to call the police. _And then what happened?_ I heard gunshots. _And then what happened?_ When Isaac didn't come back to the kitchen, I went to go find him... _And..?_ And I found him.

She couldn't get the image out of her mind. Isaac lying on the floor, not moving, not breathing, bleeding to death. But he didn't die. He was alive, barely, but alive nonetheless. And so Maxie finally asked a question. "Is he going to be alright?"

Detective Lake, a petite woman with a short haircut and oversized slacks on, looked at her with pity. "The paramedics are doing everything they can for him."

Maxie shut her eyes. A hot tear found its way out from behind her lids, trailed down her face, collecting blood along the way, and fell onto her thigh, leaving a bright red mark on her pants. "Miss Shannen," Lake said, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "I just need to ask you a few more questions, okay? And then you can get cleaned up, and we can get you to the hospital to be with him."

Maxie nodded.

"Now, once again, who exactly are you to him?"

"I'm... I'm his... his..." She couldn't get the words out. She was everything to him, and nothing to him. She was his best friend, his confidant, his lover, his other half, but to everyone, to _Van_ , she was only his friend. "I'm—"

"Oh, my God! What's going on?" she heard Van cry out. "No, let go of me, I live here!" For the first time all morning, Maxie felt a hint of relief. She stood to greet her friend, whose eyes widened when they fell on her. "Maxie!" Van shrieked. "What's going on here? What happened to you? Are you hurt? Are you alright?"

Maxie stepped forward and fell into her friend's embrace. Van held her tight, with no regard to her bloodied clothes or stained skin. When they pulled apart, they were both crying. "Tell me what happened to you," Van insisted, frantically. She looked, horrified, at the body that still lay on the kitchen floor. "Who—who's that, Maxie? What happened?"

"He broke in, about an hour ago," Maxie explained. Van's eyes, if possible, grew even wider. Her mouth fell agape. "He tried to..." She couldn't say the words. The sensation of the dead man's hands was still on her skin. She closed her eyes and felt the tears roll down her face.

Stepping forward, Lake continued for her. "There were two intruders, Miss Trimmel. The man, there," she said, motioning toward the kitchen, "attempted to sexually assault Miss Shannen—"

"Oh, my God, Maxie!" Van gasped, starting to cry again.

"Thanks to Mr. Cole, he didn't succeed," Lake finished.

If she didn't have Van's attention before, Lake certainly had it at the mention of Isaac. "Isaac was here?" she said with raised eyebrows. "What was he doing here? Where is he?" Lake looked at Maxie, who looked away.

"He was here when the intruders arrived," Lake said slowly. Her eyes darted back and forth from Van to Maxie. Van, who was growing more hysterical by the second, and Maxie, who couldn't even look her friend in the eye. "Miss Trimmel, may I ask where you're coming from?"

"Work. I work at a bar in midtown," Van said. "Where is Isaac now? Is he okay? Where is he, Maxie?"

"Wait," Lake said. "Who are you to Mr. Cole?"

"His girlfriend! Tell me if he's okay!"

"I'm sorry. He was shot in the head." Van paled. She stared at the detective, blinking. "He survived the gunshot. Paramedics rushed him to the hospital. They're going to do everything they can for him."

"How?" Van mouthed. Her hands were at her chest, she was shaking her head. "Maxie," she said, turning to her friend. " _How_?"

"I'm sorry," Maxie choked out. "He was only protecting me, I'm sorry."

"Why was he _here_?" she cried, collapsing on the couch. Lake looked at Maxie, obviously wondering the same thing.

"He came here for some of his things," Maxie lied, avoiding Lake's stare.

"In the middle of the night? He knows I work at night, why wouldn't he wait until morning?"

Eyes still averted, Maxie said, "I don't know, Van..."

"Miss Trimmel, if you don't mind, I just have a few more questions for Maxie." Van nodded and Lake pulled Maxie to the hallway, away from listening ears. "Maxie, I need you to tell me the truth, okay? What _was_ Isaac doing here last night? We found him in his underwear. Why was he only wearing underwear if he just stopped by to pick up a few things?"

Maxie wrapped her arms around herself so she wouldn't split in two. Her legs felt as if they'd give out on her at any moment. She lowered her chin, practically to her chest, and shook her head. "We were going to tell her today," Maxie whispered, her voice breaking. "We planned on telling her first thing when she got home."

"So you and Isaac are—"

"Yes," Maxie breathed.

"Does Savannah have any idea?"

"No."

"Maxie, are you _sure_?"

Maxie paused, narrowed her eyes. "You think... No, Van had nothing to do with this. She... she's my best friend in the world, she would _never_ hurt me. And she _loves_ Isaac—" She stopped short and squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, God, I'm such a horrible person. This is all my fault..."

Lake said nothing, she just stared at Maxie, who saw nothing but eyes shadowed with judgment.

Nearly half the day passed before Maxie was alone in the apartment again. She desperately needed to bathe, but instead she sat on the floor against the living room wall, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. Van had gone to be with Isaac at the hospital. Maxie should've been there, too, but she couldn't face her friend. And she wasn't sure if she could face Isaac, either.

Was it just a coincidence that it had all happened the night he came over to discuss breaking Van's heart?

After nearly an hour, she finally rose and made her way to the bathroom. She let the water run on its maximum heat and stepped under the faucet, only slightly recoiling from the sensation of it hitting her bare skin. She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at the water streaming bright red at her feet. She scrubbed herself until she was sore, washed her hair until she was nearly out of shampoo, and then stood under the water until it ran lukewarm.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she lingered in the hallway for a while, dripping wet and contemplating what she would do next. Go to her room, which was covered in Isaac's blood? Or the living room, where she could still see the mess in the kitchen? There was Van's room, which was free of blood and brains and skull and death, but decorated with pictures of Van and Isaac smiling and laughing, and hugging and kissing. Maxie couldn't decide which one was worse.

She'd thought being in the apartment for the past year was hard, with the lies and betrayal and pain hanging in the air that they breathed, contaminating their minds and their souls and their spirits, but now there was remorse and death on top of it all, and Maxie knew that if she didn't get out soon, she wouldn't be any better off than Isaac was.

Maxie knew she liked Bea when she'd met her just a year prior. She'd been captivated by her exotic looks, impressed by her exceptional style, awed by her artistic talents. However, what Maxie appreciated most about Bea, was her gift of gab. She knew when to speak, she knew what to say, she knew how to say it.

And she also knew when to shut up.

That day, Bea said nothing. She and Maxie simply sat in her living room, staring at a movie that played on the television, but not really watching it. And then Maxie started to cry, and Bea said nothing, just set a fresh box of tissues besides her and let her sob. There was no comfort to be had, and Maxie was glad Bea didn't try to offer it.

It was around three in the morning when Maxie began to feel sleepy, nearly twenty-four hours since Isaac had been shot. She retreated to Bea's room to rest, but every time she closed her eyes, the sound of gunshots echoed through her thoughts; gunshots, her assailant's voice, her own cries of horror at the sight of Isaac bleeding and dying. She tossed and turned sleeplessly until the sun came up and, finally giving up on any chance of slumber, made her way back to the living room where Bea laid on the couch, snoring lightly.

Maxie felt lightheaded, her feet felt heavy, as if she were dragging boulders around on her ankles. And her heart hurt. And her thoughts remained on Isaac. She put on a pot of coffee, propped herself up on the counter, and leaned her head back against the cabinet.

Time passed.

The coffee stopped brewing.

More time.

Bea stirred.

Even more time.

The doorbell rang.

Maxie jumped, blinked, realized she'd been daydreaming. Bea groaned from the couch and the bell sounded again. "Who's that?" she asked, sitting up. She peered at the door and then back at Maxie. "Fuck, Max, did you sleep at all?"

"Mm hmm," Maxie replied, looking away.

"Maxie—" The doorbell rang again, followed by a loud knock. "Coming!" Bea called, climbing to her feet. She went to the door and pulled it open. Alex stood there.

"Maxie!" he cried, pushing past Bea and into the apartment. "Jesus, Maxie, I just spoke to Van."

For the first time all morning, Maxie _felt_ something. "You did? What did she say?"

He embraced her, nearly carried her off the counter, kissed the skin of her cheek, neck, shoulder, until she wriggled free of his embrace. "What did she _say_?" she repeated, more urgently.

"She told me what happened," he said. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there. Are you okay?" He took her face between his hands, pushed her curls back off of her forehead, out of her eyes.

"Did she mention..." she paused, unable to summon the words. Did she want to know? No, but she needed to. "How's Isaac?"

Alex dropped his eyes. "He's only been out of surgery for a few hours. They have him in a medically induced coma until the swelling in his brain goes down. They don't know how severe the damage is yet. Only time will tell."

She'd heard those words once before, when her own mother swallowed dozens of pills. Time only told the worst then. Noelle had been pronounced dead just days later.

Anguish hit her in the chest like a solid blow. For a moment she was breathless. "Oh, Max," Alex said, pulling her against him as a sob erupted from her. He wrapped his arms around her and slowly rocked back and forth, gently shushing as he stroked her hair. "No, no, it's not your fault," he said.

Had she said it was? Yes, over and over, _it's all my fault._ _What if he dies? What if?_ What if she'd never fallen in love with him? What if she hadn't betrayed the one person in the world who would never do the same to her? Then Isaac wouldn't have been trying to protect her. He would never have been there in the first place. Now it was too late. She was being punished for it. Isaac was being punished for it.

Alex pulled back to look at her, but she couldn't look at him. Not at him, not at Van, not even at herself. "Alex," she said, averting her eyes.

"Yeah, babe? What's wrong? Tell me what I can do for you."

How many times had he made it far too easy for her to break up with him? For her to tell him to get out of her life? Countless times. And now, when she finally wanted to say it and _mean_ it, he was standing before her with his mouth and his hands and his heart open to her. He was _trying_.

And yet, she couldn't. For so long, she'd kept up the façade of caring, sometimes to keep Van from getting suspicious, sometimes to convince herself that she wasn't as completely pathetic as she seemed, wanting to shun all other men for the man who was dating her best friend. But now there was no more pretending. She just couldn't _._

"I want you to leave," she finally said. He recoiled, opened his mouth and then shut it again. "I'm sorry," she went on. "I just... I can't."

He took a step back, nodded slowly. "Okay, then. I understand, you need space right now."

"No," she said, finally looking him in the eye. For the first time in a while, she was doing what needed to be done. "I mean I can't, _period_."

He narrowed his eyes, glanced at Bea who stood watching, and then turned back to Maxie. "Wh-why?" _Because I'm in love with someone else,_ she wanted to say _, and I can't pretend to love_ you _while he's dying_. "Listen, can we just talk for a minute? I know you're going through a lot but—"

"No, Alex, no," she said, lowering herself from the counter. "Please, I can't do this right now, I can't focus—"

"Maxie, please. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go."

"That's it? You're just going leave things like this? At least let me know what I did—"

"It's me," she said, more to herself than to anyone else. "It's what _I_ did. I was so stupid."

Bewildered, he turned to Bea. "What the _fuck_?" he demanded. "Is it because I wasn't there? How the hell was I supposed to know something like that was going to happen? I'm here _now_ , doesn't that count for anything? Shit, Max, I've been trying so hard with you—"

But she was no longer listening. With her arms wrapping around herself, she moved past him and out of the kitchen.

" _Maxie_ ," he insisted.

"Let her go," Bea said, stepping forward. "Haven't you done enough?"

"What are you talking about?" he snapped. "I haven't done _anything_."

Bea snorted. "You haven't done anything _today_ maybe, but you've done plenty."

That was the last thing Maxie heard before she shut herself in Bea's room. For a moment or so, she simply stood in the middle of the floor, peering around. And then she spotted the familiar wooden box sitting on Bea's nightstand. She exhaled and went to it.

When was the last time she'd smoked? She tried to remember as she pulled a brand new, freshly rolled joint from the box, along with the lighter that sat beside it.

Bea came into the room. "He's gone," she said, sitting down on the bed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Maxie replied, showing her the joint.

"I thought you quit," said Bea.

She _had_ quit. Because of Isaac. Because he'd been all the escape she needed.

Without replying, she climbed out of the window and onto the fire escape, bringing the flame of the lighter to the end of the joint as she did so.

Maxie closed her eyes and exhaled. A thick cloud of smoke billowed out from her nose and mouth, and the light wind carried it away as quickly as it appeared. The breeze felt refreshing against her face. She imagined it sweeping _her_ away, too, to disappear into the night like the smoke from her lungs.

'Close your eyes, baby,' Noelle says. She's high, Maxie can tell. Her eyes are bloodshot, her voice is low, her spirit is calm. Lately, Maxie likes her mother best this way.

'Close your eyes,' she repeats, 'and imagine a path leading to where you want to go most.'

Maxie obliges. She sees a stage at the end of her path. A dark stage with a spotlight and an endless audience, waiting to see her dance.

'Now go there, Maximilienne,' Noelle says. 'Take that path.'

Maxie opened her eyes as her mother's voice faded from her mind, and imagined that very path. There was no longer a stage at the end of it. There wasn't a huge kitchen to be cooked in, nor was there a house where Maxie's family, her _real_ family, sat eating dinner together. Everything that had ever been at the end of that path the dozens of times Maxie imagined it were gone.

The only thing left there was Isaac.

Maxie found Van in the waiting room of the hospital. She was sitting up straight, hands folded in her lap, staring straight ahead. She looked tired and weak. A bit dazed. She still wore the same clothes she had two nights before. "Van," Maxie called.

Van blinked and turned toward the sound of her name. When she spotted Maxie, her eyes flickered to life. She rose to her feet and opened her arms to Maxie's embrace. Maxie hugged her, held her, cried into her hair. They stood there for several long minutes, embracing and weeping and rocking slowly back and forth. Finally, Maxie pulled away. "How is he?" she asked.

Van bowed her head. "Still critical, but he stabilized."

"Why are you sitting out here? Are they not letting anyone in his room?"

"They are," she replied.

"Then let's go," Maxie said, turning toward the row of doors. "Which one is his?"

"Maxie, wait—"

"Is he alone? What if he wakes up?"

" _Maxie_ ," Van insisted, taking her by the arm. "I can't go in there right now. I can't look at him."

Maxie understood. She could barely look at Van. Still, Isaac deserved to have someone by his side at all times. "I know this is hard, but..." She paused. Who was she to send anyone on a guilt trip? "I'll just go, okay?"

"I've been with him this whole time," Van said, matter-of-factly. "Holding his hand. But all the while, all I can feel is relief, Max. Relief that he was there. Relief that it's not _you_ lying in that hospital bed." She covered her mouth with her fingers. Maxie noticed her nails were painted blood red. Maxie's nail polish, again. But she wasn't upset about it this time. "If it had been you that got hurt," Van continued, "I don't think I would be standing right now." Her voice broke. "Does that make me a horrible person? That I'm glad it was him and not you?"

Maxie couldn't say anything. Her breath, her voice, her words were all tangled in a thick knot, lodged in her throat. She was in no position to judge, especially not Van. She wanted to cry, but she was sure she'd cried out all the water that she had left in her head already. So instead, she hugged Van again, and then turned to join Isaac in his room.

He looked bad. There were tubes hanging from his mouth, his chest, his arms, under his sheets. He had dark, almost black shadows under his eyes. His skin was dry, his head was swollen and obnoxiously bandaged. Beeping machines surrounded him, breathed for him, lived for him. But Maxie had never been happier to see him.

She made her way to his side and sat down, taking his hand. Could he feel her? Not physically feel her, but feel her in the way that he usually felt her? Like when she would wake up in the middle of the night from a bad dream, and moments later he'd come creeping into her room?

'How did you know I woke up?' she asks. It bewilders her every time.

_He slides in under the blankets and pulls her close to him. 'I don't know,' he replies. 'I just_ knew _. I could feel you.'_

'Where does Van think you are?'

He shrugs. 'Bathroom, maybe.'

'What if she gets up to check?'

He nestles his face in the curve of her neck, inhales deeply, and says, 'It's a risk I'm willing to take.'

He never cared about getting caught. He cared very little about Van getting hurt. He cared senselessly about Maxie. Maxie cared senselessly about Van. Yet, together, she and Isaac were going to shatter her. She was going to try to explain to her best friend that she'd fallen irrationally in love with her boyfriend. She hadn't meant to. In fact, she'd tried _not_ to. But she'd been powerless against her own emotions. Isaac had come into her life like a tsunami and washed her away. Every time he'd looked at her, smiled at her, said her full name in that way she liked, he'd been pulling her deeper and deeper into his abyss. Before long, she'd been happily drowning in it. In him.

Sitting down in the chair beside the bed, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his limp hand. A part of her waited for it to respond, touch her, stroke her cheek. "Isaac," she whispered. "I'm here now. Please be okay."

The door opened and Van stepped into the room. Maxie almost let go of Isaac's hand, almost backed away from him; it had become something of a second nature to do so. She didn't, though. She fell asleep, his hand against her face, her fist clutching the blankets at his chest, and didn't wake until visiting hours were over.

#

THEN

Alex was a good kisser. The best kisser, actually. He didn't do too much, nor too little. There was always the right amount of moisture. He always knew what to do with his hands. Sometimes he kissed Maxie gently and slowly, running his fingers through her hair, pulling back every few minutes to look at the emotion in her expression, in her eyes. Other times, he was hungry and aggressive. He'd kiss her with longing and fervency, holding her body impossibly close to his, exploring her as if he didn't have enough hands to touch enough of her at once.

Tonight was one of those nights.

They lay on the couch, limbs entwined, his lips ravishing her from mouth to chest, his hands conquering the rest of her. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, touching _everything_. Her heart hammered inside of her, heat radiated from between her legs. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out every time his fingertips found the right spot.

She wasn't ready for this. She couldn't go where he was taking her, yet she couldn't find the words to stop him. She was like a puppet, and Alex had complete control, manipulating her with just the flick of his fingers.

"Alex," she managed, breathlessly. She opened her eyes, blinked, but immediately felt them drifting shut again. "Wait, Alex."

Finally, he stopped kissing her and pulled back. "What's wrong?" he asked, brows furrowed.

She paused, struggling to gather her bearings. "Nothing," she said after a moment. "We're just..." She swallowed hard. "I think we should relax."

With a sigh, Alex rolled over to lie beside her. Frustration was evident in his features, though he said, "Yeah, you're right. Sorry."

She buttoned her pants and fixed her shirt before turning to face him. "Are you upset?" she asked. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let us get so carried away."

"We've been getting carried away a lot lately."

She nodded.

"Maybe that means something. Maybe it means it's time. Have you ever considered that?"

She hadn't. Because she _knew_ it wasn't time. Often, she wondered if it would ever be time. If she would ever trust Alex enough to give him every part of her. After nearly six months, what part of her _did_ he have? He held her interest most of the time, with his stories of his work and his travels and his experiences as a successful photographer. He always had so much to say, so much to tell, and Maxie was a gifted listener. But what about her heart? Didn't he need to have her heart before she gave him her body? _You'll never love him_ , a voice in the back of her head echoed. _Why is he even here?_ And then an answer came: _Because he's yours_.

Yes, that was it. Alex belonged to _her_. Who else could she say that about? Maxie had been engulfed by Van's world when she was just fourteen. She'd lost both of her parents. She had no siblings. She never kept many friends. Just Savannah Trimmel, whose family gladly opened their arms to the newly orphaned girl. They took her in, cared for her, loved her, accepted her as one of their own.

But she wasn't.

Kathy was _Van's_ mother. Tony was _Van's_ brother. The girls they hung out with were _Van's_ friends. They shared _Van's_ bedroom growing up; as adults they shared an apartment, but that was Van's as well. They ate the same food, occupied the same space, breathed the same air. Maxie had forgotten what it was like to have something without Van, to have some _one._ Until she met Alex.

In the beginning, he'd been her escape. He'd called her his ten-second girl; their relationship had gone from zero to sixty before she'd even been able comprehend what had happened. Sometimes she'd disappeared with Alex for days, with no word of where she was going or whom she was with, with no worries of Van ever finding out unless Maxie wanted her to. Even after she'd grown indifferent to his presence, she'd remained in it because the thrill of having something of her very own never died. She'd spent all of her free time with him for nearly two months before introducing him to her roommate. Then, one evening, she'd cooked dinner, and they'd all eaten together. Once Alex left, Van had wrapped her arm around Maxie's shoulders. "I know you like this guy," she'd said, "and I'm happy for you, believe me. But I think you can do better. I mean, he talked about nothing but himself all night."

Maxie had turned to her friend, a bit taken aback at first, and then smiled. She hadn't meant to, but she'd been unable to help it. "So _you're_ the only one who's allowed to talk about nothing but yourself all night, huh?"

Van had recoiled as if she'd been slapped. "I didn't... I mean... That's not what I said, Max. I just don't like the guy, that's all."

Well, it turned out he hadn't taken too well to Van, either. It'd been then that Maxie decided to keep him around indefinitely.

"Max," he said, climbing back on top of her and pulling her from her thoughts. "I'm sorry, okay? I don't mean to pressure you. I just want you _so bad_. You're practically my girlfriend. I care about you. I can really see myself being with you for a long time. You can't expect me to _not_ want to take it to the next level."

"Yeah, but..." _But what about love? What about forever?_ She didn't have a chance to ask, not before his lips were on her again, his hands touching her again.

Suddenly, Van's bedroom door opened and she strutted into the living room. Alex groaned loudly and rolled back over as Maxie sat up to give her friend a onceover. Van spun around to give Maxie the full view of her impossibly tight and even more impossibly short dress. It hugged every curve of her figure, and left not an inch of her long, flawless legs to the imagination. Maxie whistled her approval.

"What do you think?" she asked.

Alex propped himself up on his elbows and raised an eyebrow. "I think it's snowing outside."

Van glared at him. "I wasn't asking _you_. Max, what do _you_ think?"

With a small chuckle, she replied, "I think you look amazing. But it _is_ cold outside."

Van shrugged. "Well, I don't dress for the weather, I dress for the occasion."

"Which is..?"

The corners of her lips turned up into a wide smile. "I have a date. With Isaac."

Maxie nearly choked on the knot that suddenly materialized in her esophagus. Isaac? She hadn't heard Van talk about Isaac in over a week. "You guys are still in touch?" she asked, trying to remain enthusiastic, but the disappointment weighing down on her was hard to ignore.

"Yep. He's taking me to dinner, and then to a jazz show."

"You don't like jazz."

She shrugged. "Tonight I do."

Maxie's eyes fell to Van's red pumps. "Are those mine?"

" _I_ bought those!" Alex snapped.

"Oh," Van said with a small shrug. "You never wear them. I didn't think you'd mind."

" _I_ mind!" he said.

"And I guess you didn't think I'd mind if you used my nail polish again either?"

Van looked down at her red nails. "It's just nail polish."

" _My_ nail polish. And _my_ shoes. All you have to do is ask!"

"Alright! I'll just buy you a new bottle of nail polish! And you don't even freaking _wear_ these! They're four hundred dollar shoes, just sitting in your closet, collecting dust! Alex, you should be thanking me." He scoffed. The scowl didn't leave Maxie's face. "I'm sorry," Van insisted, "I really didn't think you'd mind."

Defeated, Maxie sat back. _Did_ she mind? Sure, it annoyed her when she found Van wearing her shoes, or borrowing her purses, or using her fifteen-dollar nail polishes, but was that what annoyed her that night? "I don't mind," she said. "You look beautiful. Have fun, okay?"

Van clicked over to the couch and leaned down to kiss Maxie's forehead. "Thank you," she said. "For everything, I mean. The compliments, the shoes, getting hit by Isaac's car on Christmas—"

" _That's_ who you're going out with?" Alex cried.

"—And letting me have him. He's _really_ great, Max. I have a good feeling about this one." When was the last time she had a good feeling about a man? Maxie couldn't remember. Van entertained, dated, slept and carried on with countless men, but in the end she only compared them all to her father. Arnold Trimmel was like a wound that wouldn't heal.

Maxie smiled weakly. "Good. I'm happy for you," she managed.

Flashing one last smile, Van pushed her pin straight locks over her shoulder, and headed out the door. Once she was gone, Alex turned back to Maxie. "Let her have him?" he asked. Maxie shrugged. "Was he interested in you first or something?"

"No. Van just thought I may have been interested in him. Which I wasn't. So, really, I didn't _let her have_ anything." With a sigh, she added, "He was hers for the taking."

"Whatever. I'm just glad she's gone," he said, shifting his weight back on top of her. "Where were we?"

If Maxie had had any excitement left, Van took it with her when she left. Raising her hands to his chest, Maxie stopped him. "Let's just watch a movie or something, okay?"

His face dropped, but he didn't object. Maxie almost wished he had. As she got up to get a movie, she wished that he would get upset, annoyed, fed up, and perhaps leave. She just wanted to be alone. Alone to dwell on the things that could have been, the things that weren't.

When Maxie woke the next morning, Alex had already gone. She wondered if he had even waited out the night, or if he had snuck away right after she fell asleep. The thought only passed through her mind; it really only meant there was one less person to cook breakfast for.

Shaking her hair free from its tie, she pulled on an oversized sweatshirt and made her way to the kitchen. She glanced at Van's door as she passed it, wondering what time she'd returned home from her date. An aching resentment rose in her gut that she quickly suppressed. Isaac was just a man, after all. What did it matter that Maxie's thoughts had remained constantly on him since the moment she woke to find him in her hospital room? He was just a man _._ There would be others. Others that her best friend wasn't interested in.

In the kitchen, she put on a pot of coffee and began to mix batter for pancakes when she heard Van's door open. "You're up early," she called, glancing at the clock on the oven. "It isn't even noon yet, you still have about three and a half more hours—"

"Maxie?"

The unexpected voice made her jump. She spun around, nearly turning over the whole bowl of batter, and gasped. "Isaac?"

He stood before her, wearing nothing but boxer briefs, and an expression of conflicting surprise and remorse. Maxie's eyes moved down the length of his body—his flawless, godlike body—and for a moment, the reality of the situation nearly got away from her.

Isaac was standing half naked in her kitchen. It only meant one thing.

Blinking, she quickly looked away from him. "I'm sorry," he said, though he didn't move an inch to cover himself. "I didn't know you were here."

"Why would you?" she asked. "I only live here. You, on the other hand..."

She allowed herself to look at his face. His brows were furrowed, his jaw was taut. "I spent the night with Van," he informed her, his voice low and heavy. Nodding, she looked away again. "We'd been drinking," he said. "I couldn't drive all the way back to Brooklyn—"

"You don't need to explain," she said, raising her hand to stop him.

"—I didn't even mean for anything to happen—"

She shut her eyes tightly. " _Please_ don't explain."

He stopped. She gazed at him, at his perfect face. She couldn't speak. There it was again, that familiar shortness of breath that she'd gotten when she was with him weeks before. Only this time, it wasn't just his good looks that had her gasping for air. The immense disappointment settled on her chest. Disappointment at what? she asked herself. Had she expected something different? Was she hoping for another outcome? She realized that a small part of her was. A tiny part that she'd ignored for days upon days as she'd daydreamed of him constantly. How stupid of her.

Before either one of them could speak again, Van plodded out of the bedroom, hair unkempt, makeup smeared, and naked except for a skimpy, satin nighty that barely reached the back of her thighs. Maxie had to look away. "Here you are," she said, going to Isaac. Even Van, three inches taller than Maxie, had to look up to him. She laced her arms around his waist and kissed his collarbone. "Good morning."

Looking down at her with dark eyes, he mumbled, "Morning."

"Maxie's cooking you breakfast, huh?" She looked at her roommate and her eyes widened. "Maxie! What are you _wearing_?"

For the first time, Maxie realized that _she_ was half naked. She looked down at her sweatshirt, just long enough to cover the swell of her behind, and her bare legs. She felt her face grow hot and shut her eyes for a moment, struggling to contain her overflowing humiliation and anger and jealousy. Van chuckled. "Look who's coming out of her shell."

Pulling the hem of the sweatshirt down, Maxie opened her eyes and met Isaac's gaze. His stare was dark and unwavering, glued on her face and not budging. "Right. Well, I'm just going to go in my room," she said, struggling to keep the emotion from her tone. "Good seeing you again, Isaac." Moving past him, she added, "Not at all awkward."

"I like your hair," he said, his eyes following her past him. Another chuckle came from Van before Maxie disappeared into her room and shut the door behind her.

"She's so shy," Van told Isaac once Maxie was out of earshot. "I don't understand it. One minute, she's up on stage, twirling around in nothing but a leotard and tights, the next minute she's walking around with skirts down to her knees and shirts buttoned all the way up to her freaking throat. She acts like people have never seen skin before."

Isaac narrowed his eyes. Van had lost him after _leotard_. "She does _what_ on stage?"

"She's a dancer," Van said with a one-shoulder shrug. "She goes to Julliard. Didn't I tell you?"

"No. You _did_ , however, tell me that she wouldn't be here."

She shrugged again. "I thought she wouldn't. Her and Alex must've argued or something."

"Alex?"

"Her boyfriend."

"She has a boyfriend?"

"Yeah—well. Sort of. I thought I told you."

A bit annoyed, Isaac gently moved from her embrace. "No," he repeated evenly.

Van went to the counter and picked up the bowl of batter. "Mm, pancakes," she said, dipping her finger in and licking the sticky substance off of it. "Alex is a jerk, anyway. He's no good for her, she's _so_ much better than him. She won't admit it, though. She acts like he's perfect. But I _know_ she knows."

"And how's that?"

Van smirked. "Because they've been dating for almost six months and she still hasn't slept with him." She let out a wicked chortle. "Good for him. He's an asshole. Everyone thinks because he swept her off to Europe for a month that he's such a prize—"

"Europe?"

"Yeah, but ask her about it. Go ahead, ask her. She won't tell you."

Isaac glanced toward Maxie's bedroom. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because she hated it, I bet. He was probably drunk the whole time or something. He's _such_ a jerk when he drinks, which is pretty often." She took another finger-full of batter. "And he probably cheats on her, too. I mean, let's be serious. The guy's entire career revolves around beautiful women."

"Maxie's a beautiful woman," he said, as casually as he knew how.

"Oh, I know. But she's no _model_. I bet the only reason he's stuck around this long is because he wants to sleep with her. He's pretty successful. I'm sure he doesn't hear _no_ very often."

"Have you told her this?"

"A million times, but what do I know?" She rolled her eyes. "She can do _so_ much better. I mean, look at her. She's so pretty."

_Stunning_ , thought Isaac.

"She's smart."

_And funny_.

"She dances, you know."

_Yes,_ now _I know_.

"And she's an amazing cook. Anyway, I'm not too worried. He's not the first guy she's test-driven for a while, and I'm sure he won't be the last. She's too much of a romantic to ever _really_ settle for someone like him. She wants a story like the ones in her romance novels. True love conquering all, and all that jazz. Prince Charming. Right now she's just sorting her way through all the toads, I guess. Hey, are you hungry? I can throw on these pancakes if you want. Maxie usually cooks, but the hard part is done," she said, raising the bowl.

"Actually," Isaac said, "I'm going to head out." Van frowned. "But I'll be back," he added, shooting another glance toward Maxie's room.

Van followed him back into her bedroom and watched him with sad eyes as he dressed. "You'll call me, right? I know you already got what you wanted, but..."

He scoffed. "You don't know what I want, Van." The truth was, he wasn't even _close_ to getting what he wanted. As a matter of fact, he was farther from it than ever. He kicked himself for getting so senseless the night before. His chances at the real prize were quite possibly shot.

She walked him to the front door and turned her face up for a kiss. He meant it to be a quick one, but she wrapped her arms around his head and held him in place. He opened his eyes, mid-kiss, and peered over her shoulder. Maxie stood there, hand on her belly, features contorted with dread.

Inhaling sharply, he untangled himself from Van's grasp. She was breathing heavily and smiling widely. "Come back soon," she said as he backed out of the apartment. He nodded and looked straight over her head at Maxie when he promised, "I will."

NOW

Bea sat at her kitchen table with a sketchbook and colored pencils. "She wants me to incorporate lilies in here, too," she said thoughtfully, admiring the vivid work before her. "Skulls and crosses and teddy bears and now she wants fucking lilies? What kind of tattoo _is_ this?"

When Maxie didn't reply, she put down her pen. "Max?" she said. Maxie stood facing the window, leaning against the sink with her head bowed. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Maxie said, turning around. For the first time in a week her face wasn't red and puffy, her eyes weren't swollen and glazed. "I think I'm going to cook. Are you hungry?"

"We can just order takeout. You don't have to cook."

She nodded. "I do. I don't think I can take another night of pizza."

"So Chinese it is."

"I was thinking baked chicken, corn on the cob, and mashed potatoes?"

"Well, I won't say no to that."

Maxie laughed. The sensation of it emerging from her chest, the sound of it; it'd become unfamiliar. She was sure she'd lost the urge for good. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a package of chicken breasts. "You'll be proud of me," she said. "After I left the hospital this morning, I went to the grocery store."

"Wait a second," Bea said, holding up her hand to stop Maxie. "This _morning?_ As in, you left the hospital _before_ visiting hours ended? And you didn't come home and cry yourself to sleep afterwards? You're right, I am proud."

Maxie grinned. "Well, I had things to do. I went to see a graphic designer about cover designs for my cookbook. I've been saying I want to publish it forever, and I've been lagging." She shrugged. "I guess I'm starting to realize life is too short to put things off."

"I'm glad to hear _something_ good's come from all of this."

Maxie nodded. "I also called Isaac's aunt. It occurred to me that she had no way of knowing he's even hurt."

"Isaac has an aunt?"

"In Ohio. They don't speak very often."

"Is she coming to see him?"

"This weekend."

"Hmm. Is Van nervous about meeting the family?"

Maxie lowered her gaze. "Er..." Bea raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I don't think Van even knows about Aunt Jenny. Well, I _know_ Van doesn't know about Aunt Jenny." Bea's mouth fell open, but before she could reply, the doorbell rang. They both turned toward the sound. "Expecting someone?" Maxie asked.

"No," Bea said, getting to her feet. "Alex again?"

Maxie rolled her eyes. "He stopped calling two days ago. I was hoping he got the message."

"At least you sent the message. It only took Isaac getting shot in the head." Bea pulled the door open and to Maxie's relief, it wasn't Alex.

To her dismay, it was Van.

She'd been avoiding Van for days, still unable face her without being overtaken by guilt and resentment and even more guilt because of the resentment. "Hi," Van said, stepping inside. On her shoulder she wore a duffle bag, in her arms she carried a pillow. One of Isaac's shirts covered it like a pillowcase. "Slumber party?"

"Van," Maxie said, coming forward. "What are you doing here? Who's with Isaac?"

Van shrugged. "He's comatose. I figured he'd be okay by himself for one night."

Maxie's heart pace quickened, her voice grew shrill as she spoke. "What if he wakes up? The doctors say he can hear you, you know! If you're there with him at night, he knows!"

"And what about _you_ , Max? I haven't even thought about you. Everything you went through that night, everything you saw."

"I'm fine."

"He's fine."

"I'm not dying."

"Neither is he," she pointed out. "Anymore. They took him off of life support today." She forced a weak smile that didn't comfort Maxie in the least. "Maxie," she breathed. "Please, I just... I needed to get away from that hospital. I feel like I spend twenty-four hours, seven days a week there. He always has me. You always have Bea. _I_ need someone."

Maxie exhaled and embraced her friend as another solid blow of guilt hit her in the gut. "Of course. I was just about to make dinner. Come in."

Van followed Maxie and Bea back into the kitchen where she sat down at the table. "So, what are we having?" she asked.

"Baked chicken," Maxie replied, setting the potatoes on the stove to boil.

"Isaac's favorite," Van said.

Steak was his favorite, but Maxie didn't bother to correct her friend. "Maybe we can invite his aunt over for dinner sometime," Bea said, not raising her eyes from the drawing she began working on again.

Maxie inhaled sharply, Van raised an eyebrow. "His aunt?"

"Yeah. Max, what did you say her name was?"

Maxie and Van exchanged glances, Van's confused, Maxie's guilty. "What aunt? Isaac has no family."

"He has an aunt," Bea said, dropping her pen to look, unblinking, at Van. She didn't acknowledge Maxie glaring at her from across the kitchen.

"Max?" Van said, turning to Maxie but still staring questioningly at Bea.

Maxie turned back to the chicken. "He has an aunt, Van. In Ohio. She's his mother's older sister. Her name is Jenny."

Van's eyes widened, her mouth fell open. "Right. Aunt Jenny," Bea said, picking up her pen and going back to her drawing.

Maxie sighed. Van stood up and went to her. "How do _you_ know about her?"

"Well," Maxie said, pushing the chicken aside and turning to face the corn on the cob. She wanted to face anything but Van's questioning stare. "He told me about her."

"He never told _me_ about her."

"They had a falling out, that's why. They only speak in a while. It wasn't worth mentioning, probably."

"Not worth mentioning to me, but worth mentioning to you?"

A nervous chuckle escaped her. "I don't think it's like that, Van."

"Well, how did you contact her? Did you get her number out of his cell phone? Did he tell you his unlock code, too?" she demanded.

"No, of course not," Maxie said evenly.

"How did you get in touch with her?"

"I looked her up."

"How? Is there only one Jenny in the entire state of Ohio?" Van cried.

With a sigh, Maxie admitted, "I know where she lives."

Van's face dropped. What was that in her expression? Shock, anger, hurt? " _How_?" "Remember when he had to drive to Ohio, last year? And you had the shoot so he asked me to drive with him instead?" Van's eyes drifted shut. She slowly shook her head. "We stayed at Jenny's house while we were there. She was out of town, so I took the extra room."

"He told me the house he grew up in burned down!" She raised her hands to her temples and leaned back against the counter.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Van. He asked me not to, it wasn't my place—"

"No? Not your place as my best friend?"

"Van, it's _his_ business. It's _his_ life. They're _his_ secrets."

"I'm his girlfriend! Why would he want to share that with you and not me? We're in love, we have a future together! I don't deserve to know about his past?" Before Maxie could reply, Van pivoted and stalked out of the kitchen. A moment later, she returned. "What else?" she demanded. "What else is he keeping from me?"

Maxie shook her head. "Nothing." _Everything._ "I'm sure there's nothing else."

Van and Maxie lay together in Bea's bed. It was after two in the morning, the air was silent, but neither of them slept. "Max," Van finally whispered.

"Hmm?"

"When are you coming home?"

"I don't know."

"It's clean now," she said.

_No, it was never clean. That apartment will be forever contaminated by lies and secrets and betrayal._ "I know."

Van didn't speak for a while. Maxie would've guessed she fell asleep, had it not been for her unsteady breathing. "Maxie."

"Yes, Van?"

She exhaled heavily. "I'm sorry for yelling at you today. I'm just... so frustrated. I love him, you know? I love him _so much_. And all I want is for him to get better so we can keep living our lives. It's all I think about. The day he'll wake up, the day he'll come home..." She paused. "To find out he's keeping something like that from me... And _you_ know about it."

"I'm sorry, Van—"

"No, no. It's not your fault. It was his choice to tell you, and just like you said, it wasn't your place to tell me. But why wouldn't he _want_ to tell me? Why wouldn't he want to share that with me? Now all I can do is wonder what else he's keeping."

Maxie shut her eyes tight. A hot tear found its way from beneath her eyelid and trailed down her cheek onto the pillow. "Nothing, Van." Her words came out in a hushed, barely audible, whisper.

For a while, there was silence again, then Van said, "Detective Lake came by the hospital again today, looking for you."

Maxie knew that. Lake had been looking for her for three days already. "Oh."

"She doesn't believe that I don't know where you are anymore."

"Just keep telling her that."

"Why?"

"Because," Maxie said.

"Because what?"

"Because I just can't handle anything else right now."

There was a short pause, and then Van: "She may know who broke in that night."

"I can't handle it, Van."

"Okay."

Maxie took Van's hand, squeezed it, kissed it. "Go to sleep."

"Okay."

When Maxie fell asleep, she dreamt of Isaac. She was standing on the sidewalk, facing the street. Opposite her, on the other side, Isaac walked hand and hand with Van. He laughed as Van spoke animatedly, smiling widely and waving her hands around in unison with whatever story she was telling. For a while, Maxie simply stood there and watched. When he was with Van, that was what she did. She stood back and watched.

But then he turned and looked at her. Their eyes met, his smile faded, and he stared. _Don't look at me_ , _Isaac_ , she wanted to tell him. _Not while she's around. Don't even look at me_. But he stared and stared, and Van talked and talked. So Maxie waved. His eyebrow went up. He frowned and turned away, went back to listening to Van.

It was as if he didn't even recognize her.

Maxie woke the next morning and went out onto Bea's balcony. It was warm outside, the sun was high, the sky was perfectly clear. Maxie lay down flat on her back to stare up at it as she lit the butt of a joint that Bea had left in the ashtray.

Noelle sits on the grass, a smoke between her lips, a cup of tea at her fingertips, watching as Maxie, just six years old, twirls around in circles before her. Maxie looks up at the sky, impossibly blue and spotted with clouds. Her arms are outstretched, her purple skirt is flying up at her sides as she goes faster and faster, around and around and around.

Finally, she misses a step and tumbles over, falling flat on her back. She attempts to get up, but it's as if the floor itself pulls her back down again.

'Just lay there for a while, Max,' Noelle calls, laughing. 'Sometimes it's best to just sit still when the rest of the world is spinning.'

"Max!" Van called, opening the balcony door. "Here you are. What are you doing?"

"Waiting for the world to stop spinning, Van," she replied.

Van simply stood there a moment, watching her. And then she stepped out onto the balcony and lowered herself to the floor, too, taking Maxie's hand. "I don't condone you doing drugs, you know," she said after a while.

Maxie sighed. "I know."

#

NOW

Detective Lake was waiting for Maxie when she arrived at the hospital the next morning. "I've been trying to get in touch with you," she said. "Did Savannah give you my messages?"

Maxie shrugged, avoiding Lake's eyes as she moved past her and into Isaac's room. Nothing had changed. He still lay in the same position she'd left him in two days before. On his back, slightly propped up, arms at his sides. She knew personally that he preferred to sleep on his belly. She couldn't help but wonder if, even comatose, that was still the case. "I haven't seen Van," Maxie lied.

Lake nodded. "Well, I just thought you would be interested in knowing who attacked you that night." She held up a picture and handed it to Maxie. "Drew Watson. Do you know him?"

Maxie didn't need to look at the picture. His voice was in her ear again. How had she not recognized it? She shut her eyes tightly and tried to suppress the sensation of his hands on her body. " _He_ attacked me?"

"Do you know him?" Lake asked.

"I've met him a few times." She leaned back against the window, wrapped her arms around herself. "He trained at Isaac's gym. Sometimes I'd stop by to see Isaac, and Drew would be there." She shook her head. "He was an asshole."

"Did he know the truth about you and Isaac?"

Maxie shrugged. "We didn't flaunt it, but I always assumed that he suspected. That's why he was always coming on to me, to get under Isaac's skin. I told Isaac not to let Drew get to him..."

"But he did?"

With a sigh, Maxie admitted, "Once. A while back. It was my fault, really. Alex, Isaac, and I decided to surprise Van at work one night. I was upset with Isaac—"

"Why?"

Maxie glanced at him. Could he hear them? "Because we argued earlier that evening," she said, her voice barely audible. "Anyway, when we got to the bar, Drew was already there—"

"With who?"

"I don't know. Some guys from the gym. They were all drunk. He didn't say anything to me at first, just kept looking at me. And then I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, he was standing there."

' _So you don't know me, huh?' he asks._

She glances over at the bar and just as she suspects, Isaac is watching, jaw tight, nostrils flared. She knows she should walk away, but she doesn't.

_'You look nice tonight,' Drew says. When she doesn't reply, he adds, 'The appropriate response to a compliment is_ thank you _.'_

'Thank you,' she says, flatly.

He reeks of cigarettes and alcohol. His eyes are glazed, his shirt is wet where his beer dripped.

'Can I buy you a drink?' he asks.

'No thanks.'

'C'mon. I'm being nice, here.'

'That's a change.'

He smirks. 'Don't act like that. Just let me buy you a drink.'

Finally, she shakes her head and moves to get past him, but he seizes her by the arm and pulls her back. 'Hey!' he says sharply, leaning close to her. 'Don't just walk away from me—'

"Isaac was over there before he even finished his sentence. He grabbed Drew and hit him twice in the mouth. _Hard_ in the mouth. One of his front teeth came out."

"What did Mr. Watson do?"

Maxie shrugged. "He was too drunk to do anything but threaten Isaac and call me names. We left after that, and I never saw him at the gym again. He was humiliated." She raised her hands to her face and slowly shook her head. "He wanted to humiliate me. I should have just walked away from him. As soon as I'd come out of the bathroom, I should have just kept walking."

Lake patted her shoulder. "Was there anyone else there that night who could want to hurt Isaac because of it? One of Mr. Watson's friends, maybe?"

"I don't remember who he was there with."

Lake nodded. "Well, I won't take any more of your time. Thanks for your cooperation. And Maxie, stay in touch, will you? The man who shot Isaac is still out there. I'm only trying to find him, and keep you safe."

"Sure, of course," Maxie replied.

She didn't move from her spot by the window until Lake was gone, and even then, she stood there, still holding herself, contemplating. _Was_ there anyone else who'd been upset by the situation? Maybe the other person had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was just someone Drew had recruited to tag along for the deed.

Shaking away thoughts from that night, Maxie went to Isaac's side. "Why are you always fighting my battles?" she whispered to him. "If you hadn't been trying to protect me that night from Drew, he never would have come for me last week. And if you hadn't been trying to protect me last week..." She let her voice trail off. "Isaac, I'm strong. I've lived through a lot, okay? You don't have to protect me." She took his hand, turned it over and ran her fingertip over his palm. It was rough and calloused. She always wondered how he managed to touch her so softly with such leathery hands. "If you want to do something for me," she said, "you can wake up. _Wake up_ for me. Because you dying, Isaac... _that_ I can't handle."

Suddenly his hand jerked. Maxie jumped back, her eyes widened, panic seized her. His breathing quickened, he attempted to lift his head but it fell back limply on the pillow. "Oh, my God," she breathed, raising her hand to her chest. "Isaac." He moaned, his eyes fluttered but remained shut. "Oh, my God," she repeated. She reached for the call button on his bed, pressed it frantically before turning toward the door and darting out into the hallway. She crashed right into a nurse. "He's waking up!" she cried, grabbing the small women by the shoulders. "I think he's waking up!"

"Okay, why don't you just wait here, Miss?"

The nurse disappeared into Isaac's room and a moment later, two doctors and another nurse followed. Maxie pressed her back against the wall across from the door, placed her hand over her beating heart, and cried. Had he heard her? She wanted, more than she wanted her own life at that moment, to believe that he had.

THEN

Isaac sat in the small coffee shop by the window, waiting. He checked his watch again for the umpteenth time in almost three hours. Seven more minutes and he would go. He couldn't wait for her all day. Maybe this Sunday, this one particular Sunday, she wasn't coming. He would wait seven more minutes, though. He felt as if he owed her at least seven more minutes.

Two minutes passed.

Still no one.

Then the door opened. He looked up expectantly. It was just a young couple.

Three more minutes passed.

She wasn't there.

He began to feel anxious. What a waste. Now he'd need to get to her some other way. Get to her outside of her apartment, away from her roommate. Somewhere he could speak with her privately. With thirty seconds to go, he sighed, staring at the door, hoping that by some snowball's shot in hell she'd walk through.

She didn't.

"Isaac?"

He spun around toward the voice behind him. His eyes widened. "Maxie!" he nearly screamed. He stood, almost not believing it was her standing there in front of him. How the hell did she get in without him seeing her? He'd been watching the door the entire time. Watching for _her_. "Where did you come from?"

"Um... I come here every Sunday."

"No, I mean..." He paused, realizing how crazy he must have sounded. "I mean, I didn't see you come in."

"That's because I came in through the side door."

"There's a side door?" he demanded, scanning the café.

Maxie raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Is that okay with you?"

He smiled, just relieved she was standing there at all. "Do you want to sit?"

She bit down on her bottom lip, looking at the seat across from his as if she wasn't sure. Finally, she nodded. "Yeah, okay." She took her seat, he took his. "So, what are you doing here? I've never seen you here before."

"Yeah, I've never been. I was passing by, though, and decided to stop by for some coffee."

Her eyes dropped to the table where his hands lay and then went back up to his face. "Where is it?"

"Where's what? Oh, the coffee? I drank it. But it's such a nice day. I'm just people watching now."

She nodded. "Yeah, I like to do that. As a matter of fact, I like watching the people who come in and out, the regulars especially, and trying to figure out what they were doing before they got here. And what they're going to do after. Or just what their lives are like in general. Like them," she said, nodding toward the young couple who walked in just minutes before. "They're high school sweethearts. She goes to college around here. He has three sisters. Sometimes, when she's in class, he brings them in here."

"His sisters? How do you know he's not cheating on her?"

She shrugged. "He's not."

Isaac smirked, remembering that Van had said she was a helpless romantic.

She nodded toward a man in the corner, dressed in a suit. "He comes in here every week at twelve, on his lunch break. He's sleeping with his secretary."

Isaac's eyes widened and he laughed. "How did you come to _that_ conclusion?"

"Well, he's usually with a girl, also dressed like a professional. A young, sexy professional. Also, it's Sunday. What work could they possibly be doing on _Sundays_? I bet they're just using work as an excuse to see each other. I bet the office is _very private_ on a Sunday."

"Okay, well, what about them?" he said, nodding toward two women in the corner. "Lesbians?"

Maxie rolled her eyes. "You _would_ assume that. They're friends. They met in a book club, but the other members didn't want to read any of the books that _they_ wanted to read, so they started their own book club. With just the two of them. And them. Mother and daughter." She nodded toward a women with a little girl, both eating muffins. "I've never seen them here before, because they pick a new café every week. One day, when the little girl's old enough, they'll open one of their own." Maxie watched them as they smiled and laughed. The woman leaned forward and kissed the little girl's plump cheeks; the little girl happily accepted her mother's affection.

Maxie looked away.

"This is the most I've ever heard you speak," said Isaac.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Is it too much?"

"No, not at all. Keep going."

She chuckled. "Now I don't know what to say."

"Tell me about _you_. What brings _you_ here every week?"

Though the smile remained on her lips, it faded from her eyes. She looked away and shrugged. "I don't know. To be alone. Or maybe just..."

"Just?" She slowly shook her head, her face reddened. "Tell me," he said.

Still averting her eyes, she said, "Get away from Van."

Isaac was silent.

"It's not anything against her," Maxie said, after a while. "It's just that, we're together _all of the time_. Once in a while, I think of moving out. But I almost feel like..." She paused, thoughtfully. "Like I'm alone, in a birdcage. The tiny little door is open, and all I have to do is fly through it to get to freedom. To get to the rest of the world. But I've grown so used to living behind those bars..."

Isaac nodded. "The comfort of the birdcage."

"The solitude of it."

"Hidden talent?" Isaac said, leaning back in his chair. Maxie was on her second cup of coffee. He was still sipping on his first. He didn't particularly care for coffee. "Hmm, let's see. I'm multilingual."

"I already knew that," Maxie replied.

"No, you already knew I'm _bi_ lingual. I speak English and French, but I also speak Italian, Spanish and German, and rudimentary Japanese."

Maxie's mouth fell agape. "I want to learn French."

"I can teach you. I have a degree in Linguistics."

Her eyes widened. "You have a degree?"

He laughed. "Yep. I'm smart. Surprise, surprise."

She narrowed her eyes. "Well, I can tap dance."

Isaac scoffed. "That's not so impressive. I'd rather see you lift your leg above your head."

She laughed. "Okay. I can recite my ABC's backward in under a minute."

His mouth fell agape. "I don't believe you."

She laughed. "I really can. And I know how to play _Jingle Bells_ and _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star_ on the harp, too."

"What else?"

She thought a moment. "Oh! I can hold my breath for three and a half minutes."

"No way!"

"I can!" She shrugged. "I like to swim."

" _Three_ and a half minutes? Prove it!"

"Right now?"

Isaac fiddled with the timer on his watch. "Yeah, right now. Hold on, when I say start..." Maxie rolled her eyes and waited. "Okay, one... two... three... _start_!"

She sucked in a large breath and held it. Isaac watched her, the sides of his lips turned up into a small grin, his eyes plastered on her face. Her heart pounded so madly against her chest, she wondered if he could hear it. But she remained still, held her breath, counted the seconds. "One minute," he announced.

Why did she feel so nervous? So anxious? This was a walk in the park for her, she wasn't even _swimming._ Not pumping her arms, nor kicking her legs. Just _sitting_ there. "A minute and a half."

Her palms were sweating. Anticipation made her stomach flutter. Anticipation for what? She wasn't sure. "Two minutes, Jesus Christ," he said, disbelievingly.

He was so gorgeous.

"Two minutes and fifteen seconds."

She wondered what his lips felt like. Soft probably.

"Two minutes, twenty seconds."

_No!_ She wasn't allowed to wonder that. She'd already gotten enough of him the day before, when he came out of Van's room half naked—

She exhaled and sucked in a large breath. "Whoa! Two minutes fifty-five seconds!"

Still breathing hard, she said, "I'm also a pro at _Scrabble_."

Isaac watched as Maxie spoke. He couldn't take his eyes off of her lips, full and moist and a bit shiny with gloss, moving to form her words. "...and I was such a tomboy in elementary school. I used to cry when my mom would make me wear skirts or dresses."

"What did you want to wear?" he asked.

"Tank tops and baggy jeans. When I was in second grade, I cut off all of my hair so I could look like my best friend, Joseph."

Isaac threw his head back and laughed. "Joseph, huh?"

She nodded. "Funny thing is, Joseph was only my best friend because he actually had a crush on me. Then I cut my hair, and he didn't like me anymore, so we stopped being best friends, and I had a crew cut for nothing."

"It grew back, I see."

"Yeah," she said, running her hands over her head. "Longer than ever. I've thought about cutting it again, though. Only up to here this time," she said, raising her hand to the side of her neck, just above her shoulder. "But my mom always liked my long hair. And Van thinks I'd look weird if it was short."

"I think it would look nice short."

She smiled, her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. She shrugged. "It's not really for the look, anyway. My hair's just so... so _much_." She ruffled her ponytail. Her wild curls bounced and shook wildly on her back.

"Do you wear it down often?"

She shook her head. "Alex likes it back, off of my face. He says it brings out my cheekbones." She chuckled and shook her head. "That's so photographer of him, isn't it?"

"How do _you_ like to wear it?"

"I don't know. Down, I suppose. It's such a hassle brushing it back every day. Plus, when's it down, it's on my neck, over my shoulders, all around me. Sort of like a security blanket."

"I like it down."

Her face grew hot as an image from the last time she'd seen Isaac appeared in her thoughts. Her curls had been out and wild, hanging loose down her back. _I like your hair,_ he'd called to her as she ran out. She'd gone in her room and stared at it in the mirror.

"I don't mean to pry," he said, leaning toward her, "but I noticed you always refer to your parents in past tense."

She nodded. "My mom died. When I was fourteen." She glanced across the café at the mother and daughter again. They were gone. "And my dad... well, he may as well have died with her. I haven't spoken to him since."

His expression darkened. "I lost my parents, too."

Her eyes went wide, but she quickly blinked and bit down on her bottom lip. "Wow. I'm sorry." She shook her head. "I know everyone probably says that, but I actually know, firsthand, how much it sucks. So really, I'm sorry."

He nodded. "I'm sorry for you, also." Silence fell over them as he looked at her, studied her, captured every detail of her face, of her hair, of her fingers, to store in his mind for safekeeping.

"You don't have to be sorry for me. Not anymore. I waited a long time for him to come back for me." She thought back to her fifteenth birthday, when she'd sat in the darkness of her bedroom until well after midnight, waiting for her father to call. "If he was ever going to call," she said, "it would have been that night. I should've known then that he was gone for good. But I _still_ waited." With a shrug, she said, "But I'm not waiting anymore. Don't be sorry for me, Isaac. Be happy for me."

He said nothing. Even with the small smile on her lips, anguish peered out at him through her eyes. "Maxie," he said, finally. "I have to tell you something."

She swallowed hard. "What?"

"I wasn't just passing by here. Van mentioned you come every Sunday, so I was waiting for you."

Her eyes widened. In a small voice, she asked, "For how long?"

He chuckled. "Three hours. But isn't _why_ I waited more important?"

"You waited here for _three hours_?" she said.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Talk to me about what? Three _hours_. God, I'm sorry."

"I don't care about the wait, Max. I would've come back next week and waited three more if you hadn't shown up." Her eyes softened, she exhaled lightly. "I'm sorry about what happened between Van and I," he said. "I did _not_ mean for things to go that far—"

"Oh, Isaac, don't," she said, raising her hands to stop him.

"Just listen—"

"No, you don't need to apologize," she insisted, closing her eyes and shaking her head. She didn't want to talk about that. In fact, she wanted to stay as far away from the conversation as possible. She'd been having such a good time.

" _Yes_ , I do," he said firmly. "Just listen to me. The night you brought me back to your apartment, I wasn't interested in Van. I wanted to sit in the living room and talk to _you_ for an hour. The only reason I didn't leave when you went into your room was because I was hoping you'd come back out. The only reason I stayed in the first place was because I was hoping you wouldn't go into your room at all."

Her mouth hung slightly ajar. Her eyes were wide, her eyebrows were raised. She blinked, speechless.

"I didn't mean for the other night to happen. I didn't mean for any of it to happen. My plan was to get to you." He paused and sighed. "Van's just so..." He shook his head, searching for the words. "Persistent."

Maxie let out a humorless chuckle. She couldn't blame him. She knew firsthand how well Van could engulf people and never let them out. "Isaac..." She frowned. "It doesn't matter. She's my best friend, my sister. You slept with her." She shook her head. "What happened between you two the other night obviously didn't mean anything to you. But it meant something to her. She really likes you."

He looked away. "She doesn't even know me."

"Maybe you should give her a chance. Let her get to know you."

He shook his head. "I like Van, I do. But I want _you_ to get to know me, Maxie."

She began to gather her belongings. "I'm sorry, Isaac," she said, standing. "I'm sorry this is what you waited three hours for."

He shook his head. "I got more than what I'd been hoping for."

Her face reddened. She'd had a good time, too. _So good_. Why did he have to ruin it in the end? She turned to leave and then turned back. "She's sensitive, okay? Don't lead her on. If you don't like her, just stop coming around."

His eyes moved down the length of her and then up again. He slowly shook his head. "I don't think I can do that."

NOW

Maxie and Van were curled up in the small chair outside of Isaac's room. Maxie sat sideways, her head against the wall, her arm draped over her friend. Van sat with her legs across Maxie, her cheek against Maxie's forehead, her arm around Maxie's neck. They both slept soundly.

They'd been there all night, all morning, all afternoon, and as the sun began to set again, there they remained. Waiting. Isaac was awake, lucid, talking. But the doctors kept Maxie and Van away, kept them out of the room, refused them any information. They were anxious, confused, worried. But most of all, they were tired.

"Excuse me."

A man's voice carried from down the hall. Van continued to snore lightly, Maxie stirred. "Excuse me," the man repeated. "Can you tell me where room 313 is?"

A nearby nurse paused to help him. She said something Maxie didn't catch, and the man replied, "Isaac Cole. Room 313."

Maxie nudged Van. "Hey, wake up," she said, attempting to sit up to get a better look at Isaac's visitor. Van moaned, adjusted, didn't open her eyes. "Van."

"Right down there," the nurse directed the man. "Second to last room on the right."

The man nodded and started down the hall toward Maxie and Van. " _Van_ ," Maxie said louder, practically pushing the sleeping girl off of her lap. Van jumped to life. For a moment, she looked about, disoriented, and then she turned her attention to Maxie.

"What's wrong?"

"Someone's here for Isaac."

That woke Van right up. "What? Who?"

"Excuse me," the man said, approaching as if on cue. He paused when he spotted Maxie, studied her, and she studied him right back. "Maxie."

Maxie leaned forward. "Gnar? Daniel Gnar?"

"Who are you?" Van demanded.

Maxie gently pushed Van's legs to the side and stood up. She and Gnar faced one another, looking each other over. Maxie was exhausted. She wanted to be surprised by Gnar's presence there, but she was simply too tired. "Hi," she said.

"Who are you?" Van repeated.

"Oh, sorry," Gnar said. "My name is Daniel. I'm a friend of Isaac's."

"Friend?"

"Best friend," Maxie clarified, then looked at Gnar. "Right?"

Gnar nodded. "Old friend, anyway." His eyebrows furrowed, he bit down on his bottom lip. "What the hell happened to him? A detective came to the gym yesterday, questioning everyone. She said—"

"Wait," Van said, raising a hand to stop them. "You two know each other?"

"We've met, yes," Gnar replied.

"When?" Van demanded. Maxie recognized the traces of irritation in her voice. "I've never met _any_ of Isaac's friends."

"Who are you?" Gnar asked.

Van's eyes widened. "His _girlfriend_!"

Confusion passed over his features briefly. He shot a glance at Maxie, who looked away, and then looked at Van again. "Oh. Well, Isaac and I grew up together. We've been friends since middle school—"

"When did _you two_ meet?" Van interjected.

"Last year," said Gnar. Van's mouth fell open, moved to form words, but she paused in frustration.

"At the gym," Maxie added. "I met Isaac for lunch a few times."

Gnar nodded. "Yeah."

Van turned to Maxie. "I thought you said there was nothing else," she hissed, and then she pivoted and stalked off before Maxie could reply. As soon as she was gone, Gnar tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

" _That_ ," he said, pointing down the hall after her, "is Isaac's girlfriend?"

Maxie lowered her gaze. "Yeah, that's Van."

Gnar's eyebrows arched, his lips formed an _O_. "He really _has_ changed. Except," he added, "I just always figured it was because of you." His eyes danced across her features. "It's been a while. You look good."

Maxie scoffed and looked down at herself. "Yeah, right. I look like death."

He bit down on his bottom lip, slowly shook his head. "No. Really, you don't."

"Well, thanks," she said, shifting uncomfortably. "You look good, too."

That was the truth. She had always found Daniel Gnar fairly attractive, though she had never dared look at him long enough to think anything more. But now he stood in front of her, and she was free to look at him as much as she wanted. She indulged.

Never before had she noticed how flawless his skin was, how inviting his full lips were, how captivating his narrow, brown eyes were. Clearing her throat, she blinked and looked away, but not before she caught his sideways grin. "Anyway, the doctors aren't letting us in his room yet. They said he's awake and doing well, but they're still running tests."

"What kind of tests?"

Maxie shrugged. He sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "What happened to him, Maxie?"

"He was shot," she replied. "In the head. Someone broke into me and Van's apartment and..." She couldn't say it again. She shut her eyes tightly, forced the image of Isaac's motionless body covered in blood from her mind. "He's better, though," she added, opening her eyes. "He's awake, that's what's important. The doctors say he's talking—"

"Have you seen him?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. They're making us wait." Before Gnar could reply, a doctor emerged from Isaac's room. For a split second, she was relieved to have lost Gnar's attention, but then she saw the look on the doctor's face; somber, grave. Maxie opened her mouth to speak, but Van rushed forward. "Can we see him?" she demanded.

"Yes, but first there are some things we should discuss."

Maxie shut her eyes. She tried not to, but she couldn't help it. Her blood ran cold, her heart dropped, her legs nearly gave out on her. What could they need to discuss? He was alive. He was awake. He was coherent. What else _was_ there? Brain damage? Something irreversible? Something permanent? "Please," she heard herself whisper. Her eyes opened, she looked at the doctor. " _Please_ ," she repeated, louder, firmer. "Please give us good news."

The doctor looked away.

Maxie stumbled into Bea's apartment and slammed the door shut, leaning back against it as if someone had been chasing her. Bea jumped up from her seat in the kitchen and rushed forward. "What is it?" she demanded. "What's wrong?"

Maxie opened her mouth to speak but a sob emerged in place of words. Dropping her face into her hands, she slid to the floor and wept. Bea kneeled beside her, eyes wide with confusion and concern. "Maxie," she said gently yet urgently. "Tell me what's going on. Is he okay?"

Still unable to find words, she simply shook her head and continued to cry. He wasn't okay, _nothing_ was okay. How were they supposed to move forward now? she wondered. What was the next step? What was supposed to happen next?

When she at last stopped crying, she dropped her hands and looked at Bea. "He can't remember," she managed, "anything about the past year and a half. Retrograde amnesia, the doctor called it. It's like the last eighteen months of his life _never happened_."

Bea gasped, her expression was pained.

"They're still not sure what exactly he remembers and doesn't remember," Maxie explained. "He can still recall some small things, but mostly the last year and a half is just _gone_."

"Does he remember Van?"

Her voice caught in her throat again, she simply shook her head.

Bea raised her hand to her mouth as it fell open. " _Maxie_ ," she breathed.

"They were going to let me see him. I was right there, I _heard_ him talking." She paused to remember the sound of his voice, which played over and over in her mind. Deep and firm and confident. Even just waking up from a coma, even without his memory. "But I couldn't go in. I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't remember me. If he doesn't remember _everything_."

Bea was shaking her head. "He can't forget you, Max."

"He forgot Van."

"But he's in love with you," she whispered.

"I know," Maxie replied. "And now we're being punished for it."

"Stop—"

"This is karma."

"No, Maxie, this is _life_."

She glared at her friend. "Life? How is this life _?_ You get to work late because you got pulled over. That's life. Your computer dies before you save your ten-page essay. _That's_ life. Dating your friend's boyfriend until he gets shot in the head trying to protect you is _not_ life, Bea. How many people do you know go through that?"

"Know personally? Just one. But don't you watch the news? Bad shit happens to people all the time, Maxie. It could have been worse. He could have _died_." Maxie shuddered at the thought.

"On top of everything else, Van is pissed at me again."

"Why now?"

She told Bea about their earlier conversation with Gnar. "When she walked away, he basically said that he thought _I_ was Isaac's girlfriend. And when I said I wasn't, he didn't waste any time giving me the eye."

Bea raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? How's he look?"

"Bea!"

"What?"

"He's Isaac's best friend."

"I'm just asking!" she said with a shrug.

Maxie raised her eyes and couldn't help but grin. "He's almost as gorgeous as Isaac." Bea's mouth fell agape. "He showed some interest when we first met, last year. But Isaac _immediately_ put an end to it." She chuckled at the memory, and then she shut her eyes and she was crying again.

Bea took her hand and squeezed it. "Go see him, okay? Talk to him. Maybe you'll be one of the things he remembers."

"And if I'm not?"

She sighed. "Cross that bridge when you get to it."

She crossed that bridge several times that night. She crossed it in her dreams. The next morning, when she woke, she crossed it again and again, and then again on her way to the hospital. How would she handle it? How would she deal with looking in his eyes and seeing nothing? Like a stranger, all over again. Except she was in love with him. So in love with him that it hurt. And he loved her, too. Could he just _forget_ that?

She arrived at the hospital while Van was at a photo shoot. It was the only time Maxie got to be alone with him, when Van was working. The door to his room was closed and Maxie paused before she opened it, to peek inside. He was awake, sitting up in his bed, watching television. Her heart melted for him.

She moved away from the door and began to finger her curls. She wore her hair down, the way he liked. She wore his favorite shade of lip gloss, a light cinnamon color, and his favorite shade of nail polish, pale orange. The jeans she'd picked out were also his favorite, low rise and impossibly tight around her figure. And her shirt, he'd bought for her. She was dressed for him.

Taking a deep breath, she finally pushed the door open and stepped inside. Isaac sat unmoving, stared ahead aimlessly, his eyes blank, the corners of his mouth drawn down. He didn't even look up when she stepped inside. He didn't even flinch.

She steps into the room and his eyes light up, if only for a moment. He quickly looks away, of course, but she saw it. And even when he turns to Van, smiles at her, lets her hug him and kiss him, Maxie can carry on in peace, because she'd seen in his eyes what he kept so carefully hidden from her best friend.

Now he didn't even turn to her. Didn't even acknowledge her. For a moment, she simply stood there, contemplating whether she'd stay and face him or just go. She was standing right there, right in front of him, but apparently it wasn't too late to turn and leave. Maybe that was what he wanted.

Blinking back tears, she shook her head, took a step back and started to turn back to the door. But then, as if someone had called his name, Isaac looked at her.

And there it was. That glint of _something_ that passed through his eyes. It wasn't recognition, no. But it was something. He quickly blinked it away, but not before she caught it, and for the first time all morning, she felt a spark of hope. "Hi," she said, moving forward. He sat up, tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes with scrutiny. What was he looking for? she wondered. A reminder, maybe? She _was_ the reminder. And if he still couldn't remember, then he wouldn't. She had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from telling him.

"Hello," he said, finally. His voice was low and even. Unemotional. Guarded.

How was she not in tears? How did she manage not to go to him? Throw her arms around him and kiss his face and beg him to remember her? She wasn't sure, but she was thankful for the unnerving self-control she suddenly possessed. "I'm Maxie," she said, placing her hand on her chest. Her heart beat unmercifully against her palm. "I know you don't remember me."

"No," he said. His eyes swept across her face, over her shoulders, down to her feet and back up again. "I don't."

He wished people would stop showing up. Didn't they all know that he couldn't remember them? Didn't they know that he didn't know them anymore? They all just waltzed in, one after another, acting as if he only suffered from a bump on the head, talking to him as if they weren't complete strangers to him. And what could he do besides nod and smile and listen to the things they told him about himself?

The girl—Maxie was her name—dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just... I don't know what to say."

_You and me both_ , he thought. But at least she was keeping her distance. At least she wasn't carrying on as if he were supposed to just know her because she knew him. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Maxie," she repeated.

"Maxie," he said. "As in...Maxine?"

She nearly choked. She needed to pause, to breathe. Shaking her head slowly, she replied, "As in Maximilienne."

His eyes lit up a bit, and before he even uttered the words, she knew what they would be. " _Parlez-vous français_?"

It took all she had not to break down again. " _Oui_ ," she replied.

"Maximilienne," he said, and then slower, with his eyes closed, "Maximilienne." He played with her name for a moment or so, rolling it around on his tongue like a piece of hard candy. "Maximilienne," he said again, opening his eyes. "Who are you, Maximilienne?"

She shrugged. "Van's roommate."

"That's it?" She nodded. "They said I was shot protecting Van's roommate." She nodded. "That would be you?" Again, she nodded. "I killed someone for you." This time, she didn't nod. "Who _are_ you?"

"Van's roommate," she said again. It came out in just a whisper.

Maxie, Maxie, Maxie. How many times had he'd spoken that name in the last year and a half? However many, it didn't ring any bells. He looked at her. "Maxie," he said again. Nothing.

Her eyes widened a bit. So much emotion in them, yet she stood back. Her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth fell slightly agape. What was she thinking? How did she know him? Why was she looking at him that way? As if reading his thoughts, she dropped her gaze.

He looked away from her. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. And who could he trust? Who had he confided in over the past eighteen months? Van, maybe? His girlfriend, the attractive woman who visited him every day, who hugged him and kissed him with ease and familiarity, who told him that they were in love? No, not her. She didn't know him. He didn't know _her_ , but he could tell that she didn't know him, either.

She certainly thought she did, though. Or at least, she pretended to. Is that what she wanted him to think? Did she want him to believe that he trusted her, so maybe now that he didn't know left from right, he would actually trust her?

_Stop being so cynical. You're always so cynical. Why?_ That was the voice in his head. He'd been hearing it for two days already, randomly. Sometimes, when he lay in bed at night, it would whisper to him, _don't fall asleep, you need to go back._ And others times, when he snapped at a nurse, it would laugh and say, _ah, muscle-man slash comedian. Impressive._ When he slept, he'd hear, _wake up, Isaac. Wake up for me,_ and he'd awake with a start and peer around at his empty room. And now, now it reminded him to stop being cynical. That was like asking him to stop being himself.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. She ran her fingers through her hair. Isaac couldn't help but follow the sway of her curls, the way they fell around her face, bounced against her neck. "I shouldn't have come. This must be..." She broke off, smiled uncomfortably. " _Awkward._ "

Isaac sat up straighter, motioned toward the chair beside his bed. "Don't go," he said. "Sit for a while."

She crossed the room and sat down before him. Her knee bounced, she rubbed her hands together nervously. "So..." Her eyes darted back and forth across the room. They never fell on Isaac, and his never left her. She had a nice face, one easy to look at. Big, brown eyes; full, moist lips; high cheekbones; and a small dimple on the left side of her mouth. Her hair fell in big, soft ringlets, dark brown against her smooth skin. He liked the sweep of her eyelashes whenever she looked in another direction, and the way she chewed on the inside of her lip.

"So, what've you got?" he asked, nodding toward the canvas bag in her hands.

"Oh," she said, holding it up. "Well, I figured you'd be bored in here, so I brought you a sort of care package." She handed him the bag and watched as he dug through it.

The first thing he grabbed from it was the small bouquet of tiny, blue flowers. He looked up at her, brows furrowed with curiosity. "Forget-me-nots," Maxie said with a small grin.

Isaac looked back down at the flowers and chuckled. "Fitting." Still smiling, he pulled two thick activity books from the bag next. "Sudoku? I love Sudoku... but you knew that, huh?"

She didn't reply.

"Old newspapers?"

"Well, you probably want to catch up on your current events."

He stared at her, still smiling, and she looked away. "Thank you," he said, finally turning his attention back to the bag. He pulled out his favorite novel, a photo album, and a can of pecans. "I don't like pecans," he said.

"Yes, you do."

Shooting her a skeptical glance, he pulled the top off of the can and retrieved a pecan. "I like these?"

"Since about six months ago."

With a small shrug, he ate it. "Mm," he said through chews. "Not bad." She smiled. And of course, so did he. "So, tell me, Maxie," he said, taking a handful of the nuts out and closing the lid. She bit down on her bottom lip. "What happened the night I was shot?"

"Didn't the police tell you?"

"Sure, but they weren't there."

"I'm sure they told you everything there is to know."

"Tell me again."

He wouldn't take his eyes off of her. They played on her face, searched her eyes; she feared they would see right through her, right into her soul. "Well, two guys broke in. One grabbed me in the kitchen, when I was getting water—"

"Before that," he said.

"Huh?"

"What happened before that? What was I doing there?"

Maxie shifted in her seat, cleared her throat. "Picking something up."

"At three in the morning?"

"Isaac—"

"The detective told me I was in my underwear when they got there."

Maxie blinked. If she was going to tell him, now was her chance. Would he even _believe_ her? She was more than capable of proving it if he didn't. But then what? Would they just carry on as they had been? Certainly they'd learned their lesson by now. Maxie had surely learned hers. "I don't know, Isaac. Maybe you were changing or something."

"At three in the morning?"

She glanced at her cell phone. "Wow, I didn't even realize how late it was. I should go," she said, standing.

"Maxie," he said, but she ignored him and gathered her belongings. "Maxie, wait—"

"Enjoy your pecans. You usually do. I'll be back to visit you soon, okay?"

She turned to leave, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. "Maxie." She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes fell shut. His hand on her made her heart flutter, the sound of him whispering her name made it melt. Could he see it in her face? What he was doing to her? When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her. Yes, he saw it.

What was she hiding? he wondered. Everyone else who stepped foot inside of his room happily told him about himself, eagerly even. And he believed nothing of what they said. But this girl was different. She was aloof and unforthcoming, afraid to meet his eyes, though every time she did, hers were filled with emotion that she struggled to subdue. And she was keeping something from him.

#

THEN

Maxie arrived home from grocery shopping to find Isaac sitting at the kitchen table. She froze at the front door and stared at him for a moment. "Welcome home," he said with a grin.

"What are you—?"

"Maxie!" Van cried, coming out of her bedroom. "Thank God you're home! We're starving!"

Maxie remained there by the door, unable to hide her confusion. "Van invited me over for dinner," Isaac finally explained. "She said you'd be cooking."

Still puzzled, she said, "I always cook."

"See," Van said, joining Isaac in the kitchen. "Told you."

Isaac met her in the living room and took the plastic bags from her, his face coming impossibly close to hers as he leaned down to do so. His gaze never left her eyes. "What are we having?" he asked.

"Steak," she replied as he set the food on the counter. He grinned down at her.

"Steak is my favorite."

"Mine, too," Van said, although Maxie knew for a fact that spaghetti was Van's favorite. Shaking her head, she began to unpack the groceries. He stood by and helped.

"You changed your hair," he said.

She ran her fingers through her silky locks, no longer big, loose coils but thick, wavy strands. "Yeah."

"Alex likes it like that," Van said.

Isaac didn't reply. Maxie especially didn't reply. The kitchen remained silent, except for the occasional comment from Van. Finally, she left the table and plopped down on the living room sofa with the remote. "You guys are boring me," she said, turning on the television. When Maxie was sure Van couldn't hear, she turned to Isaac.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Eating dinner."

"Why?"

"I took your advice. Gave Van a chance. You were right. I like her." Maxie paused. Had she meant it when she'd told him to give her a chance? Had she really expected him to like her? "She's a nice girl," he added. Maxie looked away.

Good. Good for Van. Good for both of them.

"Yeah," she said. "She is. Well, thanks for helping me with the groceries. You can just watch TV with Van, now. I'll let you know when the food's ready."

"You don't need anything else?" he asked.

The response came to her instantly. _I need you not to fall for my best friend_.

"No," she replied, pushing the thought from her mind. "Thanks."

Alex arrived just in time for dinner. Maxie met him at the front door, and as always, he was dressed to impress, as handsome as ever. He smiled when he set eyes on her, a smile that would have made her smile in return, had she not felt Isaac's stare burrowing into the back of her head. "Hi," she greeted him.

He stepped inside and embraced her. " _Mm_ ," he said, kissing her temple. "You straightened your hair. It looks good. Longer."

"Funny, because the stylist cut it this time," she replied dryly.

He took her ponytail in his fist and ran his hand down the length of it. "You should let it grow out, then." He petted her a moment longer and then turned toward the rest of the apartment. "Smells good."

"We're having steak," she informed him.

He frowned. "Steak again, babe? That's what we had last time."

"Last time was two weeks ago."

Alex considered that and nodded. "Well, smells good, anyway. You know I'll eat anything you cook up." He moved past her into the living room. "Vanny, what's up?" he greeted. Van rolled her eyes.

He went to Isaac next. "Hey, man, I'm Alex."

Isaac rose from his seat on the couch and took a step toward Alex to shake his hand. The size difference was almost comical. "Good to meet you," Isaac replied, nodding. "I've heard a lot."

"Good things, I hope."

Isaac glanced back at Van as if to say _not exactly,_ and forced a smile. "Of course."

"Okay," Maxie said with a clap of her hands. "Let's eat."

Everyone made their way to the kitchen and sat around the table while Maxie fixed plates. Extra gravy for Van, hardly any gravy for Alex. He liked a lot of potatoes, though, while Van always needed the perfect amount of starches to go with the amount of meat she was served. No vegetables for Alex. Double vegetables for Van. And for Isaac? "Make your plate first," he said. "I'll just take whatever's left."

Alex began to dig in as soon as his plate was in front of him. "I'm going to wait for Isaac," Van said when Maxie placed her plate on the table.

"Don't," said Isaac. "I'm waiting for Maxie."

"We can both wait for Maxie," said Van.

"No," said Maxie. "Don't wait for me. I want to straighten up a little bit before I eat—"

"We'll straighten up after dinner," Isaac interjected. "You cooked. Just eat."

Van shook her head and lifted her fork. "Forget it, Isaac, just eat. We'll starve if we wait for her."

But Isaac didn't touch his utensils, didn't even look at his food, until Maxie was in her seat. Alex was just about done. Van was halfway through. "Told you," she said. "Now your food's probably cold."

"It's fine," he said, finally reaching for his fork. "Growing up, we always waited for the last person to sit down before anyone ate." He didn't bother to mention that it was only ever him and his mother, and then him and his aunt.

Maxie couldn't look at him, though he stared unremittingly at her. Didn't Van notice? Or Alex? If either of them did, neither of them acknowledged it.

"So, Isaac," Alex said. "What do you do for a living?"

"I own a gym," he replied.

"A boxing gym," Van added proudly. "Mixed martial arts, too."

"Mm," Alex said nodding. "That's interesting. I shot a boxing match once at a gym. I'm a photographer, by the way."

"I heard," Isaac replied.

"Oh, did you? Maxie must've told you about Europe."

Isaac raised an eyebrow, Maxie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Actually, no. She hasn't," Isaac said, eyeing her.

Alex also looked at her. "You haven't, Max? I'm surprised, she's always talking about it."

Van rolled her eyes. Isaac looked at Maxie. "Europe, huh? How was that?"

"Great," she said, sticking a large forkful of steak and potatoes into her mouth. Isaac grinned.

"Yeah? What did you do while you were there?"

"Oh, we did everything," Alex said, placing his hand over the back of Maxie's chair. She was still chewing. "We ate out in every city. We went sightseeing. We went to shows. It was beautiful. I can't wait to go back."

He turned to Maxie, beaming, and she returned a small smile, keeping her eyes on her plate. "What was your favorite part?" Isaac asked.

"Oh, I loved—"

" _Maxie_ ," he amended, stopping Alex in the middle of his sentence.

Maxie's eyes widened, as did Van's. Alex, however, simply looked to Maxie for her answer. "The food," she replied, finally swallowing her mouthful. "I loved the food."

"It's nothing like our version of it, huh?"

"Nothing at all," she said, shaking her head.

"The flavors from Europe just aren't right," Alex said.

"They're different, but that doesn't mean they aren't right," she argued. She stood and went to a small bookshelf hanging on the kitchen wall. She pulled a cookbook from it and brought it back to the table. "I got one from every city, with some herbs and spices," she said, opening the book and showing Isaac.

"What's this?" he asked, tapping one of the yellow sticky notes that protruded out from the pages. Maxie's small, whimsical handwriting covered the pages.

"Oh, just the recipes I want to try first. I noted some substitutions that I could make for the ingredients I don't have. And anything that I could add or change."

"Have you made any of it yet?" he asked, running his fingers over the shiny pages.

She sighed. "Not yet. Alex doesn't like any of it, and I don't want to waste a good meal on Van." She smirked at Van who glared at her.

Alex reached across the table and took the book from Maxie's hands. "I mean, all this stuff _looks_ like it would taste good. But it's nothing like you would expect."

Rolling her eyes, Maxie took her book back. She admired it wistfully for a moment longer before closing it and carefully placing it back on its shelf.

Alex smiled. "Let me tell you why Maxie liked the food so much. Because the first city in Europe that we stopped in was Amsterdam. And the first thing we did in Amsterdam was go to one of those little cafés and get high. Maxie just had the munchies the rest of the trip." Alex laughed.

Van looked at her, bewildered. "Max, you got _high_?"

"Like a _pro_ ," Alex added.

Van stared at her, appalled.

" _What_ , Van? It's just weed."

If possible, Van's eyes got even wider. "Since when do you do drugs?"

"It's _weed_."

" _Marijuana_ is a _drug_!"

"So is Aspirin!" Maxie snapped.

"It's really not like Aspirin," Isaac added lightly.

Van glared at Alex. "Great job," she spat at him. "Good to know my friend is in good hands."

Red-faced, Maxie kept her eyes down as Van and Alex bickered. Isaac's eyes never left her.

"This is... _some_ book collection," Isaac said, looking over the books on the shelf in the living room.

Van giggled. "Oh, you mean Maxie's romance novels? Yeah, there's enough burning loins on that shelf to fulfill a whole lifetime of lonely girls."

"They're not _all_ romance," Maxie called from the kitchen.

"Ninety-five percent," Van whispered.

"What's this?" he asked, pulling a large book from the shelf. Both Van and Maxie looked up. Maxie frowned, Van beamed.

"Oh, that's our photo album!" Van cried, getting up from the couch.

"Actually it's _my_ photo album," Maxie said, walking over to where Van and Isaac stood. "What is it doing out here?"

"I was looking through it last week," Van said with a shrug. She led Isaac back to the couch, where he sat and opened the album. The first picture was of Maxie, curls out and wild, like a blanket over her shoulders. She was smiling widely, her eyes sparkled with life.

"Is this you in high school, Max?"

"Yep, that's our girl," Van replied. He and Maxie exchanged glances.

He flipped to the next page. There she was again, with Van this time. Their arms were thrown around one another, their cheeks were pressed together. "You look so happy," he said.

"We _were_ happy," Van said, reaching over and squeezing Maxie's hand. Maxie scoffed and went back to the kitchen.

"Who wants wine?" Alex called from the table, holding up an open bottle.

He poured four glasses while Van and Isaac flipped through the photo album and Maxie began to clear the counters. "This was Maxie's date for prom," she heard Van say. "He was crazy about her. And she didn't even want to go with him. She only went because she felt bad." Maxie glanced over at her roommate and Isaac. As she suspected, his eyes were on her.

"Wow, babe," Alex said, leaning over the album. He examined a picture of Maxie dressed in a black leotard and tights. Her hair was pulled back into a bun. She stood straight against the bar of a dance studio, her leg pulled up to her shoulder. "I've never seen you bend like that."

"That's because you never go to her recitals."

"I'm not _six_ , Van. They aren't called recitals anymore."

"When's the next one?" Isaac asked. "I'd like to go."

Maxie shrugged. "March, sometime. I think."

"You should give us a preview," Van suggested.

Both Alex's and Isaac's eyes lit up. "Yeah, babe, let's see."

Maxie let out a nervous chuckle. "You're joking."

"Why? Plié or something," Van said.

"No." She turned away from them and grabbed the sponge to start the dishes. "I need to finish the kitchen."

"I'll finish it for you," Isaac offered.

"No."

" _I'll_ finish it for you," Van said.

Maxie turned to them again, eyes narrow. " _You'll_ clean the kitchen?"

"If you make it good," she replied, motioning toward the floor in front of them.

Rolling her eyes, Maxie turned off the faucet and threw down the sponge. "This is so stupid. You've seen me dance a hundred times, Van."

"Isaac hasn't," she replied, taking his hand, then cut a glare in Alex's direction. "Neither has he."

Drying her hands, Maxie went to the middle of the floor. "What do you want me to do?"

"Bend," Alex said, grinning mischievously.

"I can't _bend_. My ribs are bruised. I got hit by a car, remember?" She glanced at Isaac and he smiled.

"Stand on your toes. Like, the tips of your toes," Van said. "And spin around."

"Yeah," Isaac said, leaning back in his seat. "Spin around, Max."

Sighing, she positioned herself to dance. "It's called a pirouette," she snapped. Taking a deep breath, she executed three perfect spins. Then, for Alex's sake, she concluded with a leg extension. When she finished, Van jumped to her feet with applause. Alex eyed her lustfully. And Isaac.

Isaac looked at her in a way she had only ever hoped to be looked at. When she met his gaze, her face reddened and she turned away. "Great. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Kitchen's all yours, Van."

Van hugged her from behind and kissed the back of her neck. "Gladly. That was great."

As Alex opened a second bottle of wine, the foursome laughed out loud at one of Van's stories from high school. "...So then, she hits me _again_ and says we're even—"

"We _were_ even!" Maxie cried.

"We were _not_. You hit me first!" she shot back, holding up her glass so Alex could refill it.

"Max, is that still your first glass?" he asked, nodding toward hers. It was still full.

"She won't drink anymore," Van said, waving him off. "Leave her alone. Anyway, she hits me and says we're even! So then I hit her back, try to run, and slip on the ice!" She threw back her head and laughed loudly. Maxie also laughed at the memory. "So then... then..." She paused, unable to speak through her drunken giddiness. "Tell the rest, Max, I can't."

"She falls on the ice, and I immediately start laughing," Maxie said, nudging Van. "But I went to help her at the same time, and _I_ ended up falling!"

"She sprained her ankle!" Van nearly yelled, and she and Maxie collapsed on top of one another in their hilarity.

"She had to carry me all the way home," Maxie said.

"On my back!" Van added. Maxie kissed her friend's face.

"We got in _so_ much trouble," Maxie said. "Especially Van."

"And _she's_ the one that started the whole thing!"

Isaac watched as they laughed, his eyes often lingering on Maxie's red, smiling face. "Isaac, I wish you could have seen me walking home, carrying her in the snow. We looked _pitiful_ ," Van said, sitting up to lean on him. Maxie met his gaze, and her smile faltered.

"Hey, Max," Alex said from the armchair. She'd almost forgotten he was in the room. "Is this from your mother?" He held up a piece of paper, ripped out from a notebook. When Maxie realized what it was, her eyes widened and she jumped to her feet.

"Where did you find that?" she shrieked, snatching it from him.

He blinked. "It was right in here, behind one of the pictures. I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

"Give me!" she snapped, slamming the photo album shut and taking it from him.

Frowning, he said, "Hey, I didn't read it—"

"You shouldn't have touched it at all!" she lashed out. Her eyes were wild, her face was crimson, she was breathing hard. With trembling hands, she folded the letter and placed it back in the photo album. "Van," she hissed. "Stop taking stuff out of my room. I keep my things where they are for a reason. If I wanted this in the living room, I would've left it out here myself."

Swallowing hard, Van nodded.

Shooting one last look at Isaac, who looked at her with wide eyes and an open mouth, Maxie pivoted and disappeared into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Silence fell over the room. Finally, Van turned sharply to Alex. " _Thank you_ for that," she said.

" _What_? I don't even know what it was!"

"It was her mom's suicide letter!" Van whispered angrily. "And you pulled it out and waved it around!"

"I didn't _wave_ it."

"Her mother committed suicide?" Isaac piped up. Suddenly, the haze of mystery that surrounded Maxie became a bit clearer. "Shit."

"Shit," Alex echoed. "Should I go talk to her?"

"No," Van said standing. She wavered and Isaac reached out to steady her. "I will. You should probably just go."

With a sigh, he gathered his things to leave while Van knocked on Maxie's door. When she received no answer, she returned back to Isaac. "Maybe I'll just give her some time. She'll probably feel better in the morning. I'm too drunk to be serious right now, anyway." She smiled and tugged on his shirt. "Want to go to bed?"

"What about the kitchen?"

She shrugged. "I'll do it in the morning."

He smirked, realizing she had no intention of cleaning the kitchen as she'd promised. "Go ahead. I'll meet you in a minute."

When Alex was gone, and Van was in her bedroom, Isaac went to the kitchen to finish what Maxie had started. He'd gotten through nearly all of the dishes when he heard her bedroom door open. She emerged from the room wearing a sweatshirt again, only this time she wore shorts beneath it. She stopped short when she saw him standing at the sink. "Oh. You're in here."

"Just straightening up," he said.

"You didn't have to. I figured Van wouldn't, so I was going to."

He shrugged. "It's fine."

She smiled weakly. "Well. Thanks." Looking away, she added, "And I'm sorry. About earlier. I know I ruined the evening."

He shook his head. "My father killed himself," he said. "After he killed my mother."

Maxie's eyes widened, and she raised her hands to her mouth. "Oh, my God. I'm so sorry."

"It was a long time ago," he said. She lowered her hands to her heart. "I wanted to tell you because..." He paused. "Well, you should just know that I understand, okay? It's hard for other people to understand. Most of the time, no matter how much they want to, they just don't _._ But I do." For a moment or so, they simply stood across from each other, not saying a word. Not a word needed to be said.

"Does Van know?" Maxie finally asked.

Isaac shook his head.

"She thinks I tell her everything," said Maxie. "But I don't."

Isaac nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I know."

NOW

Van moved around the apartment frantically, attempting to clean the open space that she had wrecked in Maxie's absence. Dishes filled the sink, leftover food littered the counters and kitchen table, magazines and books were spread out on the coffee table, and the pillows on the couch were thrown about. The floors needed to be swept, the furniture needed to be polished, the refrigerator needed to be emptied, and the girls only had an hour to get it all done.

"How did it get so dirty?" Maxie demanded, unsure of where to start on the mess.

"I'm busy," Van said, gathering her belongings off of the coffee table. "Between my photo shoots and the bar, I don't have time to clean. C'mon, Max, don't just stand there. Start the dishes or something. Isaac's aunt will be here soon."

With a sigh, Maxie obliged and started the dishes. She wasn't nervous about meeting Aunt Jenny, not like Van was nervous. She assumed it was because she was too nervous about being back in her own apartment for the first time since the night she was almost raped there, and watched a man die there, and found Isaac shot in the head there. But thankfully, she was too focused on the task at hand—Operation: Clean House—to think too much about what she had witnessed.

"You think he told her about me?" Van asked, dumping the old food from the counters into the trash. "He didn't tell _me_ about _her_ , but maybe he told her about me?"

"I'm sure he did, Van," she said, though she wasn't.

She paused and turned to Maxie. "Why do you think he didn't tell me about her, anyway?"

"I don't know." _Because he doesn't trust you._

"And did you see that Daniel guy? He'd never even heard of me. Why's that?"

"I don't know." _Because he doesn't love you._

"God," she said, leaning against the counter. "Isaac is so mysterious, so tight-lipped. Even after a year, I'm still trying to figure him out." She sighed. "I think that's why I still can't get enough of him, you know? Because he always keeps me guessing, always keeps me on my toes."

"Mm," was all Maxie said in return.

"And now, after all of this, it'll be like going back to square one. He'll have to learn to trust me again, and love me again." Maxie's heart was aching. Van was taking the words right out of her thoughts. "This is so hard."

Maxie turned to her friend. "Van, I don't mean to be insensitive, but we're down to forty minutes."

"Oh!" Van said. "Yeah, of course!"

They had nearly finished cleaning—in blissful silence—when Van stopped in the living room. "Hey, Max, what's this?" she asked.

Following Van's gaze, Maxie inhaled sharply when her eyes stopped on the gold picture frame hanging on the wall, just between the two living room windows. There was no photo, just the frame. "When did that get there?"

For a moment, Maxie didn't reply. She could only stare at the picture frame, willing herself not break down. Again. At last, she stepped forward and snatched it off the wall. "It's nothing," she mumbled, dropping it in the drawer of the side table it'd been hanging above.

"Did you put it up?"

"Yeah," she lied. "Just forget it."

Van frowned, turning away. "Gladly. That thing was creepy."

But even after Van disappeared into her room to get dressed, Maxie stood there, staring at the now empty spot on the wall. _Just imagine it's a picture of us,_ Isaac had said. _Right here, for everyone to see._

When Van emerged from her bedroom, her hair was fixed, her makeup was perfect, and she was dressed in a semi-formal floral dress that reached her knees, and pearl earrings. "Maxie!" she cried. "Is that what you're wearing?"

Maxie was dressed in blue jeans and a striped tee shirt. She wasn't even wearing any shoes. "Why are you so dressed up?"

Van looked down at herself. "Am I too dressed up? Should I change?" But it was too late. The doorbell rang.

Van's eyes widened, she spun around and ran her hands over the fabric of her dress, then through her hair. "Are you ready?" she asked, but Maxie was already making her way to the door.

She pulled it open and a small woman stood there, smiling. "Hi," she said. "You must be Maxie."

"Yeah, hi," Maxie said. For a moment, they simply stared at each other in a silent exchange, and then Jenny opened her arms and they embraced.

"Thank you for calling me," Jenny whispered into her hair. She rocked Maxie back and forth and patted her back. "I'm sorry it's taken me this long to get out here, but it's just hard..."

"I understand," replied Maxie. "Don't worry. No one's upset. We all understand."

Jenny pulled back. "I saw him yesterday, you know. He looks good. Still my same boy. Really can't remember _anything_ from the past year and a half, though." She rubbed Maxie's arm. "I can imagine how hard that is on you, honey. Having to start all over again with him."

Van cleared her throat behind them. Maxie laughed nervously. "Actually, Aunt Jenny, _I'm_ not Isaac's girlfriend." She stepped aside so Jenny could enter the apartment. "This is."

"Hello," Van said, coming forward. "I'm Savannah. You've probably heard of me."

Jenny looked puzzled. She glanced at Maxie, blinked. "Savannah?"

"Everyone calls me Van," she said. "Maybe you've heard that name."

For a moment, Jenny still looked confused, but her expression quickly grew impassive. So _that_ was where Isaac learned to hide all emotions from his face. Little Aunt Jenny. "Oh, right," Jenny said, forcing a smile. "Van."

Van beamed, pleased to finally be recognized by someone. "Yeah," she said. "That's me."

Jenny looked at Maxie again. "And you're Maxie, right?"

"Yes."

"Maximilienne?" She pronounced it with the same brilliant accent as Isaac.

"Yes."

"Hmm." Without further words, she turned toward the rest of the apartment. "Well, this is a very cozy place you girls have. And it smells delicious."

"Oh," Maxie said, hurrying to the kitchen. "I put dinner in not too long ago."

Jenny followed her. "What are we having? Van, you cook, don't you?"

"No," Van said. "Maxie usually takes care of dinner."

Maxie saw thoughtfulness pass over Jenny's expression. "Oh."

"I'm a model," Van said. "I work at, ah... a small tavern, also."

"Right, of course. And you dance as well, right?"

Van frowned. "No. That's Maxie, too."

"Hmm," Jenny said, nodding.

"Modeling is my passion."

"Of course it is," Jenny replied.

"Well, I hear you like to swim—"

"Look!" Maxie interjected. "Dinner's ready! Who's hungry?"

Maxie wondered what Jenny was trying to prove. If she wasn't sure of what was going on when she'd walked in the door, she _had_ to be sure now.

Maxie served both Jenny and Van. Jenny didn't touch her food until Maxie took her seat, and therefore, Van waited too.

"So, Van," Jenny said. "What kind of modeling do you do?"

"Oh, different kinds," she said. "Nothing major yet. Mostly catalogue. I've also done some hand and foot modeling."

"Isaac must be proud. Does he keep a lot of pictures of you?"

Van thought a moment. "You know, I'm not really sure." She shrugged. "Maybe he has a couple up in his apartment or something. I don't know."

"Why not? Don't you go to his apartment?"

"Not really." _More like never,_ Maxie thought. "I mean, I don't really have a reason to. He pretty much lives here."

Jenny nodded. "How about you, Maxie?"

Both Van and Maxie stopped chewing. They exchanged glances before looking at Jenny. "Huh?" Maxie choked out.

"Have _you_ been to Isaac's apartment?"

"Umm..." She cleared her throat. Van looked to her for an answer. "No, never." A small sigh of relief left her friend. Jenny simply grinned and took another bite of her food.

Over dinner, Maxie did her best to avoid conversation. After all, _she_ didn't need to get to know Jenny, though it seemed Jenny knew plenty about her. A part of her was flattered, warmed by the knowledge that Isaac had spoken of her. If she had nothing else, she knew that he'd cared for her. Loved her.

Once.

It almost seemed impossible that he'd forgotten. Just like that. His thoughts of her, his memories of her, his feelings for her, gone. She only wished she could say he left her with nothing, but no. He left her with _everything_. The smell of him still lingered. The sensation of his hands on her still lingered. The sound of his voice, whispering against her ear, still lingered. He was all around her, inside of her, consuming her from the inside out.

He'd thought it'd been such a good idea to leaves clues for her, clues that he'd been there, clues that he loved her, clues that no one but her recognized. Now it seemed everywhere she turned, he was there. A piece of him, anyway. Small hearts he'd drawn on the corner of each page of her favorite novel, and tiny notes he'd stashed between the pages.

I'm thinking of you right now.

When you find this, come to me, wherever I am.

I love you.

I love you, Maximilienne.

One day, Maximilienne.

Their favorite movie was waiting to be watched on her television. The last song they made love to was programmed as the ringtone on her cell phone. He'd set every one of her alarms to go off twice a day, once at 11:11 AM, and again at 11:11 PM. _Wish for me,_ he'd said.

She wished for him. Every single day. Every single night.

"Maxie!" Van said, nudging her.

She blinked and looked up.

"Huh?"

"I said I'm getting up. Do you need anything?"

"Oh, no. Thanks."

Van nodded and excused herself from the table. Jenny watched her as she made her way out of the kitchen and disappeared into the bathroom. When she was gone, Jenny turned to Maxie. "Well," she said, grinning. "You're in some predicament, aren't you?"

Maxie didn't look up as she shrugged. "I don't know what you mean."

"No?"

"No."

"I like you, Maxie," Jenny said. "Maybe now more than ever." She lowered her voice. "I understand why Isaac was so crazy about you." Maxie inhaled, shut her eyes. "What I _don't_ understand," Jenny went on, "is why you're keeping up this charade."

Finally, Maxie looked at her. "I don't know what charade you're talking about."

Jenny's grin didn't falter, though her eyes no longer sparkled with amusement, but with pity. She leaned forward. "Have you two been carrying on like this the whole time?" Maxie said nothing. An exasperated chuckle escaped Jenny. "God, how sad for you." Maxie clenched her jaw, blinked back her tears. She said nothing. "And he doesn't remember, huh? He has no idea. Are you just going to keep it from him?" Still, she said nothing, though it seemed Jenny didn't need any replies. "Is it because of Van?" Jenny scoffed. "Van is a beautiful, sweet girl, but honey, Isaac could never love her. Whether or not he loves _you_ , he will _never_ love her. Just think about that."

At last, Maxie parted her lips to reply, but then Van sashayed back into the room. Shutting her mouth, Maxie shot Jenny one last glance before excusing herself.

#

NOW

Maxie closed her eyes and submerged herself in the warmth of her bath. She felt calm under the water, suspended in nothing, surrounded by emptiness. She held her breath, relaxed her muscles, concentrated on the silence.

'Wanna know something?' Van whispers. They're sixteen years old, lying side by side on the grass of Van's backyard. They'd just climbed out of the pool and now dried off under the afternoon sun.

'Yeah', Maxie replies. 'What?'

'Sometimes I jump in the pool and swim to the bottom. I stay down there as long as I can, hoping that if I stay long enough, when I come up again, I'll be somewhere else. Some place better.'

'Have you ever stayed long enough?' Maxie asks.

After a short pause, Van shakes her head. 'No,' she finally murmurs. 'Never.'

Maxie never stayed long enough, either. She never stopped trying, though.

Isaac's apartment lacked personality. The walls were white and completely void of any photos or decorations. All of the furniture—nothing more than two couches, a coffee table, and a small entertainment center—were black and plain. There were no books, no art, nothing personal at all.

Not overtly, anyway.

Maxie knew that tucked away beneath his pillow were a pair of her panties. _They bring me good dreams._ And beside his bed, hidden under papers in the nightstand drawer, was a small box filled with flower seeds, one for each time they made love. _One day we'll plant them all in a garden that everyone can see._ She knew that the left side of the closet was dedicated her belongings. _So you'll never have to leave, if you don't want to._ And taped to the inside of the bathroom medicine cabinet, where Isaac looked every morning when he brushed his teeth, was a photo of her with the words, 'who do you love?' scribbled on the bottom. _This way, I'll never forget._

She only wished, as she pulled the picture off of the cabinet door, that that were true. She stuffed the picture in her bag with the rest of her belongings. She cleansed the refrigerator of all the leftovers that remained. She washed her scent out of his sheets. She erased all traces of herself from the apartment. When he returned to it, he would never know she'd ever stepped foot inside.

But even after she'd gotten everything, she didn't leave. She sat on the couch with her legs pulled up to her chest, peered around the place, and cried. How many times had they sat on that couched together? Watched movies on that television? Made love on that floor?

Suddenly, she heard the knob of the front door shuffle. She froze in panic as it opened. Jenny appeared. "Ah," Jenny said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "How did I know I would find you here?"

Maxie sighed and stood. "I was just leaving, actually."

"Did you come to get rid of the evidence?" she asked.

Without replying, Maxie looked down at her hand, at the shimmering diamond ring on her finger. She pulled it off and gave it to Jenny. "Will you put this away for me?" she asked.

Jenny examined the ring for a moment, then looked back up at Maxie, bewildered. "He _gave_ you this?"

"I should go."

"Maximilienne—"

"Can we just forget that I was here?"

"No!" Jenny said sharply, taking Maxie by the arm. She was surprisingly strong for a woman in her sixties. "What you're doing right now isn't fair. It isn't fair to you, and it isn't fair to him." She led Maxie back to the couch and gently prodded her to sit. "If you're doing it for the sake of your own guilt, you're being selfish. But I don't think that's it. You just _honestly_ think this is the right thing."

Maxie opened her mouth to reply, and then shut it again. Her face burned red, tears blurred her vision. She dropped her head in her hands and began to sob. "I just feel so cornered," she said. "I can't do anything without someone getting hurt. No matter what I do, someone gets hurt. Except this. If I don't tell him the truth, no one gets hurt."

"No one but you."

Maxie said nothing. Jenny opened her arms and took Maxie into her embrace. She slowly rocked back and forth, patting her back. "Why don't you make _yourself_ happy?"

She shook her head. "I can't... I just... How am I supposed to choose between them? Van is my best friend. She's my _sister_. She's the only person who's always been there, the _one_ person who hasn't left me. How can I lose her? And Isaac..." She let out a heavy sigh. "I love him so much," she admitted, pulling back. "I love him so much I can literally feel it inside of me, Jenny. This is killing me. I feel like _I'm_ the one who's dying. There just is no right decision."

"So which is worse? Hurting Van? Or Isaac?"

Maxie shook her head. "I've already hurt Isaac. He shouldn't have been there that night, do you understand that? If it weren't for me, he wouldn't be laying in a hospital right now. But he'll heal. He can start over, he'll never have to know what we did. And he won't miss me, because he doesn't even remember." She had to pause as her voice broke on the last word. "He won't ever be hurt because of me again. And Van doesn't have to suffer, either."

"But you have to suffer."

She shrugged. "I've been suffering, anyway." She rose to her feet again. "You won't tell him, right?"

"Well, it isn't my place," she said reluctantly. "But Maximilienne, you _need_ to let this out. For the sake of everyone."

"For the sake of everyone," she said, getting to her feet. "I'm keeping it in."

"And what if he remembers? Then what?"

"The doctors say the damage to his brain is most likely permanent. They said he'll probably never remember."

"But what if he does?"

Maxie shrugged weakly. "He won't."

Jenny stood and followed her to the door. "You forgot these," she said. "I found them when I stopped by earlier, tucked away in Isaac's pillowcase. Did you know he hides keepsakes there?"

Maxie looked down at what Jenny was offering her. She immediately recognized the pictures, but didn't take them. "Just throw them away," she said.

"Maybe that's what you are," Jenny said. "A keepsake. Tucked away in some corner of his mind for safekeeping. He'll find you when he needs you, Maxie. Have you ever thought of that?"

"Just throw the pictures away, Jenny. Please."

"And you're just going to walk out of here with _nothing_?"

With a sigh, Maxie reached into her pocket and withdrew a tiny, gold lock pendent. "Almost nothing," she said, showing it to Jenny.

Jenny exhaled a tortured breath. Looking up at Maxie again, she asked, "What hasn't he given you?"

"I can't think of a single thing," Maxie said. Shaking her head, she repeated, "Just throw away the pictures, Jenny."

THEN

Maxie sat on the living room floor, her knee propped up for easy access to her foot as she drew colorful shapes and doodles on her skin with a marker. Her hand jumped, streaking a green line up her leg when the sound of knocking made her body jolt. "Who is it?" she called.

"Isaac," the voice from the hallway replied.

She gasped.

Isaac? It couldn't be. She must have heard wrong. Yet there it was again, the abrupt palpitation of her heart. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she went to the door. " _Who_?"

"Maximilienne," he said.

The butterflies in her stomach took flight. She exhaled, placed her hand against her chest to calm her heart. "Van isn't home," she called.

"I know," he replied.

Silence fell between them, thicker than even the door. He knew. He _knew?_ Then why was he there? What did he want? Biting down on her bottom lip, Maxie unlocked the door and pulled it open. When she set eyes on Isaac, she forgot to breathe.

He looked down at her with confident eyes and a sure smile. "Hi," she said, unable to raise her eyes any higher than his chin.

" _Bonsoir_ ," he said, nodding.

Grinning, she finally met his eyes. Her stomach flipped. His face was marvelous. After a moment or so, she realized she'd stop smiling, and now she just stared at him in awe, her mouth hanging slightly open. Blinking out of her daze, she shook her head and looked away. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I came to get something."

Maxie's looked up at him again, skeptically. "What?"

"Something I need."

Raising an eyebrow, she stepped aside so he could enter. He went in and stopped just a few feet away from her to peer around. "Smells good," he said. "Are you cooking?"

"Not anymore," she replied. "I had beef stew in the slow cooker. It's cooling now."

Isaac's eyes moved over her. They stopped on her foot, which was covered in marker. "Okay. Well, I'll just get what I came for."

"Alright," Maxie said, not moving from the spot where she stood.

Isaac went into the Van's room, shut the door behind him, and sat down on the bed. Exhaling, he picked up the picture of Van and Maxie that Van kept at her bedside. He'd never gotten a chance to really look at it before that moment, so he took his time staring at it, committing every detail of Maxie's smile, eyes, hair, and skin to his memory. Then he sat the picture back down, stood, and made his way out of the room.

Maxie still stood in the same spot by the door, only now she was wearing knee-high socks and her hair was pulled back. Her chest rose and her eyes lit up as Isaac emerged from the room. He liked that. He was glad she couldn't hide what he so often felt when she was in proximity of him.

"Should I tell Van you stopped by?"

"You don't need to," he replied.

She nodded. He didn't leave. "You should have left your hair down," he said.

Her hand went to her ponytail. "Oh, yeah. No. It's a mess right now, I have to wash it—"

"I like it."

She smiled. "Well, Van usually doesn't get home until around five or six in the morning, but if you'd like, you can stay for dinner. I was just about to eat."

He smiled. "I may never leave if you keep feeding me."

_Promise?_ she wanted to ask, but instead blushed and looked away. "You can just have a seat. I'll make you a plate."

"Thank you," he said, sitting down at the table. His eyes never left her as she hurried around the kitchen, rinsing their utensils, filling their glasses, setting their places, piling food onto their plates. He didn't look away until she set his dinner down before him. "Dig in."

His mouth watered, but he didn't touch his fork until Maxie was sitting down across from him. For a while, they ate in silence. Maxie stared down at her plate, over at the sink, at the front door, at the refrigerator, at anything but Isaac, who gazed at her often.

It wasn't until her food was nearly gone that she spoke. "Isaac," she said. "Van thinks your parents died in a car accident."

He chuckled. "Yeah, that's what I tell everyone."

"Why?"

"Because," he said, swallowing down the last of his food, "my past is one of my weaknesses, Maxie. And if I go around announcing my weaknesses, eventually someone'll try to use them against me."

"Hmm," she said, thoughtfully. "So cynical."

"So are you."

She shook her head. "I'm not."

"You are. The only difference between you and me is the way we hide it. You hide it so _well_ , under your smiles and your passivity. You let everyone believe that you're carefree and content."

She smiled. "I _am_ carefree and content." Lowering her eyes, she said, "Of course, I have my moments. But you need to trust _someone_ , Isaac," she said.

"Who do _you_ trust?" He smirked. "Van?"

She pushed her plate back and leaned forward, propping her elbows up on the table and resting her chin in her hands. "Will you tell me about your parents?"

He, too, pushed his plate back and leaned toward her. "What would you like to know?"

"Do you miss them?"

He nodded. "My mother, yes."

"Were you two close?"

He sighed and contemplated. "We were close," he said carefully, "because we needed each other. We were all we had."

"Why did he kill her?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.

"Because after years of putting up with his shit, she was finally going to leave him. My father was never a constant in my life. I can't remember him ever being around for more than a couple years at a time. He'd leave us without a word, sometimes for days, sometimes for years, and then just show up again, broke and alone and miserable. He only ever stayed until he got himself together, and then he was off again.

"Then, when I was ten, we went to France to visit some of our relatives. She met a man there, a boxer." He paused and the corners of his lips turned up into a small, wistful smile. "I liked him a lot. He's the one that introduced me to the world of underground fight clubs and mixed martial arts. And he made my mom happier than I'd ever seen her. We ended up staying in France for three years. They got engaged. We came back to the States only to tie up all our loose ends, and then we were going to move back for good. To Paris."

He stopped speaking, dropped his eyes. There was so much emotion in his face, more than she'd ever seen before. He was always so impassive, always so guarded. She imagined his insides were overflowing with pent up anger, sadness, frustration, unspoken words, uncried tears. She had a nagging urge to get up and go to him, wrap her arms around him, reassure him.

Of course, she remained in her seat.

"We rented out our house. We got rid of everything we didn't need, shipped the few things we wanted to keep back to France. And then, the weekend before we were due to leave, I went to spend the weekend in Ohio, with my aunt."

"You have an aunt in Ohio?"

He nodded. "We don't speak too often."

She wanted to ask why, but she had a feeling that was a story in itself, so instead she said, "Oh. Well, go on."

"The day I came back to New York, I hadn't spoken to my mom at all. In fact, I hadn't spoken to her since the morning before. And then, she didn't pick me up from the bus station. I had to catch a cab home. When I got in the house, the smell was the first thing that got to me."

It hits him like a truck.

No, like something bigger, and harder, and meaner, and angrier than a truck. The smell. The rancid smell of decay surrounds him, envelopes him, disarms him. He slaps his arm over his face as the odor finds its way up his nose and down his throat. It grips his stomach and he gags. Where is his mother? Doesn't she smell that?

'Mom!' he yells, struggling not to heave as the air touches his mouth and tongue. When he gets no reply, he makes his way across the living room. 'Mom! What the hell..?'

Still, no reply. As he turns down the hallway, he freezes. The entire carpet outside of his mother's bedroom door is stained brown with dried blood. Panic seizes him by the gut, momentarily paralyzes him. Then his heart jumps and he rushes forward. 'Mom!' he screams, throwing her door open.

Isaac shut his eyes.

Maxie waited, holding her breath. She knew what he found behind the door. But then what? What did he do? How did he take it?

He opened his eyes, blinked, and met Maxie's stare. "Her entire carpet was covered in blood. Her sheets, the walls, _everything_. The knife he used was sticking out of the wall. She was lying on her stomach when I found her, halfway under the bed. The police said she'd been trying to get away from him."

Maxie gasped. "Where was he?" she asked, her voice small.

"In the bathroom. Dead," he said lightly. "He shot himself." Maxie's hands flew to her mouth. A bitter, humorless chuckle escaped him. "He stabbed her over and over, and let her die slow, and then he fucking shot himself in the head. Quick and easy."

"God, Isaac."

"God?" he said. "You think?" She frowned. He shook his head and smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me, Maximilienne. Not if you don't even feel sorry for yourself."

She heard nothing after he said her name. The only time it had ever sounded so beautiful was when her mother had said it. "Do you ever get lonely?" she asked.

He nodded. "Do you?"

She nodded. "I always have Van and her family. And Alex, too, since recently. But sometimes I just want..." Her voice trailed off, but Isaac understood.

"Sometimes I want that, too."

"And where do you find it?"

"Well, I didn't go back to France after my mom died. I went to Ohio and stayed with my aunt until I graduated high school. Anyway, _that's_ where I find it. Back in Ohio, at Jenny's." Maxie nodded. "What about you? Where do _you_ find it?"

_As of lately?_ she wanted to say. _In you._ But instead, she shrugged and said nothing.

"So you _have_ had food from Europe," Maxie said, clearing the table.

"Of course I have. It's some of the best food I've ever tasted." He went to the bookshelf where her collection of cookbooks was and scanned the selection. "Once, my mother and I rode the train all the way to Italy and stayed the weekend, just to eat at this small diner that made really good ravioli." The memory made him smile to himself.

"I loved Italy."

He nodded. " _I_ loved Italy." He turned to her. "Why don't you ever talk about your trip?"

She shrugged, placing the remainder of the dishes in the sink. "I do."

"No, you don't. Not even to Van."

"How do _you_ know what I talk to Van about?" But she didn't really need him to answer. She already knew. She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "How often do you talk about me to Van?"

"Not often at all," he replied. "However, _she_ talks about you to _me_ nonstop."

With a frustrated sigh, she shook her head. "I don't even want to ask all she's told you."

"I wouldn't know where to start."

"Has she told you about my mother?" He nodded. "And my father?" He nodded. She sucked her teeth, but really, she wasn't surprised. And not upset, either. Maybe because she expected Van to talk. Maybe because it was Isaac who was listening. "Did she tell you about my prom date?" He smiled. "Oh my God," Maxie mumbled, heat creeping up her cheeks.

"Did you really make him cry?"

Maxie slapped her hand over her mouth and laughed. "I wouldn't say he _cried_. He teared up a little bit."

"And you wore a poufy white dress, denim jacket, and combat boots to her grandmother's funeral?"

"Grammy would have wanted it that way."

"Oh," Isaac said, snapping his fingers. "You _have_ to tell me how you killed her dog playing _fetch_."

Maxie gasped. "How was I supposed to know the stupid thing would swallow the ball?"

"And her cat?"

"If I would have looked for him any longer in that blizzard, _I_ would have been the one frozen to death!"

For a moment, they simply stood there, frozen in laughter. And then Isaac grew solemn, and stared at the girl before him, tiny in comparison to himself, and flushed, and looking away shyly, and smiling almost giddily. Yes, Van told him a lot, but he knew _nothing_ about her. She was like an open book, written in some foreign language that even he couldn't translate.

He was determined to decipher it.

"Maxie," he said. "Would you mind wasting a good meal on me?"

Her smile faded, her eyes got big. "But if I keep feeding you," she said, "you'll never leave."

He didn't leave as she finished cleaning the kitchen, and then they sat in the living room, Isaac in the armchair, Maxie on the sofa. He spoke more of his mother, his time in Europe, his time in Ohio. She listened intently, captivated by his words, his voice, by the movement of his lips, by the images in her mind that his stories provoked.

Not once did he mention Alex. Not once did she mention Van. It wasn't until four in the morning approached that Maxie even thought of her roommate. Standing, she said, "It's getting late. I have class in the morning, I should probably get to bed."

Also rising to his feet, Isaac nodded. "Thank you for dinner. It was delicious."

They made their way to the front door and Maxie pulled it open. "Did you get what you came for?" she asked.

Puzzled, his brows furrowed. "I'm sorry?"

"When you got here, you said you were here to get something. Something you needed." She looked up at his face with those big eyes. Her lips were moist, her hair was out and pushed to one side. She looked tired, yet somehow, revived.

"I got exactly what I needed," he told her, and then left.

When he was gone, she shut the door behind him and finally exhaled. She felt as if she'd been holding her breath all night. For a while, she simply leaned back against the door and reminisced on her night. She replayed his laughter over and over in her mind, shutting her eyes to get a clearer image of his smile. What had he come for? she wondered. And when would he be back? Because that was what _she_ needed.

#

NOW

Maxie arrived at the hospital and found Isaac on the floor beside his bed, shirtless, doing push-ups. She couldn't help but smile. "I _thought_ you were starting to look flabby," she teased, leaning over his bed. He looked up at her and grinned.

"Yeah, well, someone's been bringing me pecans and cupcakes and all kinds of cookies and shit. It's no wonder." He finished his set and rose to his feet. "All I do all day is lay in this bed and eat snacks."

Maxie's eyes danced over his bare chest and muscular arms. Perfect. Absolutely flawless. Every inch of him. "I think you can stand to have a few snacks."

"I never used to eat that stuff. I don't even _like_ sweets."

"My sweets aren't like other sweets," she said, plopping down in the chair.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he said, "I bet." He climbed back into his bed and faced her. "Do you work out?"

"I used to. I was a dancer."

"And you're not anymore?"

She shook her head. "I sort of... fell out of it. Besides, now I have tattoos," she said. He'd noticed them. Big and colorful and vibrant, mostly on her back, though there were a few others scattered randomly on her body. He'd been unable to tell she had any at first glance, but the more she visited, the more he noticed them. It was hard for him not to wonder about the ones he still couldn't see. "When have you ever seen a tattooed ballerina?"

"I have a tattoo," he said. He looked down at his chest, where the single word was written in script across his heart: _Hers_. He chuckled. "I can't believe I have a tattoo. I don't even know what it means." He looked back up at Maxie, who—red-faced—averted her eyes.

"It's for your mother."

"Van told me."

"So...?"

"So, it's just not like me. Yet again." Looking over her tattoos, he said, "Maybe you influenced me. You have so many. Do they all mean something?"

"Most of them," she said. "Some don't, though. A friend of mine, Bea, is a tattoo artist. Sometimes she draws nice things, and I let her tattoo them on me."

"Right, because if you can't use a friend as a human canvas, what are they good for?"

Maxie chuckled. "Bea did your tattoo."

His eyes widened. "Were you there?"

"You cried like a baby." Isaac scoffed and Maxie laughed. "At least you still know yourself, Isaac. You took the pain like the muscle-man you are."

"And how do you take the pain?" he asked.

With a chuckle, she admitted, "Not so good, actually. I can't relate to people who have tattoos that didn't hurt. _All_ of my tattoos hurt."

"So why do you keep getting them?"

"Because," she said, "once the pain is gone, I have this beautiful thing to look at. Forever. Not many painful things in life leave you with scars that are beautiful."

For a moment, he stared at her. Young and pretty, free-spirited, maybe. Or just rebellious. He wasn't sure yet. Her face was youthful, but her eyes were filled with experience, as her words were filled with allusions. "Childbirth does," he finally said. "Why don't you just keep having babies?"

She laughed again, harder than last time. The sound was light and melodic, effortless. His eyes moved over her face: her wide smile, her cheek bones raised against her eyes, her long lashes fanning out across her lids. But when she looked back at him, she suddenly stopped laughing, stopped smiling. Her face reddened, and to his dismay, she turned her head.

It usually went like that when she visited. He would talk and she would laugh, which made Isaac pause to stare at her every time. And then she would notice, and stop, and look away, and blush, and Isaac would remind himself to be subtler next time, though he always failed.

"So, I get out of here soon," he said, changing the subject so she would look at him again.

"I bet you're excited."

He shrugged. "I don't know what I am. I have no idea what I'm going back to. How am I supposed to pick up when I don't have the slightest clue where I left off?"

"You're a survivor. You'll be alright. And you'll always have us. Me and Van," she clarified.

"Yeah, Van. She asked me to stay with you guys for a while. Just until I... You know."

Maxie's mouth fell open. For a moment, she didn't reply. "Just until what?" she said, at last. Then she quickly dropped her eyes. "I mean... I'm sorry, that was rude. I don't mean to sound like you're not welcome."

"It's fine. I understand. I'm not really sure about it myself. I haven't had a fucking roommate since college. Let alone two _women._ My girlfriend that I don't even _know_."

"So you're not? Going to stay with us, I mean." She hoped she didn't sound too eager.

"Van says I practically live with you, anyway—"

"You spend the night sometimes, but I wouldn't say you _live_ with us."

"And I think it may be helpful, just having someone vaguely familiar around for a while." He looked her straight in the eye. "Someone I trust."

She hoped he didn't see the way his words warmed her.

"Well," she said, defeated—or maybe she surrendered. "I guess it isn't such a bad idea for you to come stay for a while. Just until..."

He smiled. "Right. Just until."

Would it be _terrible_? she asked herself. It wasn't like his presence around the apartment would be anything new. He _did_ practically live there already. She was used to cooking for him. She was used to getting up in the morning to find him doing push-ups in the living room. She was used to him finishing the milk and leaving the carton on the counter. She was used to him forgetting to turn off the hall light before he went to bed.

She was used to seeing him with Van. She had mastered the art of watching them kiss without grimacing. She could now see Van touch him, without looking away. She'd been doing it for over a year already. She was _used_ to it.

But could she get used to nights without him showing up in her room to kiss her and wish her sweet dreams? Could she get used to seeing him hug Van, and not blow her a kiss over her friend's shoulder? Could she get used to serving him dinner, and not have him whisper, "I want you for dessert," without Van hearing? There would be no more subtle glances between them, no more secret grazes and caresses, no more silent _I love you_ 's, spoken without even a word. Could she get used to _that_?

"I saw your Aunt Jenny yesterday. She stopped by before she left," Maxie said.

Isaac nodded. "Yeah. She was sorry to go, I think."

"She said she'll be back soon. To check on you. And she also invited you and Van to go visit her soon."

"Me and Van, huh? She didn't even _know_ about Van. Not before all of this happened, anyway. Neither did Gnar. Or anyone, for that matter. I didn't tell _anyone_ about her."

Maxie shrugged. "Are you surprised? Some things about you changed over the last year and a half, Isaac, but you're still the same unforthcoming, tightlipped cynic you've always been."

"I didn't say I was surprised," he replied. "I'm not at all surprised I never told anyone about Van. I'm not a fucking gossiping female. I was, however, surprised that _everyone_ seemed to know who _you_ were."

Her eyes widened. " _Me_?"

"You," he said. "Maxie. The girl I was shot protecting. The girl who knew to call my aunt. The girl who, allegedly, I speak often and very highly of." His eyebrows raised. Maxie said nothing. "Gnar even thought we may have..." Her heart pace quickened, she felt short of breath. "Had something between us."

Struggling to keep the truth from her eyes, she forced a smile. "That's ridiculous."

He nodded. "That's what I said. And he was happy to hear it, too. I guess he's been interested in you for a while."

Maxie's mouth fell agape. "He _told_ you that?" It seemed like only the day before Gnar wouldn't have even _thought_ of admitting such a thing to Isaac. And Isaac certainly wouldn't have thought of relaying it.

"Are you single?" he asked.

"What?" she nearly shrieked. Was he trying to set her up? With _Gnar_? No, it couldn't be. Not Isaac, not the man who was in love with her. Not the man who dared any other to even _glance_ at her when they were together. Van or no Van, Alex or no Alex, Isaac had always been jealous, always so possessive. Maxie was _his_.

Sensing her angst, Isaac said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I told him I didn't think you were single. You have a boyfriend, right? Allen, or something?"

"Alex," she corrected, her voice low and tormented. "We broke up."

"Oh. Sorry to hear it."

Sorry?

She stood and draped the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She needed to get out. Get away from him. She needed to cry. She needed to smoke. "Well, I'm going to go. See you soon?"

He frowned. "Maxie, wait." _Why did he always want to her wait_? "Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you—"

"You didn't," she said quickly. "It's fine. I just have to go."

Before he could reply, the door opened and Van sauntered in. "Oh, hey, Max," she said. She went to Isaac's side and sat down on the bed. "Hi, babe. I brought you something."

Maxie paused to watch Isaac's arm fall around Van. He smiled at her. The way he _never_ smiled at her. Was he falling for her? _Honestly_ falling for her? Swallowing the lump in her throat, Maxie turned away. After all, it was what she had intended when she'd decided not to tell him. Give them a real chance. "Well, I'll see you guys later."

"I brought you food," Van said, not even looking up at her friend. "Baked chicken, corn, and mashed potatoes. No lumps, like you like them."

Isaac opened his mouth to say something, but Maxie spoke instead. "Actually, he likes lumps."

Both he and Van looked up at her, eyes wide. "Well," Van said, clearing her throat. "She would know. She's the one who cooks for us."

_Actually_ , Maxie thought, turning to the door. _I cook for_ him.

"Maxie!" Bea cried into the phone. "Fuck, I've been calling you for a half hour!"

"Sorry, I was on the train," she said. She stood in the elevator of her building as it made its slow ascent to her floor. Bea said something else, but her words came out choppy and unclear. "What? Bea, you're breaking up. What did you say?"

"I said..." Nothing... "by my apartment today and I told him..." Nothing... "so I think he's probably going to show..." Nothing... "I wanted to warn you before you..." Nothing.

With a sigh, Maxie pulled her phone from her ear and looked at it. No service bars. She was surprised she heard anything. "Bea, can I call you back in a minute? I'm in the elevator, I don't have service."

"No! Listen to me! Don't go...." Nothing... "Alex will be..."

Maxie gasped. Alex? "What? Bea, hold on. What about Alex?"

"He..." Nothing. "...And I think he's going to..."

Maxie sighed in frustration. As soon as the elevator doors slid open, she stepped out, thrusting her phone forward to get service. "Okay," she said. "I can hear you."

"Good," Bea said, breathlessly. "I was _saying_ that Alex showed up at my apartment again."

"He did?"

"I told him you weren't here, and he asked where he could find you. I told him I didn't know, but I wanted to warn you that he's probably going to try your place next. And I'm pretty sure he's been drinking." Just as Bea said the words, Maxie turned the corner and there Alex was, standing in front of her door. When he turned and saw her there, his eyes lit up. "You should probably just head over here if you want to avoid him. Or maybe hide out for a few minutes until you're sure he's not there."

With a sigh, Maxie said, "Thanks, Bea, but I'm here."

"Is he there?"

"Yes."

Bea sighed in defeat. "Shit, Max. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said, going to him. "I'll call you later."

She hung up the phone and looked at Alex. He appeared tired, worn out. His tiny curls were unkempt, his eyes were dark. He managed a smile, though. As soon as he saw her, he smiled. "Hey, Max," he said.

"Hi," she said, stopping a few feet short of him. She could smell the alcohol on him from where she stood.

"How are you?"

"Not so good," she admitted. "Pretty tired. I just want to go inside and rest."

He nodded. "I understand. I just want to talk to you for a minute. I feel like things ended badly between us. I don't even know _why_. I just want to talk."

"Can we talk another time?"

His brows furrowed and he dropped his eyes. "Why are you being like this? Don't I at least deserve an explanation? I know I've done some fucked up things in the past, but I've been trying to make up for them."

"This isn't about what you've done in the past," she said.

"Then what's it about?" he insisted. "I love you, Max. I know I don't say it enough, but you know that, don't you?"

Guilt settled on her chest, suffocating her. She couldn't look in his face, into his beseeching eyes. Alex long ago stopped being the bad guy and became the victim, even if he didn't know it. The moment Maxie gave in to her feelings for Isaac, the moment Alex became just a distraction, just a cover, was the moment he became the victim. "You deserve better than me," she said.

Confusion seized his features. He shook his head, reaching out for her. "Why would you think that? _I_ deserve better than _you_? What twisted world are you living in? After everything I've done—"

"I forgive you," she said.

"That's not enough."

"Well, what else do you want?"

"I want you to give us another chance."

"Alex, no."

"Why?" he probed, his voice rising. His fingers wrapped tightly around her shoulders, his eyes were wide with anguish. Why couldn't it be Isaac standing before her? Why couldn't it be Isaac desperate for her affection? "Do you know what I've been going through without you this past couple of weeks? You have no idea. I don't think I realized _myself_ how much you mean to me. I gave you the time you asked for, Max. Please, I'm just asking you to consider this."

His hands trailed down her arm, his fingers entwined themselves in hers. "I've lied to you. I've cheated on you. I've... I've done a shit ton of other things that I don't deserve your forgiveness for—"

"What about what _I've_ done, Alex?"

"I don't care," he said.

" _I_ care—"

Her words were cut short when he leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly against hers. She tried to pull back, but he held her in place, kissed her with hunger and passion and need. After a moment, she succumbed to his longing, stopped fighting and let him take whatever he needed from her. So long she'd been taking only what she needed from him.

Comfort when she felt suffocated by Van. Company when she felt lonely. Entertainment when she felt bored. He was a distraction when she felt shunned. He was a buoy when she felt as if she would drown in her own love for Isaac. He was a ploy when anyone got suspicious.

He pulled away but kept his forehead pressed against hers. "You've made me a better person, Maxie," he whispered.

_I'm a horrible person_.

"I've never loved a girl like I love you."

I've never loved you like I love Isaac.

"I never will."

_Neither will I_.

Resting her hands on his, she gently pulled back. "You should go," she murmured, averting her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Alex."

Dropping his arms, he stepped away from her. For a moment, thick silence occupied the air between them. Alex simply stood there, looking at her. And she stood there, waist deep in her own guilt and remorse. "Is it because of him?" he finally asked. The words came out so low that Maxie thought she misheard.

"What? _Who_?"

"You know who," he said. "You think I'm blind, don't you? Van may be blind, but I'm not. I fucking see _everything_."

Shaking her head, she tried to move past him. "I don't know what you're talking about. You should go."

He stepped in her path, blocking the door. "You _never_ looked at me the way you looked at him. From the very start, he's had you. And you're so bad at hiding it, Max, I don't know how Van still doesn't know."

"Please, stop. There's no one else, Alex."

"You think I'm stupid? Is that what you think?"

"No, I just—"

" _You're_ stupid!" he lashed out. "He's been playing with you, for a whole fucking year! More than that! I don't care _how_ the hell he looked at you. At night, he was in _Van's_ bed. Right now, _Van_ is at his side. And what are _you_ left with?"

Maxie bit down on her bottom lip, kept her eyes shut tightly, but there was no hiding her distress. Hot tears found their way out and streamed down her cheeks. "Please, stop," she choked out.

Exhaling heavily, Alex took her cheeks in his palms and wiped her tears with his thumbs. "I don't care about any of that, Max. We can start over. We'll forget about the past. We'll forget everything. Let's just start over."

"I can't," she moaned, dropping her chin. She was too far gone. In too deep. Forever lost in the haze of Isaac.

Sighing, Alex finally let her go and stepped out of her way. She hurried to the door and unlocked it. "Hey," Alex called as she pushed it open. Without waiting for her to turn around, he said, "He doesn't even _remember_ you."

Gritting her teeth, she went into the apartment and shut the door behind her.

THEN

He showed up the next night bearing groceries. Maxie's eyes widened when she opened the door and saw him standing there, hands full with bags and a bottle of wine. "Isaac, what are you doing here?"

Moving past her into the apartment, he explained, "We're having dinner, remember?"

Maxie followed him to the kitchen. "I didn't know that was set in stone."

He placed the groceries on the counter and turned to her, grinning. "What's the problem? You like to cook. I like to eat. It's a win-win."

She wanted to play tough, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling. "Muscle-man slash comedian. Impressive." He stepped aside so she could unpack the groceries. "What did you get?"

"Everything you need," he said. He pulled her cookbook from one of the bags and she gasped.

"Where did you get that?" she demanded.

With a shrug, he replied, "The shelf."

She took it from his hands and began to flip through it. "Don't worry," he said, continuing to unpack the groceries. "It's still in perfect condition. I just needed it for reference."

After putting the book back safely in its place, she looked over the groceries Isaac had brought and quickly learned that he had not spared a single ingredient, not a single _idea_ for an ingredient. He'd purchased everything—from what she needed to what she wanted to what she _may_ have wanted. She felt like a kid in a candy store. There was a counter of possibilities before her.

" _J'ai faim_ ," he said, placing his hand on his stomach. "That means I'm hungry."

"Van won't be home until late again."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry she'll miss it." Though he didn't seem very sorry. "We'll leave her some."

With a sigh, she couldn't help but smile and raised her eyes to his perfect face. "Well, then," she said. "What are we having?"

Smiling, he replied, "Italian."

As she cooked, she pretended that they were married. He was the husband, sitting in the living room watching television after a hard day's work while she, the wife, prepared dinner for him. They would sit together and eat, talk about their day, reminisce on the past, contemplate the future, and then retire to bed.

There was no Van. There was no Alex. There were no suicidal or homicidal parents, no loneliness, no sadness. Just two young people, happy and in love. Simple.

The exact opposite of reality.

Maxie hurried to join Isaac at the table so his food wouldn't get cold while he waited for her. "It looks delicious," he said, practically salivating over his plate. He tasted a bite and moaned. " _Maxie_."

She didn't even touch her food, she was too busy watching him chew and moan and compliment her over and over. Finally, he paused. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"Yeah," she said, finally getting some on her own fork. She tasted it and her eyes rolled back in her head as they fluttered shut. " _Mm,_ " she moaned. "This _is_ good."

Isaac laughed. "Makes you want to go back, huh?" She didn't reply, and they continued to eat in near silence, both having seconds with a glass of wine.

"I've never been drunk before," she admitted, sipping the wine slowly. "When we were in high school, Van went to a party and came home really drunk. She was throwing up for a full twenty-four hours. And then, she couldn't get out of bed for another day after that. I told myself I would never go through that." She shrugged. "I've never had more than a glass of champagne."

"You didn't go to the party?" he asked.

She smiled. Is that the part of the story he'd caught? "No. I was never much of a party girl. Van was enough for both of us."

"I bet."

"Do you want more?" she asked, motioning toward his empty plate.

He shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm full, believe it or not."

"Do you want to go to the roof?"

He raised a curious eyebrow. "The roof?"

"Yeah," she said, taking their plates and rising to her feet. It felt as if someone kicked the floor from under her. She wavered, catching her balance on the table.

"Whoa!" Isaac said, jumping up and reaching for her, but she was already steady. "Are you alright?"

Giggling, she nodded. "Yeah, wow. I guess I got up too fast." He glanced at her glass of wine. It was empty. "Anyway, about the roof. Sometimes I go up there, on nights like this. I like to just look at the stars." She dropped the dishes in the sink and turned back to him. "I can clean later. Want to go?"

Her eyes were sparkling with life and slightly out of focus. She was smiling, looking directly at him, swaying ever so slightly. "Yeah," he said with a chuckle. "Let's go to the roof."

She grabbed their glasses while he grabbed the wine and walked close behind her, throwing his arms out whenever she wavered. It was cold on the roof, and there wasn't much there, just a small garden and a sitting area with a heating lamp. "I like to lie down," Maxie said, pushing the chairs out of the way and turning on the lamp. She sat down under the heat and lowered herself to her back. Isaac followed suit, lying so close to her that his big arm rested against her small one.

For a while, they just lay there, talking and laughing and looking up at the stars. Isaac often found himself staring at her profile while she spoke—and she spoke more than he'd ever heard her speak—entranced by her smile and laughter. Between sips of wine, Maxie pointed out constellations, and Isaac pretended to know what she was talking about. She told him about school, her classes, good performances and bad performances. She finally admitted to making her prom date cry, and she laughed as she described the way he tried to hide it.

"So I guess you were a heartbreaker back then, huh?"

She turned over onto her side to face him. He turned over onto his to face her. She shrugged. "Boys just weren't important to me. I listened to Van and all of our friends talk about their boyfriends, and it all seemed so trivial to me. Stupid arguments about nothingness. Breaking up and making up. Jealousy and competition and _stupidity_. After everything I'd already been through, I just felt above it all."

"Do you feel above Alex?"

With a tiny grin, she admitted, "Sometimes. It's not like we're going to be together forever or anything. I _know_ that. I guess that's why I don't take it as seriously as he'd like. He wants to move forward, take it to the next level—"

"Next level?"

"Yeah. You know. He wants to..." She dropped her eyes. "We haven't... I mean _I_ haven't ever..." She paused.

"You've never had sex?"

She could feel her face flush. Why did she say anything? What did it even have to do with anything? She didn't need to tell him that. _Why_ did she tell him that? "Well, I've never had any _real_ boyfriends," she said quickly. "It's not like I've ever been in love. I mean, I don't have time for love. Especially with dance. Dance takes up my whole life, I don't even have time for a real job. And anyway, when did saving yourself for marriage, or at least true love, become so overrated? I just don't see why virginity has to be such a shocking thing—"

"Hey, hey," he said, raising his palms to stop her. His eyes were cemented on her, and full. Full of _something_. She wasn't sure what it was, but she liked it. "It's not a bad thing. I wasn't judging you."

"You don't think I'm immature?"

"Having virtues doesn't make you immature."

"And if you have sex, you don't have virtues?" she asked, thinking of Van. Was that what he thought of Van?

"I didn't say that," he said. "You just have different virtues."

"What are your virtues?" she asked, and when the words left her mouth, she could hardly believe she spoke them. What business of hers was it? Was she crossing a line? Overstepping her boundaries? It was the wine, she finally concluded. The wine uncensored her.

Unfazed by her question, he replied, "I'm not as virtuous as you, Maximilienne. Though after meeting you, I sort of wish I had been."

Did he realize how much he warmed her? Were her emotions written on her face the way she felt they were? She didn't care much, either way. Not that night. "Are you a heartbreaker, Isaac?"

"Depends on who you ask."

"I'm asking you."

"Then no," he said.

"And if I ask Van?"

He smirked. "She wouldn't know. She wouldn't know anything."

The bottle of wine was nearly finished. He'd only drank two small glasses of it himself. Maxie lay beside him, bleary eyed and giggly, prattling on. "...And in middle school, I wanted to be a teacher. I've always loved kids. I planned on going to school for education, and then I got accepted to Julliard, so..." She shrugged. "What about you? Why did you major in Linguistics?"

"Because," he said. "I went back overseas to be an underground MMA fighter, and I wanted to know the languages."

Her eyes widened. "You moved _back_?"

"I graduated high school a year early and studied the languages. I already knew French and a bit of Italian. I soaked the rest up pretty fast. Then, when I turned eighteen, I transferred to a school in England, and stayed there until I was twenty-four. Then I came back, and with all the money I'd made, I opened the gym."

"You made that much money fighting?"

"No," he said with a chuckle. "I made that much money winning."

"Wow," Maxie breathed. "Have you told Van any of this?"

He shrugged. "She never asked."

"You know, when I met Alex, the first thing he told me about himself was how well traveled he was. And then he bragged about his job, and the fact that he speaks a little Italian." She smiled at Isaac. "And look at you. You've _lived_ in all of these places, survived there. You speak _all_ of the languages, and Van doesn't even know."

"My mother always told me that enough people will talk about you when you're not around, you don't need to talk about yourself, too."

Maxie smiled. "Will you teach me to speak French, Isaac?

His eyes lit up. "You'd really like to learn?"

"I would love to."

"Then I would love to teach you. Under one condition." Her eyebrows furrowed as she waited for it. "Tell me about _your_ time in Europe, Maxie. It's such a beautiful place, with so many good experiences to be had. I want to understand why you didn't like it."

She sighed and rolled over to her back again. "Well, for the first two weeks, it was amazing. Alex worked a lot—he was there for work—but when he was free, he took me everywhere, showed me everything. During the day, we would sightsee and eat at different restaurants and visit museums and monuments and all the historical sites I'd only read about in books. Then, at night, we'd go to all of these industry parties, and I met celebrities, and designers, and models, and other photographers. It was so glamorous." She paused. Isaac waited. "You're going to look at him differently after I tell you this," she warned with a small grin.

"I already don't like him."

"Why not?" she cried.

"Tell me the rest."

"I haven't even told Van."

"I won't tell her, either."

Shifting to get comfortable, Maxie continued. "Anyway, I got close with one of the models we met in Italy. She ended up meeting us in Spain, since she had a shoot there, too, and we stayed in the same hotel." She stopped again, swallowed hard. "I think I just saw a shooting star."

"Maxie..."

"I've never seen one before. Do you believe in UFOs?"

He smiled. She briefly smiled back.

"He slept with her," she finally admitted. "Ugh, there it is. The big secret. Alex cheated on me and we weren't even officially a couple yet." Isaac's features softened to pity. "He got drunk a few nights later and told me everything. He's... _different_ when he's drunk. Anyway, he told me everything." She laughed and shook her head. "I broke it off with him and ended up staying in Madrid for the rest of the trip while he finished traveling. I took the train by myself to a few other cities, but I ran out of money pretty fast and mostly just stayed at the hotel. Three days before we were due to come back to the States, he met me back in Madrid and apologized and promised it wouldn't happen again." She shrugged. "Believe it or not, we'd only known each other for a couple months by that point. So we just agreed to put it behind us. And I don't bring it up, like we agreed. But he acts like it never happened at all."

She looked at Isaac. His eyes were dark, his jaw was set, but he said nothing. She nudged him. "You deserve better," he finally murmured.

She smiled. "How sweet of you to think so."

"How stupid of you _not_ to think so."

She laughed. "Want to hear something funny?"

"After what you just told me? Yes, please."

"Remember when Alex said I smoked weed in Amsterdam like a pro?"

He looked at her, raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Well, that's because I _am_ a pro." Her smile broadened and she shrugged. "Well, sort of. I used to be anyway."

Isaac's mouth hung open in shock. "You smoke?" He couldn't imagine it. Not her. She was too nice. Too soft spoken. Too reserved, too inhibited. She was too innocent. She'd never even been drunk. She was a _virgin_ for Christ sake.

"Only sometimes. After my mom died, it's pretty safe to say that I became a legitimate pothead. But since then, I've slowed down to special occasions. Mostly when I want to think of her, feel closer to her. Like birthdays and holidays. Christmas."

His eyes widened. "You were _high_ that night?"

"Floating," she admitted. "And right now," she added, sitting up, "I think I might be drunk."

She placed her hand on her head to stop the spinning. Isaac sat up, too. "You're definitely drunk. C'mon, let me help you up."

He stood and pulled her to her feet, and then held her by the waist as they made their way back to the apartment. Inside, she lay down on the couch while Isaac straightened the kitchen. In minutes, she drifted off to sleep.

It felt as if hours had passed when he shook her awake to announce his departure. He kneeled down beside the couch, fingering one of the curls that hung from her ponytail. "I'll come back soon. Next time we'll have Spanish, okay?" Smiling weakly, she nodded. "Lock up behind me." As he stood to leave, she called out to him. "Yes?"

"Van is a good person," she whispered, no longer smiling.

With eyes full of emotion, he nodded. "And so are you, Maximilienne."

Shaking her head, she turned over so she wouldn't have to look at him. "No," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm not."

#

THEN

Maxie's eyes shot open. She inhaled sharply, glanced at her clock. Five AM. Her stomach wrenched. She jumped off the couch and darted for her room, barely making it to her bathroom before she was choking on her own vomit. _Goddamn wine_ , she thought as she hovered over the toilet. Sharp pain shot through her ribs with every heave.

She was hot, her stomach ached, her throat burned, her head throbbed. She groaned and lay down against the cool tile, weak and exhausted. Her stomach settled a bit, but her legs felt like elastic, and she didn't have nearly enough energy to move. Folding herself into a ball, she fell back to sleep right there on the bathroom floor.

She woke slowly, with much difficulty. She felt as if someone were bouncing a tennis ball off the walls of her skull. When she opened her eyes, the morning sun pouring in from the small bathroom window made her cringe and grab for the floor mat to cover her face. For a while, Maxie lay there, still nauseous, still aching, still without energy.

Is this what everyone else did on their twenty-first birthday? She could have lived a hundred more years without ever experiencing it. She moaned, pulled herself into a sitting position, and moaned again. She felt as if the floor were spinning under her. Shutting her eyes tight, she placed her hands over her temples to slow the frantic movement of her brain. Then she leaned over the toilet and vomited until there was nothing left but bile, and then she dry heaved until she thought she would choke to death—just keel over, right there on her bathroom floor.

The loud bang of knocking on the door made her groan and grab her head. "Max?" Van called. She knocked again. "Are you in there?" Before Maxie could reply, the door opened. "What are you...?" Van looked from Maxie, to the toilet, and back at Maxie. "Are you _sick_?" she cried, rushing to her side. Maxie nodded and lowered herself back down to the floor. Van gathered her friend into her lap and pushed damp strands of hair off of her face. "What's wrong? Did you eat something bad?"

"No, I drank too much," Maxie admitted.

Van jerked Maxie's head back to look at her face. "You _drank_ too much?"

Before Maxie could reply, Isaac appeared in the doorway. Maxie opened her eyes just in time to see his face pale. "Shit, Max."

"She was drinking last night! Who were you drinking with?"

She opened her mouth to reply but shut it again. She couldn't very well just _tell_ Van who she drank wine with. The kick of guilt that somehow overpowered her nausea made her grimace. And then the nausea struck back and Maxie jumped up to heave. Isaac watched, brows furrowed, mouth drawn down. If she weren't in so much pain, she might have been embarrassed.

"Gross," Van said, holding her hair and rubbing her back. After a few minutes, Maxie stopped throwing up and lay back down. "What did you _drink_ , Max?"

"Red wine," Isaac replied, and when Van raised an eyebrow that said _how do_ you _know?_ he quickly added, "it looks like."

"You should lie down in bed," Van suggested, rubbing Maxie's cheek.

"I can't move."

"C'mon. I'll get you some breakfast."

"I can't eat."

With a sigh, Van said, "Well, I have a shoot in a couple hours, so I need to start getting ready. Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Maxie replied, though she wasn't so sure.

"Okay. I'm getting in the shower. Isaac's here, though, if you need anything." Maxie glanced up at him. He looked as if he were in as much pain as her. "He's taking me to my shoot," Van said. Had she asked?

Without replying, she shut her eyes again. Van stood, patting her friend gently on the shoulder. "Feel better. I'll bring you home some soup or something. And a sports drink, for your electrolytes."

A moment later, she was gone and Maxie and Isaac were alone. "Ugh," Maxie said, pulling the floor mat back over her head. "Don't look at me."

He kneeled down beside her. "I'm _so_ sorry," he whispered. "You told me you're not a drinker. I shouldn't have let you finish off the bottle like that."

"It was my fault," she said.

"Do you remember anything?"

Lowering the mat, she looked at him. "I remember everything."

His eyes softened and the corners of his lips curled up into a small smile. With no effort at all, he scooped her up into his arms. The sudden movement made her stomach turn, but the sensation of so much of his body against so much of hers quickly comforted her. With a small sigh, she rested her head against his chest. "Why wouldn't I look at you?" he whispered to her. "You look pretty."

"Ugh."

He carried her to her bed and set her down gently. "There's a garbage can here," he said, pulling the blankets over her. "And I'll bring you water, too. When you're feeling well enough to walk around, eat, okay?" She gazed up at him as he cared for her, studied the movement of his lips as his spoke. She wanted to look at him all day. He gazed back at her. His eyes flickered over her face, he pulled a strand of her hair forward. "Okay?"

"I couldn't tell her," she whispered.

His brows furrowed. "Tell who what?"

"Van asked me who I drank with last night."

He lowered his eyes. "We were just having dinner. Harmless," he said.

"Well, then, I think we should tell her."

With a shrug, he straightened so that he towered over her. "Fine. I'll go tell her now." He pivoted and started toward the door.

"Isaac, wait!"

"What is it you want me to tell her exactly? That we had dinner and wine last night?"

"Isaac—"

"Or that we had dinner and wine last night _and_ dinner the night before that? And what about everything else? I think I should tell her everything else, too."

"What else is there?"

He raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't matter. I'm not telling her anything."

NOW

Van stood on the coffee table by the large window of the apartment, hanging streamers. Streamers lined the whole room, balloons practically covered the ceiling. A large banner hung just above the kitchen entrance that read, _Welcome Home Isaac!_ Van had it specially made.

Bea was there, too. She'd been recruited to apply her artistic talents to the decoration process and sat at the kitchen table working on a scrapbook for Isaac. Van gathered a collection of photographs, letters, old movie tickets, and mementos, anything that would jog his memory, and assigned Bea the task of putting it all together. Van wanted everything to be perfect, as she'd reminded the girls over and over. She wanted Isaac to love it.

Maxie knew that that no matter how perfect the decorations were, he _wasn't_ going to love it.

He hated crowds, he hated parties, he hated being the center of attention. A surprise party? Hours of socializing with people he didn't even know anymore, or barely knew, or barely spoke to? She knew it wasn't his idea of a good time. She only wondered how _Van_ didn't know it wasn't his idea of a good time. She tried to tell Van, to gently suggest that maybe a surprise party first thing out of the hospital wasn't the _best_ idea. But her friend was intent on it, and so it was.

"How does it look so far?" Van asked, coming down off of the table. She admired her work proudly. "You think he'll like it? Maxie?"

"I'm sure he will, Van," she said, uncommitted. She was on kitchen duty, preparing the feast for the following night.

"How's the food coming along?"

"Fine, Van."

"And the scrapbook?"

"Fine, Van."

"Good, good. I just want everything to be perfect," she said for the umpteenth time. "You know, he still doesn't know if he's going to move in. This could be the deciding factor."

Maxie hoped it _would_ be the deciding factor. She still wasn't sure if she wanted him to move in.

"I don't even know why he's still debating over it. It just makes sense," Van said.

"Maybe because he doesn't know you anymore," Bea said, not looking up from the scrapbook.

Van glared at her. "He _does_ know me. Believe it or not, I think we're even closer now than we were the first time around. This just proves how strong our love is. He can't remember it, but he can feel it."

Bea scoffed. Maxie tried not to sigh miserably. If only that were true. If only he _could_ feel it.

"You know, Max, I was thinking," Van said, plopping down at the table across from Bea. "You and Isaac have always been pretty close. Maybe you can get through to him. You know, connect with him the way I can't. Like a friend, not a _girl_ friend."

Maxie wanted to scream. She wanted to close her eyes, open her mouth, throw back her head, and scream until her throat was raw. But instead, she replied calmly. "Yeah. I'll try."

"He always listens to you."

"Does he?"

"You can just back up what I said. Tell him it'll be good for him to be around people who have been here for him. Tell him he'll never have to worry about us taking advantage of his memory loss. Remind him that he practically lives here anyway. I mean, how often did he really sleep at his own apartment?"

"Don't know."

She finally turned away from the sink to face her friends. Bea looked up at her with silent pity. Van wasn't even paying attention.

The doorbell rang just as Maxie settled down on the couch beside Bea. Food preparations were done. Decorations were up. The scrapbook was complete. And the girls were exhausted. None of them even moved to get the door until the bell sounded again. With a sigh, Van stood. "Fine. I'll get it. Who is it?" she called.

"Daniel Gnar," the voice behind the door replied.

Maxie's eyes widened and she glanced at Bea, who was looking back at her. _Gnar?_ she mouthed.

"Oh!" Van cried, rushing to the door. "I forgot he was coming."

Bea's eyes bulged when Van pulled the door open and Gnar appeared. He looked incredibly handsome, dressed in stripes and a cardigan. He grinned lightly at Van, and then his eyes went to Maxie and his grin swelled into a full smile.

"His teeth are perfect," Bea whispered. Maxie nudged her.

"Thanks for coming," Van said, stepping aside so he could enter. Gnar wasn't as tall as Isaac, but he was just about as muscular, nearly as striking, and equally dazzling. Those two must have been a sight to see, walking down the street together, both so big and strong and intimidating and _gorgeous_.

"No, problem," he said, tearing his eyes away from Maxie for but a moment. "Here, I brought everything I could think of. There isn't much."

"Great, I'm sure this'll be fine," Van said, peering inside the bag. She turned to Bea and Maxie. "Stuff for the scrapbook," she said.

"I also let everyone I could think of know about the party, like you asked. And I told them all to bring something that could possibly jog his memory, if they have anything."

Van smiled widely. "Thank you, Gnar. You've been such a big help. I'm so excited. I think he'll love this." Gnar smiled tightly, clearly thinking the same thing Maxie had been thinking: _He's going to hate it_. "Are you still going to pick him up from the hospital tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Great. I told everyone to get here at six, which means they won't start showing up until around seven, so how about getting him here around eight? Is that good? Can you stall him that long?"

Gnar nodded. "Anything you need."

"Thank you," she repeated, clasping her hands together at her chest. "Seriously, you have no idea what this means to me."

"No problem," he replied. "Just let me know if you need anything else."

"Are you hungry? Do you want to stay for dinner? Maxie, you're going to cook, right?"

"Actually I wasn't—"

"You can stay for dinner, if you'd like," Van went on.

Maxie rolled her eyes, and Gnar smiled. "No, thanks. I should get going. You girls should get some sleep, anyway. You have a long day ahead." He turned to leave and then turned back to Maxie. "Hey, Maxie, you're going to be here tomorrow night, right?"

"Yes," she replied.

Nodding, he said, "Good. See you then."

When he left, both Bea and Van turned to Maxie. "What was _that_?" Van demanded.

"He was _flirting_ with you," Bea cried.

She stood. "They _all_ flirt with me," she joked.

"No. He was interested. He was looking at you the entire time I was speaking to him," said Van.

"Yeah, and...? So what if he's interested. _I'm_ not interested."

"Why not?" Van probed, following her to the kitchen. "Max, he's gorgeous. And he seems like a nice enough guy. I mean, I can even check with Isaac if you want—"

"No!" Maxie snapped sharply. "I just broke up with Alex a month ago, Van."

"Yeah. Out with the old, in with the new."

" _You_ can date him," Maxie snapped.

Shaking her head, Van started toward her bedroom. "Suit yourself. Bea can date him."

When she was gone, Bea looked at Maxie. "She's right, you know. You _could_ date him."

"Isaac's best friend?"

Bea shrugged.

Maxie was on her hands and knees, reaching for the small wooden box hidden under her bed when her bedroom door opened. She jumped in surprised, banging her head violently against the nightstand beside her. "Ow!" she cried, grabbing her head where she'd hit it.

" _Ooh_! I'm _so_ sorry," Bea said, rushing to her. "Are you alright? Shit, that looked like it hurt."

"I'm fine," she said, massaging her scalp. "Just close my door, please."

Bea obliged, and came back to sit near Maxie who opened the wooden box. Inside sat a small bag full of marijuana, a pack of rolling paper, and a carton of cigarettes. "Wow," Bea said. "You're fully stocked."

"Care to join me?" Maxie asked, holding up a joint she'd rolled earlier that day.

"I'd love to, really," she said. "But Van put me on camera duty. She wants me to go around and record everyone telling Isaac their last happy memory with him. I don't know how I got suckered into playing hostess."

Maxie scoffed. "Because I didn't, for once." She nodded toward her door. "How many people are out there, anyway?"

"Twenty," she replied. "Maybe more."

Shaking her head, Maxie said, "This is a joke."

Obnoxious knocks on her door made her jump. "Bea!" Van called from the other side. "He's on his way up! Come out with the camera!"

Rolling her eyes, Bea stood. Maxie gave her a once over. She'd always thought Bea looked as much like a model as Van. Despite her tattoos, she was just as tall and toned and beautiful as any girl in any magazine Maxie had every come across. With her green eyes and striking red hair, maybe she was even more so. "You look great, Bea," she said.

"You think so? Maybe I'll snag myself a Gnar tonight."

" _Bea_!" Van yelled again.

With a sigh, Bea asked, "Ready to get this over with?"

Chuckling, Maxie stood and followed her out. The lights were off and everyone was quiet. While Bea went to stand by the front door, Maxie remained in the back corner, out of the way but with a perfect view. As much as she'd been dreading the stupid party, she couldn't wait to see Isaac's face again. She couldn't wait to see him outside of that hospital bed, dressed in his own clothes, walking around, socializing again.

Maybe he would like the party. Maybe he would appreciate all the people who showed up for him, even if he didn't know them. Maybe Maxie was wrong, and maybe the party would turn out to be a good thing for him.

She heard Gnar's voice outside the door, and then Isaac's laughter. She shuddered with warmth, bit down on her bottom lip, and held her breath as the door opened and Isaac entered behind Gnar. Van flipped on the lights and Gnar stepped aside as everyone in the room yelled, " _Surprise_!"

Isaac jumped back, wide-eyed, and looked about the room, aghast. When realization struck him, his features softened and he shot a subtle glare at Gnar, who smirked and shrugged. Van came through the crowd and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him square on the mouth. Isaac didn't even close his eyes, he didn't even put his hands on her. He still looked around at the crowd before him in shock and confusion.

"Welcome home, babe," Van said, lacing her arm through his and pulling him further into the room.

Isaac hovered close to Van as Bea approached, toting the camera. He forced an awkward smile and nodded at it before looking away uncomfortably. His guests greeted him from every direction, and he clung to Van, the safest thing around him, as they made their way through the room.

Not that Van had much of a problem with it. She loved every second of the attention, every second of Isaac's arms tightly around her, every second of hugs, and kisses, and compliments. Maxie could barely stand it. Shaking her head, she turned to go to her room but ran into another body instead.

"Oh!" Gnar cried, quickly reaching out to steady her as his solid body knocked her back. "Pardon me."

"Sorry," she said, straightening herself.

Gnar stepped back to look at her. He bit down on his bottom lip as his eyes feasted upon her. "You look stunning," he said evenly.

She ran her fingers through her hair, which lay pin straight over her shoulders, and looked down at her dress. It fit her loose and short, making her tone legs look long and flawless down to her T-strap pumps.

Before he could utter a reply, Van and Isaac reached them. Van threw her arms around Maxie and pulled her close. "He's finally home!" she gushed into her hair. "Thank, God. We can start putting all of this behind us."

_Can we?_ Maxie wondered.

Pulling away, Van went to Gnar next, leaving Isaac next to Maxie. Her heart jumped, she sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly she felt woozy. Having him so close again, so close she could smell him—he no longer smelled like hospital, but like himself, of soap and cologne and fresh laundry and mint gum—and reach out and touch him. His eyes brightened as he looked down at her, and before she could even prepare herself, he took her in his arms and pulled her against him.

She nearly crumbled. She couldn't concentrate, submerged in the smell of him, the feel of him, the warmth of him. She thought she would melt in his arms. Melt into him. "You look beautiful," he said.

"Thank you," she choked out.

"Come on, babe," Van said, tugging at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He let go of Maxie and grabbed Van again, clung to her again, and they continued to move throughout the room.

Bea appeared next, holding the camera. "Okay, tell Isaac the last good memory you guys have of him," she said. Maxie and Gnar exchanged glances.

"Isaac remembers everything that counts," Gnar said.

Maxie averted her eyes. More like Isaac _didn't_ remember what counted.

"What about you, Max? Give us a fond memory."

A fond memory? Just one? She sighed and thought back to just months prior. The two had lain in his living room, his back flat against the floor, Maxie's back flat against his chest. Her arms were outstretched at her sides, Isaac's fingers trailed up and down them.

'I hope our kids have skin like yours,' he says.

Her eyes shoot open. Suddenly, she doesn't feel as sleepy.

'Our kids?'

'Mm hmm,' he says. 'You want kids, don't you?'

Warmth overcomes her and for a moment she simply smiles into the darkness. Finally, she replies, 'Of course I do.'

'How many?' he asks.

She thinks a moment and answers, 'Two? Maybe three?'

He kisses the crown of her head. 'I want five.'

_'_ Five _?'_

'Yeah,' he says. 'I'm an only child. It got lonely growing up. You understand. You grew up an only child.'

_She nods. 'Yeah. It_ did _get lonely.'_

'It still does,' he goes on. 'After Jenny's gone, I'll have no blood relatives left at all. My side of the church at our wedding is going to be empty.'

Maxie gasps and raises her face toward his. 'Our wedding?'

'Mm hmm,' he says. 'You want to get married, don't you?'

Maxie dropped her eyes and smiled to herself.

"Hey!" Bea snapped, jerking her out of her daze. "What's so funny? Share the joke with us."

Shaking her head, Maxie replied, "You had to be there," and then turned and retreated to her room. Shutting the door tightly behind her, she retrieved the contents of the wooden box and climbed out onto the fire escape to smoke.

"It's so good to see you're doing better," said a girl with clear braces. She was smiling impossibly wide.

He nodded. "Thank you."

A man shook his hand, wished him well.

"Thank you."

Another girl apologized for not making it to the hospital.

"It's okay," he assured her, just as another man told him he was looking better.

"That's Liz, from the bar," Van whispered to him. "And that's Michael, we've double dated with him and his girlfriend a couple times... Oh, that's Nancy, she works at the bar, too. Look, there's Amber, Michael's girlfriend." But none of their names stuck to their faces, and once they were out of his sight, their faces were gone, too. He felt as if he only recognized every tenth person who said hello to him. And how awkward it must have been for them, saying hello to someone who didn't know who they were.

He stuck close by Van, holding onto her hand, her waist, her arm, her _anything_ , seeking comfort in anything the least bit familiar to him. When she broke away from him, he felt vulnerable, as if everyone else were in on some secret that he knew nothing about. He didn't like it.

As soon as Van turned her back, he excused himself from the trio of her coworkers and retreated to the hallway. He wasn't sure which door was the bathroom. Frankly, he didn't care. He'd sit in the closet if it meant getting away from the stupid party.

He chose the door at the end of the hallway and pushed it open. It was a bedroom, dimly lit and peacefully empty. He took a deep breath, relieved to be alone, and stepped further into the room. There was a bed, a side table, a dresser, no television, but a bookshelf that occupied an entire wall. They were all romance novels. Romance novels and cookbooks.

Suddenly the window beside the bed opened and a long, toned leg appeared. He stepped back as Maxie climbed through and reached for something on the nightstand. She didn't notice him standing there. Not at first, anyway. When she finally looked up, she nearly jumped out of her pumps.

"Holy shit!" she cried, stumbling back and catching herself on the bed. "Isaac!

What are you doing in here? You _scared_ me!"

"Sorry. I didn't realize anyone was in here. I just picked a room. I needed to get away."

She blinked. "Oh."

"Sorry I scared you. I don't mean to intrude."

"No, no," she said. "It's fine. I just wasn't expecting you. Have a seat." She motioned toward the chair in the corner. He hadn't even noticed it against the backdrop of all the books.

"Thank you," he said, setting down. She also sat, across the room from him, on the bed. "Why aren't you out in the party?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I'll go back. In a little while. I just wanted to have a quick smoke." She held up her lighter. "I forgot this."

"Smoke?"

"Yes. As in get high. And before you lecture me, let me just say there's no need. You already have, a hundred times." She stood and went to the window again. "As a matter of fact, how about you join me for a change of pace?"

"No, thanks. I don't smoke." He sat up straight, narrowed his eyes. "Or do I?"

She laughed. "No, you don't. You tried it once, though. In Ohio."

" _I_ smoked?" he said, disbelieving. "Weed?"

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," she said, and with a chuckle added, "Again."

"I wouldn't smoke."

"I think you enjoyed it."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't think I've seen you laugh as much since then."

"I _wouldn't_ get high."

She shrugged and pushed the window open. "Well, then, I guess that's something you and Van have in common. _I'm_ going to smoke. You can sit here and wait until I'm done if you want. Or you can go back to the party and join her. I'm sure you two will have a lot to talk about once I go out there high. God knows _she'll_ have something to say." She began to climb out the window.

"Wait," Isaac said, standing. He looked from Maxie, to the door, and then back at Maxie, contemplating. "What the hell?" he said at last, and followed her out onto the fire escape.

"I think..." He paused, his eyes darted back and forth across the sky. "I think I'm high."

Maxie giggled and gently bumped him with her shoulder. "Yeah, I think you are."

He looked at her, his eyes narrow and glossy, his brows raised with surprise. "Shit..." Maxie laughed more. Her eyes danced across his face: his smile, his jaw line, his cheekbones, his glassy, sparkling eyes. She wanted to kiss him. She looked away instead.

"I started smoking a lot after my mom died," she told him. "I would get high and just... think about her. But then Van's dad found out and..." She paused. "Well, I stopped after that. Pretty much, anyway. He was the only person who knew about my habit, though. For five years." She grinned and met his gaze. "Until you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. I had a glass of wine too many one night and told you all of my secrets." She chuckled.

"So I have some dirt on you, huh? If only I could remember."

"Hey, you told me all of your secrets, too."

"All of them?"

She nodded. "Not all at once, but yes, all of them."

"I doubt it."

"Why's that?"

"Because I know my secrets. And they're not things I like to share."

Lowering her eyes, she murmured, "Not with other people, maybe. But with me..."

For a moment, he simply gazed at her. She kept her eyes in her lap, her hair blew lightly in the breeze. She was so pretty. So mysterious. What was it he was missing? What was it that she was showing him, waving around in front of his face, as clear as day, that he was somehow _missing_?

"Whose idea was it to have this party?" he asked after a while. "Van's?"

"Of course."

He exhaled heavily. " _Why_? Am I into this kind of shit now? Surprise parties and strangers and people in my face all night? Is this who I am now?"

Maxie laughed and shook her head. "No. It's not who you are at all. But it's who Van is."

"Can I tell you something? Something between me and you?"

Maxie nodded.

"I'm still trying to figure out what it is that makes me so crazy about her. She's gorgeous and she's smart and she's a sweet girl, but I just don't... She just doesn't seem like my..." He shook his head. "I don't know. Gnar tells me how... how _consumed_ with her I was, how much she's changed me. And I keep reminding myself of that. Obviously there's something about her that's kept me around for so long. Right?"

"Right," Maxie choked out, unable to keep the tears from welling in her eyes and unable to look away from him. She tried not to blink.

"But then," he went on. "I think, if I'm as in love with her as everyone says, how come I never introduced her to anyone? No one even knew her name. They kept referring to her as 'the girl.' ' _Oh_ ,'" he said mockingly. " ' _So this is_ the girl _..._ '"

Maxie's mouth fell agape, words lingered on the tip of her tongue. _I'm the girl_. She said nothing.

Isaac chuckled. "I guess I _have_ changed. I guess I _am_ the type of guy who celebrates nine-month anniversaries and—"

" _What_?"

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "She said for our nine-month anniversary, I surprised her with flowers and we drove to Jones Beach and had a picnic or something." Maxie stared at him, dumfounded. "What? She didn't tell you?"

"No," Maxie said. "She didn't."

"Hm." He shrugged. "I took her for the kiss and tell type."

"She _is_ ," Maxie replied. She paused to think. Flowers and a picnic? The beach? Nine-month anniversary? She couldn't imagine Van forgot to mention it. It was impossible. Would Van _choose_ not to mention it? No. That was equally impossible.

She glanced at Isaac. Maybe he'd told her not to mention it.

Isaac leaned back against the window. "Tell me, Maxie," he said in a low, solemn voice. "Who am I? Better yet, who does Van think I am? Tell me about the man I've led her to believe I am."

Maxie swallowed hard. Her breathing was quick and shallow. Her heart was pounding. "Whatever man," she said slowly, "you are on the outside. That's the Isaac Van knows." _Not the man who likes surprise parties. Not the man who celebrates nine-month anniversaries_. _That man didn't exist._

"And what about you? What Isaac do you know?"

With trembling lips and an aching heart, she replied, "The real one."

"Hey," Maxie whispered, nudging him as they stepped into the hallway. "Stop laughing."

"Was I laughing?"

"Yes."

"At what?"

This time Maxie laughed. "I don't _know_. Just stop. If Van realizes you're high, she's going to kill me."

"She doesn't care that _you're_ high?"

Maxie shrugged. "She probably _expects_ me to be high. Anyway, stop laughing. Act natural."

He followed her to the kitchen, where they found seats on the island. She couldn't help but stare at him and wait. Wait for him to remember what had happened the last time they'd been in that kitchen together. Not even a hint of recognition passed over his features.

He leaned in close to her and whispered, "Don't judge me for what I'm about to say but, _God_. I've turned into the biggest loser _ever_ if these are the people I've spent the last year and a half hanging out with."

Maxie threw back her head and laughed. "You don't hang out with these people. They're mostly Van's friends. _I_ don't even know most of them." She nodded toward a girl sitting on the couch wearing a modest, floral dress and cardigan. "See that girl?"

"Yeah, what about her?"

"I bet she's a dominatrix."

Isaac's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "You bet _what_?"

"Look at those heels." He looked at the girl's heels. Contrary to her dress, the platform, pointy-heeled stilettos were daring and sexy. "And her nails." Her fingernails were painted blood red and filed to a point.

"She's wearing a crucifix around her neck," he said.

Maxie scoffed. "Maybe she's amused by the irony of it."

Isaac bowed his head to giggle. "You think she has a dungeon?"

Maxie studied her a moment. "Nah, I don't think so. Look at her hair. Bad extensions. If she can't afford nice hair, she can't afford a dungeon."

"She probably has a sex room, though."

"Yeah, where she keeps her chains, whips, bibles, and holy water."

Isaac laughed loudly. The girl glanced at them, and Maxie quickly looked away.

"You think she knows we were talking about her?" he asked.

"I don't think so."

"I feel like everyone knows we're high."

She giggled. "That's just because you're high."

"You don't think anyone knows?"

"They probably all know that _I'm_ high."

"But I was with you, so don't you think—"

"Babe! Here you are," Van said, stepping in between Isaac's legs and wrapping her arms around his waist. "Where've you been?"

He shot a nervous glance at Maxie and quickly averted his eyes. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. "Hey. I've been around. You know."

"Do you recognize anyone?"

"Yeah, sure," he said.

"Anyone new?"

"Oh. No."

She sighed and looked at Maxie. "Hey, can you do me a favor? I need—" She paused and leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. "Are you _high_?"

"C'mon, Van. You didn't expect me to endure this night without a buffer, did you?"

Van lowered her voice. "You've been smoking a lot lately. Every once in a while was one thing, but now..."

"I guess almost being raped, watching someone die, and watching someone you care about _almost_ die will do it you," Maxie replied dryly.

"You weren't the only one who suffered, Maxie. We all suffered."

"Well, then you should all smoke a joint. Take it from me, it helps."

Van glared at her friend. "It's just a temporary fix. Eventually, you'll have to face whatever's bothering you. Look at what Isaac's dealing with, you don't see him getting high."

Maxie grinned and Isaac looked away. Glancing from him, to her, and then back to him, Van's eyes widened. "Are _you_ high?" she cried, nudging him with her fingers.

He frowned guiltily. "I may have taken a puff or two."

Van gasped and stepped out of his embrace. "Oh, my God!" she cried. Everyone standing by glanced in their direction. "I worked so hard on this party! The least you can do is be lucid for it!" Without waiting for a reply, she pivoted and stalked off. With a sigh, Isaac dropped his head in his hands. "I'm not in the right mind to deal with this right now," he groaned.

"Really?" she said. "Because my high is _blown_."

Grinning, Isaac stood. "I guess I should go after her." _Or you could just stay_. "Thank you for making this night halfway bearable," he said, playfully punching her knee. She glanced down at his impersonal display of affection and couldn't hide her disdain. "Wish me luck."

She watched in agony as he left her to attend to Van. She felt as if she were literally splitting down the middle, falling apart a little more with every step he took toward her friend. And then, when she knew she was about to break and shatter into a million pieces, he paused just in front of Van's door and turned to look at her.

The gaze was brief, but when his eyes met hers she saw that familiar sparkle that made her gasp for breath. It lasted but a moment, but she would keep it with her the rest of the night.

Isaac pushed the door open to find Van sitting on the bed, taking off her shoes. She glared up at him as he came in and shut the door behind him, but then she quickly dropped her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"This party is for _you_."

"Yeah," he said with a scoff. "And in what parallel fucking universe do I like parties? Surprise parties with a bunch of strangers?"

Van recoiled as if she'd just been slapped, then jumped to her feet. "They aren't strangers!" she shot back.

"They are to me!"

"Well, excuse me for trying to do something nice for you!"

Isaac raised his palms to her. "I don't want to fight, okay? I just... I don't know who I've been this past year and half. All I know is who I am right now. And the person I am right now is not a fan of mingling with a room full of people I don't recognize. I didn't plan on getting high. Maxie said I'd tried it before so I said what the hell—"

"You have?"

"According to Maxie."

She rolled her eyes, turning away and shaking her head. "Right, according to Maxie. She would know. Just like she knows everything else about your life that I don't. Your friends, your family, your extracurricular activities."

"Van—"

"I always knew you're not the opening up type, but I'm your _girlfriend_. And as it turns out, I'm the only one you don't open up to!"

Isaac shrugged weakly. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to defend myself. I don't know who I opened up to."

Plopping down on the bed, Van dropped her head in her hands. She looked like she wanted to give in, but her brows were still furrowed and her jaw was still tight as if she was fighting the urge. "I'm sorry," she said at last. The words came out constricted. "I shouldn't be yelling at you right now. This isn't your fault. I just... I don't understand."

He went to the bed and sat beside her. "I'm sorry I can't explain it to you."

"I really just wanted to do something nice for you. I thought maybe if I brought you around your friends and people who care about you, it would strike a memory or something." She shrugged. "I just wanted to help you."

He draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. "Thank you."

"Yeah, right."

He chuckled. "Maybe we should go back out there?"

"No. We don't have to."

More genuinely, Isaac repeated, "Thank you."

#

THEN

Van assessed Maxie's outfit with a disapproving frown. "Don't you have anything tighter?" she asked, tugging at Maxie's loose fitting blouse. "How about a skirt?" Her eyes went down to Maxie's flat shoes. "Or heels, at the very least."

"I'm not wearing heels. We're going dancing."

With a sigh, Van shrugged. "Then I guess what you're wearing is fine. I mean, it's cute and all. I just don't see why you never wear anything sexy. We're women, Maxie. We're allowed to show some skin."

"It's wintertime, Van."

Van waved her off and grabbed her purse. "Whatever. The guys are waiting, let's go." Maxie followed Van into the living room and Isaac rose to his feet. "Sorry for the hold up. We're ready now," she said, going to him. He hugged her and gazed at Maxie over her shoulder.

"You both look beautiful," he said, swallowing her with his eyes.

"Thanks," Van said, pulling away. "I tried to get Maxie to dress up a little more but she insists on looking like a high school student wherever we go."

"Don't worry, babe, you look fine," Alex said, resting his hand on the small of her back. "Just change your shoes and you'll be perfect."

"Fine," she huffed, and went to her room to find a comfortable pair of heels. When she returned, everyone already had on their coats.

"So much better," said Van.

"You look great," said Alex.

"I liked the other shoes, too," said Isaac, and Maxie was thankful because she had them in her purse.

They went to a nearby lounge and found a seat in a dimly lit booth in the back. Maxie slid in next to the wall, and Isaac slid in across from her. How strange it was for her to be with him in the company of others again. She felt as if her guilt were written on her face. _I was with him two nights ago_ , in big black letters across her forehead.

She tried to keep her gaze off of him, but it was impossible. Every time he moved, every time he spoke, every time he laughed, she'd find herself staring at him, wondering if he, too, could think of nothing but the past few nights they'd spent together. It was all she could see when she looked at him, it was all she could think about.

He didn't seem as bothered. In fact, he carried on as if nothing was different. He barely looked at her, and when he did, there was nothing in his eyes. He spoke to her lightheartedly, with ease. He kept his arm draped over the back of Van's seat, and even kissed her temple when she leaned in close to him. Maxie wondered if she'd dreamt all the time they'd spent together.

And then Van said, "We should throw a party on the roof. It's pretty nice up there, right, Max?" Van turned to Isaac, and said, "Maxie goes up to the roof all the time, and just sits up there. Sometimes in the middle of the night. Even when it's freezing cold."

Isaac's eyes went to Maxie, and in them she saw everything she'd been missing. Her skin grew hot, her heart pace quickened, and then Isaac blinked and whatever had been there was gone again. Maxie had seen it, though, took comfort in it. She wasn't crazy after all.

"Babe, don't you want a drink?" Alex asked after she ordered a second glass of water. "Have one, we're here to have fun."

She shook her head. "No, thank you."

"No wine tonight, Max? Alex, did you know Maxie's become an avid wine drinker? She finishes the whole glass now. And sometimes a whole bottle," Van said with a laugh.

Alex looked at her and smiled. "Our baby is growing up."

Maxie rolled her eyes. "You act like I've been having a shot of whisky with dinner every night. It's just wine."

"Seeing as it's you, Max, it may as well be whisky," Alex replied, dropping a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"I love this song. Let's dance, Van," Maxie said, prodding Alex to move.

"But no one's dancing."

"So what? There's a dance floor, let's use it." She took Van's hand and pulled her to her feet, but really she would have gone and danced alone if it meant getting away from the conversation.

Van frowned, looking around uneasily. "This is so awkward, Max."

Ignoring her friend's complaints, Maxie found a place in the small, open space and began to move to the sound of the music. Isaac and Alex watched as the girls danced by themselves, Maxie more enthused than Van, who peered around insecurely. She didn't relax until two couples and a group of girls joined them on the floor.

Isaac watched as Maxie bounced and spun, raised her hands above her head, and moved her hips to the beat. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling widely, as if she were the only one there. As if no one were watching. It wasn't until the waitress returned with their drinks that he look away from her.

"Can I get you boys anything else?" the girl asked. Alex's eyes moved over the curve of her hips and up her belly to her breasts, overflowing from the low neckline of her top. He grinned at her.

"I don't think so," he said. "Not unless _you're_ on the menu." The girl smiled flirtatiously and sauntered off, giggling. Alex chuckled to himself. "She was into it," he said.

Struggling to keep the hate from his eyes, Isaac replied, "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. It's because she knows I'm here with someone. People always want what they can't have. Especially women."

Isaac's eyes found Maxie again. She was wrapped in Van's arms, dancing playfully and seductively against her. "What does Maxie want?" he asked.

Alex frowned. "I wouldn't cheat on Max or anything. I just like to flirt, she knows that."

"Does she now?"

"Sure. She probably expects it. I flirt all the time. It's for my ego, you know? I like to know that I still have options. Just in case." He leaned closer to Isaac, Isaac leaned back. "Between me and you, sometimes I just don't know with Maxie. We get along great, I treat her well, I think she's happy with me. But she just has this wall up, you know? I can't even say that I would be surprised if she left me tomorrow. Confused, yeah, but not surprised. She's just out-of-the-blue like that."

"I'm sure she wouldn't leave you tomorrow without good reason," Isaac said.

Alex shrugged. "No, I don't think so either. I'm saying, though, if she did, I probably wouldn't be that surprised. I mean, it's been _months_ with us and she doesn't want to move forward." Isaac smirked. "Like I said, she seems like she's happy with me, like this could be a long-term thing, but she just doesn't want to go to the next level. I don't understand it."

"Seems like there's a lot of things you don't understand, Alex."

He nodded. "About Maxie. You're damn right there are. And it's not because I don't try, either. I try. But she won't open up to me. Do you know about her parents? And I don't mean the obvious stuff, I mean the details. Like why her mother killed herself? Where her father is? I know he left her, but where'd he go? Sometimes I think it still bothers her. Why wouldn't it? But she won't talk to me about it."

Isaac knew the details of her parents. He knew that Maxie's mother, Noelle, had always battled with depression. He knew that Victor, Maxie's father, had spent most of his time neglecting his family, which may have been what had pushed Noelle over the edge. He knew that Victor had up and left just weeks after Noelle's funeral and Maxie hadn't seen him since. But Isaac only knew because Van had told him. Recalling all of their conversations, he realized Maxie rarely brought up her parents. In fact, she never mentioned her father at all, let alone how his absence affected her. Again, he looked at her, still laughing and dancing on the dance floor. She seemed happy. How did she do it?

"And Van," Alex said. "She has this weird connection to Van. This fucking _loyalty_ to her. I get it, they're best friends and all, but it's more intense than that. She feels like she owes Van, I guess. Van and her family, for taking her in and supporting her and stuff."

Isaac wondered if Van felt Maxie owed her, too. He'd noticed the attachment between them. As much as Maxie was devoted to Van, Van was devoted to Maxie, protectively, almost possessively.

Before Isaac could reply, the music slowed. He stood. "Excuse me, Alex," he said, making his way to the dance floor.

"I'm right behind you," Alex said. He went to Maxie and took her in his arms as Isaac took Van.

Draping her arms around his neck, Maxie rested her head against Alex's shoulder as they danced. Behind him, Isaac held Van, but his gaze locked on Maxie and remained there until the song was over.

Isaac carried Van to her bed that night before heading out. "Why aren't you staying?" she slurred, holding onto the sleeve of his coat. "Don't leave."

Maxie stood by the door as he leaned over Van. "I have to go," he said. "But I'll be back soon, okay? Drink lots of water."

Nodding, Van pulled his face to hers and kissed him passionately. Maxie dropped her eyes and let them linger on the floor until she felt Isaac approaching. Pausing before her, he said, "Good night, Maxie," but she heard all the things he _wanted_ to say. She heard them loud and clear.

"Good night," she said.

"Maxie," Van groaned. "Come lay with me. Alex left, right? Sleep in here with me tonight."

Shooting Isaac one last glance, Maxie went to Van and climbed into the bed next to her. Sighing lightly, Van snuggled close to her friend. "I had fun tonight," she said.

The front door opened. Maxie heard Isaac leave. It closed. Suddenly, she felt alone.

"Me, too," she said.

"We should double date more often. Alex is actually bearable when Isaac is around. I guess because when Isaac is around, _nothing_ can annoy me." She sighed again, wistfully this time. "Oh, Max," she said. "I haven't felt this way in so long. I really like him. _Really_ like him. He's so perfect. So tall, so handsome, so sweet, and smart and funny. Sometimes I feel like he's just too good to be true."

"You deserve him," Maxie managed, her voice just above a whisper. The statement was more for her own sake than Van's, anyway.

"I know. That's what I keep telling myself. I deserve to be happy. After everything I've been through, why shouldn't I? It's time I let another man in my life. And I think Isaac is the one." She chuckled giddily. "My God, I haven't felt like this since high school. That excited feeling. You know, when you get butterflies?" Oh, Maxie knew all right.

"I'm happy for you, Van."

"I'm happy for you, too. Even though I'm not Alex's biggest fan, if you're happy, I'm happy. You're happy, right?"

"Mm hmm."

"Maxie," she said. "I don't mean to overstep my boundaries, but I have to ask. When are you going to... you know. It's been so long already. He deserves something for waiting, if nothing else."

"I don't know, Van."

"Are you scared?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"What if Alex isn't the one?" _What if Isaac is?_

"What if Alex _is_ the one?"

Maxie shrugged. "If he is, then he won't mind waiting until I'm sure."

NOW

Maxie went to Bea's house after the surprise party. As badly as she wanted to stay home and be in the same space as Isaac, she dreaded being in the same space as Isaac and Van. She spent the next afternoon at Bea's shop, in the tattoo chair, trying to sit still under the sharp pain of the needle, yet somehow calmed by the steady buzz of the gun.

"Did I tell you they didn't come out of the bedroom for the rest of the night last night?"

"I was there, Max."

She sighed. "I wonder if they even realized I was gone."

"I'm sure they did," Bea said, as Maxie grumbled, "I doubt it."

Bea finished her tattoo, and as she wrapped it she asked, "Are you coming back to my place tonight?"

"I can't. The family's coming over for dinner."

Bea frowned.

"Tell me about it," Maxie said with a sigh.

When Maxie got home to start dinner, she was pleased to find Van and Isaac weren't there. She'd gotten through most of the preparations without interruption when the front door opened and Van scurried in and ran to the bedroom, shrieking, "They'll be here any minute!"

Isaac plodded in after her, toting shopping bags and an exhausted expression. "Long day?" Maxie asked.

"Too long," he groaned, dropping the bags on the kitchen table and making his way to the stove. Maxie inhaled sharply as he stopped next to her, so close his arm brushed against her shoulder, and looked over the steaming pots. "Mm," he said. "Looks good."

She stepped back. "What did you get?" she asked, looking over at the shopping bags.

"Van thought I should get a fresh outfit for tonight. I guess she thinks if my clothes are nice enough, her mother won't pay attention to the gunshot wound in my head."

Maxie smiled and pulled a plaid button-down shirt from the bag. "This is what you got?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why?"

Shrugging, she put the shirt back in the bag.

He laughed. "What was _that_?" he demanded.

"Nothing."

"You don't like the shirt?" he asked, pulling it from the bag again.

"Shirt's nice," she said halfheartedly.

He narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong with it? It's plaid, it's a simple plaid."

"I don't know. Maybe I'm just particular about my plaids."

"Well, what's wrong with this one?" he pressed. "It looks just like the one I have on." With a shrug, Maxie said nothing. Isaac dropped the shirt back in the bag. "Van thought it was a very nice shirt."

Maxie nodded. "And her opinion is the one that matters."

"What do _you_ think I should wear?"

"Your new plaid shirt."

"I'm not wearing that stupid plaid shirt."

"It looks expensive."

"Fuck, it _was_ expensive."

"Then you should wear it."

"But you don't like it," he said.

Her cheeks flushed pink. "You have a nice denim shirt. Dark blue," she said.

He nodded. "I know exactly what shirt you're talking about. Did I get that recently?"

"You've only worn it once," she replied. She would know. She bought it for him.

"Okay, then. Denim shirt it is."

She smiled. He smiled. For a moment, they simply stood there, silent but comfortable. Then Maxie opened her mouth to speak, but Van rushed out of her room before she could utter a word. "Max! Are you ready? Isaac, get dressed!" She disappeared into the bathroom.

With a sigh, Isaac grabbed his shopping bags off of the table. "You heard the woman."

She watched him make his way to Van's room, and then she turned off the oven and went to her own room to prepare herself. Mentally, most of all.

Kathy Trimmel arrived with Van's younger brother a minute and a half before they were due. "Just a minute early," Van said, going to answer the door. "She's practically late." She pulled the door open and Kathy stepped inside, followed by Tony. Isaac remained in the living room, practically in the corner against the wall, and watched as Van and Kathy embraced.

Kathy barely hugged her daughter, but instead peered around the apartment. "Why is it so dark in here?" she asked. "Open the blinds or something." She let Van go and stepped further inside.

Van gave Tony a brief, one arm hug with her face turned away from his.

Kathy continued, "Why don't you girls get rid of this furniture? That's what it is, this tacky old furniture."

"I _told_ Maxie," Van said.

"Hey!" Maxie snapped from the kitchen. She was leaning over the stove, wearing a thick robe around her body and a towel on her head, pulling the roast from the oven. "Leave our furniture alone! It gives the apartment character."

Kathy's eyes widened when she saw Maxie. " _What_ are you _wearing_?" she cried.

Maxie looked down at her robe and then back up at Kathy. "What?"

"Jesus, Max, put on some clothes. There are men here!" She turned to Van. "Is this what you girls do? Prance around naked around each other's men?"

"I'm not naked!"

"You might as well be," Tony piped up.

"Mom, relax," Van said. "It's _Maxie_."

Tony scoffed. "Exactly."

Maxie's eyes widened, Kathy raised her hand and waved her son off. "Stop it, Tony. Max, just go put on some clothes. It's inappropriate."

Rolling her eyes, Maxie pulled off her towel, letting her curls fall free as she made her way back to her bedroom. "Hello to you, too," she grunted, shutting the door behind her.

Isaac didn't take his eyes off of her until she disappeared, and then he turned his attention back to Kathy who watched him intently. For a moment or so, she simply stared at him, jaw taut, eyes narrow. And then Van stepped forward.

"You didn't waste a minute, huh?" she snapped quietly.

Kathy turned to her daughter. "Excuse me?"

"Why did you do that? You make her feel like she's doing something wrong in her own home! We don't have those insecurities here, Mom. Not here."

"I'm not saying you do. I just think it's inappropriate to be walking around in a robe, just out of the shower, in front of someone else's boyfriend. I'm wrong for that?"

"You're paranoid."

"No, honey, I'm proactive. Stopping anything before it starts. You should know better than anyone that things happen."

"Right," Van said, rolling her eyes. "So let's punish Max. Let's punish her forever."

"I'm not punishing her—!"

"Ugh, can we _not_ have this conversation? For once?" Tony interjected.

"You started it," Van shot back. "With your snide little comment as soon as you came in."

"Alright!" Kathy said. "Alright, now. This isn't what we came here for. I just wanted to have a nice dinner with my girls. Can we do that?"

"Can you behave?" Van asked.

Kathy nodded. "Fine. Yes. Not that I did anything wrong, but yes."

The three of them made their way to the kitchen table, and finally Van brought her attention to Isaac. It was as if they all had forgotten he was standing there. "Oh! Isaac, come sit down," she said, patting the chair next to her. "I guess this calls for a reintroduction. This is my mother, Kathy. And my brother, Anthony."

Isaac wasn't sure what to say. _Nice to meet you? Nice to meet you again?_ Luckily for him, Kathy spoke first. "You really don't remember me?" she demanded.

"I'm sorry, no."

She looked to her son in disbelief than back at Isaac. "I'm practically your mother-in-law! We're family!"

"If he doesn't even remember _me_ , what makes you think he's going to remember _you_ , Mom?" said Van.

"I don't know. He liked me," said Kathy.

"You didn't like her _that_ much," Van whispered to him.

Before Kathy could say anything else, Maxie emerged from the room. Her hair hung down against her neck and she wore jeans and a tank top. Isaac didn't take his eyes off her.

"Ah, that's better," Kathy said, opening her arms. "Come give me a hug." Kathy didn't get out of her seat; Maxie bent to hug her. "How are you, hon? Good? Don't mind me, you know how I am."

"Yeah," Maxie said, pulling away. "Hey, Tony."

He nodded. "We going to eat soon, or what? I'm starving."

"Yes, and everything smells so good," Kathy agreed.

Maxie walked to the stove, where she picked up the roast and brought it to the table.

"So, Isaac," Kathy said. "How have things been for you? Hard?"

"I'm dealing," he said, working hard to turn his attention to Van's mother.

She patted his hand. "Of course. You've always been strong. And you have Van, so I'm sure that makes it easier."

He looked at Van, who beamed at him, and nodded. "Yeah. Van's helping out a lot."

"Have you given up your apartment yet? You're staying here for good now, aren't you?" Kathy asked as Maxie brought over the vegetables. He wanted so badly to look at her, but kept his eyes on Kathy.

"We're still thinking about it," he said, politely adding, "Van and I."

"What's there to think about? The best way to move on with your life is to carry on the way you were living it, right? It's been over a year with you two now. Don't you think it's time to step up to the next level?"

"We're taking it day by day, Mom," Van said.

Tony, already loading his plate before Maxie even finished putting all of the food on the table, cleared his throat. "So, all _three_ of you guys are going to live here? Van and Isaac, and then Maxie?"

"What's wrong with that?" asked Van.

"I don't know. Don't you just feel a little awkward, Max? Being the third wheel and all?"

Maxie shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I never thought of it," she lied.

"Well _that's_ what you all should be considering," said Kathy. "I don't think it's a bad idea for you to get out on your own anyway, Max. I mean, you're out of Julliard now. You covered yourself in those tattoos of yours, so you can just kiss your career in dance goodbye. But what about your other goals? Aren't you writing a novel or something?"

"Actually, I'm publishing a cookbook." She brought the juice to the table and filled everyone's cup. Tony gulped his down in seconds.

"See? That's great, honey. You're about to be a published author. You should really consider leaving the nest."

"We left the nest when we were seventeen, Mom," Van said. "Leave her alone, she doesn't have to go anywhere."

Kathy shrugged. "It's just a suggestion. I think it would be better for everyone."

"Maxie," Isaac spoke up. "Why don't you sit down and eat?"

Everyone looked at him. Then at her. Then back at him. "Actually, can you grab me a knife first?" Tony said.

"And some napkins, please," Kathy added. "Anyway, speaking of work. Are you going back anytime soon, Isaac?"

"Ugh, I keep telling him to give it some more time," Van said. "He wants to go back next week! His head isn't even healed!"

"It'll just be for a few hours a week," he said quietly. "You're the one who says we should try to go back to normal as much as possible."

"But a boxing gym, Isaac? What if someone tries to roughhouse? What if you get hurt even more?"

"I won't."

"How do you know?" Kathy demanded.

He looked at her. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

She shook her head. "That's ridiculous. Why don't you just let yourself heal?"

"It's probably the only thing he has left that feels even relatively familiar." Maxie said, setting down Kathy's napkins and Tony's knife. "Anyone else need anything?" But no one replied. Their eyes were on her: Tony's amused, Van's annoyed, Kathy's full of suspicion, and his. How did she understand him when no one else could? He wanted so badly to remember her. He couldn't comprehend not knowing someone who knew him so well.

"Yeah," he said. "Exactly."

Waving them off, Van said, "I still think it's too soon. But he'll do what he wants."

"Maxie," he said again. "Food's getting cold. Just sit and eat."

"No one needs anything else?" she asked.

Kathy opened her mouth to say something, but Isaac said firmly, "No. Just sit."

Not raising her eyes to him or anyone else at the table, Maxie nodded and grabbed a plate, only to realize there were no more seats. "Where's the extra chair?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," Van said. "The leg broke last week. I've been meaning to tell you."

Isaac looked at Van and frowned.

"Well, where am I supposed to sit?" Maxie asked.

Van shrugged. "Sorry, Max. I figured by the time you sat down, someone would already be finished."

"Are you serious?" Isaac said through clenched teeth.

"Well, when does she ever sit down and eat with the rest of us? Everyone's usually done by the time she starts. _You're_ the only one who waits for her."

"You wait for her?" Kathy asked.

"Is she supposed to just stand?" Isaac asked.

"It's fine, I'll just take my plate in the living room."

Isaac turned to her, appalled by the idea. "Bullshit!" he snapped. "You cooked. You're going to eat at the table with the rest of us."

"Why don't you just sit on the counter?" Kathy suggested.

"Yeah, I'll sit on the counter."

"I'll sit on the counter," he said, rising to his feet. He took his full plate, which he hadn't even touched, and switched it with her empty one. "To be honest, I'm not even hungry anymore."

"Isaac," Van moaned. "This dinner is for _you_."

"You've done enough for me."

"I'm just going to go in the living room," Maxie said.

Kathy rolled her eyes. "Don't start being antisocial, Max."

Isaac looked at Kathy, bewildered. "Are you _joking_?" He looked at Maxie again, who stared at Kathy in a way that made his heart ache. Then an image of her appeared in his thoughts.

She's standing somewhere dark, outside maybe? Her hair is long again, pulled back in a ponytail and hanging down her back. She's crying. Her face is red, her moist lips are trembling, she's shaking her head as a tear drops down her cheek and wets her white shirt.

_She hates me, she sobs. She'll never forgive me_. _She_ hates _me._

And then he blinks and the image is gone. But Maxie, Maxie _now_ , is still standing there, the same pain in her eyes. And then she turns and goes to the living room. He knows he shouldn't look at her, he knows Kathy is watching him like a hawk, but he can't help it.

After dinner, the family sat in the living room, Maxie included. Peering around the apartment, Kathy said, "I see you girls finally got rid of that hideous wallpaper. It's about time."

Not looking up from her knee where she doodled with a permanent marker, Maxie replied, "Well, we couldn't get all of the dead man's blood off of it, so..." She let her voice trail off and the room grew silent.

Finally, Kathy turned to her daughter. "And how's your modeling going?" she asked. "When will I see you in a magazine?"

"I _am_ in a magazine."

"Not your hands, Savannah. You. Your face. Who the hell is going to recognize you by your hands?"

"Please, Mom, I don't see your _anything_ in any magazines."

"I suppose you're right about that. I'm just sick of waiting for these blind idiots to realize what they're missing by passing up on you." She looked at Maxie, who sat at the corner of the couch, her feet drawn up, sketching on the knees of her jeans with a sharpie. "I bet Maxie could have modeled," she said, "had she not ruined her body with all of those tattoos."

"I don't want to model."

"Well, you couldn't, even if you did want to."

"It's why I haven't gotten any tattoos, you know," Van said. "My career."

"Which makes sense. I'd love to see you one more time with your skin bare, Max. And with your long hair. Are you ever going to grow it back out? You know I've always loved your long hair."

Maxie shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'll grow it out one day."

"I like it short," Isaac piped up.

"Of course you do," Tony replied.

"What does _that_ mean?" Van demanded.

"No, no, he's right," Kathy said, raising her hands. "She looks beautiful either way. I just _prefer_ her with longer hair... and no tattoos." Maxie said nothing, but Kathy wasn't finished yet. "Max, where's Alex tonight? Are you two still together?"

"No," said Maxie.

"Why not? Did he break up with you?"

"I broke up with _him_."

"Why? He was such a good catch."

Van scoffed.

Kathy glanced at Van. "Wasn't he?"

"It just wasn't working out."

"How did _he_ feel about your tattoos?"

Maxie sighed and rolled her eyes. "He didn't care about them, Kathy. As a matter of fact, no one cares about them but you."

Unfazed by Maxie's shrinking patience, Kathy asked, "What about your hair? Did he like it long or short?"

"Who the hell even cares what Alex thinks?" said Van. "He's old news, Mom. Now would you please just stop nagging? Spare us for five minutes."

_Us?_ Isaac wanted to cry. _Us nothing. Just Maxie_. He didn't know how she was sitting there, taking it. And then he considered that she was just used to it, and he felt for her even more.

"Fine," Kathy said. "Fine, I'll shut up."

Letting out a small sigh of relief, Maxie stood, knocking her purse off the arm of the couch. The contents of it spilled out onto the floor. " _Maxie_!" Kathy shrieked. "Are you _smoking_ again, too?"

And that was it. Isaac couldn't take it anymore, not another second. He needed to get away, or he was going to tell Kathy a few things about herself that she wouldn't like too much. "It was nice spending this evening with you guys," he said. "I think I'm going to head out."

Van frowned. "You're leaving _?_ " _Yes!_ he wanted to scream. _Yes! Yes, God, yes!_ But instead, he simply nodded. He gathered his belongings and said goodbye to everyone before turning to Maxie.

"Thank you for dinner," he said.

"You didn't even eat," she replied.

"No. But still..."

"You're welcome."

He kept his eyes on her for a moment longer than he needed to. _I like your hair_ , he wanted to tell her. _And you wear your tattoos well. And your cookbook will be amazing. Your restaurant, too, when you get to it. And if this were the family I were given, I would smoke, too._ But instead he nodded at her and excused himself from the apartment. As soon as he was out, he exhaled heavily. It felt as if it were the first breath he'd taken all night.

Poor Maxie.

Maxie heard her bedroom door open. A moment later, Van was at the window, climbing out to join her on the fire escape. Kathy and Tony were long gone. Despite many pleas from Van, Isaac didn't return. All Maxie wanted was the sweet release of thick smoke filling her lungs, seeping in and out of the crevices of her brain, picking her up and taking her higher and higher.

Van sat beside her, not saying a word as she blew thick smoke out into the night air. "She's gone, you know," she finally said, gently pressing against her. "You can relax now."

Maxie raised her joint to Van. "I am relaxing." She wondered how Isaac, the old Isaac, _her_ Isaac, would feel about how often she was smoking now. He wouldn't like it, she knew. But that Isaac was gone, replaced by the man who didn't remember her. Hours earlier he had left. He had gotten up and left, leaving her there to bear it all on her own. Why did she feel so betrayed? What did she expect?

She took another long drag of the joint, closed her eyes as she let the smoke play in her lungs, and then exhaled.

"Do you think about that night often, Max? The night Isaac got shot?"

"Every day," she admitted, not opening her eyes.

"Is that why you've been smoking so much?"

"Among other reasons."

"What other reasons?"

Finally opening her eyes to look at her friend, Maxie replied, "I'd smoke a lot less if you wouldn't come out here and blow my high."

Van frowned and lowered her eyes, nodding. _Harsh_ , Maxie thought, then sighed and took another drag.

"Alright, then," Van said, standing.

"I think about it every day," Maxie said to her, as she climbed back through the window. "And I think of the things... the people, I've lost. My mom, my dad..." _Isaac_.

Van nodded. "I think about my dad, too. On nights like these, when he definitely would have been here if..." Her voice trailed off a moment.

Maxie took another long, deep drag.

"You should think about what you have, instead," Van suggested. "That's what I do. I just try to remember that I still have my mom and Tony. And you, and even Isaac. And you have me. You'll always have me, Max. No matter what."

Without replying, Maxie exhaled a current of grey smoke and shut her eyes.

Noelle steps in Maxie's room and shuts the door behind her. 'How are you feeling?' she asks her daughter, who has spent the evening crying over a boy from school. Maxie doesn't need to reply. Her misery is written all over her face.

_Climbing into bed with her, Noelle gathers Maxie in her arms and strokes her hair as she sobs. 'I know it hurts, baby,' she says, 'but just remember that even though your heart is broken,_ you're _still whole.'_

Maxie looks up at her mother and wipes her wet cheek with the back of her hand. 'I just like him so much, Mommy,' she says. Her twelve-year-old emotions are still too fragile for such feelings.

Noelle nods. 'I know. Whoever said it's better to have loved and lost then to never have loved at all is an asshole, baby. Go ahead. Cry.'

She cried. She cried endlessly.

As Maxie lay in bed, still thinking of her mother, she wondered what Noelle would say now, what advice she would offer. All she had ever wanted for Maxie was happiness, and yet, no matter where Maxie turned, she couldn't seem to find it.

She thought back to middle school, when her science class had studied electricity. Her teacher had brought in Christmas lights to experiment with. He plugged the long strand into the wall, and the class watched all the tiny bulbs illuminate. Then he unscrewed one, and they all went out.

How had Isaac become that bulb? He was gone—not physically, but gone nonetheless—unscrewed from the strand of light that was her life, leaving her in pitch black. Once upon a time, Van had been enough to fill the void. Van numbed the sting of loneliness. Once upon a time, Maxie needed Van and no one else.

They're sitting in the cafeteria, Van across from Maxie at the lunch table, eating the leftovers from dinner the night before that Maxie had packed them. 'Where's Lauren today?' Van asks.

_Maxie had met Lauren Dudley in gym class just a month before. She'd introduced her to Van, invited her to eat lunch with them every day, ignored the fact that Van wasn't particularly fond of her. She'd ignored the fact that Van wasn't particularly fond of_ anyone _Maxie ever got even close to. Anyone besides the people_ she _was close to, at least._

'I don't know,' Maxie says, wondering the same thing.

She likes eating lunch with Lauren. Unlike Van's friends, Lauren is quiet, fairly laid-back, she keeps to herself She didn't gossip. She didn't complain. She has no boyfriend issues, no girlfriend issues, no trivial, insignificant high school drama at all. When Lauren joins them at the table, Maxie forgets about the other five girls around her, prattling on about who-knows-what. Instead, she submerges herself in her conversation with her new friend, who, like herself, is more interested in discussing school work, the latest books they read, the colleges they want to attend, the places they want to travel.

'She didn't eat with us yesterday, either,' Van points out. 'Or the day before that.'

Maxie shrugs.

'Maybe she doesn't like us,' Van says.

Maybe she doesn't like you, _Maxie thinks._

They finish their food, and as Maxie gets up to throw away their trash, she spots Lauren at a nearby table, submerged in conversation with three other girls. Maxie can't help but wonder what they're talking about, all leaning in toward each other, calm but interested in whatever is being said. Turning away, she makes her way back over to her own table where Van and her friends are laughing loudly and animatedly.

'I found Lauren,' Maxie tells Van. 'She's eating over there today.'

Van peers around the cafeteria and when she spots Lauren, she shrugs. 'Maybe she eats with them now.'

'You don't think she'll come back?'

Van shrugs again. 'Who cares? She's boring, anyway.'

Van's friends agree, but Maxie says, 'I like her.'

_Draping her arm around Maxie's shoulder, Van says, 'Well,_ I'm _still here at the lunch table. Alright?'_

Maxie nods. Lauren never eats with them again.

#

NOW

Maxie woke early. She needed to get out of the apartment and far away from it. If even for a day.

She put on a low-cut shirt that stopped just below her belly button and a pair of cut-off shorts. For a moment she stood in front of the mirror, studying her reflection. What a difference from a year ago. Her hair, her clothes, her skin now decorated with colorful tattoos. Maybe _that_ was why he couldn't remember her. She wasn't the girl he'd met on that snowy Christmas night.

But she was the girl he'd made her into. Didn't _that_ mean something?

Sighing, she fluffed her hair and turned away from the mirror. Slipping her feet into a pair of sandals, she grabbed her purse and plodded out of her bedroom. When she reached the living room, she stopped short and inhaled sharply. Standing in the kitchen, locked in a passionate kiss, were Van and Isaac.

Van stood on her tiptoes, the sheer nighty she wore rising up past her butt as she held Isaac around the neck with one arm. He leaned down to kiss her, holding her around her waist, gently thrusting against her hand, which disappeared into his boxers. He glanced up at Maxie in a lustful daze before letting his eyes drift shut again. Then they shot back open as realization hit him, and he jumped back, pulling away from Van and moving her in front of him to block his bare body—and his erection—from Maxie.

"What's wrong?" Van asked, breathless and confused. She followed his wide-eyed stare across the room to Maxie, who stood with her eyes closed and her head down.

_Don't cry, don't cry, don't you_ dare _cry_. But tears burned behind her eyelids, and dread lay heavy on her chest, and anger and disgust and sadness and resentment formed a thick knot in her throat. Had she really just witnessed that? She almost wanted to open her eyes again, just to make sure, but the image was still crystal clear in her mind; plaguing her thoughts like a painful, nasty, lethal disease.

"Oh!" Van cried. "Maxie, I didn't realize—"

But Maxie spun around and hurried back to her room, eyes still squeezed shut. She closed her door tightly and went to the bathroom. Shutting that door tightly as well, she turned on the sink faucet to drown out the sound her of sobbing.

How could she stay here with them? Day in and day out? Every night, she lay alone in bed, wondering what Isaac was saying to Van in the next room. Wondering what he was doing to Van in the next room. Maybe the same things he'd said and done to Maxie. She would toss and turn, and listen to music, and read books, and try to fall asleep, _anything_ but dwell on the scenarios that scarred her tortured imagination.

But to _see_ it. To see it with her own eyes. To see Isaac's insistent hands on her best friend, his insistent lips on her, lost in the pleasure of her hands on _him_. Something inside her died. She felt it, whatever it was. It blackened, and decayed, and shriveled up into nothing but dread and anguish and hate inside of her.

She looked down at her wrist where the word _Remember_ was tattooed in flowing script. _Remember to be happy_. That's what her mother had said to her—it was the last thing her mother had said to her—and she'd tried, she'd _tried_ to live by it for so long. But how could she now? She had fooled everyone before, even herself, until Isaac came along and reminded her of what true happiness was. But now what?

By the time Maxie emerged from her bedroom again, an hour had passed and Isaac was in the living room, doing pushups. He was still shirtless, and covered in sweat this time, but at least he was wearing pants. And at least Van's hands weren't down them. Not raising her eyes to him, she hurried toward the front door, as if he weren't even there.

"Maxie," he called out to her, getting to his feet. She didn't reply, didn't even slow down. "Maxie, wait."

Why did he always want her to wait? What did he have to say, anyhow? What was there to say? Never turning to look at him, Maxie left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Did he see her distress? she wondered. Was he aware of how torn up she was on the inside? Completely frayed, ripped open at the seams. It had taken all she had to compose herself as she made her way past him and out the door. But as soon as she was away from him, she felt herself breaking down again. Where was she supposed to go? Where was there peace? She could only think of one place: Bea's.

When she arrived, Bea opened her front door to Maxie and gasped. Even behind her big sunglasses, Bea could see Maxie's flushed face, crimson and swollen and wet with tears. She groaned as Maxie pulled the glasses off and stepped inside. Maxie went to the couch, sat for a moment, and then stood again and began to pace.

"Maxie," Bea said, sitting down as her friend moved back and forth in anguish. "Look at yourself."

Shaking her head, Maxie sank to the floor. She couldn't cry anymore, but she couldn't stand anymore, either.

"Max," Bea said, kneeling down beside her. " _Look_ at yourself."

"Who am I, Bea?" she whispered.

"You're you. You're just going through something. And for what? _Van_? Would she do it for you?"

That was the question Maxie asked herself over and over. Was it worth it? _Would_ Van do it for her?

"Yes," Maxie replied. "She would."

Isaac stood in the middle of the living room, dumbfounded. It was as if she hadn't even heard him. But maybe it was better that way. Better to pretend the humiliation of that morning had never happened. He didn't even know why he'd been so embarrassed. Van surely wasn't. In fact, she hadn't stopped laughing about it. She was his girlfriend after all. And they were adults, two consenting adults. Surely Maxie knew that they fooled around, and it wasn't like she saw anything _too_ vulgar.

But still.

Isaac wanted to talk to her. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to assure her that he would be more careful, that it wouldn't happen again.

And he wanted to tell her that he liked her shorts. And the way her hair fell that morning. And the pink shade of gloss on her lips—that was new, he'd noticed it right away, even in the midst of his embarrassment. It matched the pink nail polish on her toes. Her small, pretty toes...

"Was that Maxie?" Van asked, emerging from the bedroom. She was still wearing her small nighty. Isaac followed her all the way to the kitchen with his eyes, examining her body. He often did that, wondering what his first thoughts of her had been. She was a beautiful girl; her skin was flawless, her hair fell in soft straight strands, always smooth, down her back. Her hazel eyes always sparkled, her smile was nothing but full lips and perfect teeth. And her body. Her body was everything a man could ask for: slender, toned, not too busty but busty enough, not too hippy but hippy enough. And she was tall. Not as tall as him, of course, but taller than most of the women he had known. On a scale from one to ten, Van was an eleven, easy.

Yet, somehow, he often found himself wondering why he hadn't chose Maxie—not that he _wanted_ her—he just wondered. She was shorter than Van, yes, but Isaac liked towering over her, looking down at her small body before him, her face turned up to his and her big eyes staring at him. Her hair was much more unruly, but sometimes, when he watched her mindlessly finger her curls, he'd get the strongest urge to reach over and grab a handful of them. And Van wasn't skinny, but her behind wasn't as round as Maxie's, her breasts not as perky, her waist not as tiny, her legs not as muscular, her stomach not as smooth. He could only imagine the sensation of Maxie's skin under his palms. He wanted to grab her, stroke her, squeeze her, just to see, of course.

But curiosity killed the cat, so when such thoughts of his girlfriend's best friend entered his mind, he quickly pushed them out. "I think she's upset," he said to Van, joining her in the kitchen. She was rummaging through the refrigerator.

"Upset why?"

"This morning, I guess."

Van waved him off. "She's fine. Maxie doesn't care about things like that. It's not like she doesn't know what we do behind closed doors."

"But we weren't behind closed doors. We were in the kitchen." He looked around regretfully and added, his voice lower, "Her sanctuary."

"Trust me, she's fine." She shut the refrigerator and sighed. "Why didn't she make breakfast? I'm starving. Let's order takeout. Do we still have the menu from that place around the corner?"

"Where do you think she went?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Bea's probably, where else does she have to go? Ah!" she said, grabbing a menu from the drawer and holding it up. "Here it is."

They ordered breakfast and sat together in the living room as they waited for it to arrive, talking about things Isaac wasn't really focused on. He couldn't take his mind off of Maxie, and of dinner just two nights prior.

"I was thinking about taking an acting class. That sounds fun, doesn't it? Can't you see me acting?"

"Van," he said, ignoring her question. "Remind me about your mother."

She looked at him, eyebrows raised. "What do you want to know?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Is she always like that?"

Van rolled her eyes. "Always. Critical, opinionated, outspoken." She waved her hand as if waving her mother off. "You just have to learn to ignore her. You did before."

As nonchalantly as he could, he said, "Maxie doesn't seem like she ignores her."

"I know. Maxie's just extra sensitive. I think she just wants to impress my mom, you know? She wants to make my mother as proud of her as she is of Tony and me. Which she _is_. She loves Max like her own daughter. She's just..." She paused, looking for the words to defend her mother. "She just is the way she is, you know? And instead of taking it with a grain of salt like the rest of us, Maxie takes it personal."

"It sounded pretty personal."

"It wasn't. She criticizes everything, everyone. If anything, it's a compliment. She expects more from Maxie because she sees Maxie's potential."

Isaac considered that for a moment. He could have even accepted it, except there was Tony, too. "What about your brother? Is he an asshole to Maxie because he sees her potential?"

"Nope. He's an asshole just because he's an asshole."

"He seems bitter."

"He is."

"Resentful, even."

"Yep."

"Why's that?"

Van shifted uncomfortably. "Well..." Isaac waited. "I don't know, Isaac, a lot of reasons. Nothing worth you remembering, really."

"Van," he said, "what am I missing?"

"It's just issues, Isaac. Family issues."

"Well, I'm practically your mother's son-in-law, remember? Doesn't that make me family?"

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. The big secret has to come out sometime anyway, I suppose." She shook her head. "It's just so humiliating. And shameful."

"Tell me," he probed, more interested in getting to the bottom of the mystery that was Maxie than actually hearing about whatever shame was brought to Van's family.

She sighed again, deeply, and lay back on the couch to look up at the ceiling. "Two years after Maxie came to live with us," Van began, "my father..."

She paused and Isaac held his breath. Her _father_? He'd wondered why Mr. Trimmel never came around, why no one ever spoke of him.

Van shook her head. "My dad was like my best friend. So, naturally, he got close with Maxie, too," she said. "He loved her, you know? She was my sister, his daughter... They were close. She graduated high school a semester early, and they started spending even more time together, partly because he was helping her get ready to start at Julliard, and partly because she just had more free time."

She paused again, and Isaac waited, unblinking, unmoving, not even breathing.

"And then one day she changed. She stopped speaking at the dinner table, she wouldn't look any of us in the eye. She avoided my mom at all costs." Van shook her head, recalling. "That's when she started dressing differently, always covering up. She wouldn't invite us to any of her shows." Exhaling heavily, she continued. "And then, all of a sudden she started sleeping in my room. Every single night, until we just moved her in officially. Well, I found out it was because he came on to her. My father came on to my best friend," she said, dropping her eyes.

Isaac's mouth fell agape. "Did she..?" He couldn't finish his sentence.

"Of course not!" Van cried. "He went into her room one night and... and offered himself to her. She turned him away, and that's when she started staying in my room. She didn't say anything about it. Nothing for three months. And then she finally told me truth. It turns out he kissed her first. He kissed her and she rejected him and he apologized and swore it would never happen again, so she tried to just put it behind her." She shook her head, disgusted. "Of course she couldn't put it behind her, though. It ruined her. And then, to make matters worse, he tried again."

Isaac stared pitifully at Van. He couldn't help but imagine how much it must have hurt not only Maxie, but her. "What happened?"

"I told her she needed to tell. She didn't want to, you know. She kept saying that my family had done so much for her and she didn't want to ruin it. But how was she supposed to just live with something like that? How much longer was she going to avoid him, avoid my mother, walk around covered from head to toe, even in the summertime? It just wasn't fair. Not to her. Not to me. And definitely not to my mother. So I told her to tell. And when she didn't, I did."

"Wow, Van," Isaac breathed. "That was _very_ noble of you."

"What was I supposed to do? Let her suffer? After everything she'd already been through?"

"What did your mother say?"

"She was in denial at first. My father said Maxie was lying. My brother was on my father's side, of course. I think the only reason my mother ended up believing Maxie was because _I_ believed Maxie. But just because she believed her," she said, lowering her voice, "doesn't mean she wasn't a little resentful. Not saying that it's right, but... Their marriage was perfect before it happened. We were happy. Sometimes, we couldn't _help_ but be resentful."

"Are you still resentful?"

"No," Van said quickly. "I'm not going to act like I don't see how everything changed, how Maxie became even more of an outsider than she already was. But I wasn't going to treat her like that then, and I'm not going to treat her like it now. It wasn't her fault. It was my father. He's filth. He fooled us all."

Despite the anger that occupied her voice, Isaac could hear the underlying bitterness, sadness, remorse. Resentment. "Does she blame herself?" he asked.

Dropping her eyes, Van nodded. "Of course she does. She blames herself for everything."

"What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"What do you blame her for?" he asked.

Still not meeting his eyes, she murmured, "Nothing."

The sun was going down and the summer air was cool when Maxie left Bea's house to make her way home. She walked slowly toward the subway, enjoying the warmth of the evening and the chill of the breeze. Such a beautiful night for such an ugly day, she thought. And now she had to go back to the apartment, back to her very own little hell on earth. She almost considered turning back and just staying at Bea's, but how long could she run from reality? It was what it was. Isaac was Van's. The way it should have been from the beginning.

Just when she felt the dark pit inside of her beginning to open again, someone called her name. She looked around until she found Daniel Gnar on the curb, stepping out of his car. "Maxie!" he called again, waving to her. "Where are you headed?"

"Home," she admitted. He motioned her over. He walked around the passenger side and opened the door for her, but not before opening his arms and wrapping her in them.

"You look pretty," he said as he bent to hug her.

"Thank you," she replied, pulling back. "If my apartment is out of your way, I can walk," she said. "I don't mind."

He stepped aside so she could get into the car. "I'm not going to let you walk."

Once they were both inside his car, he said, "Where are you coming from?"

"Bea's," she said.

"You and Bea are pretty close, huh?"

"She's my best friend," Maxie admitted. "Besides Van."

He nodded. "How _is_ Van?"

"Dandy," she replied dryly.

Gnar smirked. "Can I tell you something?"

She shrugged. "Sure, what's up?"

"When I first met Van, I was surprised that she was Isaac's girlfriend. All that time, I thought it was you." Maxie didn't reply, so Gnar went on. "And even after you told me that he was seeing Van, I still thought you two had something going on. Funny, huh?"

"Yeah," she said with a humorless chuckle. "Funny. What changed your mind?"

"I don't know. I guess I just got to know you guys a little better. Your friendship with Van seems genuine. I guess I just can't see you doing anything like that to her, and vice versa." Maxie swallowed hard. "Plus, Van and Isaac are good for each other. Don't you think?"

"Oh yeah," Maxie choked out.

"Even though he's just getting to know her again, he's already falling pretty hard for her." For the first time since the conversation started, Maxie looked at him.

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "And can I tell you something else?"

"Sure," she replied, though she didn't want to hear anything else.

"I'm glad that I was wrong about you and Isaac. Because I've been captivated by you since we met, Max, Isaac or no Isaac. Of course he's my closest friend," he added. "Almost like family, so I wouldn't have pursued you. But you really caught my eye. You still have my eye."

She forced a small smile. "That's sweet, Gnar."

Sighing, he looked away from her. She was thankful for that. He was silent, too. She was also thankful for that. Finally, he said, "Maybe I'm stupid to ask—given your enthusiasm and all—but maybe I could take you out sometime?"

She bit down on her bottom lip, averted her eyes. "Actually, Gnar, I don't think now's a good time for me to be dating—"

"Well, I was thinking more like Saturday or Sunday," he said.

She chuckled. "No, I mean, there's just a lot going on in my life right now. I just broke up with my boyfriend, and being in that apartment all day is really hard, considering everything that went on there, so I'm starting the job hunt tomorrow. And I really need to start looking into printers for my cookbook. I'd really like to publish it, and I haven't been putting as much time and energy into it as I need to." She shook her head as if to stop herself from rambling on. "Anyway, the point is, now—as in, this point in my life—isn't a good time for me to be dating."

Gnar nodded. "Okay, then."

They pulled up to her apartment, and she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Thank you for the ride."

"It was my pleasure," he said.

"And I'm sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry." She raised a confused eyebrow. "For the nuisance I'm about to become," he clarified, and then he grinned. "I've thought about you far more than I should have in the past year, Maxie, considering I thought you were my best friend's girl. Now that I know you aren't, you can't expect me to give up so easily." She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could get a word out, he said, "By the way, what kind of work are you looking for? I know a guy who needs someone to look after his dad during the week."

"Like a nurse?" she asked.

He frowned. "Actually, it sounded more like a babysitting job to me. But it's something. If you're interested, I could talk to him for you."

She narrowed her eyes. "And what will I owe you in return?"

"Ah," he said. "Just your patience."

"Fine, if you enjoy disappointment, be my guest."

"I don't enjoy disappointment as much as I enjoy reaping the fruits of my labor. You being the fruits," he said, looking her in the eyes. She smiled. This time she couldn't help it.

"Thank you for the ride," she repeated.

He nodded, and she climbed out of the car and made her way across the wide sidewalk to the door of her building. She typed in the code to buzz herself in and turned back as she pushed the door open. Gnar was still sitting there.

Maxie sat on the floor in front of the mirror that hung on her closet door and applied her makeup. She didn't wear makeup often—she didn't wear makeup _ever_ —but her mother had taught her how to apply it when she was just twelve years old. She remembered sitting at her mother's vanity table, with a myriad of eyeliners, eye shadows, foundations, lips glosses, rouges, and everything she could have dreamed of putting on her face.

'You're a beautiful girl, Maximilienne,' her mother says, pulling the top off a brown lipstick she's holding. 'You don't need to wear any of this stuff. But sometimes you want to, just for a little extra something. You need to know how to apply it properly, though.'

They had sat for hours, going over everything Maxie needed to know. After that day, she hadn't put on makeup again until her mother's funeral. When she'd finished putting it on, she'd decided her mother would be proud. And then just an hour after that, she'd cried it all away.

A knock at her door made her jump, and she nearly poked herself in the eye with the liner she was holding. Sighing in frustration as she licked her finger to fix the smear, she called, "Come in!"

The door opened, and Isaac stepped inside. "Van told me to tell you—" He stopped short as his eyes found her on the floor, wearing just a sweatshirt and panties, one bare leg folded under her, the other propped up to hold her arm. She was leaning close to the mirror, her head back a little so her hair, which fell in soft waves, reached down her back.

She's sitting in that very spot, her legs crossed Indian style, as she leans close to the mirror the very same way. She's putting on mascara—or is she just plucking her eyebrows? He can't remember, but he sees her there, as clear as day, hair curly and reaching all the way down her back, almost to her waist. And she's only wearing underwear. No tattoos. Just lots of bare, smooth skin. For a moment, he just watches her, and then her eyes flicker in his direction and she smiles.

Isaac blinked and inhaled sharply. Maxie's head was turned toward him now, and she stared at him, puzzled. Was that a memory? A memory of Maxie, half-naked before him and not even _attempting_ to cover up? And then he realized that she was practically half-naked _now_ before him, not even attempting to cover up.

Averting his eyes, he stammered, "Van wanted me to tell you..." He paused. What was the message he was supposed to deliver? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember a simple message, but Maxie's image, sitting at that mirror with her long hair and bare skin was _clear_ in his memory. "Maybe you should just go in there." With that, he turned and hurried out of the room.

Finishing her makeup, Maxie pulled on a pair of shorts and went to Van's room. Van and Bea stood at Van's closet, both holding up outfits, and Isaac sat in the corner holding a book. It was obvious he wasn't reading it, but he kept his eyes low, anyway.

"Max!" Van said, rushing forward. "I think you should wear this!" She held up a short, tight black dress. "With a blazer and closed-toe heels, it'll look perfect."

"She's meeting with a potential employer, not the owner of a strip club," Bea snapped at Van. "That is a club dress. You should wear this one." Bea held up a much more casual summer dress. It was looser, longer, and much brighter. Van rolled her eyes.

"She isn't going for a stroll through the park, _Beatrix_. This isn't a dog walking position!"

"It isn't a call-girl position, either!"

Van huffed in frustration. "Who are you to give fashion advice, anyway? Look at what you're wearing!"

Bea peered down at her tattered jeans and tank top. "Well, excuse me for dressing down to lounge around the apartment all day. This isn't the red carpet, Van, and you can stop posing. No one's taking your picture!"

"I am not posing!" Van shot back.

Maxie sighed and raised her hands to her friends. "Actually," she said, making her way to Van's closet. Her options were endless, but she already knew what she wanted to wear. "I already picked something out." She pulled out a peach colored blouse and a silky, floral skirt that stopped at her thighs. Neither the shirt nor the skirt were too loose or too tight, not too short, not too revealing, not too modest, not too casual. She held them up to herself and turned to the only unbiased person in the room: Isaac.

"What do you think?" she asked.

He looked up, surprised to be addressed, and appraised the outfit. "What's it for?" he asked.

"Gnar got her a job interview," Van said.

" _Gnar_ got it for you?"

She shrugged, lowering her eyes. "He knew the guy from the gym. I don't think he had to go too out of his way or anything."

"But I bet he would have," Van said, taking the shirt and skirt from Maxie's hands and holding it up. "Yeah, you're right. I think this is perfect. Very summery."

"Are you two..." Isaac paused. Maxie hoped he wouldn't finish, but of course he did. "Are you seeing each other?"

"No, he's just doing me a favor."

"But he _wants_ to be seeing her," Van piped up again. "He asked her out the other day, right, Max? But of course she said no."

"Leave her alone, Van," Bea said.

Van rolled her eyes. "You just want her to be single and lonely. You know what they say, misery loves company."

"Don't throw stones if you live in a glass house, Van," replied Bea.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ugh, I have to get ready," Maxie groaned, taking the clothes from Van and starting out of the room. "Van, mind your business, please. Bea... Just stop."

"Maybe you two can go grab a bite to eat after he takes you," Van went on. "It's not a date, just having lunch."

"He's _taking_ her, too?" Isaac said, but that was the last thing Maxie heard before she shut her door behind her and began to get dressed.

Gnar arrived to pick her up forty-five minutes before her meeting with her potential employer, Mr. Woodson. When she opened the door, he took a step back and his small eyes grew wide. "Wow," he breathed, reaching out and running his fingers through a silky strand of her hair. His hands were big, she noticed, spanning out across the whole side of her face, much like Isaac's had when he used to touch her hair that way. She felt her cheeks flame red and dropped her eyes to the floor.

"It's so soft. I like it, it's pretty." He took a step toward her, towered over her, also much like Isaac. " _You_ look pretty. Stunning."

"Thank you," she said quietly. Van and Bea were standing in the living room behind her. She could feel their eyes on her back. "Thanks again for coming to pick me up. You didn't have to."

"But you know I wanted to."

Again, she couldn't look in his face. His unnervingly handsome face. "Thanks again," she repeated.

He nodded and stepped aside so she could move past him and out the door. When she was in the hallway, he grabbed the knob to shut the door behind them, nodding at Van and Bea as he did so.

As the door shut, Isaac emerged from the bedroom. "You just missed Gnar," Van said.

"Did I?" he replied, unfazed. He glanced at Bea, who stared at him. What was that look on her face? That silent knowing, as if she was trying to communicate with him. Was she? _I don't remember_ , he wanted to say. _Whatever it is, I don't remember_.

"You should've seen his face when he saw her. She _cannot_ reject him forever."

"Why can't she?"

Van sighed and rolled her eyes. "Why are you being like that? He's your best friend, so he must be a decent guy. He's being good to her already. And look at how nice they look together."

"They do make a nice couple," Bea agreed, gathering her belongings. "It's sort of like déjà vu, seeing them together." She met his eyes again. "Like I've seen it before."

"Yeah! Because they just _fit_ , don't they?" Van said.

"Mm hm," Bea said, lightly. "That's why."

Gnar waited in the car while Maxie went into the small café where she was meeting Mr. Woodson. As promised, he was sitting at a table in the back, his elderly father in a wheelchair on the end. Mr. Woodson was young, in his early thirties maybe, dressed in a business suit and talking on a cell phone while his father sat in his chair, bored. When Maxie approached, the son ended his phone call and stood, offering her his hand to shake. She took it.

"Ryan Woodson," he said. "It's nice to meet you."

"Maxie Shannen," she said. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"Have a seat," he said, motioning toward the chair next to him. "This is my father, Charles."

"Hi, Charles," Maxie greeted.

"Hey," the old man said grumpily, barley looking up at her.

"Well, let's get started. I hear from Daniel that you don't have experience in this area, but the job's not hard as long as you have common sense—"

"Yeah? Then why is this the fourth person we've had in a year?" Charles grumbled.

"Common sense and tough skin," Mr. Woodson went on, glaring at his father, who looked away, pouting like a small child.

Maxie nodded. "I've got both of those, sir. So far, so good."

He pulled out a pad. "This isn't a nursing job. My father doesn't need a nurse," Mr. Woodson started off.

"I don't need a fucking babysitter, either," Charles grumbled.

Mr. Woodson glanced at him and Maxie thought he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "You're just there to make sure his day runs smoothly. He needs to eat, take his meds on time, bathe—"

"What am I, a fucking five year old? Are you kidding me?"

" _Dad_ —"

"Right, kid, and while you're at it, why don't you piss and shit for me, too? And wipe my ass—"

" _Dad_!"

"What do you think I am?"

"I'm not saying you don't bathe, Dad."

"You're damn fucking right, I bathe. If you want to talk about not bathing, let's talk about _you_ , all through fucking middle school. I swear, I had to pay this kid to wash his balls 'til he was sixteen. No wonder you didn't lose your virginity 'til college," Charles said. Looking at Maxie, he added, "And he thinks _I_ need to be reminded to bathe."

Maxie bit down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing as Mr. Woodson turned crimson and shook his head. "Alright, alright. But all that other stuff still stands, okay?"

She nodded. "Sure, yeah."

He asked some questions, went more into detail about her job description—not without frequent interruptions from his father—and even let her ask some questions of her own, not that she had many. It all seemed easy enough. Just as Gnar had said, just as Charles had said, Mr. Woodson wasn't looking for anything more than a babysitter. Anyway, Maxie would have taken the job no matter what it called for. So when he told her what she would be getting paid, the generous offer was only the icing on top of the cake.

Her eyes widened. "That much?"

With a tight smirk, he replied, "Trust me. You'll see that this is worth every penny."

"I'm old, not deaf," Charles snapped.

"So, what do you think?" Mr. Woodson said. "If you want it, the jobs yours."

"Yes, yes, I want it," Maxie said, trying not to sound as eager as she felt.

"Great," he said, eyes lighting up. "Can you start Monday morning? Nine o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

He smiled. "Awesome. Hey, can I get you some coffee or anything? You and Dad can have a minute to talk."

"Sure," she said. "I'll take a banana nut muffin."

"Dad?"

"Coffee. Black."

"Why don't you try that new vanilla thing?" he asked.

"What new vanilla thing? No, just get me a black coffee."

Mr. Woodson stood. "Live a little, Dad."

"Live a little? Christ, son, it's coffee, not fucking bungee jumping!"

Rolling his eyes, Mr. Woodson left to get the coffee. Finally, Maxie let herself smile.

"You think he's funny, huh? I think he's an asshole. For such a smart kid, he's a fucking asshole."

"Actually," said Maxie, "I think _you're_ pretty funny."

He scoffed.

"So I guess you're not big on the idea of having me around."

"Better you than someone else, I suppose." Then he paused and gave her a brief once over. "Well, I _think_ , at least. Why do you want this shitty gig anyway? You're young. Attractive, I guess. You don't seem like a dumbass. Can't you do better than this? You don't have a criminal record, do you?"

"No, not yet," she joked, then she shrugged. "I don't know. I could tell you that caring for the elderly is my passion or something, but that would be a lie. Really, I'm just looking for something to keep me busy while I'm not in class. I didn't really have any specific jobs in mind." She looked at him guiltily. "Am I allowed to say that on a job interview?"

"I don't think so. Lucky for you, I don't give a shit."

She smiled. "Look on the bright side. At least you'll have company during the day now. Don't you get bored by yourself?" He scoffed again, but somehow, Maxie knew that meant yes.

She liked Charles. She liked him already.

When Mr. Woodson returned, he was on his cell phone, babbling on about things Maxie didn't understand. Setting her muffin down in front of her, he began to gather his belongings. "Alright, Dad. I have an emergency at work, so we need to go."

"What kind of emergency?"

Mr. Woodson just shook his head. "Thanks again, Maxie. Monday at nine, right?"

"Right."

"Hello! What kind of emergency?" Charles pursued.

"The kind I need to go worry about, Dad," Mr. Woodson replied, a bit frustrated.

Charles rolled his eyes. "I thought we were going to watch the game after this. What happened?"

"Sorry. Maybe we'll catch one tomorrow."

"There isn't one tomorrow."

Mr. Woodson paused to turn and look at his father. "What do you want me to do? I have to work."

"Why? What the hell is so important about your damn job that it comes before your own father? People are put on this earth for two things, Ryan. To fuck and die. If your job doesn't help people do either of those things, than it isn't more important than taking me to watch this game."

With a tired sigh, Mr. Woodson looked back at Maxie. "Good luck on Monday, kid."

Gnar was still waiting for Maxie outside of the café when she emerged from her interview. "How was it?" he asked.

She smiled. "It was great. I start Monday."

His eyes lit up. "Ah, that's great," he said, opening his arms to her. "Congratulations." He embraced her, lifted her off of her feet, and then sat her down again.

"Thank you for doing this for me," she said.

"Don't thank me. Let's just have a celebratory bite to eat."

How could she say no? After all, if it wasn't for him, she would probably be sitting in her apartment, locked in her room, hoping that Isaac and Van would stay in theirs. "Okay. That sounds good."

"Do you feel like walking?" he asked. "I know a nice spot in the park."

She didn't feel like walking. And she was wearing high heels. But again, how could she say no? "Okay. Lead the way."

They grabbed food to-go at a nearby restaurant and then made their way to Central Park. She followed him to a small area where a band played, and people sat around and talked, ate, and even danced. "This is nice," she said as they sat down on a nearby bench.

"Yeah, I come here a lot. Listen to the band. People watch."

"Hmm," she said, looking around. "I may have to steal your spot."

"Or you can just join me."

She smiled but didn't reply. For a while, they ate in silence. The band played on, people went by, couples danced. Maxie watched them the most, longingly. Bitterly. She kept her anguish locked up tight, though, and when Gnar put down his food and asked her to dance, she accepted with a smile.

"I can't dance," he warned her, joining the three other couples in the small open space in front of the band.

"I can."

"Yes, I've heard. You can show me how it's done."

She laughed as he spun her and then pulled her close to him. To her surprise, he was a good dancer. Even better than good, she thought. He led well, twirling and dipping her, moving his feet in ways that came natural to him.

"You're an amazing dancer, you little liar," she said.

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess I am alright."

Soon, the music picked up and she kicked off her shoes. The couples they'd been dancing with were replaced by new ones, and then when they left, new ones again. But Maxie and Gnar danced until they were both sweaty and tired and laughing so hard they could barely stand. She found herself closer to him, her chest pressed against his, her arm tightly around his neck.

"Ugh," she said, pulling away and making her way back to the bench. "I'm so tired! I feel so out of shape!"

"No," he said, devouring her frame with his eyes. "I think you're in perfect shape."

Smiling, she looked away. "Thank you," she said. "For this whole day. This was such a good day."

He nodded. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

She folded her legs under herself and turned to face him. "Are you ready to go back?"

"No."

"Good, because I'm not either," she admitted, dropping her eyes.

"Life at home not so hot?"

She shrugged. "It's alright. I guess I just need a change in scenery. That's why I'm so glad for this job. And for you, bringing me here today. I can't take the apartment anymore. Lately, it's been so..." She sighed, let her voice trail off. "I don't want to complain, you know? Every time I think of what Isaac's been going though, I just shut my mouth."

"You have the right to vent. You went through it, too." She shrugged again. "How's Van dealing with everything?"

"The best way she can. I think her main focus is just rebuilding her relationship with Isaac." The image of Van and Isaac standing in the kitchen just the week before flashed in her mind.

They left the park, and by the time they reached the car Maxie's feet were throbbing. She groaned as she climbed into the passenger seat and kicked off her heels. "Ugh, why didn't I bring flats?" she said, massaging her red toes. She glanced at Gnar. His eyes were on her thighs, which were exposed nearly to her panties as her skirt rose up. Clearing her throat, she put her leg down and he turned away.

When they pulled up to her apartment, Maxie started to get up, but then Gnar found a parking spot just a block down. "I'm going to walk you to the door," he said, helping her out. They walked just a few feet before he paused and looked down at her shoes. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," she lied. Her feet were absolutely _throbbing._ "It's stupid that I'm an adult and I still can't spend a whole afternoon in high heels."

"Come here," he said, turning his back to her and kneeling down. "Get on."

She stared at him, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

"You can walk the rest of the way, if you want. But you _don't_ want... Come on, hop on."

She couldn't help it, a small smile found her lips as she pulled off her shoes and hesitantly climbed on his back. His hooked his arms under her knees and lifted her up easily. "Better?" he asked, starting toward the apartment again.

"Much," she admitted.

When they got into the building, he didn't put her down. Even in the elevator, he held her. All the way to her front door. When he set her down, she thanked him. "For everything," she repeated. "Today turned out to be a better day than I'd hoped."

"You can thank me by letting me take you out again," he said. "On a _real_ date."

She sighed and dropped her eyes, slowly shaking her head. "Gnar... I appreciate what you did for me, but I'm still not interested. I'm sorry."

"Would it be very egotistical of me to ask why not?"

She chuckled. "Not very." She sighed again. Turning him down was becoming increasingly difficult. She wished he would stop putting her in the position to do it. "Look, I already explained why—"

"Because you're busy. You don't really expect me to accept that, do you?"

"I wish you would."

"We had a good time today, didn't we?"

"Yes, but—"

"How can a person be too busy to enjoy herself?"

"Would it help if I said it's not me, it's _you_?"

He grinned, and it wasn't the grin of a man who had just been rejected. It was a grin of confidence, cockiness, even. It accentuated a dimple in his left cheek. "Unfortunately, in addition to my elevated ego levels, my arrogance is through the roof. There's no way in hell I'd believe I'm the reason for this rejection. It _must_ be you."

She laughed. "Well, whoever it is, the answer is still no," she replied.

He nodded. "For now."

#

THEN

Isaac and Maxie sat in the living room, Maxie on the sofa, Isaac in the armchair. They didn't carry on a conversation as usual, just practiced Maxie's French. They were both too full from the Spanish dish she'd prepared. Another one courtesy of Isaac. Already they'd had French, Italian twice, Greek, and now Spanish. Every night, Maxie wondered what he would show up with next.

"Are those yours?" Isaac asked, finally. He nodded toward a pair of tiny ballet slippers sitting on the shelf in the living room.

She followed his gaze to them and then nodded.

"Yes. My first pair of pointes," she said. "The first of many."

"Maxie," he said, looking at her again. Looking at her legs, anyway. Smooth, toned, flawless, propped up so that her shorts rose, revealing her bare skin up to her thigh. Blinking, he forced his eyes to her face. She was still gazing at the slippers. "Will you dance for me?"

Her eyes widened, she could feel her cheeks flush red. "What? No. You've seen me dance already." She shook her head. "No, I can't."

"C'mon," he said, lightly, but his eyes watched her with unwavering intensity. "Last time it was for Van. And Alex. Dance for _me._ "

"It was for you, too."

Even more intensity. "For _only_ me."

She remembered the last time. She could only imagine what he was thinking as she had twirled and jumped and lifted her leg to impossible heights. She remembered his face, the way he looked at her, the way his eyes swallowed her whole. Her cheeks, if possible, reddened even more. Isaac laughed.

Maybe it was the wine—they'd been drinking wine often now—or maybe Maxie just wanted to see that look in Isaac's eyes again. Whatever it was, she conceded and stood up.

"Okay," she said as she walked over to the stereo system. "I'll belly dance for you."

He looked at her, eyes disbelieving, grin anticipating. "Belly dance?"

The music started, and she went to the middle of the floor and lifted her shirt to reveal her belly. He stared at the small curve of her waist, spanning out into her roundness of her hips. And she began to move her hips to the music—slow, fluid movements, flowing as easily as liquid.

His gaze followed her hips, which vibrated and shook. She twirled, bouncing her behind in small circles to the melody. As it got faster, her movements quickened, and as it slowed, her movements followed suit. Finally, the song ended and she smiled and bowed. Isaac stood up and clapped.

Smiling widely, she turned off the music and plopped down on the floor. "Great, now I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"Not again," Isaac joked. She glared at him. "Hey, when you become a famous dancer—belly dancer, tap dancer, ballerina, _whatever_ —don't forget the little people, okay?"

"Actually," Maxie said, shifting her weight so she lay on her stomach, facing him. She lowered her voice. "Do you want to know a secret?"

"Oh, yes," he said with mocking enthusiasm. "I live for secrets."

Maxie smiled. "Well," she said, looking at him. Her eyes were wide, glistening. "I don't want to be a dancer." Isaac stopped smiling. Maxie didn't. In fact, she widened her smile, and she started to laugh. "Isn't that insane? I've been dancing since I could walk. I'm in Julliard on a full scholarship, dance companies are already asking for me. And I don't even want to dance anymore!"

Isaac blinked. "Why not, Max?"

Her laughter faded, but her smile remained. She dropped her eyes, though. They weren't smiling. "I don't know. I just haven't wanted to dance in a really long time."

"What do you want to do?"

She shrugged. "My mother always loved watching me dance. She always wanted to see me on stage, performing as the highlight of some haughty ballet where people wear gowns and tuxedos and watch it through those little binoculars like in _Pretty Woman_. And I was all about it, too, until she died. Then I started to realize that all that time, I'd been dancing for _her_. As soon as I knew she wouldn't be there to watch me anymore, I didn't want it as bad. Not half as bad.

"But, then I moved in with Van's family and when I told them how I felt, they just figured I was mourning. Maybe I was. Maybe I still am. Anyway, I kept dancing, got into Julliard, and when I told them that I wanted to turn down my scholarship to go to culinary school, they basically laughed in my face." She, too, laughed now. "I mean, it all works out. They don't have to pay for my schooling, so they pay for me to live. Look at Van. She dropped out of school, and now she has to work her ass off to afford her half of the rent."

"Her mother pays half of her half of the rent," he said, unsympathetic to Van.

"Still," Maxie said. "I'm sure it's hard on her—"

"You never answered my question," he interjected. "What do you want to do?"

She beamed and stood up and walked over to the bookshelf. She returned to the couch holding a scrapbook. "I call this my Book of Sweet Dreams." She laughed as she flipped it open. He moved from his seat and sat down beside her, close to her, so close she had to pause. She looked at him, and he was staring back at her. Their faces were only inches apart, his scent overwhelmed her, made her lightheaded and warm inside. The hairs on her arms stood. She quickly looked down at her book. For a moment, though, she could feel Isaac's gaze remain on her. Then, he, too, looked down.

"What is it?" he asked, with slightly less interest than he had had before. She couldn't blame him. Her thoughts were somewhere else now, too.

"It's a cookbook. All my recipes." She ran her fingers across the pages. "I wrote down ingredients, possible substitutions, directions on how to fix the meal. I even took the pictures myself." She flipped the pages. There were dozens of elaborate meals set up against simple yet elegant backgrounds. "I have everything in here. Beef, chicken, fish dishes. Lamb dishes. Vegetarian and vegan dishes. Soups and sides and deserts. Everything that I made myself, from scratch."

"Wow, Maxie."

"Impressive, huh?"

"Very. What do you want to do with it?"

She shrugged. "Publish it. Maybe. The truth is, I'd love to open my own restaurant one day. Not a big one. Just a little diner or something. Except with amazing food. Different specials every week. I'd love to travel for a while. Travel and cook, and then come back and use what I learned to create a menu that's to die for. I want to create dishes that everyone, no matter where they come from, will remember when they leave."

"Why don't you?"

She smiled and handed him the book. "Because," she said, standing and going to the middle of the room. "I'm a dancer." She leaned forward, resting her body weight on one leg as she stretched the other out behind her, lifting it off of the ground and up above her head. "It would be such a waste if I didn't use this God-given talent," she said in a mocking tone.

Isaac's eyes moved from her pointed toes down her leg and up her torso to her perfectly relaxed face. "You could use it other ways," he said.

She laughed and collapsed to her knees. "Ugh," she said, rolling over onto the back. She raised her knees to her chest, spread her arms. "Excuse me, Isaac, I think I've had too much wine again."

"Yeah?" he said, still eyeing her. "I don't think I've had enough."

"This is a very interesting choice for a nail polish," Isaac said, admiring Maxie's small toes. Maxie sat on one end of the sofa, Isaac on the other, her feet resting on his knee. She lifted her leg to look at her shimmery gold-colored nails.

"You like it?"

"Very much. It's my favorite so far."

He stared at it for a moment longer, and Maxie pulled her feet back and stuffed them in between the cushions. "Okay," she said. "Stop looking."

Isaac furrowed his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because," she replied with an embarrassed grin. "I'm self-conscious about my feet."

Isaac's eyes widened. " _What_?

"After so many years of dancing—"

"Don't be ridiculous." He grabbed her ankle and tugged it. "C'mon, let me see them again."

"No!" she cried, giggling. "I don't want you to look at them anymore."

But he easily pulled her feet out from hiding and sat them back on his lap, where he held them in place. "Maxie," he said, assessing them. "Your feet are perfect. They're some of the prettiest feet I've seen."

"Don't lie," she said, trying to pull them away, but his grip, though gentle and effortless, was like steel. "C'mon, let go!"

"I'll let go if you don't take them away."

"Isaac—"

"Leave them here," he said, pushing them lightly into his leg for emphasis. She sighed, stopped struggling, and he let go. She left them there.

"Van always makes fun of my toes. I'd never thought twice about the way they looked until I'd moved in with her."

With soft eyes, he replied, "You know what I think? I think that Van is jealous of you."

Maxie laughed out loud. "Van is too self-absorbed to think about anyone else long enough to be jealous of them."

"That's what she wants you to think."

"That's what I know." She tried to ignore the sensation of his thumb moving back and forth over the skin of her ankle. She couldn't look at him while he was touching her that way. A pang of guilt stabbed at her gut. Casually, as if inadvertently, she tried to move her feet, but his hand quickly tightened around her ankle. "I dated this guy in high school," she said suddenly.

Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Did Van steal him from you?"

"No. She's not like that." Maxie felt another stab of guilt. "He moved away. By that time I was living with Van already, and her parents wouldn't let me go see him after school, because it was too late. So I started skipping class and riding the bus to meet him during the day. But then I got caught, so they told me I wasn't allowed to go see him on weekends anymore, either." Though she was looking down at her bracelet, she knew that Isaac's attention was on her. She could feel it. "After about two weeks of not seeing him, I decided to sneak out in the middle of the night, steal the car, and drive to his house."

"Uh oh."

She nodded. "I used to think Van was jealous of me, too. Resentful, at least. I had nothing when her family took me in. I was a mental wreck, an emotional wreck, just a wreck period. Her parents, Arnold and Kathy, gave me everything that they had in order to make me better. Van was so used to being the youngest, Mommy and Daddy's only little girl, the main focus, center of their attention, center of the universe. And then I came in, and _I_ sort of became the center of the universe. I know that was hard on her.

"Anyway, I decided to steal the car, and just as I'd gotten the keys and was heading out, Van met me at the front door. 'What will my parents think of you if they find out?' she'd asked. 'I bet things would really change around here.' That was all she said, and I left. I took the car, drove it all the way to Patrick's house, and didn't come back until it was almost time for Arnold and Kathy to wake up.

"I really wasn't much of a rebel. I didn't know how to break rules, I wasn't very good at it at all. When I got home, I couldn't remember which side of the driveway the car had been parked on. Arnold parked on the same side every day, but I was so nervous, for the life of me, I couldn't remember which." Isaac chuckled. The small, circular motions of his thumbs turned into full on strokes, from her toes to her ankles. Neither of them noticed. "And then I get out of the car, leave the seat pulled all of the way up to the wheel, don't put the mirrors back in the position I found them in, and leave the doors unlocked." Isaac shook his head. "Needless to say, I got caught. After school the next day, Arnold and Kathy sat Van and I down in the kitchen.

'We know one of you girls was driving the car last night,' Arnold says, his eyes moving from Van to Maxie.

'We're both positive that we heard someone go back and forth to the bathroom a few times last night, which means only one of you was out joyriding,' Kathy says. She presses her palms down on the table and leans in toward the girls. 'Which of you was it?' she asks.

Neither of them reply. Arnold waits. Kathy waits. Van and Maxie say nothing. Then Arnold nods. 'We thought you'd want to do it this way. So until someone confesses, you both are grounded.'

Van's jaw tightens. Maxie looks away. 'And Max,' Kathy adds. 'Since you're already grounded, we're taking away your phone and computer privileges, too.'

Maxie's eyes widen. No phone or computer? Without those things, she won't be able to communicate with Patrick at all, none whatsoever. Her eyes well at the thought, her lips tremble. What will happen to them in this time? Could he meet another girl?

'I did it,' Van says suddenly, and as calmly as ever. Maxie's neck snaps in her friend's direction. 'Don't punish Maxie anymore,' she says. 'I took the car last night.'

Kathy glares at her daughter. 'Why would you do that, Savannah? How could you be so stupid?'

'I'm sorry. I was just bored, I guess.'

'Bored?' Arnold cries. 'What if you'd gotten pulled over? What if you'd been in an accident? Then what?'

'I'm sorry,' Van says, head bowed. She never raises her eyes to her parents. Maxie never looks away from her.

"They punished her for two months. And they rewarded me, for not telling on her. I started going to see Patrick on the weekends again." Maxie laughed at the irony. "When I asked her why she did it, she just shrugged and told me that that was what sisters did for each other."

'We're sisters now, remember?' Van says.

"That was nice of her," Isaac said.

Maxie shook her head. "She's just like that. She's always been like that. Even when she puts me down, and makes fun of me, and drives me insane, I know she'll do anything for me."

For a while after that, they sat silent—Isaac contemplating, Maxie remembering. And then Isaac looked at her.

"Well, I just have one question," he said. "What ever happened to ol' Patrick?"

Maxie smiled. "I visited him twice more before I met Greg."

Isaac sat in the corner of the couch. Maxie had somehow ended up on the floor at his feet. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her arms were crossed over her shins, and she stared up at him with those big eyes of hers. "I've been talking all night," she said. "You tell _me_ a secret, Isaac."

He reached out and touched one of her curls. Her hair was out now, hanging down over one shoulder, resting on her breast. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Something good."

"Ah, something good. Let's see..." He thought a moment, then took a deep breath. "Maximilienne," he said, leaning toward her. "I have lots of secrets. I would love to share them with you. But you have to promise me something."

His face was so close to hers, his eyes unblinking, his voice low and solemn. She was entranced by him. "What?" she asked. "Anything."

"You have to promise me that my secrets won't scare you away."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Scare me away?" He nodded once. _Nothing can drive me away from you_ , she wanted to say. _Certainly not fear_. But she simply replied, "I promise."

He sat back. "I killed a man, Maxie."

Her eyes widened. She stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to yell _sike!_ For him to laugh, even just grin. "That's not funny," she said at last.

"I agree."

"You _killed_ someone."

He nodded. She narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe you."

He grinned, his gaze unremitted. "Good, Maximilienne. That's good."

She rose onto her knees, rested her hands on his. "Who did you kill?"

"No one." He gently pinched her chin. "Now, tell me something else about you. I like hearing about you."

"Isaac!" she cried. "Who did you kill?"

"You look scared," he said. "You promised..."

"I'm not scared," she said, a bit more calmly. "Just tell me."

She moved back as he slid down to the floor in front of her. "He was my aunt's boyfriend," he said, stretching his legs out. She sat crossed-legged in front of him, listening intently. "They'd already been together for some years by the time I went to live with her. It wasn't long before I realized how he treated her." He paused and shook his head. "After seeing what happened to my mother, you can understand why I was... _wary_. Jenny understood, too, so she always tried to keep their arguments a secret from me. But there would be those nights when she couldn't control him and I'd hear him yelling at her, cursing at, berating her. And there were those mornings when I'd come to breakfast and she wouldn't be able to hide her black eye or her busted lip." He raised his eyes to Maxie. They were so full of anguish, she nearly lost her breath. Lowering his voice, he asked, "What was I supposed to do?"

Barely audibly, Maxie said, "You killed him?"

"It was after high school. I had already moved out of the house. I was supposed to leave for Europe the next day. I went to Jenny's to pick up a few things I'd left there, and say goodbye. When I got to the house, they were arguing, as usual. I found them by the basement steps, and he was holding my aunt," he said, his eyes darkening as he recalled that night. "He was shaking her over the steps, like he was going to push her. I just... snapped _._ "

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I didn't even say anything. I don't think either of them even knew I was there. I just walked up to them, pulled Jenny out of the way, and..." He paused to look at Maxie, to check her expression. Her eyes were still wide, her mouth hung slightly open. "I pushed him," he said, opening his palms to her. " _Threw_ him. It felt like it all happened in slow motion. Sometimes I still hear the sound of his head hitting the cement floor of the basement. And there was blood. It just...poured out of him." Maxie inhaled. Isaac waited. He waited for her to react, but she only looked at him. "Say something," he said finally. "Do you think I'm a monster, Maxie?"

She slowly shook her head. "No."

"Are you afraid of me?"

"No."

He nodded. "I couldn't protect my mother," he said. "I couldn't save her. I've had to live with that my entire life. I still live with that. If anything had happened to Jenny... I couldn't live with that, too."

"Jenny," she said. "Was she... How did she take it? What did she do?"

He dropped his gaze, shrugged. "At first, she was just in shock. She went to the bottom of the stairs, tried to revive him, but he was gone. I killed him with my bare hands. When Jenny realized he was dead, she lost it. She screamed, cried, hit me, cursed me. She told me she hated me. She told me she'd never forgive me. But then she calmed down, and she told me to go."

"Go?"

He nodded. "She told me to get what I came for and leave. Told me that I'd never been there, I had no idea what happened. And that's it. So I left. The next morning, I was on a flight to Europe."

"That's it?"

"For the most part."

"Well, what happened? What did Jenny do? You just got away with it?"

"You know something, Maxie? To this day, I'm not a hundred percent sure what she did. I always assumed she told the police he fell down the steps. The guy was a piece of shit. He had enough assault charges and domestic violence complaints against him, the police probably didn't even try to disprove whatever story Jenny cooked up for them. We've only ever brought it up again once. One time. The first time I went back to Ohio to visit after leaving for Europe."

It's quiet at the table. There's so much to be said, yet so little purpose in any of it. What difference would it make? What problems would it solve? So neither Isaac, nor Jenny says a word. They just sit there, eating in silence.

The entire weekend carries on like that: Isaac, avoiding his aunt, avoiding the resentful look in her eyes, avoiding the lingering bitterness in her voice, avoiding the aching silence. He wonders if she'll ever laugh with him again, smile at him. Hug him, kiss him. He almost wants to regret what he'd done six months before. He almost wants to take it back, if only to fill the gaping emptiness Jenny wears on her sleeve now.

Almost.

He would rather her hate him than end up like his mother.

The last night of Isaac's trip, he joins her at the dinner table where she sits, her face red and puffy and glossy eyed over her plate. Isaac wants to ask what's wrong, but he's afraid of an answer.

'You're my nephew,' she says at last. 'My boy. The only family I have left. Practically my own son. And I love you to death, Isaac. I love you. But God, right now, I also hate you. I hate you more than you can imagine for what you did. So excuse me if I haven't been exactly hospitable toward you this weekend.'

Isaac sits, on the verge of tears himself. 'I couldn't let him hurt you anymore,' he whispers.

_'Thank you,' she replies, 'for your concern. And as badly as I don't want to, I do understand. But_ you _need to understand that I'm not your mother, Isaac. He wasn't going to kill me. I wasn't going to end up like her.'_

Isaac nods. 'I know that, Jenny. Because I made sure of it.'

Maxie was speechless. After a moment or so, she asked, "Did she forgive you?"

"I don't think so, no. Not fully. Our relationship hasn't been the same since it happened. I don't think it ever will be. There's..." He paused, lowered his eyes. "There's a darkness in me, Maximilienne. A black shadow over my heart."

She shook her head. There was no blackness there. There was nothing but warmth and light. And every time he spoke to her, she could feel it radiating through his skin. "No, there isn't—"

"The things I've been through, the things I've seen... They left some black smudge across my soul, Max. And as I get older, the blackness just spreads—"

"Isaac, _no_ ," she said.

"I don't regret it," he said, his gaze suddenly turning hard, his tone grave. "I've killed roaches that I've felt more sympathy for. Do you understand?" Slowly, she nodded. "Do you think I'm a monster?"

"No," she said.

"Are you afraid of me?"

"No," she said.

Maxie got up to clean the kitchen. For a while, she said nothing, and Isaac remained on the couch, looking at the television but not really watching it. Finally, he stood up and went to her. "Should I go?" he asked.

She turned to him. "What? No. I mean..." She dropped her eyes. "If you want to go."

"I don't."

"Then don't."

He nodded. "Let me help you clean."

"No, no. I'm fine, I'll do it." She gently pushed him back toward a chair. "Just sit, alright? I'm almost done."

He sat down at the kitchen table and watched her as she moved about, collecting the dishes, wiping down the counters, putting away their meal. Cleansing the kitchen of all traces of him. He saw himself all over her face, though. Traces of him stained her skin, lingered in her eyes, on her mouth. How did Van miss it? he wondered.

"Will you teach me how to fight?" she asked, not turning away from the sink as she loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

Isaac chuckled. "Who would you ever fight, Maxie? Who would ever want to fight you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'd just like to know I could kill someone with my bare hands if I wanted to."

"You know," he said, lowering his voice, "I can do a lot of other things with my hands. Nonviolent things."

She stopped. Even from where he sat behind her, he could see her face redden. Then she continued to rinse the dishes. "Will you teach me?" she asked.

"The nonviolent things? I would love to teach you."

She shook her head. "You know what I mean."

"Yes. I know what you mean."

When the last of the dishes were in the washer, she came to the table with a pie. "Midnight snack?" she asked, setting it down before him.

"You mean three AM snack?"

A sigh escaped her. Was it so late already? That meant he had to be going soon. She got two small plates and two forks and cut them each a slice. By the time she got through with hers, he was already halfway through his second.

"You like it?" she asked. "It's a new recipe I'm trying."

" _Mm_ ," he said, swallowing a mouthful. "It's delicious. And I _never_ eat sweets. Never."

She smiled, more than pleased. "Van hates when I make sweets. She doesn't want to eat them, but when they're here, she can't help it. So sometimes I make low-fat ones, even though they're never the same. I just don't see the point in low-fat snacks."

He nodded. "I agree. It's a double negative. Even though Van could stand to put on a few pounds. She's perfect now _._ But if she loses anymore weight..." He let his voice trail off and shook his head.

"Alex thinks I should lose weight."

Isaac's eyes shot up to her. "He said that?"

"Not in so many words, but he hints, you know?" She shrugged. "I mean, I can't blame him. He's used to the tall, skinny, model type girls he shoots with—"

"Do me a favor, Max, and don't make excuses for him."

Maxie shut her mouth but her eyes widened. "I'm not," she murmured.

"Good," he said. "Don't."

She frowned. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said nonchalantly. Too nonchalantly. "I just don't understand how someone like him manages to keep someone like you."

"You don't know me, Isaac."

"I know you well enough. You try to please everyone. You smile even when you're sad. You close your mouth when you have something to say. You make excuses for the people who treat you like shit, maybe because you think you deserve it. Is that it? You think you deserve to be treated like a maid? Or a trophy?"

"Well, what about you?" she snapped, finally looking up at him. "Aren't you the one who parades in here with groceries so I can cook you dinner? Aren't you the one who's come every night and told me exactly what you want to eat and watched television while I made it for you? Have you complained as I've served you, or refilled your glass when it was empty, or took your plate away when you were finished with it?"

Isaac glared at her from across the table, his eyes dark, his jaw taut. And then he stood—grabbed his plate—and left the table. "Wait, no, Isaac," she said, raising her hands to stop him. She stood up quickly, knocking over her chair. He placed his plate in the sink and turned to her.

"You're right. I'll go."

"No. That's not what I want. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did," he said.

She shook her head. "No, I didn't. I'm sorry, you just upset me—"

"It's _me_ you stand up to? _I'm_ the one you lash out at?" She bowed her head.

But it wasn't shame. It was because he had taken a step closer to her, and she couldn't stand to look into his beautiful face for a second longer. He was gorgeous when he was angry.

"Maxie," he said, his voice calmer. "I ask you to make me dinner because I know that you want to cook. But honestly, my coming here has very little to do with the food."

There were so many things she wanted to say. There were even more things she should have said, like _You shouldn't come here anymore. Van wouldn't like it._ But instead, she said, "Please, sit back down. Have a little bit more pie." And then, "Don't be upset with me." _I can't take it_.

_He_ couldn't take it. Not her standing before him, her big eyes raised to his so innocently. Her small voice, her words. None of it.

Sighing, he moved past her and sat back down at the table. She went and fetched him another plate and picked up the knife to cut him another slice of pie, but he took it from her. "I'll do it."

The next night, Isaac arrived not with groceries, but with sandwiches. A bag full of sandwiches, all peanut butter and jelly, and a pitcher of lemonade. Maxie couldn't help but smile as he spread it out on the counter before her. "What is this?" she finally asked.

"Dinner," he replied. "I made dinner."

She picked up one of the sandwiches. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

For a moment, she stared at him as he stared back at her, her heart so full she thought she would explode with emotion any moment. Finally swallowing down the lump in her throat, she asked, "Want to go eat on the roof?"

"I'll grab the wine," he replied.

#

NOW

Charles Woodson opened the door for Maxie at nine AM sharp on Monday morning and stepped aside so she could enter.

"Wow," she said, taking in her surroundings. "This place is amazing."

"Yeah." Mr. Woodson grumbled. "It ain't an old folks home, I tell ya that." Maxie followed him to the kitchen, where his place was set at the table. He sat down and picked up his newspaper. "I guess you're gonna be here a lot so you might as well make yourself at home."

Maxie smiled and sat down at the table. "Did you have breakfast?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I made myself a shake."

"That's not breakfast, Mr. Woodson."

"Call me Charles. Mr. Woodson is my son. Do I look like my son? Do I walk around with a five-inch-thick stick lodged up my ass? I don't think so."

"That's not breakfast, _Charles_."

"Well, I was never much of a breakfast person."

She stood and went to the refrigerator. She was pleased to see it was packed to capacity. "Do you like omelets?"

"I said I'm not hungry."

"Mr. Woodson told me to make sure you eat breakfast. And did you take your six AM pills?" she asked. He scoffed and mumbled something. Grabbing the water from the refrigerator, she brought it to the table. His pills sat before him in a small container, all separated by time and day. His six AM pills remained. "This pushes us back, you know."

"Who the hell is awake at six AM to take fucking medicine? Why couldn't they give me nine AM pills?"

"Here, take them," she said.

"They make me gain weight. I lost twenty pounds. _Twenty_. I started taking those goddamn pills and gained twelve of them back. And it's all water weight, you know? The kind that makes you puff up like a fucking blow fish. These things keep me as bloated as a woman on her goddamn cycle."

Maxie couldn't help but laugh. "He says they're important."

"I don't wanna take them. They taste bad."

"Fine," Maxie said, scooping them up and going back to the refrigerator. She pulled out everything she needed from there and raided the cabinets next. Charles watched as she moved about the place with comfort and familiarity. "I've never cooked for a diabetic before."

"Great, because all I need is someone else in here that thinks diabetic friendly food is equivalent to shitty food. The last girl that my son hired fed me some of the blandest food I've ever tasted in my entire sixty-four years."

"You're sixty-eight, Charles."

"Whatever. The point is, all she did was omit the good stuff. Sugarless, saltless, _tasteless_ everything."

"Good thing I'm not that girl."

He scoffed and turned back to his paper. "Better-fucking-not be."

Maxie prepared an Italian omelet with ham, cheese, and vegetables, crushing Charles's pills and adding them to the recipe as she did so. His eyes bulged when she sat his plate down before him. "Eat up," she said.

"What is this?" he demanded, picking up his fork as he examined his breakfast. She didn't have a chance to reply before he had a piece of it in his mouth. "Mm, not bad, kid."

"Enough taste?"

"Plenty taste."

Pleased, Maxie sat across from him and read his paper as he ate. When he finished, he leaned back in his chair and patted his belly. "I haven't had a breakfast like that in a long time. Do you always cook like that?"

"Breakfast, lunch, and dinner," she replied without looking up.

"Hm. Well, so far so good, then. This might work. Except there's no way I'm gonna lose any more weight if you keep feeding me like that. Did I tell you I lost twenty pounds? _Twenty_."

"That's great. How'd you do it?"

"I drank forties and ate shit every day. How do you think, kid? I dieted. And I also exercised a little bit. Not too much, I'm no fucking young stallion like I used to be, but sometimes I'd get out and walk around."

Maxie laid down the newspaper and leaned forward. "And you don't anymore?"

He scoffed. "Nope. _Mr. Woodson_ thinks I should roll around in a goddamn wheelchair for the rest of my life like someone's fucking paraplegic."

"If you'd like, we can take walks sometime."

For the first time all morning, Charles smiled. It was a small smile that made him blush and look away, but a smile nonetheless. "You know what, kid? I _would_ like that."

Maxie arrived home just after dark. She had lingered around Charles's neighborhood, looking for a place to kill a little more time before making her way back to her own. Her favorite café happened to be just three blocks from his apartment. She hadn't visited it in months.

Maxie had sat in it and snacked on muffins as she'd chatted with the cashier she'd never met before. Milla was her name. She was an elderly woman with five grandkids who loved when she brought them cookies from work.

"You're probably wondering why I work," she'd said. "At my age, I should be home knitting or something. But after my Joseph died, it's just too lonely at home. A pretty, young girl like you probably wouldn't understand. I bet you have lots of boyfriends to keep you company."

Maxie didn't bother telling Milla that she understood even better than she wanted to. She thought Charles probably understood, too, and made a mental note to mention the sweet woman to him.

Back at her apartment, she passed her floor on the elevator and went up to the roof, where she found Isaac. She gasped when she saw the silhouette of him, lying flat on his back on the ground, staring up at the stars. She thought of turning back, just going down to the apartment, but her legs carried her to him. She couldn't turn away.

"Isaac," she said, stopping just before him. He looked up at her. "What are you doing up here?"

"I've been up here before," he said.

Her heart pace quickened. She nodded.

"I can't remember when. I just remember looking up at the stars." He patted the floor, motioning for her to join him. She did.

"How did you end up out here?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. I just...came up." He turned to her. "What about you?"

"Well," she said slowly, "I come up here all the time. You've been up here before with _me_."

He didn't reply at first, just stared at her, trying to remember. It was no use. "What did we do up here?"

"Nothing much. Talked. Laughed. You taught me French up here—"

" _I_ taught you French?"

She smiled and nodded. "You're a very good teacher."

He narrowed his eyes. "What else did I teach you, Maximilienne?"

She inhaled sharply, her face flushed. _Not how to keep a straight face_. "Ah..." She swallowed hard. "How to punch." He grinned. _How to make love_. "How to garden." _How to use my hands the way you like_. "How to shoot _._ " _How to use my tongue the way you like_. "How to play chess. And spades. How to do a back flip off of the diving board..."

"Anything else?" he asked, his gaze swallowing her whole. But she couldn't look back at him. She simply nodded.

"Yes. Lots else."

"Can I tell you a secret? _Another_ secret."

She finally turned her eyes to him. "Sure."

"I remember you," he said. Her eyes widened, her heart hammered against her chest. Excitement and relief and happiness and more excitement flooded through her. "You do?" she managed.

He nodded. "I remember your smile. I remember your long hair. I remember making you laugh. I remember your skin without tattoos. Sometimes I can see you dancing. Or looking at me..."

Was that all? Was that _all_ he remembered about her? She should have been pleased, thrilled even, that he remembered anything at all. But she just couldn't be. It wasn't enough. She needed him to remember the way she felt, the way she tasted, the promises she made, the love that overflowed out of her for him. If he could just remember, maybe, just maybe that would mean it was meant to be.

"Sometimes I remember things you've said. It's like I can hear you saying them. So clearly I look up expecting you to be there," he went on. Then in French, he whispered, " _Sometimes I dream of you, Maximilienne_." In English again: "Am I allowed to tell you this?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words emerged. Her heart was so full, her heart and her soul and her _everything_. She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"I can't tell Van. Sometimes she cries, you know. Because I can't remember her. She asks me how I can forget someone I'm in love with."

Maxie shut her eyes tightly.

"I wonder the same thing, Maxie. But I remember _you_. Maybe not completely. But more than I remember anything else."

He turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. She could feel him looming over her, though she never opened her eyes. His proximity was like having the warmth of the sun on her during a snowstorm. "What do you dream about me, Isaac?" she dared whisper.

He chuckled and she opened her eyes to behold his smile. His lips were full, his eyes were warm. "Now _that_ ," he said, "I'm not allowed to tell you."

Downstairs in the apartment, Van sat in the living room with Bea and Gnar. When Maxie and Isaac came in, both Van and Gnar stood up.

"What took you so long?" Van demanded.

"Sorry, I got caught up with something," Isaac replied, stepping around Maxie to go to her.

"Caught up with what?" she asked. "Were you guys together?"

"I bumped into him in the lobby," Maxie lied, looking back and forth from Van to Gnar. "What's going on?" Maxie asked, peering around the room. Her eyes stopped on Bea who shrugged guiltily.

"Well, I wanted to have a drinks and hors d'oeuvres night," Van explained. "But I was expecting you an hour ago," she told Isaac. "And Maxie wasn't even here to make the hors d'oeuvres."

Maxie glared at Bea. Why was she participating in this? She must have known there was no way Maxie would have agreed to such an idea. "What's the occasion, Van?" she asked in a tight voice.

Van shrugged. "I don't know. I just figured we could all use a night with friends. Seriously, everyone's been in such a funk lately." Isaac and Maxie exchanged glances. "I was trying to help." Poor Van. She was always trying to help.

Conceding, Maxie sighed and dropped her bag. "I'll make some hors d'oeurves."

Isaac, too, gave in. "Good idea, babe," he said, kissing Van's forehead. She beamed. At last, s _omething_ right, she must have thought. After the flop of a surprise party and the hellish dinner with her family, she had some making up to do.

Maxie made her way to the kitchen. Bea followed. "Don't be mad at me," she whispered.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Maxie demanded.

"Van invited me."

"Again, I ask—"

"I didn't think it was a bad idea, Max. Everyone needs to start moving on. You can't avoid being in the same room with Isaac and Van forever."

"Forever? It hasn't even gotten close to forever." She lowered her voice even more, leaned closer to her friend. "I can't take this, Bea. I literally cannot take it—"

"Ladies," came a voice from behind them. Both of them spun around to find Gnar standing there. He raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Everything okay? Can I help with anything?"

"No, we're fine—"

"Actually," Bea said, "I think I'm going to go sit back down. Gnar, you don't mind, right?"

His eyes were locked on Maxie, who glared angrily at her friend. "No, not at all," he said. Bea flashed a smile at Maxie before turning back into the living room.

"How discreet of her," Gnar said. "Oh, and you, too. I almost couldn't see the disdain written all over your face."

She dropped her eyes. "It's not like that."

He nodded. "No, of course not. Anyway," he said. "What can I help with?"

"I really don't need help," she said, turning back to the sandwich platter she'd begun to prepare.

"Fine, then I'll just stand here and keep you company. That's what I came to do tonight, anyway."

She sighed. "You really don't give up."

"I really don't," he said, moving closer to her. So close she could smell the spicy musk of his cologne. Why did he have to smell so good? "How was work?"

"It was fine."

"Do you like the old man?"

"Very much."

"That's good."

"Yeah, thanks again."

"Maxie," he said, turning to face her.

"Hmm?" She pretended not to notice that his chest was practically pressed against her shoulder. She pretended not to feel his gaze locked on her. She pretended the comfort that crept up her spine and warmed her insides wasn't familiar.

"Will you look at me?" Reluctantly, she did. "I want to take you out. I want a chance. If you prefer we don't call it a date, I'm fine with that."

"A date is a date, Gnar."

"Or maybe it's just two friends spending a day together."

She sighed and her eyes went to the living room. Bea sat in the armchair, laughing at something Isaac said. Van laughed, too, as she climbed on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him heartily. And he returned her affection.

Maxie looked away. How natural that had become for Isaac, returning Van's affection. How genuine.

"Alright," Maxie at last heard herself say.

Gnar leaned forward. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

She smiled, looking at him. "I said alright. I'll...spend the day with you. Sometime."

He smiled, his brown eyes coming to life. "That's what I thought you said."

"Don't get cocky," she snapped.

"No, no, I wouldn't dare. I'll save the cockiness for when you fall in love with me."

Maxie laughed out loud. "Getting ahead of ourselves, are we?"

"No," he replied, solemnly. "Just stating the facts."

They made their way back to the living room where Maxie sat the tray of finger foods on the coffee table. When she stood up, she stumbled over Van's feet and nearly crumbled to the floor. Isaac practically threw Van off of his lap as he reached out for her, but Gnar darted forward, catching her by the waist and steadying her.

"Whoa," he said, picking her up off of her feet and then setting her back down steadily. "Watch yourself."

Not pulling away, she looked up and Gnar and smiled. Isaac watched him, watched her _._ The look in her eyes made him stare. He'd seen it before, countless times. It was so familiar, it made his heart pace quicken and his stomach flutter, yet somehow it filled him with an inexplicable rage that was almost completely unfamiliar to him. _Jealousy_. Raw and irrational, boiling in the pit of his stomach.

"So, Van and I thought of a great idea," Bea said as Gnar and Maxie sat. He was impossibly close to her, his entire side pressed against hers. She noticed Isaac, directly across from them, roll his eyes as Gnar rested his arm across the back of Maxie's seat. Clearing her throat, she moved to the edge of the sofa.

She raised an eyebrow at Bea. "You and _Van_?"

Ignoring her skepticism, Bea went on. "I've met a man recently—"

"Who isn't married," Van added.

"—and Van and I thought it might be fun if all of us go on a group date. Me and my date, Van and Isaac, of course, and you and Gnar, Max."

Van smiled widely, nodding emphatically at the idea. Isaac's eyes fell on Maxie. "I think that sounds fun," Gnar said, also looking at Maxie. "Hey, don't look so excited."

"Huh? Oh. No, that sounds..." _Torturous. Miserable. Horrifying._

"Fun," Isaac said, dryly. Both he and Maxie forced tight smiles.

"Yay!" Van yipped. "I was thinking we can go to that cute little lounge by the Hudson River. You know which one I'm talking about, Bea."

"I know exactly which one you're talking about, Van," Bea said, grinning. She shot Maxie a smug glance. Maxie glared back at her. "How about Friday?"

"Actually, Friday's no good for me," Maxie said. "I have to stay late with Charlie."

"Saturday, then," Van said.

"Saturday isn't very good, either. The gym stays open later on Saturdays," said Isaac, meeting Maxie's eyes.

Van huffed. "Can't you just close it a little early?"

"We can leave Rick in charge of the place," Gnar suggested. "We've done it before."

"I don't think that's a good idea," said Isaac.

"Why not?"

Silence fell over the group as they all waited for an answer. "Well... I just... Umm..."

"Why are you making excuses?" Van cried. "It's just one night, Isaac!"

_Don't give in,_ Maxie silently begged. _Don't give in, don't give in_. But Isaac rolled his eyes and conceded. "Fine. Saturday."

Maxie sighed and he gave her a one-shoulder shrug. Van clapped excitedly and Bea sat back, the grin still on her lips.

"Charles!" Maxie called, making her way down the hall toward the kitchen. Charles sat in the same spot at the table that he'd been at the day before, reading his paper. In front of him was a cup of coffee. "Good morning, Charles," she greeted brightly.

"What's so good about it?" he grumbled.

She set her bag down on the table and went to the refrigerator. "Well," she said, "for starters, it's beautiful outside, so after breakfast we can go on that walk."

Finally, he set down his paper and turned to her. "Yeah?"

"Mm hmm. And after I went home last night, I did some research and now I have a bunch of diabetic friendly meals we can try out."

He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Today we're having pancakes, hash browns, and fruit for breakfast. Hey, did you take your six AM pills?" That was where she lost him. Groaning, he turned back to his newspaper. "Charles—!"

"I'm not awake at six AM!"

"Maybe you should just put the pills and a glass of water next to your bed. You can wake up, take them, and be back to sleep in thirty seconds."

" _Or_ ," he said, "I can not wake up at all and just skip those fucking pills altogether."

"Fine. You don't want to take the pills at six. I understand. But what about when you wake up at eight? Why don't you take them then?"

"I told you. They make me fat."

"But you need them."

He sat his paper down again and turned to her. "Jesus Christ, kid. I'm old. My son makes me use a goddamn wheelchair. Soon, I won't even have any fucking teeth to chew this food you make me. Can I at least be skinny? Can I at _least_ be fucking skinny?"

Softly, Maxie repeated, "You need them."

Rolling his eyes, he went back to his newspaper. Sighing, she went and plucked the tiny pills out of the container. "Are we going to do this every morning?" she asked, taking them back to the stove.

"Not if you quit bothering me about it."

"I'm not going to quit bothering you about it."

"Fine, then. Suit yourself."

Without further words, Maxie crushed the pills and sprinkled them in his portion of the pancake batter. When she finished cooking, she sat his breakfast down before him. "You know, you've really inspired me. I think I'm going to add a diabetic friendly section to my cookbook."

He grumbled a reply.

"Did I tell you about my cookbooks? I have a bunch, I've been thinking about making a whole series."

He grumbled another reply.

"A 'Menu' series. Right? 'Breakfast menu,' 'Lunch menu,' and 'Dinner menu.' And a 'Desserts menu,' too. The nice lady in the café around the corner suggested it."

Finally, she had Charles's attention. "What café?"

"You know, the one just two blocks down. Right over there on—"

"Milla? You talked to Milla?"

Maxie smiled. "Yeah, that's her. You know her?"

Charles's face reddened and he looked down at his plate. "Sure, I've spoken to her once or twice."

Her smile widened. "Yeah? She's sweet, isn't she?"

"She's alright."

"And pretty."

He looked up at her, wide-eyed. "I don't know! I haven't looked! For Christ sake, I'm a married man, kid! What would my wife think? God rest her soul." He shook his head, took another bite of his food. "And to be completely honestly with you," he went on, "what the fuck would I do with a woman at my age? I'll tell ya, kid, not even Viagra can keep this snake rattling these days."

Maxie's eyes widened. "Ew! Gross!" she cried, laughing.

"What? I'm being honest! You're all young and perky now, but let me tell you, when you're my age, you won't be anything but a dried up bag of bones and loose skin!"

"I will _not_!"

He scoffed. "Sure. Keep hoping, kid, keep hoping."

"You're such a pessimist."

"No. I'm a realist. Life is a bitch, but let me tell you, _you're_ the one who gets fucked. Denying that doesn't make you an optimist. It makes you a dumbass."

Maxie walked with her arm laced through Charles's. They left his wheelchair at his apartment and moved at a steady pace as he leaned on a cane. "Does Mr. Woodson come around often?" she asked.

"A couple times a month."

She looked up at Charles in disbelief. "A _month_?"

"I'm used to it by now," he said with a shrug. "He's too uptight, anyway. I swear, every time he comes around, _my_ fucking boxers are tied up in a knot."

She giggled and shook her head. "I just don't understand. Why? You're right here, in the same city as him, so accessible any time he wants. Why wouldn't he take advantage of that?"

"He stopped coming around after my wife passed five years ago. Once we talked about it—once. He told me I remind him of her. And you know what? I can't blame him, because he reminds me of her. He's her spitting image, you know."

"What's wrong with that?" Maxie asked. "What's wrong with being reminded of someone you love? I wish I had more people that reminded me of my mother. More anything to remind me of her. Sometimes I try to picture her face and I can't."

"What happened to her?" he asked.

With a sigh, Maxie admitted, "She killed herself. Swallowed a shitload of pills—excuse my language—fell asleep and never woke up again. She was in a coma for three days before they pronounced her brain dead _._ Those were the hardest three days of my life, not knowing if she'd ever wake up again." Maxie shuddered, remembering. And then she thought of Isaac. Maybe _those_ were the worst days of her life. Or maybe she was living in the worst days of her life. She couldn't tell anymore.

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "I like to think that she's happy now. She struggled with depression my whole life. And my dad... well, he was no help. If anything, he made it worse."

"And what happened to him?"

She shrugged again. "I came home from school one day, and he was gone. He called a few times, said he'd be back, he just needed to get away for a while and clear his head. I waited for him for a while. But then the calls stopped. And he changed his phone number. And that was it. I haven't heard from him since."

"Wow."

She let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah. Wow."

For another block or so, neither of them spoke. Then Maxie said, "You know, Charles, after what my dad did to me, I thought I was better off without him. I thought that if I ever saw him again, it would be too soon. But you know what? I was wrong. Everybody needs somebody. At least one person, you know? Someone who's obligated to love you and take care of you and be there for you no matter what. Obligated. He's my father, Charles. He's my person. And Mr. Woodson is your son."

Charles stared straight ahead. When he didn't reply, Maxie gently tugged on his arm. "Here's the café," she said. "Want to go in and rest?"

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "No funny business."

"Of course not," she replied innocently.

"Hey, I'm not fucking around, kid."

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon," she said.

Relenting, he let her lead him into the café, where they sat at a small table near the window. When Milla spotted them, her eyes lit up. "You're back so soon!" she said.

"I told you I would be."

"Charlie!" Milla called, coming around the counter.

Maxie turned to him, wide-eyed, as his face reddened. "Hello, Milla," he said.

"Charlie, where have you been? I haven't seen you in almost two months!"

"My son doesn't let me takes walks anymore," he replied.

"Oh! Please!" she said, waving a dismissive hand. "You're no child! You have places to go, people to see!" she laughed. She looked at Maxie. "How do you know old Charlie?"

"I keep Charlie company during the day," Maxie admitted, eyeing him. His face reddened even more.

"How nice of you!" she said. "Can I get you guys anything? Cupcakes? Charlie? Your usual black coffee?"

"Yes, please," he mumbled.

"And I'll have a banana nut muffin," said Maxie.

Milla nodded and hurried back to the counter. "Okay!" she called. "Coming right up!"

As soon as she was out of earshot, Maxie turned to Charles, smiling widely. "Pet names?"

"It's a nickname."

"And she knows your usual?"

"I told you I've been here a few times."

"Charles! You've been holding out on me! She was completely flirting with you! Maybe you should ask her out on a date."

He rolled his eyes. "What did I say? No funny business."

"I'm not, but—"

"Hey!" he snapped. "My wife was my person, alright? Got it? Now cut it out."

Finally, Maxie was silent. Milla returned with their orders.

"This is on the house," she whispered, though there was no one else in the entire place. "For my old favorite customer, and my new favorite customer." She patted Maxie's shoulder before going back to the counter.

Charles and Maxie ate and drank in silence, and then walked back to the apartment in silence. When they were inside, Maxie said, "I'm sorry, Charles. I didn't mean to be pushy."

"It's fine, kid."

"I don't want to intrude in your personal business, either. You know, when I asked about you and Mr. Woodson—"

"I said its fine," he said.

She quieted, dropping her eyes.

"Hey," he said. "If you want to...I mean, I wouldn't mind if..." He paused, sighed in frustration and rolled his eyes. "Look, what I'm trying to say is you can call me Charlie, too, if you'd like. My wife called me that. It reminds me of her. And like you said, sometimes it's nice to be reminded of someone you love."

Smiling, Maxie nodded. "Alright, then. Charlie it is."

#

NOW

Maxie woke to the sound of a piercing screech coming from the kitchen. Van's piercing screech. Startled and disoriented, she stumbled out of bed and reached in her nightstand for the pistol Isaac had given her. She'd become very familiar with the small gun. She'd learned how to hold it without her hands shaking, shoot it without shutting her eyes.

" _Isaac_!" Van screamed. Her voice was high and terrified. It made Maxie's heart race, her palms sweat. A pit of dread formed in the pit of her stomach. Dread and fear and nausea.

Slowly, she crept out of her bedroom and into the hallway, holding the gun down low. All the lights were off except for the kitchen light, where Van cried out from. Isaac darted out of the bedroom. Holding her weapon tightly, Maxie followed close behind him. They stopped short when they found Van up on the counter, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring wide-eyed at the floor. "What's wrong?" Isaac demanded.

"Be careful!" Van cried. "Don't move."

Panic seized Maxie. What was happening? Was there someone else in the apartment? Could it happen to them again? "Fuck, Van, tell me what's wrong!" Isaac pressed.

"There's a—a _rat_!" she stammered, and both Maxie and Isaac exchanged bewildered glances. A rat? "It's huge! It ran over my feet! I mean, it literally _touched_ my feet! It went behind the refrigerator, so be careful—" Van's eyes widened when she looked up and saw the gun in Maxie's hands. "Max! What are you doing?"

Any fear Maxie had previously felt evaporated into throbbing anger. "What the fuck are _you_ doing?" she lashed out, jabbing the gun toward her friend. Van gasped, backing against the cabinets behind her. Isaac quickly grabbed the gun from Maxie's hand. "What the hell is wrong with you, Van? I thought someone was out here trying to hurt you! I could've shot you! A rat? A fucking rat _?_ "

"It was really big!"

"Do you realize I was almost raped in this kitchen?" Maxie yelled, taking a step toward her roommate. "Do you realize I watched a man die in this kitchen? And you're screaming like that because of a rat?"

Van shrank guiltily into herself. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think about it. I just saw it and screamed."

"You almost gave me a heart attack! _Fuck_ , Van." She turned away, raising her hands to her head. "What the hell time is it, anyway?"

"Almost five," Isaac said.

Maxie sighed.

"Well, I'm not hurt," Van said, slowly climbing down off of the counter. "You both can go back to bed now. Or at least put some clothes on."

Maxie and Isaac exchanged glances. Maxie only wore a tee-shirt that stopped at her belly button and striped panties. Isaac was in boxer briefs. "Here you go," he said, looking away as he handed her back her gun.

"Where did you get that, anyway?" Van asked.

"Pawnshop," Maxie lied, turning to go back in her bedroom. "Do me a favor, Van. Be dying next time you scream like that."

"Got it," Van called, just as Maxie shut her door.

THEN

It was nearly one AM when the doorbell rang. Maxie was halfway through with the meal she was preparing for her and Isaac. Another Italian dish, because she knew that was his favorite. After their night of sandwiches, lemonade, and wine, she'd decided to make up for it with something extra special.

"Coming!" she called, rushing to the door and unlocking it. "Dinner's almost ready—" She stopped short when she opened the door and saw it wasn't Isaac standing there, but Alex instead. His eyes were small and glazed, he swayed slowly back and forth, obviously drunk.

"Who the hell are you making dinner for at one in the morning?" he demanded, coming inside.

She opened her mouth to reply, but she was too stunned to speak. "Wh-what are you doing here, Alex?" she finally managed.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "I missed you. I wanted to see you."

"You're drunk," she said, turning away from his lips. He reeked of alcohol.

"I'm a little tipsy, don't be dramatic. C'mon, give me a kiss. I _missed_ you."

She tried to move past him, at least to shut the door, but he held her tightly, pushing her back toward the couch. "Alex, cut it out. Let me go."

"It smells good in here. Who are you cooking for, babe? Me?"

"Me."

"You and who else? Are you seeing someone else? Who is he? Is he better than me?"

"Alex, you're drunk," she repeated.

He sighed, dropped his head on her shoulder and buried his face in her neck. "I know. I _know_. I'm sorry, babe. I'm so sorry. Hold me for a while, will you? Until I sober up. I need you to hold me—God, you smell so good. I want you, Maxie. I want you _so_ bad. How long are you going to make me wait, huh? How much longer?"

"Alex, please—" Her eyes widened as Isaac appeared in the doorway. His eyes went to Alex, then to her, and his nostrils flared. _No, no. Don't say a word. Don't come in here. Just leave,_ she silently begged.

"Let's go in your room," Alex slurred against her neck. "Please? Can we just go in your room..?"

Isaac's eyebrows furrowed. He took a step back, looked away, shook his head. He looked hurt. _Hurt_. And what could Maxie do? Nothing. Turning her head away from Alex, she shut her eyes tightly. When she opened them again, Isaac was gone.

Maxie was growing restless. Even more restless than Van, only silently so. It'd been two weeks since either of them had seen or heard from Isaac. Two tormented weeks of nothing. And while Van constantly wondered aloud what kept him away, Maxie secretly wondered what she could have done to change things. "Do you remember senior year, when I started dating Chase Harrison?" Van asked one night, over dinner.

"Yeah," Maxie replied, only half listening. Her brain was too absorbed with thoughts of Isaac. _Where was he? What was he doing? What was he thinking?_ "What about him?"

"Do you remember how into him I was? How, for like, three weeks straight all I wanted to do was be with him and talk about him and think about him?"

"Mm hmm." _Was he_ that _upset with her? Was he trying to send a message?_

"And then, after the three weeks, he just started getting annoying, so I didn't want to talk to him anymore, but I felt bad about dumping him? You know how I gradually stopped calling him, stopped taking his calls, stopped eating lunch with him and meeting him after school and stuff? I sort of just...phased him out?"

"Yep, I remember." _She hadn't meant for Alex to be there. And it wasn't like Isaac didn't know she had a boyfriend. Could he really be that upset with her?_

"Do you think Isaac's doing that to me?"

At the mention of Isaac's name, Maxie looked up at Van. Or maybe she'd been looking at her the whole time. In any case, Van suddenly had her full attention. "What?"

"Do you think Isaac's phasing me out? Maybe he's tired of me, and feels bad about just dropping me, so he's trying to let me down gradually."

Maxie stared at her friend, with both pity and amusement. "No, I don't think he's phasing you out, Van. And I don't think he's tired of you." In fact, Maxie knew that what he was doing had very little to do with Van at all. "Maybe he's just busy," she suggested.

She shrugged. "I'm busy. But I still make time to call him and see how his day is going."

"Men are different."

With a sigh, she said, "I just don't get it. Everything was going so well. Maybe...maybe _you_ can call him?"

Maxie frowned. "Me?"

"You guys are friends, right? He always speaks so highly of you. Maybe you can just talk to him. You know, friend to friend."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" she demanded, almost indignantly.

"Because, that's weird! Me just calling him out of the blue! What is he going to think?"

"What difference does it make what he thinks of you, Maxie? This is just one favor. Can't you put yourself out there for me once? I mean after everything, it's the least you can do—"

Maxie recoiled. "Wait, stop. What are you talking about? What is everything?"

Rolling her eyes, Van stood hotly. "Forget it. We'll both just be miserable, Max. Happy? Everyone can just be as lonely and as miserable as you are!"

"What is your problem _?_ " Maxie cried incredulously as Van stormed out of the room. But suddenly, she turned back.

"As a matter of fact, I'm _not_ lonely! I have a great job, lots of friends, and a family who loves me! Unlike you, whose only companionship is me and Bea, the stripper-turned-tattooist! Your own father doesn't want you! Your own mother didn't care enough about you to not kill herself! _You're_ lonely, okay? You're familyless, and jobless, and moneyless, and if it weren't for me, you'd probably be homeless and friendless and lifeless, too! And all I ask is for _one favor_!"

With that, she pivoted and stomped out of the kitchen to her bedroom, slamming her door violently behind her.

Maxie woke early the next morning and left the apartment. She spent her morning in class, and then showered and spent the rest of her afternoon walking about the city. By the evening, she was tired and hungry, but she didn't want to go home to face Van, who was probably still upset. Maxie was just as upset, anyway, yet not surprised. It was just like Van to flip out that way, aim below the belt, cut deep, leave a scar. She took no prisoners. It was _just_ like her.

So Maxie roamed. She ate fast food. She stopped in a bookstore to sit down for a while and rest. And then she ventured out to roam some more. She meant for it to be purposeless, aimless roaming, yet somehow she ended up in front of Brass Knuckles Boxing Gym. Isaac's boxing gym.

For a while, she simply stood outside, staring at it. Could she just walk in there? What if he wasn't there? What if he was? What would she say to him? Questions swirled around in her mind with no answers, yet she found herself walking toward the door anyway, opening it up, stepping inside.

Inside, she froze. Dozens of sweaty men occupied what seemed like such a small space. The majority of them were tall and broad, or lean and heavily muscled, or like Isaac, a perfect combination of both. They punched large bags, lifted weights, sparred in the boxing ring, or grappled on the large, vast mat in the back of the room.

That was where she spotted Isaac. He wore nothing but blue shorts, MMA training gloves, and a coat of shiny sweat. His fists were tight and raised, blocking his face from his opponent, a significantly larger man, but Isaac was calm. Completely at ease. Maxie watched in awe as the taller man swung first. Isaac swiftly moved out of the way of the first blow, ducked another, and propelled forward, charging the guy. If Maxie would have blinked, she would have missed it. Isaac scooped the man's legs up from under him, and they both went crashing down to the mat.

"Hey!" someone called, stealing her attention. She turned to another man walking toward her. He wasn't sweating, he barely looked like he'd been working out at all. "You looking for someone?" he asked.

"Huh?" Maxie's eyes darted back to the mat. Isaac was no longer on top of the man, but behind him. When did that happen? Maxie turned back to the man before her. "Oh, no. I mean, yeah, but I found him."

She motioned toward Isaac, whose arms were securely around the man's neck. After a little bit of struggle, the man finally tapped out. Isaac let go and fell back on the mat, smiling. His laughter carried across the gym. "Isaac?" the man asked, following Maxie's gaze.

"Uh-huh," she replied. She turned back to him. His coconut brown eyes showed a hint of disappointment.

"Well, c'mon, then. He's right over here."

The man led her to Isaac. She could feel the increase of attention on her as she crossed the gym. She felt as if she were wearing nothing, instead of her jeans, a pea coat, and rain boots. It seemed as if Isaac was the only one who _didn't_ notice. "That was good," he was saying to his defeated opponent. "You've gotten a lot better since this time last year. You'll be ready to compete in no time—"

"Isaac," the man escorting Maxie called. Isaac looked up, met the man's eyes, and then noticed Maxie standing beside him, slightly behind him. His smile faded. "You have a visitor," he said, stepping aside.

Isaac examined her: yellow boots up to her knees, her perfect legs in her skin-tight jeans. Her hair was down and splayed over her shoulders, her lips were full and moist, as if she'd been wearing lip gloss that faded, and her eyes were big as she looked at him.

His own eyes absorbed her, devoured her. And she just stood there, breathing heavily under his scrutiny, so unaware of herself he wanted to shake her. Did she even notice every man in the room gawking at her? Undressing her with their imaginations?

Isaac got to his feet and went to her. As he got closer, she gasped. It was his eye, he knew. Swollen from a training session that went bad just two days before. That's all he'd been doing since he last saw her. Training. Getting out his aggression. And yet, he remained dauntingly distracted by her. Hence, the eye. He wanted to tell her, _you should see the other guy._

"What happened to you?" she asked, raising her hand to his face. Her small, soft fingers were cool against his hot skin.

"I'm fine," he said, taking her by the wrist and lowering her hand. As nice as it felt to have her touching him, her hand was blocking his view of her face, and he needed that more.

"Does it hurt?"

Many things on his body hurt, his eye wasn't one of them. "No." He tilted his head, raised his fingers to one of her curls. "Your hair," he said. "It's down."

"I washed it," she replied, a bit impatiently. "Isaac, tell me what happened to you. Did you get this here?"

"Yes," he said. His fingers went from her hair to her cheek. She reddened under his touch. She finally stopped trying to touch his eye and dropped her arms to her sides. Isaac had to bite down on his bottom lip.

"Isaac," she said.

"You look very pretty today, Maxie," he said. She flushed impossibly red and dropped her eyes. He grinned. "What are you doing here?" he asked her.

"I came to see you," she said. "And to apologize."

Suddenly, he was very aware of the company they were in. He looked at his friend, who still stood beside her, also towering over her. With their heights and their builds, they could have been brothers. "Maxie," Isaac said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "This is Daniel Gnar. Gnar, this Maxie."

Gnar took her hand. "It's a pleasure, Maxie."

She nodded. "Thanks for helping me."

"No problem." His eyes lingered on her face for a moment or so before he turned back to Isaac. "So I guess you're heading out?"

Isaac glanced at Maxie, who looked away. "Yeah," he said, admiring the top of her head. Even _that_ was desirable. "Max, I just need to grab my stuff. You mind waiting for me outside?"

She nodded and headed to the door. He didn't move from his spot until she was gone. He knew it was cold out, but he'd rather her be chilly outside than in the oven-like heat of his gym, surrounded by men—hot and hungry and horny and looking at her.

He met her outside just a few minutes later. "So," he said, going to her. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"I'm sorry to have just popped up."

"Unexpected, but welcomed," he amended.

She smiled. "Well," she said, "I haven't seen you since..." She fidgeted with her bracelet, avoided eye contact. "I didn't know Alex was coming that night. I'm sorry, I was going to call you, but then you showed up and—"

"It's fine, Maxie. I'm not upset."

" _Were_ you upset?"

With a tight grin, he looked away from her. "A little," he said, gently prodding her to walk. "But not with you. Just with... the situation."

Right. The situation. The culprit. She nodded, completely understanding. "Van thinks you're tired of her. She thinks you're phasing her out."

He raised an eyebrow. "Phasing her out?"

"You know. Letting her down easily. Gradually cutting her off."

Isaac laughed. It was a good laugh that erupted from deep in his chest and made him close his eyes and throw his head back. Maxie could feel her lower lip slowly drop as she watched him in awe. How could one man be so perfect? Physically _perfect_? His eyes, his nose, the full lips, his sun-kissed skin. All of it, together on his face so beautifully. Maxie knew that she was pretty, but Isaac. He was just Godly. When he opened his eyes and looked down at her, she blushed and looked down at her feet. "I'm not phasing her out," he assured her. "Because phasing her out would mean phasing you out, and I'm certainly not tired of you, Maximilienne."

She felt the familiar kick of guilt in her gut. She cursed herself. Cursed herself for coming to see him. What had she been thinking? She didn't need to encourage him any further. Him _or_ herself. She was only making the situation worse. Yet she couldn't bring herself to walk away from him. She couldn't bring herself to tell him not to come eat her dinner anymore. Instead, she rationalized.

We're just friends.

He's just eating.

I'm here for Van. To find out why he stopped calling.

I met him first, anyway...

"Isaac," she said, looking up at him. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened to your eye?"

He grinned. "I have to take a shower. Come back to my apartment with me?"

She frowned. "I don't think so..."

"C'mon. I won't be long. I'll take you home right after. And I'll tell you about my eye on the way."

She _did_ want to know about his eye. "Alright," she conceded. "I'll go with you."

"So," Isaac said as they made their way to his apartment. "What did you tell Van when she told you she thought I was phasing her out?"

"I told her you're probably just busy."

He nodded. "And what did she say about that?" She sighed, remembering where the conversation led. Catching the drop in her mood, Isaac frowned. "What?"

"It somehow turned into an argument."

"And what happened?" Taking a deep breath, Maxie told Isaac all about the argument that had taken place the night before. When she was finished, his eyes were dark and his jaw was set. "She said that to you?" he said, his voice low and fierce.

Maxie forced a smile "She's just upset. Taking it out on me."

"She crossed the line."

"She didn't mean it."

Annoyed, he sat back. "Maxie, if I ever hear her say anything like that to you—"

"You won't," Maxie said, quickly. At least, she hoped he wouldn't.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he said, leading Maxie into his apartment. He dropped his gym bag at the door, kicked off his shoes. Maxie took hers off, too. His white carpet was spotless. The whole place was spotless.

"You _live_ here?" she asked, peering around. It was as clean and as plain as a hotel room. "I could have guessed you were a neat freak."

He scoffed. "You wouldn't be saying that if you saw the kitchen. It's an absolute wreck."

"No pictures?"

"I'm not one for decorating."

"I see."

"Have a seat. I'm just going to hop in the shower." He yawned as he made his way to his bedroom. "Watch some TV. I'll just be a few minutes."

She took a seat and turned on the television. She only got through half of a sitcom before he emerged again, looking rejuvenated and smelling fresh. He only wore a tank top and sweatpants, beads of water still decorated his muscular arms and shoulders.

"Are you ready for me to take you home?" he asked, but she couldn't reply right away. Not while her eyes played on his perfect, bare arms. "Maxie?"

"Huh? Oh, no, actually. I mean, I'll go, if you have something to do. But I'm not going home yet."

"I have nothing to do," he said, setting down beside her with a grin. "I'm glad you came to see me today."

"Me, too."

"I've missed you," he said.

She blinked, and then barely audibly replied, "Me, too."

He smiled, placed his arm on the back of the couch, behind her head. "How's Alex? Did you two have a good night?"

"Ha-ha," she said, rolling her eyes. He laughed. She was glad he could laugh about it. "He ended up just passing out in my bed. I slept on the couch."

He leaned forward a bit, looked her in the eye. "You could have slept here."

She inhaled sharply. _Breathe. Don't forget to breathe_. She lost all sense when he looked at her like that. Exhaling, she turned away from his gaze. "It doesn't look like you have many guests."

"Nope," he admitted. "None."

"Ever?"

"Ever. I think you're maybe the fifth person that's sat on this couch since I got it last year."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'm just wary about bringing people into my personal space."

She chuckled. "But Isaac, there's _nothing_ personal about this space."

He smiled. "Are you hungry? Can I make you something?"

"You mean another peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

"They're my specialty."

"Sure, I'll take one."

He went to the kitchen and came back just a few minutes later.

"Dinner is served," he said, bringing her the sandwich. She smiled as she took it, and he held onto the plate for a moment longer than he needed to, just to look at her. "Movie?" he asked.

"Sure," she said, biting into the sandwich. " _Mm_ , this may be your best one yet."

"Funny or scary?"

"Scary, of course."

He put on a movie, turned out the lights, and sat beside her again. Even closer than last time. Her body tensed at the proximity of his. She looked straight ahead at the television, ate her sandwich, said nothing, barely moved. How long did she manage not to look at him? How long was she able to sit there without touching him, despite his large body and long limbs outstretched? She wasn't sure exactly how much time passed, but by the time she finally dared steal a glance in his direction, he was asleep.

When Isaac woke, Maxie was still next to him, still curled up in the corner, asleep, with one of her legs draped over his lap. He blinked, still a bit disoriented from sleep. What time was it? How long had he been out? He looked at her again and sighed, annoyed with himself. How the _hell_ did he fall asleep? Finally, time alone with her again, and he fell asleep.

The movie was still playing. It was just a few minutes in. Maybe twenty. Just twenty minutes, that wasn't so bad. He carefully moved her legs and stood up. He glanced at the time on the cable box and gasped. Had he thought only twenty minutes had passed? It'd been two hours. He had fallen asleep for two _hours._

" _Fuck_ ," he groaned. He wanted to wake her, but he was afraid to. How upset would she be? How annoyed? He contemplated just letting her sleep. After all, she'd let _him_ sleep. For two hours, at that. Sighing again, he picked up her empty plate and went to the kitchen. Turning the corner, he nearly dropped it.

The kitchen. It was spotless.

Shining spotless. Eat straight off the counters spotless. There wasn't a dish, not a crumb, not a single piece of trash to be found anywhere. No wonder she was asleep. It must have taken her the entire two hours to get the job done. He took a step inside. It even smelled clean. The dishes were stacked neatly in the cabinet. The garbage was tied up under the sink. The countertops glistened. Even the refrigerator was wiped clean.

He let out a disbelieving chuckle and went back to the living room. He sat down beside her, and she stirred and opened her eyes. "You're up," she said, smiling.

"And you're _crazy_."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Huh?"

"You _cleaned_ my _kitchen_ ," he said, barely able to get the words out. His heart was so full for her, so full he could barely stand it. "You crazy girl."

"Oh, yeah," she said, as nonchalantly as ever. "It was a mess."

"I know that," he said. "It was a fucking _train_ _wreck_."

She smiled. "You were so tired. And your eye." She reached up and touched it. It took all the strength he had not to turn to her open palm and kiss it. "How does it feel?"

"It feels fine, Maxie."

"You were only working out so hard because of me," she said.

"Stop blaming yourself for everything," he said, taking her hand. "I can't believe you cleaned that fucking kitchen."

"Well, I felt so energized after that sandwich."

He laughed. She simply lay there, smiling, gazing up at him. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked. Then he stopped laughing, dropped his eyes, squeezed her hands. "What am I going to do with you, Maximilienne _?_ "

Pulling her hand away, she sat up. "I should probably go."

Isaac drove Maxie home. "Van's going to be so happy to see you," she said.

"She's home, huh?"

"She should be."

He didn't reply. The rest of their walk to the apartment was silent. When they reached the door, Isaac stopped.

"Maxie," he said.

She turned to find him standing close to her, her breast nearly brushing against his chest.

"Wear your hair down from now on."

"Oh," she said, dropping her eyes. She touched her head. "You know I just wear it the way Alex likes—"

"Well, from now on," he said, taking her hand, "wear it the way _I_ like."

She said nothing. She didn't even move. Not even as he took another step toward her. Not even as he leaned down, closer and closer to her face. She knew what was coming. She knew what he was about to do, and she didn't try to stop it. She just stood there, waiting for it, anticipating it. His lips against hers. The taste of his mouth, the scent of him on her.

And then the knob clicked and the door opened, and Maxie lowered her face and Isaac stepped back. Van appeared, her eyes wide when she saw Isaac.

"Look who I found," Maxie said, nodding toward him.

The corners of Van's lips turned up into a wide smile, and she threw herself into Isaac's arms. "Where have you been?" she demanded, raising her lips to him.

Stealing one last glance at him, Maxie said, "He isn't phasing you out. Excuse me." Making her way around them, she went into the apartment and closed herself in her room for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Van slid into bed beside Maxie and embraced her. "I'm so sorry," she moaned into Maxie's hair. She held her tightly, so tightly Maxie couldn't even return the hug. "You know that, right? You know I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of that, Max. You're never alone. I'm your family, your sister."

"It's okay," she assured, patting her friend's back.

"You know how I get when I'm mad. I say things that I don't mean. You know that I don't mean any of them, though."

"I know," Maxie replied, but deep in her heart of hearts, Maxie knew that Van had meant all of them.

"And thank you, Maxie. I don't know what you said to him, but he's back!" she squealed in a hushed whisper. "He apologized for staying away so long, and he promised it wouldn't happen again."

Shutting her eyes tightly, Maxie replied, "Great, Van. I'm happy for you."

#

NOW

Maxie found the baby mice under the sink just two days later. There were four of them. Four of the tiniest animals she'd ever seen. Hairless, and vulnerable, and motionless. "Are they dead?" Van asked, peering over Maxie's shoulder.

Maxie stared down at them. Poor little babies. "Yes," she said.

"Throw them out," Van said.

" _Van_!"

" _What_? They're dead rodents!"

"What's going on?" Isaac asked, coming into the kitchen.

"Maxie found mice under the sink!"

"They're babies," said Maxie.

"They're dead," said Van. "They might be diseased, Max. Throw them away."

She stared down at the tiny animals a moment before standing. "I'll bury them," she decided. "In the garden on the roof."

Van rolled her eyes. "You can't be serious."

Nodding, Maxie made her way to her bedroom to find a shoebox for them. "Funeral at one PM sharp!" she called.

When Charlie made it up to the roof of Maxie's building, he let out a long, exhausted sigh. "This better be fucking good, kid. Dragging me all the way up here."

"Actually, Charlie—" Maxie said, leading him to the garden where only Gnar stood. She stopped short. "Where's everyone else?"

Gnar frowned. "There isn't anyone else, Max. People don't usually attend rat funerals."

"Attend _what_?" Charlie cried, spinning around to face her. "You dragged me all the way up here for _what_?"

Ignoring Charlie, Maxie looked at her watch. "Well, we _are_ a little early. Maybe they're on their way up."

"I doubt it," Gnar replied.

Deflated, Maxie turned to Charlie only to find he wasn't standing beside her anymore, but heading back toward the exit. "Hey!" she called, hurrying to catch him. "Where are you going?"

"Home!" he shot back. "A rat funeral? What does that even _mean_?"

"Van found some baby rats next to the refrigerator," she explained. "Their mother left them there a few days ago, and they died. They were orphans, Charlie."

"What the hell's that got to do with me?" he demanded.

"I just wanted to give them a proper burial."

"They're fucking rodents! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sighing, she lowered her eyes. "They had no one, Charlie."

Rolling his eyes, he huffed and turned back to join Gnar in front of the garden. Maxie waited for Bea, Isaac, and Van a little while longer before finally accepting they weren't coming. Gnar and Charlie watched—Gnar amused, Charlie annoyed—as Maxie kneeled in the soil of the garden and carefully placed the tiny creatures there to rest. She even closed her eyes and said a prayer before shoveling the dirt on top of them.

Once their bodies were gone beneath the dirt, they were silent for a moment.

"One day," Maxie said, at last, "I'm going to die without any family, too. But at least they had each other."

Gnar and Charlie exchanged glances.

"Hey, kid, it's time for me to take my meds," Charlie said. "Get me the hell off of this."

Maxie nodded and stood. Stealing one last glance at the tiny grave, she followed Gnar and Charlie to the exit.

In front of his apartment, Charlie shook Gnar's hand. "Thanks again for the ride, young man," he said.

"No, problem, sir," Gnar replied politely. Maxie had enjoyed the ride back to Charlie's. She sat in the back of Gnar's car while he and Charlie sat in front, chatting about sports, and traveling, and politics, and even Charlie's son, Mr. Woodson.

"How often's he in the gym?" Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow. "Not often, I bet."

Gnar shrugged. "Often enough, I guess."

"Does he lift weights? Real weights, I mean, not those pansy twenty-pounders. You know when I was his age, I could bench my own body weight."

"That's pretty impressive," Gnar said with a laugh.

"How 'bout you?" Charlie asked him, eyeing Gnar's muscular arm as he held the steering wheel.

"Me? Oh, I stick to those aforementioned twenty-pounders."

At that, they'd both laughed loudly.

"Are you sure you don't want to come up for a drink?" Charlie asked. "I have sixty-five-year-old brandy. That stuff ain't for the pussies."

"Gnar can't drink, Charlie, he has to drive home," Maxie interjected.

Charlie frowned. "Look at the size of the man! He can handle a drink or two!"

"Maybe another time," Gnar said. "Definitely another time."

Nodding, Charlie said goodbye again and started for the lobby of his building.

"I'll be here waiting," Gnar told Maxie.

"What? No, you don't have to do that. I can just hop on the train home."

"I'll be waiting, Max," he said.

She knew there would be no convincing him otherwise, so she hurried to get Charlie upstairs. "Hey, hey, what's the rush?" he asked as she jabbed at the elevator button impatiently. "In a hurry to get back to him, huh?"

Maxie rolled her eyes. "Give me a break. He's only driving me home."

" _Mm hmm_ ," Charlie said, still eyeing her skeptically.

" _Anyway_ , thanks again for coming, Charlie. I hope you had a good time." She shook her head. "I still can't believe Van and Isaac didn't show."

"It was a fucking rat funeral," Charlie snapped.

"So what. They could've come. It isn't like the service didn't take place just an elevator ride away from them."

"And yet that Gnar fellow came all the way from Brooklyn, huh?"

"He came from downtown," Maxie corrected. "Don't give him any more credit than he deserves, Charlie."

Charlie shrugged. "Hey, he deserves _some_ credit. You're not giving him _any._ "

Before Maxie could reply, the elevator door slid open. Charlie stepped on but stopped her as she tried to move in behind him. "I think I can make it on my own, kid. Don't keep him waiting."

"He can wait," Maxie said, stubbornly.

"Hey!" Charlie snapped. "Stop being an asshole and get out there!"

Sighing, Maxie smiled and quickly dropped a peck on Charlie's cheek before stepping out of the elevator. "See you later, Charlie."

She stood and watched as the doors slid shut but Charlie jammed his cane in between them before they could meet. "Oh, and kid," he said. "You've got a decent enough guy waiting out there for you right now. Yours for the taking. And I'm sure he ain't the only one. Enough with the dying alone stuff, alright? It's fucking depressing."

With a grin, Maxie nodded and hurried back to Gnar when Charlie disappeared behind the elevator door.

"He's a real character," Gnar said as they made their way back to her apartment. "I bet he gives his son a hell of a time."

Maxie chuckled. "He absolutely does. I almost feel bad for the young Mr. Woodson."

"Don't. He _is_ an asshole. I'd take Charlie over his son any day of the week."

"Maybe we can all have dinner with him sometime," Maxie suggested. "I mean, for Charlie's sake. He'd probably really enjoy that. I could invite Milla, the woman he likes."

Gnar raised an eyebrow. "Charlie has a girlfriend?"

Laughing, Maxie replied, "No. He likes her, though. And she likes him, too. Sometimes he tells me about his wife. About how much he loved her and how well they fit. He thought he would never find anyone as perfect for him again, and then he finds Milla. She balances him out completely, you know. Soft enough to balance out his roughness. Imagine that. Finding true love again at his age."

"Does it give you hope?" Gnar asked.

She looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

With a tight grin, he shrugged. "You know. That you can find true love twice."

"Why would I need to hope that?"

"I don't know, Max. _Do_ you need to hope that?" Without waiting for her to reply, he said, "Anyway, my answer is yes to the double date."

"It won't be a date."

He chuckled, shaking his head at her obstinacy. "You know, between rat funerals and your cute relationship with a lonely old man and his girlfriend, I must say, you're pretty unpredictable."

"I could say the same about you," she replied, turning up the volume of his radio. Classical music blared from the speakers. "Chopin?" she asked.

He grinned. "You're familiar."

"Familiar enough."

"Then you can appreciate this," he said. "Why do you smoke, Maxie?"

She narrowed her eyes. "How do you know I smoke?"

Looking at the road, he shrugged. "I saw you the night of Isaac's surprise party. I was watching you."

"Creepy."

With a grin, he repeated, "Why do you smoke?"

"To get high," she replied.

"Why do you get high?"

"Because I like the feeling," she said.

He nodded and turned the radio up louder, as loud as it would go. She looked at him, puzzled. "Close your eyes," he instructed. "Go ahead. Lean back and close your eyes." Reluctantly, she did.

She could hear nothing but the stroke of the piano keys, harder sometimes, softer others, always melodic and graceful. After just a moment, it seemed to carry her away. Out of the car, out of the city, off to nowhere. She floated there for a while, suspended in nothingness.

She didn't even realize they'd turned down her street, she didn't even notice when the car came to a complete stop. She remained there, her eyes shut, her mind adrift. Finally, the music stopped.

"Hey!" Maxie cried.

Gnar was grinning. "You're home."

She blinked, a bit dazed, and peered around. Sure enough, they were sitting in front of her building. "Oh," she said.

"You know, you don't have to go upstairs if you don't want," he said. "I could show you something."

"Show me what?" she asked. He smiled and turned the car back on, and they were off.

"Ah, very clever," Maxie said as they arrived at Gnar's apartment building. "The least you could do is take me to dinner first."

Gnar threw back his head and laughed. "I've been trying to take you to dinner for months," he reminded her.

Gnar's apartment was the only one on the ground floor of the building. When he led her inside, Maxie took in the large space. It was like two of her and Van's apartments, only completely open. His kitchen, his living room, the dining room area were separated by nothing but furniture and more space. The only closed rooms were the small bedroom and bathroom.

"Wow," Maxie said, gazing around the place breathlessly. Gnar's dwelling was the complete opposite of Isaac's. It was bigger, darker, and filled with character. Paintings and photographs decorated the walls, each piece of furniture was different from the rest. Hanging bookshelves lined the tops of walls, full to capacity, and there were dozens of shelves with all kinds of odds and ends on them, gadgets, knickknacks, random assortments. Everywhere Maxie's eyes went, there was something to look at, something she'd missed before.

Gnar stood by the door and watched her as she made his way around the room, carefully running her fingers over everything, taking it all in. And then she spotted the piano. Big and old yet shiny and cared for, sitting at the corner of the dining room. Her eyes widened and she gazed at him. "Is this what you wanted to show me?" she asked. He nodded. "Wow," she said, caressing the keys. "It's beautiful. Where did you get it?"

"It came with the place," he said. "It was the only thing in here when I moved in. It was pretty beat up, though. Dusty and out of key. Looks good as new though, now, doesn't it?"

"It does," she agreed. "Do you play?"

His smiled widened and he made his way across the room to her. "Let's do this properly, shall we?" he said, stepping right up to her. He paused and for a moment they simply stood there, Maxie staring up at him, waiting. _Waiting for what?_ She was afraid of the answer _._ Finally, he bent and gently lifted her atop the piano, pausing again between her legs. "There," he said, his voice hoarse. Unable to take her eyes off of him, she watched as he turned and lowered himself down on the stool.

She waited a moment, and just when she thought he would start, he didn't. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Anything," she replied before her brain could even process the question.

He grinned at her. "The next time you decide to smoke, just listen to this first, alright? If it doesn't help, then by all means, do what you have to do."

She nodded. "Alright."

He, too, nodded, and then he began to play. Maxie watched him in awe; his fingers moved swiftly and fluidly across the keys and the music flowed from the instrument so gracefully, so beautifully. Gnar bowed his head, his eyes drifted shut, he rocked back and forth, back and forth. He lost himself in the notes, much the same way Maxie had once lost herself dance.

Climbing down off of the piano, Maxie kicked off her shoes and made her way to the middle of room, where she began to dance. She let the music wrap itself around her, flow through her, move her. Soon, Gnar was watching her as intently as she'd watched him, and she was watching him back, her eyes falling back on him after every step, every leap, every twirl.

At last, the music slowed to a stop and Maxie followed suit, concluding her impromptu routine with a small bow. Smiling, Gnar stood to applaud her. "Encore," he said.

"Ditto," she replied, lowering her eyes as her cheeks reddened.

Before she knew it, he was standing in front of her again, so close she could smell his cologne. He raised his finger to her cheek and lightly pinched it. "You're beautiful," he said.

Suddenly she felt that familiar shortness of breath, that lurch of her stomach, that palpitation of her heart. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt it for anyone but Isaac; she didn't think she ever had.

Taking a step back, she said, "I should probably be getting home now."

Biting down on his bottom lip, he stared at her a moment longer before saying, "Or you can stay."

She lowered her eyes and slowly shook her head. "No. I can't."

"He has this great apartment," Maxie told Bea later that night. She stood over the stove holding her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she stirred a pot of boiling chicken soup. "It's big and open and filled with all of these amazing things. He collects _everything_ ," she said. "And he played the piano for me. God, Bea, he plays it so well. Watching him was just like... like..." She couldn't find the word to describe the elation she'd felt earlier with Gnar.

"Wow," Bea gushed. "How do you find these men? Maybe _I_ should join Isaac's gym."

Maxie laughed. "I can't believe how much I—" _Like him. Want him._ "Enjoyed his company," she said. "It's like a part of me feels guilty for enjoying it, you know? A huge part of me. But another part of me is relieved. He just seems like a breath of fresh air."

"So give him a chance, Max."

She sighed. "It just doesn't feel right."

"What do you mean? Everything you just described sounds exactly right."

"I know, but—"

"He's Isaac's best friend."

"Why am I the only one who thinks that matters?"

"Because it doesn't," Bea said firmly. "Maxie, I'm going to try and put this as gently as I possibly can, okay? Isaac _doesn't remember_. As far as he's concerned, you and him never even happened. Do you understand that?"

Maxie said nothing. She knew this, she already _knew_ it, and still, hearing the words was like a stab in the chest.

"I'm sorry," Bea said. "I know it hurts. But you have to stop punishing yourself, and you have to start moving on. Gnar is a great catch. One hell of a rebound, if I do say so myself."

Sighing, Maxie said, "I know. But _you_ need to understand that even though Isaac doesn't have to live with the memories of what we had, the feelings, the promises..." _The love, the happiness, the beauty. The frustration, the torture, guilt._ She cleared her throat. "Even though he doesn't have to live with it, Bea," she went on, " _I_ still have to live with it."

Their conversation ended, and Maxie set the phone down beside her. For a moment, she simply stood there, head back, breathing deeply and willing the tears welling behind her eyelids to cease and desist. Finally, she turned around, and there stood Isaac. She jumped, slapping her hand over chest. Her heart nearly jumped out of it and into her palm. "Isaac!" she cried. "You scared me."

But he said nothing and just stood there. His gaze unblinking, locked on her.

That night, as Maxie gathered her wooden box to climb out onto the fire escape, she remembered her promise to Gnar. The promise. The music. His eyes on her, her name passing over the threshold of his full lips. His fingers against the skin of her cheek.

Setting the box back down, she grabbed her computer instead, pulled up the same song Gnar had played for her earlier, and played it as loud as it would go in her ear buds.

Noelle grabs the keys of her husband's 1973 Porsche. It's his most prized possession, even more prized than her, she suspects. It sits in the garage, undisturbed except for the rare occasions when he takes it for short drives.

Shaking the keys in front of her daughter, Noelle smiles wickedly. 'Want to take a ride, Maximilienne?'

With wide eyes, Maxie shakes her head. 'We're not allowed to drive daddy's car!' she cries.

'But Daddy's not here,' Noelle says.

'He'll be mad.'

Running her hand through Maxie's curls, Noelle replies, 'Baby, if a tree falls in a forest and no one's around to hear it, does it really make a sound?'

#

THEN

Maxie peered, breathlessly, out into the audience as they rose to their feet and roared their approval. She'd just concluded her first ever solo, and her heart was racing. The lights on the stage were bright, so she couldn't see past the first two rows of the dark audience, but she imagined her family out there somewhere, watching her proudly. If only her mother could be among them.

After giving one last bow of her own, the rest of her classmates and fellow dancers joined her on the stage for another. All of them patted her on the back or gave her quick praises as they passed. _Brilliant. Amazing. Angelic._ She beamed. All the practice and hard work she'd put in to prepare for the show finally paid off.

Back stage, Maxie gathered her belongings and made her way to the lobby to meet her family. The building was swarming with people: dancers, families, critics, photographers. She searched the many faces for a familiar one. With no luck, she reached for her phone.

Five missed calls. Two text messages. A voicemail.

"Maxie, it's Mom," Kathy said in her message. "You're going to kill me. I'm not going to be able to make your show today. Car's stalling again, I don't think I should drive it all the way to Manhattan. Good luck, though! I know you don't need it. You'll be great. Break a leg!"

Rolling her eyes, Maxie checked her text messages next. Both from Van. RUNNING LATE. BE THERE SOON, the first one read. And then the next: STILL AT WORK, I'M NOT GOING TO MAKE IT IN TIME. SO SORRY, I PROMISE I'LL BE AT THE NEXT ONE.

Annoyed, she put her phone in her purse. Was she surprised? Kathy hadn't been to a show in two years. And Van? Van caught them when she could. They weren't a priority to her. Maxie shouldn't have been surprised. She wasn't.

But it was her first solo. She had been hoping her family would try a little harder in light of that.

"Maxie!" her instructor called out, stealing her attention. She turned to face the woman who hadn't stopped smiling since the show's first standing ovation after the first half. "You were beautiful out there," she said. "Giving you that solo was the best decision I've made, thus far."

"Thank you," Maxie said, nodding. However, she no longer cared to be praised. No one that mattered saw the show, anyway. She just wanted to leave.

"Remember Markus Ramsey? The choreographer I was telling you about?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Well, he was in the audience. This could mean big things for you, honey. Maybe you should wait and meet him?"

She didn't want to meet him. "Actually, I'm meeting my family," she lied. "They're taking me out to dinner, so I should really go."

Her teacher frowned. "Maxie, honey, it's Markus Ramsey. I'm sure your family will understand if you're late."

Sighing, Maxie pulled on her sweater and followed her teacher to where Markus Ramsey stood, surrounded by three other dancers.

"Mr. Ramsey," she said, gently pushing Maxie forward. "This is Maximilienne, the one we talked about."

Mr. Ramsey stepped forward. "Maximilienne," he said, offering his hand for her to shake. "Finally, I get a chance to meet you. That performance was absolutely flawless _._ "

"Thank you, sir."

"Call me Markus," he said. "I'd love to talk more about your dancing, and possibly an opportunity to dance with my team..."

He was still talking, but Maxie had stopped listening. Across the room, holding a bouquet of flowers, was Isaac.

She inhaled as the butterflies in her stomach took flight. Kathy had missed her show. Van had missed her show. Alex had certainly missed her show. But Isaac was there. And with flowers.

"That sounds great, Markus," Maxie interjected, patting his hand. "Maybe we can discuss it later?" Without waiting for a reply, she pulled away, throwing him an, "I'll call you," before hurrying to meet Isaac.

He looked as handsome as ever, dressed a bit formally for the occasion, smiling as she approached. He stood out like a sore thumb in the wide hall of people. Taller and bigger and a million times handsomer than everyone else in the crowd. Maxie couldn't help but notice how all eyes fell on him as he passed, making his way toward her. She could barely breathe as he halted just in front of her, the smile she wore remained as wide as ever and frozen in place.

"Hi," she said, looking up at him.

"Hi," he replied, handing her the flowers. "These are for you."

She took them and buried her face in them so he wouldn't see her cheeks flame red. "I didn't know you were coming," she said.

He placed his hand on the small of her back and prodded her toward the door. "I couldn't miss your first solo," he replied. "You were stunning, by the way."

"Thank you. I was so nervous. Could you tell?"

"Not at all. That first guy you danced with looked a little nervous, though."

She chuckled. "Avery? No, Avery's a great dancer."

"I was a little jealous when he touched your butt."

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "He didn't touch my butt!" she cried.

"Yeah, he did. When he picked you up."

She laughed and playful shoved him. Of course, he didn't even move. "He didn't _touch my butt_. He was lifting me."

Leaning close to her, Isaac pulled her tightly against him. " _I_ want to lift you."

"I got to meet the choreographer that's been asking about me," Maxie told Isaac as they walked slowly back to the apartment. It was over fifty blocks, but Maxie could have walked from one end of the city to the other as long as Isaac walked with her. "He really enjoyed the show. He wants to talk to me about job opportunities or something."

He chuckled. "Or something? Isn't that a pretty big deal?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Can I give you my opinion?" She looked up at him, nodded. "You're one of the most beautiful, talented dancers I've ever seen. One of the best on that stage tonight, for sure. But I know you, Maxie. I know your heart's not in it. The look on your face when you're dancing and the look on your face when someone tastes a recipe you've just come up with are two very different looks."

"My future has pretty much already been handed to me on a silver platter if I keep dancing. What would everyone say if I just gave it up? And to _cook_."

"Tell everyone _they_ can go dance if they like it so much."

She chuckled. "I've worked really hard for this."

"It doesn't make you happy."

"Yeah, it does," she said, half-heartedly.

Isaac nodded. "Alright, then. If you're happy. You, Max. Not Kathy or Van or anybody else."

She looked up at him again and smiled. "What about you?"

"Me? I'm happy when you're happy."

_How does that work_? she wanted to ask. _Because_ I'm _happy when_ you're _happy._

Back at the apartment, Van flung herself in Isaac's arms. Maxie looked away as she hugged him and kissed him endlessly.

When she finally pulled away to greet Maxie, maybe ask about her show, maybe apologize for missing yet another one, Maxie was already across the room, closing herself in her bedroom with no plans of coming back out.

"Vinegar and lemon juice," Maxie heard Van say from the living room. They were lounging on the couch, Isaac reading his favorite novel, Van flipping through a magazine. Both of them awaiting dinner. "It says here you should wash your hair with that. It makes it shiny or something. What do you think of that?"

"I think your hair would smell like lemon vinegar," Isaac replied not looking up from his book. Maxie smiled from the kitchen.

Considering it for a moment, Van shrugged and flipped to the next page. "O-oh, a quiz!" she squealed. " 'Are You Meant To Be?' Come on, babe, let's take this."

To Maxie's immense relief, the doorbell sounded before Isaac could reply. "Ugh, who could that be?" Van asked, tossing the magazine down. Whoever it was, Maxie was grateful to them. Until Van opened the door, and she realized it was Alex.

She hadn't spoken to him since the morning of her show days before. He'd missed it without even a word, and he hadn't even had the decency to call and apologize afterward. Yet, there he was, in her living room. And drunk.

He walked steady enough and said nothing, but Maxie could spot the telltale redness of his eyes, and the stench of alcohol on his skin was unmistakable. He grinned as he met her in the kitchen. "Hey," he said, dropping a kiss on her temple.

"Hi," she replied, giving him a once over. He wavered a bit as he stood there staring down at her, paling under the effort to keep his composure. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I came by to see you."

"Why?"

His brows furrowed. "Do I need a reason to visit my girlfriend?"

She glanced at the clock. "Well, you don't show up when you say you will, so I'm just wondering why you would bother showing up now?"

His grin faded and he dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry I missed your show. I was working."

"Why didn't you call?"

"I'm sorry, Max, it just slipped my mind," he snapped. Nodding, she turned away from him. With a sigh, he placed his hands on her shoulders and rested his head in the curve of her neck. "Look, I'm here now _._ Don't be upset with me. Let's go in your room and lay down for a while."

"I can't," she replied, shaking him off of her. "I'm cooking."

"You're always cooking."

She didn't reply.

"C'mon, Max. Come in your room," he insisted, tugging at her shirt. "I've missed you. I've been thinking about you all night." His hands went around her waist, his fingers crept up her shirt.

"Alex!" she said sharply, shoving his hand away. Was Isaac watching them? she wondered. Did he see Alex's insistent gropes? She felt her face redden at the mere thought. "Stop it," she said, lowering her voice. But he wouldn't. His hands were on her again, stroking and caressing her, pulling her back against him. He lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed the skin behind her ear.

After a moment of vain resistance, she finally shoved him back violently. Her eyes widened as he stumbled back, catching himself on the table. "What the _fuck_ , Max?" he lashed out. "What's your problem?"

She shook her head. She could feel Van and Isaac's eyes on her. "Listen," she said. She spoke low, hoping the living room's occupants wouldn't overhear her. "Why don't you just leave, alright? Sober up, call me in the morning."

"Why? I want to be with you now," he said reaching for her again, but she stepped back. "What, now I can't touch you at all?" He laughed a thin laugh.

"Just leave," she repeated.

On the couch, Isaac moved to intervene but Van stopped him. "Mind your business," she whispered.

He glared at her. "Are you joking? She wants him to leave."

Van shook her head. "Don't get involved. You're going to get involved, and all she's going to do is take him back when she gets bored. _Don't_ get involved."

"Can we just talk?" Alex said. "I know you're mad at me for missing your little show. I'm sorry, alright? Let's just go in your room and talk about it."

Maxie almost considered it. She would have gone anywhere with him if it meant Isaac didn't have to witness it. But she knew how volatile Alex could get when he drank, like a ticking time bomb that she wasn't sure she was capable of defusing.

"I already told you, I'm in the middle of making dinner. _Please_ , Alex. Just go. You're drunk."

"I'm fine!" he insisted. "I had a few beers, I'm fine."

She rolled her eyes. This wasn't the result of a few beers. She knew it was no use arguing with him about it, though.

"If you just come in your room with me—"

" _No_ , Alex, I'm cooking—"

"You're always fucking cooking!" he exploded, snatching the entire pot of boiling spaghetti sauce off of the stove and heaving at the ground. Maxie shrieked as the pot hit the floor, the sauce splashing up at her bare legs.

"Maxie!" Van cried as she stumbled back into the cabinet and crumbled to the floor.

Before she could even comprehend her burning skin, Isaac was out of his seat. He thrust himself in Alex's path as Alex reached for Maxie again. "Leave," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. "Right now. Walk out the fucking door."

Alex glared at him. "This is between me and my girl." His voice was much lower now. He was indeed prideful, but not stupid.

" _This_ is over," Isaac said. "Leave."

"Isaac," Maxie said, but Isaac raised his hand to hush her without even turning around.

"Isaac, baby, just calm down," Van said.

" _You_ calm down," he snapped, glaring at her. "Go back in the living room, read your goddamn magazine, and pretend he isn't in here harassing her if you want to, Van, but I'm not going to do that." He turned back to Alex. "I'm going to say it one more time before I'm a lot less calm. _Leave_."

Alex's jaw was tight, his hands were in fists, his chest was inflated, but he took a step backward. Shooting one last glance at Maxie, he turned and walked out of the apartment. No one moved until the front door opened and shut again, and then Isaac turned to Maxie.

At once, his body relaxed, his eyes softened. "Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling before her. From her knees to her feet were covered in bright red tomato sauce.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice barely audible. Isaac grabbed a nearby towel and Maxie cringed as he gently cleaned the sauce from her burned skin.

"Maxie," Van said, going to her. "Are you hurt?"

"Stop," Isaac said. "Don't be concerned now. Now he's gone."

Van gasped. "I _was_ concerned!" she cried. "But he always gets like that, and Maxie always takes it! When am I supposed to stop offering help that she obviously doesn't want?"

"Never," he said. Glaring at him, Van huffed and stalked off to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Not even acknowledging her exit, Isaac scooped Maxie up in his arms and raised her to the counter to continue washing her legs with soap and water. When they were clean of the sauce, he carefully rubbed ointment on the large, red blotches. "It's not so bad. How do they feel?" he asked. Though he spoke softly and touched her gently, she could still see the sparks of rage flashing in his eyes.

"Not so bad," she replied. "Hey." He met her gaze and for a moment, she simply held it. "I'm fine."

Stepping forward to position himself just between her legs, he lowered his face to hers.

Slowly, he kissed her, with urgency and with need. He held her firmly against his body, his fingers entwined themselves in her hair, he took in more of her, inhaled her. Finally. _At last_. He felt as if he were getting a hit of a drug he hadn't even known he was withdrawing from. And now he was injecting it, directly into his blood stream. Injecting _her_. His hands roamed her small frame, wanting to touch every inch of her softness, wanting to commit the feel of it all to his memory. The feel of her, the smell of her, the taste of her. All of it.

Had Maxie not been propped up on the counter, she was sure she would have sank to the floor. His lips on her... so full and smooth and soft, his tongue probing, his low sighs of, what? Relief? Where was Van? What if she saw them? In that moment, it didn't matter. Maxie couldn't think straight, she couldn't breathe, but she would have preferred to suffocate there in his kiss before pulling back for air.

When he finally let her go, they were both breathless, speechless.

He stared down into her eyes, so full, and at her lips, so moist, and at her heaving chest. He wanted her so badly. Right there in the kitchen, on the counter, next to the hot stove. He needed to step back, get away from her for a moment, if just to get his thoughts in order, but he couldn't bring himself to take his hands off of her. Not after waiting so long to get them there.

"Isaac," she finally whispered. She raised her fingers to her lips, lowered her eyes. "We can't..." She shook her head slowly, realization slowly beginning to sink in. "We have to stop. We can't do this."

"Maximilienne," he said, gently. "We can't _not_ do this."

It was nearly eleven PM when Isaac showed up at the door of Alex's condo. He knocked calmly enough. No need to startle the man before he even got inside. Alex opened up without even asking who it was—maybe he was expecting someone else. Whatever the reason, Isaac was glad he didn't have to kick the door in as he'd planned.

"Isaac, what are you—"

Isaac shoved him violently, stepping inside of the condo and shutting the door behind him.

"What the fuck?" Alex cried, and Isaac delivered a swift blow right to his mouth. Softly, he thought, but Alex's whole head jolted, and he went stumbling backward before falling to the floor. Isaac barely saw the blood fill the inside of Alex's mouth before he'd cupped his hands over it in horror.

Alex used his feet to push himself back as Isaac reached for him again, pulling him up by his shirt and slamming him hard into the wall behind them.

"Listen carefully," he said, leaning so impossibly close to Alex's face that he could smell the metallic odor of his blood. "If you ever, _ever_ hurt her again, I will come back here and you will have a _big_ fucking problem. Do you understand?"

Panting, Alex nodded.

"I will break your fingers, you little prick. I will break them _off_. You'll never take another picture in your pathetic fucking life. Don't fuck with me."

He pulled Alex forward and shoved him back one more time before letting him go and turning toward the door. He was sure Alex got the point, but he slapped a couple of pictures off of the walls on his way out, anyway, just in case.

NOW

Gnar, Isaac, and Bea and her date, Gavin, all sat in the living room of the apartment, waiting for Maxie and Van to emerge from Van's bedroom.

"What the hell is taking so long?" Bea demanded, glancing at the time. It was already six-thirty. "Our reservation is at seven."

"We probably should have told Van it was at six," Isaac said.

Rolling her eyes, Bea said, "I don't know how you deal with this on the daily basis."

Isaac opened his mouth to reply, but before he could Van's door opened and out stepped Maxie. Both Gnar and Isaac stood, their mouths falling slightly open at the sight of her. Dressed in leather pants that clung to her figure, with a sheer blouse that revealed her lacy bra, and sharp stiletto heels, it was almost like someone had sucked all of the air out of the room when she stepped into it. Her hair was pulled back off her face and she wore a bit of makeup. "I'm ready," she said, completely naïve to the weight of her presence. She stopped short when she noticed the two men staring at her.

"What?" she asked.

Gnar smiled and stepped forward. "You look beautiful."

Flushing red, she looked down at herself. "Thank you," she said, shifting modestly.

"I'm sure you would look stunning in a paper bag," he said, placing his hands on her hips. His grin never faded, his eyes danced over every inch of her.

And all she could see was Isaac. _His_ eyes dancing over every inch of her.

"Alright," Van announced, sashaying out of the room next. "We can go now."

Gnar's attention remained on Maxie, but as soon as Van appeared, she instantly lost Isaac's. The corners of his lips turned up into a small smile, his eyes swelled with pride.

"How do I look?" she asked, spinning around so everyone in the room could get a three-sixty view of one of the tiny dresses she was infamous for. It fit her like a glove.

Isaac seemed drawn to her. His hands fell around her waist, he lowered his mouth to hers, but she quickly turned away.

"Don't smear my lipstick, babe," she said with a laugh.

Maxie watched as he kissed her, anyway. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned away. It was going to be a long night.

The group arrived at the lounge just in time for their reservation and was seated in a quiet corner booth.

"This is perfect," Van said, sitting down. "Maybe we should just order a bottle of wine to start?"

"I like white," Bea said.

"White for me, as well," agreed Gavin.

"How about you guys?" Van asked, looking to Gnar and Maxie.

"White works for me," Gnar said.

"I'll probably just get a glass of red," said Maxie.

"I will, too," said Isaac.

The waitress returned with their wine and Maxie swallowed hers down at record-breaking speed, quickly ordering another one. Bea glared at her over the rim of her glass.

"So," Gavin said. "How long have you all known each other?"

"Maxie and I have been friends since junior high," Van said, flashing Maxie a proud smile. "Isaac and Gnar have been friends just as long."

"Wow. Best friends dating best friends, huh?"

"Works out perfectly, doesn't it?" she said, letting her arm fall around Isaac.

"Actually, Gnar and I aren't dating," Maxie corrected.

"Yet," Gnar added.

Laughing, Gavin turned to Bea. "And how about you? Where do you fit into this equation?"

She nodded at Maxie. "Right beside her."

Gavin smiled. "Of course. Maxie. The ballerina turned chef."

Maxie returned his smile politely. "I guess my reputation precedes me."

"It does," he said.

"I model," Van piped up. "Did Bea tell you?"

Gavin shot Bea a glance and Maxie knew that Bea told him _something_ about Van, though she doubted it had anything to do with her career endeavors. Still, Gavin smiled. "That's right. Van, the model."

By the third round of wine, they'd all learned that neither Isaac nor Bea believed in a higher power, Gavin called himself a Democrat despite his Republican stance on most issues, and Van had no opinion on either topic, mostly because she never thought enough about them to form one.

"Well what about your kids?" Gnar asked. "If you choose to stay neutral, that's your prerogative, but you should at least be knowledgeable about the subjects so you know what to instill in your kids."

"We're going to teach our kids to believe, or not believe, whatever they want," Van said. "Once they get out into the world, they can decide for themselves."

"Yeah, but what about before they get out into the world?" Bea asked.

Van shrugged. "I don't know, babe, what will we teach them?" she asked Isaac.

He sank back in his seat.

"Alright, alright," Gavin cut in, to Isaac's obvious relief. "We've discussed two of the three things you're not supposed to talk about at the dinner table. We may as well go ahead and jump into the third thing."

Maxie rolled her eyes and polished off the last bit of wine in her glass.

"Uh oh," Gnar said, sitting back. He set his hand down on Maxie's knee. "I think I might need another glass of wine for this."

"I'm way ahead of you," Isaac said, already trying to get their waitress's attention.

"I think I'm already drunk," Van groaned.

"Even better," Gavin said. "We'll go around the table. Everyone's favorite sex position. Starting with you, Bea," he said.

"Doggy style, for sure," she said without hesitation. Van squealed and raised her glass to toast to that.

Gavin looked to Isaac for an answer. He chuckled. "Are we really having this conversation?"

"Indeed we are," Gavin replied. "Go ahead, Isaac. Favorite position."

"I'll tell you what he likes," Van piped up, smiling wickedly. Isaac rolled his eyes, but he still wore a small grin on his lips. "He likes to be ridden. _Backward_. And sometimes I do this thing with my fingers—"

"That's enough, Van," he interjected. She and Bea both laughed loudly.

Maxie wanted to scream.

"Your turn," Gavin said, looking at her.

Gnar's eyes lit up with interest. "Is there something you do with _your_ fingers?" he asked.

"Don't bother asking Maxie," Van said with the wave of a hand, and laughing, she added, "She's asexual." Maxie's face flushed impossibly red.

"What?" Gavin cried in disbelief. "No way. C'mon, I don't want to hear that."

"Alright," Bea said. "Leave Maxie alone. Gnar, you go."

"No, no, no one gets a pass. If you aren't a virgin, you've got a favorite sex position. Are you a virgin, Maxie?"

She exhaled. "No."

"Alright, then. Tell us. C'mon, we're all adults here."

"She probably doesn't even remember it," Van said, still laughing. "How long has it been since that one guy, Max?"

"What one guy would that be?" Gnar asked.

Maxie shook her head. "Can we just talk about something else?"

"No one's ever met him. Maxie does that, you know. She meets men and keeps them a secret. Right, Max? You don't like to share."

"You have no idea, Van," Maxie replied tightly.

"Well, who was he?" Gavin asked.

Maxie shrugged. "He was no one."

"She was crazy about him."

"Van—"

"You had to see how broken up she was when they stopped seeing each other. Me and Isaac had broken up around the same time for a while, right Max?" Maxie didn't reply. She wanted to get up from the table and run out of the restaurant. "You had to see us, moping around the apartment for _months_. It was pitiful."

"Who wants to dance?" Bea asked. Thank heavens for Bea.

"Ooh! Me!" Van said, immediately forgetting about the conversation at hand as she slid out from behind the table. She held her hand out to Isaac. "Come on, babe!"

"I think I'll just stay here," he said.

She pouted. "But I want to dance."

"I'll dance with you," Gnar said.

Van considered it for about a second before she perked back up. "Okay, come on."

Gnar took Van's hand and followed Bea and Gavin to the small dance floor, disappearing into the crowd. Maxie exhaled heavily. She felt as if it were the first breath she'd taken all night.

"Some night, huh?" Isaac said.

She rolled her eyes. "If only it would just be over."

He chuckled. "It isn't so bad."

"Sure, if you enjoy Van putting your sex life on display for a table of people... Wait. You _did_ enjoy that," she said, dryly.

"We're just having fun."

" _I'm_ not having fun."

For a while, they sat in silence. The waitress returned with another round of wine. Isaac peered down into his glass for a moment before looking up at Maxie. "I thought red wine makes you sick."

She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He looked back down at his glass and shrugged. "I don't know. Never mind. Hey, do you want to dance?"

Maxie blinked. How could red wine jog his memory, but _she_ couldn't? How could he remember her being sick, but he couldn't remember anything leading up to it? Anything after? "I thought you didn't want to dance," she said.

"That's because I can't. But you're good enough for the both of us, right?"

"I don't know about that," she replied.

He opened his hand to her across the table just as the music slowed. "I guess we'll just have to see."

Taking his hand, she followed him on to the dance floor. He gathered her in his arms, holding her tightly against him. She closed her eyes and rested her temple on his collarbone. When was the last time she was so close to him? When was the last time she was pressed against him, every part of her on every part of him, so close she could smell his skin?

Isaac's chin brushed against the skin of her face. They stood there, arms around one another, rocking back and forth, though they'd both tuned out the music. His hand went to her head and his fingers entwined themselves in the bushels of curls as if they belonged there. He leaned close to her ear and said, "I told you I can't dance."

Maxie wasn't sure if what they were doing even counted as dancing, standing in place, shifting their weight from one foot to another, but it was good enough for her, regardless. "You're doing just fine," she replied.

"So who was he?" he asked.

"Who?"

"The mystery man who left you broken."

For a while, she didn't reply. "He was no one."

He was you.

"Maxie!"

Releasing Isaac, Maxie turned to see Van standing behind them. Her expression was solemn, her eyes were unblinking, and she stared at them in a way that made Maxie want to hide her face.

When Bea and Gavin left to catch a train back to Gavin's place, Isaac and Van stayed behind to walk along the Hudson River, and Gnar and Maxie flagged a cab to take them back to Maxie's apartment.

"I'm sorry you didn't enjoy yourself tonight," Gnar said once they were in the back of the taxi.

"What makes you think I didn't enjoy myself?" she asked.

"Maxie," he said. "If you ever think every single thing you're feeling isn't written on your face for the world to see, you need to think again. Everything is there. _Everything_."

_Everything?_ she wondered.

She shrugged weakly. "It wasn't that bad."

"You'll enjoy yourself more when it's just us," he said. "When we go on our date that we're not calling a date."

With a chuckle, she said, "You may as well call it a date if you're going to call it that."

Back at her building, he escorted her to her door. "Until next time," he said. He was standing close to her, so close she kept her head lowered for fear he would try to kiss her.

She nodded. "Yeah, next time."

As she suspected, he leaned in, his lips aiming for hers. Dropping her chin to her chest, she backed up against the door, turning her face away. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, her face burning with embarrassment.

Still leaning forward, he chuckled. "It was worth a try."

Maxie chuckled, too, and let out a small sigh. "And I suppose that was just the first of many?"

"You suppose right," he said, gently stroking her cheek. "Goodnight, Maxie. I'll see you soon."

When Maxie woke the next morning, Van was sitting across the room in the armchair, flipping through one of Maxie's photo albums. "Van?"

"Oh," Van said, looking up at her friend. "You're up."

"What are you doing in here?"

"I just came in to talk. But you were sleeping, so I figured I'd just wait." She looked down at the book and ran her fingers over one of the photos. "God, high school was amazing," she said.

Maxie sighed and peered up at the ceiling. She didn't think high school had been so amazing. The only thing she remembered about it was fading into Van's shadow. Beautiful, popular, social butterfly Van. Everyone wanted to know her, wanted to be her friend. And then there was Maxie, who was never quite sure if she'd ever even had the option. Still, she replied, "Yeah, Van."

"I know you went through hard times back then. But sometimes I think it all happened for a reason. To bring us together. It was like, once I got you into my life, I wasn't sure how I was living without you." She closed the album and set in down on the table beside her. Looking up at Maxie, she said, "You're my best friend."

Maxie sat up. "And you're mine."

Nodding, Van said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Don't take this the wrong way," she said, shifting uncomfortably. Her eyes remained on her lap, she was fidgeting with the string of her tight pajama pants. "I just feel like I need to ask. I mean, it's probably stupid. I know it's stupid. But just for my own peace of mind, I'll ask."

"What is it, Van?"

"You and Isaac..." Maxie inhaled sharply. If Van's eyes weren't averted, she probably would have seen the wave of distress wash over Maxie's face. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm just asking."

"Asking what?" Maxie choked out.

"Do you guys... or did you guys... ever..." She paused, sighed, pushed her hair back off her forehead. Still, she didn't lift her eyes. "Has there ever been anything between you two? Anything at all?"

Maxie didn't reply at first. She couldn't. Her words were all jumbled in a thick knot, caught in her esophagus. Finally, she managed a barely audible, "No." Clearing her throat, she repeated more firmly, " _No_ , Van. Why would you ask me that?"

Van shrugged. "I don't know. I told you it was stupid. It's just that when I saw you two dancing last night, when I saw him holding you... Well, he just looked so comfortable. Like he's held you that way a hundred and one times." At last, she looked up at Maxie, who sat stolidly on her bed. "He's held _me_ like that a hundred and one times, and I can't remember him ever being so at ease."

"Maybe because your relationship with him is different from mine. Isaac and I are just—" Her voice got caught in her throat again. She forced a cough. "We're just friends. It's understandable to feel more at ease with a friend, I think. There are no expectations, less pressure."

"Do I pressure him?"

Maxie shook her head. "I don't know, Van. I'm just guessing here."

"Of course," Van said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even said anything. You're not upset with me, are you?"

"No."

Van nodded and said nothing else, but she didn't move to leave either, and she kept wrapping and unwrapping the string of the pants around her finger. "Is there anything else, Van?" Maxie asked. Van nodded. "What?"

"I had lunch with Alex last week." Maxie blinked. "He was the photographer at my shoot. Afterward, he offered to take me to get something to eat. I accepted. And then he walked me home. That was it. We just ate, and then I came home."

"Why... why didn't you mention it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I didn't want you to think anything. I thought maybe it would be sort of inappropriate to have lunch with my best friend's ex-boyfriend. But it was just lunch, you know? We just ate. I didn't want to keep it from you. Because _then_ it looks bad. And it was completely innocent, Max. I swear."

"I believe you, Van."

"Good."

"Why did you feel the need to tell me now?"

"I don't know." She sighed, closed her eyes and raised her chin toward the ceiling. "I have no idea."

#

NOW

Maxie woke up on Charlie's leather sofa. Had she fallen asleep? It was almost one in the morning, her legs were up, she was wrapped in a blanket. He must have covered her before going to bed. She considered just lying there, going back to sleep. She knew Charlie wouldn't mind. And then she wouldn't have to face Van.

But her cell phone had six missed calls; one from Bea, the rest from Van.

With a sigh, she sat up, folded her blanket, and quietly crept out of Charlie's apartment to head home. She trudged slowly, hoping that by the time she arrived Van would already be asleep. Van and Isaac both. Or better yet, maybe Isaac wouldn't be there at all. He'd been acting so strange lately. Walking past her without a word. Barely looking her in the eye. And if anyone ever brought up Gnar, he would simply get up and walk away.

Bea had suggested that maybe he was jealous, but Maxie knew what Isaac's jealousy looked like. It was more possessive, not cold. After months of treating him with the same icy aloofness, Maxie was beginning to feel bad. And anxious. She hated for him to be upset with her, for any reason, especially when she didn't know what the reason was.

She arrived home just after two AM, and to her surprise, Isaac and Gnar were on the street approaching the building from the opposite direction. Isaac's eyes widened when he saw her, and Gnar looked instantly pleased. He came forward, swaying a bit, and took her in his arms. His weight on her so abruptly made her stumble back a few steps, but he held her tightly around the waist. "Hi, beautiful," he slurred. "Where are you coming from so late? Not a date, I hope."

"What kind of date lasts 'til two in the morning, Gnar?"

He grinned. "The best kind."

She rolled her eyes. "You're drunk."

"I had a few beers with the boys," he admitted. "It was a friend's birthday."

Maxie peered around him at Isaac, who simply stood there, watching them with an indecipherable look in his eyes. "Did _you_ have a few beers?"

"I was the designated driver," he said, holding up his car keys.

She looked back at Gnar. "How are you getting home?"

"Taxi," he said, still grinning as his eyes swam over her face. "You look so pretty."

"Why didn't you just catch one from the bar?"

"Because," Isaac replied for him. "He wanted to come back here and see you." Without waiting for a response, he went into the building. Maxie looked up at Gnar. He was still holding her tightly.

"Is that true?"

"That is true."

She couldn't help but smile. What was it about Gnar that made her smile, even when she didn't want to? Maybe it was the same thing that Isaac possessed, the thing that made her love him, even when she didn't want to. "You should get home and get some rest."

"I will. Now I can sleep well."

"Don't try to sweet talk me, Daniel."

He chuckled. "Is it working? Is it making you want me?"

"You're drunk."

"I know." His smile faded, he bit down on his bottom lip. Maxie inhaled deeply, tearing her eyes away from his mouth. "I want to kiss you," he admitted. "But I won't."

She looked up at him. "Why not?" she asked, before her brain could even comprehend the question. The words simply fell off of her tongue.

"Because I'm drunk. And though I doubt I could ever forget kissing you, I want our first one to be perfect. Not sloppy, or beer ridden, or at all inadequate."

She narrowed her eyes. "Who says we'll have a first one?"

He smiled, that same arrogant grin that made his eyes sparkle with confidence and mischief. She was beginning to appreciate that smile of his. "We will," he assured her. "Soon."

And with that, he planted a swift peck on her mouth and let her go, turning away to flag down a passing taxi.

Isaac woke up with a start. Still a bit disoriented from sleep, he peered around the dark room. Van's room, he quickly remembered. She was beside him, sleeping soundly, her head on his chest, her arms and her legs and her _everything_ wrapped around him. Untangling himself from her long limbs, he slid out from beneath the sheets, careful not to wake her, and made his way out of the room.

The apartment was dark and still, engulfed in early morning silence. It was almost peaceful, he thought. If only it were always so tranquil. If only the air was always so clear, so empty, not thick with tension and questions and words unspoken. Sometimes he wasn't even sure what kept him there at all. But the answer always came to him as quickly as the question.

He stayed to find out what had brought him there in the first place. _Who_ had.

He used the bathroom and on his way back to the bedroom, paused. "Isaac," someone called. It sounded faint, far away, but he was sure he heard correctly. Then it came again. "Isaac."

He peered around the darkness, and then his eyes settled on the door beside him. Maxie's door.

"Isaac," she called. "Isaac."

Pushing her door open, he stepped inside. Just like the rest of the apartment, her room was dark and quiet. Maxie lay in her bed, sheets pushed down to her hips, arms outstretched. She groaned, stirred, but remained asleep. Isaac took another step toward her. Had he been hearing things?

She inhaled sharply, groaned again. "Maxie," Isaac whispered. He went to her side, gently shook her. "Max, wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked, peered around the room and then back up at him. "Isaac?"

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Puzzled, she rose up onto her elbows. "I'm fine."

"Oh. Alright. I'm sorry, I was just leaving the bathroom and I could have sworn I heard you call me."

"I was asleep," she replied.

Even through the darkness, she could see his eyes meet hers. "Dreaming?" he said, softly.

She had been dreaming. Dreaming about him, as she did nearly every night. Barely audibly, she said, "Yes."

He nodded and turned to leave, but stopped when he reached the door and turned back to her. She was still sitting up, still watching him. "Anything good?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to reply but then shut it again.

"Never mind," he said. "Good night."

Isaac emerged from Van's bedroom to find Maxie sweeping the kitchen floor. Only she wasn't sweeping at all. Classical music blared from her ear buds, her eyes were closed, and she twirled around the room as if the broom were her dance partner. Leaning against the sofa, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched her with a small grin. When did he ever see her so relaxed? Never. Not even when she was asleep.

Though it seemed he was the one disturbing her dreams. Every night, he found himself pausing at her bedroom door whenever he passed it, just to listen for his name again. He'd heard it twice more since that first night.

On her tiptoes, Maxie glided across the kitchen, spun round, again and again, paused, leaned back, further back, further, and further still, until her leg reached all the way up, her toes pointing toward the ceiling. After a moment, she slowly lowered her leg and rose to a standing position before her eyes slowly opened. Even then, she seemed to be lost in some faraway corner of her thoughts, staring aimlessly ahead.

At last, she blinked back into reality and raised her gaze to Isaac. She sucked in a sharp breath. "Van," she breathed.

Van? Isaac's brows furrowed, and then he realized that Maxie wasn't looking at him at all. He spun around to see Van standing at her bedroom door, leaning against the frame. Stepping forward, she clapped slowly, a tight smile on her mouth.

"Bravo, Max."

Maxie's eyes went from Van to Isaac and then back to Van. "I didn't realize I had an audience," she said.

"Oh, yes," Van said, stopping beside Isaac. She looked up at him. "We were captivated. Weren't we, babe?"

He shrugged. "I was just on my way to shower."

With that, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Maxie and Van by themselves.

Van turned back to her friend and gave her a onceover. "Can't you at least put some clothes on?" she spat.

Maxie was wearing a sports bra and leggings, the same thing she wore every Saturday while she cleaned. "Okay..." she replied, a bit taken aback.

Van went back into her bedroom and waited for Isaac to return from the shower. When he did, he was still spotted with water, wearing only a towel around his waist. Van glared at him. "Don't you think it's a little inappropriate to be walking around the house in just your towel?" she snapped.

He turned his nose up at her. "Stop. You sound like your mother."

"Well, maybe she's right." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Maybe she's right about a lot of things."

"What are you talking about, Van?"

Lowering her eyes, she said, "I'm talking about Maxie. Maybe her moving out isn't such a bad idea."

"You mean kick her out?"

"No," Van said, "of course I'm not going to just kick her out. Just encourage her to leave on her own."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because, Isaac, we're a couple. This is a relationship. It's time we turn this place into our home, start building our lives together, without Maxie sleeping in the next room. Or dancing in the kitchen," she added.

" _Our_ home? I don't even officially live here," he said.

"Maybe it's time we change that, too."

He shook his head and turned back to the dresser. "How about we just take some time and think it over?"

"That's what you said when you first came out of the hospital, and now it's months later. I've thought plenty about it, Isaac. It's time to move forward."

"And Maxie living here is holding us back?"

"Yes!" she cried. "It is! What am I supposed to think when I come out of my room and find my boyfriend staring at my best friend prancing around the place half naked?"

He whipped around to face her. "I don't know, Van, what _do_ you think?" he demanded. _Go ahead_ , _accuse me of something I haven't even done_. _Give me a reason to do it._

Sighing, she said, "I just think that maybe jumping back into things like nothing ever happened was a mistake. We can't act like things are the same as they were before because they _aren't._ You're different," she said weakly. "And Maxie is different."

"And so we kick her out."

"She'll understand that we need space."

"It just doesn't seem right."

"She's an adult."

"Funny," he said, "I can clearly remember you telling your mother to pretty much fuck off when she'd said the same thing."

Dropping her gaze, she said, "Like I said, maybe she was right."

"What are you worried about, Van?"

Plopping down at the end of the bed, she let her head fall in her hands and ran her fingers through her hair. "I just want our relationship to be _ours_. Since we met, I've felt like I'm sharing you with Maxie. It's never you and I, Isaac, it's always the three of us. And I realize that it's my fault. I'm the one that included her in everything, considered her when maybe I should have only considered us, thought about her before I thought about you. It's just, I spent so much of my life doing everything I could to make sure she didn't feel like an outsider, I didn't know where to draw the line. But now I do."

Isaac was torn. Maybe Van was right. He _was_ consumed by Maxie, inexplicably and unnervingly so. He looked forward to seeing her as much as he looked forward to seeing Van, even more so at times. She plagued his thoughts, his dreams, the few memories he had left. The moment she had walked into his hospital room holding those blue flowers, _forget-me-nots_ , something had shifted inside of him. Something so foreign, yet strangely—comfortingly—familiar. From that moment, she had him.

But how could he just discard her? How could Van keep her so close for so long and then, without even a warning, shove her away? And why? Her own insecurities? It just didn't seem right. "I don't know, Van," he said, shaking his head.

He couldn't understand how—or _why—_ Maxie determined the course of their whole relationship. And even worse, he couldn't understand why the thought of not living under the same roof as her anymore, the thought of not seeing her face every day before he went to bed, aroused a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't ignore.

"We can move forward," he said, at last. "I'll move in. Officially."

Van's face lit up, her full lips formed a wide smile. "You will?"

"But," he went on, "We're not kicking Maxie out." She exhaled heavily, instantly deflated. "We can't let her, or anyone else, dictate how we live our lives. If she's the reason behind any of the decisions we make, then that's our fault, not hers. We can't punish her. And we can't just _kick her out_. She's your family, Van. And you're hers. Her _only_ family."

Bowing her head, Van nodded. "You're right."

He gently pulled her forehead to his lips. "Hey. Relax, now. Stop crying," he said, hardly able to keep the tremor from his voice. "We're _roommates_."

THEN

Maxie pushed open the door of Brass Knuckles Boxing Gym and stormed inside. For the first time, she had no regard for the dozens of lustful eyes that fell on her as she made her way through the room. Spotting him in his office, she marched angrily across the room and burst inside. "You _hit_ him?" she cried.

Isaac and the man he was talking to—Daniel Gnar was his name—both looked up from their conversation. Isaac forced a tight grin. "Will you excuse us?" he asked his friend.

Eyeing Maxie, Gnar nodded and left the office, shutting the door behind him. Isaac reached over and lowered the blinds over the large window looking out on the rest of the gym. "Maxie," he said evenly, sitting back on the edge of the desk. "Why don't you sit?"

"No, I'm not going to _sit_! Alex told me you showed up to his apartment and attacked him!"

"I wouldn't say I _attacked_ him. I barely touched him."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "His nose is broken."

"Well," Isaac said. "I guess I don't know my own strength."

With a sigh, Maxie said, "I can't believe you. Why would you _do_ that, Isaac?"

"Why do you think, Max?"

She moved closer to him, stopping just at the corner of his desk where he was perched. "How do you think that looks? You, Van's boyfriend, defending me that way."

"Truthfully," he said, still no emotion in his tone, "I don't give a shit what it looks like. After hearing him talk to you like that, seeing him grab you, and then your legs from the sauce hitting you..." He paused, his nostrils flared as he exhaled heavily. "He's lucky all he got was a broken nose."

"Isaac—"

"Quite frankly, Max, I'm pretty proud of myself, actually. Do you remember that darkness I told you about? The darkness in my heart? Well, you can imagine the dark urges that came from it. I wanted to wring his fucking neck."

"But you punched him instead."

"I _only_ punched him instead. Because of you. Because I didn't want you to be too upset with me." With a small grin, he said, "I guess you're like my light, Maximilienne."

For a moment, Maxie didn't reply. She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She wanted to smile. She wanted to fall in his embrace. But she remained upright and didn't soften her glare. "What if Van were to find out? What would she think?"

"Like I said, I really don't care." He remained so calm, yet so intent. He meant it, she knew. He meant every word of it. Clearing her throat, she said, softly, "You can't be this way. I'm not your girlfriend, Isaac."

"And yet," he said, his gaze boring into her, "here you are."

He stood and took a step toward her. She took a step back.

"Look at me," he said.

_Don't do it. You'll be finished. Don't do it_. She looked up at him. He took another step toward her. This time, she didn't move.

"I don't care what you are, or what you think you aren't. I'm not going to stop being this way. And the next time he touches you will be the last time he uses his hands. So if you're so worried about what Van or anyone else will think, I suggest you tread carefully around Alex—or any other motherfucker—who might ever be tempted to hurt you."

Dropping her head, she nodded. Isaac kissed her crown. "Did you come all the way here just to yell at me?" he asked.

"Yes," she admitted.

"I'll walk you out then."

He escorted her to the exit before stealing another kiss from her.

When she was gone, Isaac returned to his office, where Gnar waited for him.

"Lovers' quarrel?" he asked.

"Mind your business, Gnar," Isaac replied without looking at him.

"Oh, c'mon now. Don't be secretive. Who is she?"

"Here's the thing. Who she is doesn't matter. _What_ she is matters. And what she is is off limits. Got it?"

Gnar smirked. "I see the way you look at her."

"I see the way _you_ look at her. Off limits, Daniel. Leave it alone."

Unfazed, Gnar nodded. "You got it, boss."

That night, Maxie dreamt of her mother. She was back in the house she grew up in, standing in her mother's bedroom as Noelle sat on the bed, pouring handfuls of pills into her palms before stuffing them into her mouth. Maxie watched. She could do nothing but watch. Her limbs were frozen, her mouth was shut tight, but on the inside she was screaming.

She woke with a start, the ache of her helplessness still sitting on her chest. She exhaled heavily, shut her eyes tightly, tried to push away the lingering knot in the pit of her stomach. Then, her bedroom door opened, and Isaac appeared. Shutting the door quietly behind him, he stole across the room and slid into bed beside her.

If that dream hadn't fully awakened her already, she was certainly awake now. Her heart pounded against her chest, it felt as if the temperature in the room went up a few degrees. Isaac was in bed with her, under the blankets with her, reaching for her while she only wore panties and a tee-shirt, and he was just in boxer briefs. He pulled her against his bare chest, kissed her as his hands went up the back of her shirt to caress her bare back.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, pulling away.

He gently pushed her down flat on the mattress and shifted his weight on top of hers. Her heart hammered against her chest. What was happening? And why, _why_ couldn't she find her voice to stop it? _This is wrong. This is crossing the line. Stop before it's too late. Just say no._ But instead, she spread her legs for him, opened her arms to him, threw back her head so he could plant soft, moist kisses on her neck.

She moaned as he trailed his fingers up her belly and palmed her breast.

" _Sh-h_ ," he said against her mouth. "Don't make a sound, Max..." His voice trailed off, but his hands didn't stop moving, his lips, his tongue, they never stopped moving.

She ran her hands up his big arms, down his muscular back, kissed his neck and his shoulders, bit down on her bottom lip to hold back her cries of pleasure as he lifted her shirt and lowered his mouth to her chest. His hands went around her thighs and found their way inside of her panties, where they lingered. She moaned loudly as his lips and his fingers moved in sync with one another. He lifted his head to look into her face through the darkness. "Be quiet," he instructed, watching her wiggle and contort beneath him. "Be quiet or I'll have to stop."

No. She didn't want that. She didn't want him to _ever_ stop. She imagined she could have lain there forever while he kissed and caressed and licked and fondled her. She buried her face in the curve of his neck as his fingers played beneath the thin fabric of her panties.

He kissed the side of her face, licked her ear, nibbled gently on her lobe. " _Sh-h,_ " he crooned, holding her tighter. " _Sh-h-h_ , Maxie, _sh-h_."

But she couldn't hold back any of her cries, whimpers, moans or groans. She was breathing hard, thrusting against his hand as it controlled her body like a puppet master controlled his dolls. Isaac whispered to her, hushed her, spoke sweet nothings, half in English, half in French, chanted her name over and over. Every time she opened her eyes she felt as if the room was spinning, yet when she closed them again, she thought her body would combust from the inside out. Was it possible to feel too good?

She moaned again, louder. And louder. _Too loud_.

"Please be quiet," he quietly begged. " _Please_ , Maximilienne, be quiet."

"You have to stop," she breathed.

"No," he replied, kissing her, and she moaned again. Suddenly, they heard shuffling in the next room.

Maxie's eyes shot open, Isaac quickly pulled away. He rolled over, and they lay perfectly still, completely silent, waiting to hear something else. After a moment or so, Maxie exhaled and Isaac turned to her. Kissing her one last time, he whispered, "We're going to have to work on that."

Her face reddened, and she smiled timidly.

"Next time," he whispered.

"Next time?"

He grinned. "You don't think I'm finished with you, do you? Oh, Maximilienne, I'm nowhere near finished with you. In fact, I've just begun."

The next morning, over breakfast, Maxie kept her eyes low, too embarrassed to look at Isaac and too ashamed to look at Van. She could feel Isaac looking at her, though. And he didn't seem the least bit ashamed. No, he was cheerful, elated even. He talked and laughed as they ate, even entertained some of Van's mundane prattle about her job, and her modeling, and herself, of course. But Maxie sat in silence, merely picking at her food, with her gaze averted the whole time.

She was immensely relieved when they finished breakfast and Isaac announced he would be leaving with Van. She stood and brought the dishes to the sink as Van headed toward the bathroom. And then, as soon as they were alone, Isaac was behind Maxie, spinning her around to face him. She peered around nervously, looking back toward the bathroom door every few seconds. Isaac wasn't worried, though. He held her and kissed her with no regard to getting caught. "It took me hours to fall back to sleep," he whispered to her. "I just kept thinking about you back in that bed, all alone, soft and wet and..."

"Maxie," Van said, coming out of the bathroom. Isaac stepped back and turned away just as she came into the kitchen, holding a small bottle. "Have you been using my moisturizer?"

"No," Maxie said, though she wondered if Van could see the guilt written across her face. _I haven't used your moisturizer, but I might be in love with your boyfriend._

Van shrugged. "I guess I've been using more than I thought," she said, and went back to the bathroom.

When she was gone, Maxie turned to Isaac. "We have to stop, Isaac. We _have_ to stop."

Smiling, he shook his head and reached for her again. "I can't. Now that I've started, I'll never stop."

But she didn't smile, and she pulled away from him. "I'm serious," she said. "This is wrong. You're with Van."

He let out a humorless chuckle and stepped back. "C'mon," he said, shaking his head. "I've never been with Van. Even when I'm physically with her, I'm not with her. Our whole fucking relationship is nothing but a pretense."

Maxie's brow's furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"I want to be with you. I've wanted to be with you from the beginning. We both know it, Maxie. And we both know that you want to be with me, too, so why don't we just stop this fucking charade?"

"It's no charade! You're dating my best friend. Every day you wake up with her, you hug her, you kiss her, you go back to bed with her at night—"

"And why's that?" he demanded. "Because you told me to. Because that afternoon in the café, when I tried to do the right thing before this all went too far, you told me to date her, knowing how I really felt."

"Oh God," she said, shutting her eyes. "This has been such a mistake."

"Tell me about it."

She was shaking her head, as if to shake away her shame and confusion. As if to shake away every wrong decision she'd made in the months that had passed. "You should go," she said, at last. "Just leave."

"And then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'll leave now, if you want me to, Max, but what about tomorrow?"

"No!" she said. "Leave and stay gone! You obviously don't care about her, so just go away!"

He chuckled. "Dump her? That's your idea of sparing her feelings?"

"It's better than leading her on."

"No. No, I haven't done all of this for nothing. I haven't spent all of this time pretending for nothing!"

"Isaac! She's my best friend. My sister. What do you want me to do? Are you going to just sneak in my room for ten minutes every night? Kiss me when she turns her back? Spend forever having secret dinners on the roof with me while she's at work?"

"Of course not," he said. "We're going to tell her the truth."

"Oh!" Maxie said, dropping her hand on her chest. "Just... Just tell her the truth. Just walk right in and tell her that I think I'm in lo—" She paused, anguish overcame her. "I'm just supposed to _tell_ her...?"

"We'll do it together."

She shook her head again. "I can't do that to her. For so many reasons, I just can't."

"What reasons, Maxie? What reasons are so important that her happiness matters more than your own?"

"Well, for starters, our friendship would be ruined," she said.

"She'll forgive you."

Maxie scoffed. "She would never forgive me! And I would lose the only family that I have left!"

"You have me."

She let out a frustrated groan.

"Listen, I get it, okay? But that's even more reason for her to forgive you. You guys are family. Forgiveness comes with the territory."

"Loyalty does, too."

He shrugged. "Well, it's too late for that."

"No, it's not. I made a mistake, but I'm not going to intentionally hurt her. How could I be _another_ person who lets her down?" She shook her head. Kept shaking it, shaking away the temptation and the emotions and the unremitting desire. "I just can't, Isaac. _We_ can't."

"So that's it? We just walk away now? Pretend nothing ever happened?"

Lowering her eyes, she let out a barely audible, "Yes."

He chuckled with disbelief. "And you want me to break up with her."

"Yes."

"And leave _you_?"

"Yes."

He glared down at her for a moment, his brows furrowed, his jaw set. "No," he said. Her shoulders sank. She looked up at him and he shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said with a shrug. "No."

#

NOW

Isaac sat silently at the table during breakfast. Van chatted away about her work, about how she'd been sleeping, about what she wanted to eat for lunch, about movies she wanted to see. Maxie wondered how Van didn't notice Isaac's cold disposition.

He barely looked up from his plate, and when he did, his gaze always fell on Maxie. He'd meet her eyes and hold her stare, unblinking, unmoving, until she had to look away. She wanted to ask if he was alright, but feared the answer. Obviously he wasn't alright.

When Van finished her breakfast, she stood. "That was good, Max, thank you. Isaac, are you leaving with me?" she asked.

"No."

She waited a moment, maybe expecting him to say something else. "Oh," she said finally. "Okay, then." Her eyes moved from Isaac to Maxie, then back to Isaac. She leaned down, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her mouth firmly to his.

For nearly a minute, they sat frozen in a passionate kiss, Van moaning lightly, Isaac simply receiving her affection. Maxie looked away uncomfortably and gathered her plate to bring to the sink. When Van pulled away, breathing heavily, she smiled. Stealing one last glance in Maxie's direction, Van headed out.

"Who was _that_ for?" Isaac called after her. It was the most he'd said all morning.

"You, babe," Van replied before the door shut behind her, but Maxie doubted that.

When she was gone, Isaac rose from the table and came across the kitchen to Maxie. She gasped as he approached, stepping so close to her that she had to back against the sink.

" _What_?"

"Tell me what I was doing here that night," he said, his voice low and urgent.

"What?"

"You heard me. Tell me the truth. Why was I here at three in the morning, Maxie, while my girlfriend was at work? Why did they find me in my underwear?"

Maxie's heart pace quickened. What did he know? Why was he asking? "You were looking for something—"

"You're a liar!" he lashed out.

"What's wrong with you?" she demanded, backing further away, but he only followed her.

"My problem is you're the only person I've trusted since this whole thing happened, and you've been lying to me!"

She shook her head. Where was this coming from? "No, I—"

"What was going on between us?"

"Nothing."

"Were we fucking?"

"No!"

"Were we...together?"

"No, Isaac!"

He glared at her. "Tell me the truth, Maxie. I deserve to know."

"That _is_ the truth. We're friends, Isaac. We've always been friends."

"Just friends?"

"Yes."

Exhaling heavily, he took a step back, reached into his back pocket and pulled out three pictures. "Then who are these people?" he demanded, thrusting the photos at her. "Because _these_ people are not just friends."

Maxie's mouth fell agape when she looked at the pictures. They were the ones she'd given to Jenny. _Jenny_. Jenny must have left them in Isaac's apartment that day. Left them there for him to find. She sighed, ran her fingers over the first photo, her face pressed against Isaac's as she smiled widely. And the next one, her head resting on his shoulder as his lips rested on hers. And the last one. Bea had taken the last one. Maxie and Isaac stood against the brick wall of the tattoo shop, Maxie leaning on his chest, gazing up at him with awe and a smile, as he stared back down at her with the same tenderness. Her hands were in fists, gripping the sides of his shirt. His hands were on her, of course, one wrapped tightly around the end of her long ponytail, the other lying flat on her behind. Maxie remembered that day as if it had just passed.

"Maxie," he said, going to her again. He lowered his voice. "Maximilienne. You're the only thing I even _vaguely_ remember. You're the only person I trust. You're the only person I feel has truly gotten to know me this past year and a half. And I don't even know why I feel like that. Tell me why."

Finally, she raised her eyes to his. _Don't forget to breathe._ She exhaled.

"I..."

She could tell him. If the opportunity was never presented to her before, it was surely presented to her at that moment. She could tell him everything. She could get him back. He would be hers again.

And Van?

Suddenly, the doorbell sounded, followed by three firm knocks. Both Isaac and Maxie turned toward the door. Maxie let out a soft sigh of relief. "Who the fuck is that?" Isaac demanded, irritated.

Dropping her gaze to the floor, she replied, "Gnar. I'm spending the day with him."

His eyes widened, and then his jaw tightened and he shook his head, turning away from her. "Of course."

Maxie slipped away from him and went to answer the door. Gnar stood there, smiling, smelling fresh, looking handsome. "What's up? You aren't dressed yet?"

"Almost," she said.

He moved past her into the apartment. When he saw Isaac, his smile wavered. "What's up, man?"

Isaac nodded.

His eyes fell on Maxie again, who still stood at the door. "Where's Van?" Gnar asked.

"Work," Isaac replied. "Aren't _you_ supposed to be at work?"

Gnar grinned. "I took the afternoon off, boss. You don't mind, do you?"

"I guess one of us should be there," Isaac replied, making his way to the front door. "We'll finish this later?" he asked, though Maxie knew it wasn't a request.

Reluctantly, she nodded, and then he was gone.

"Finish what?" Gnar asked, eyeing her nonchalantly, though she could hear the curiosity— _or was it suspicion?_ —streaking his tone.

"Nothing," she said, hurrying to her room. "Be right back. I'm going to get dressed."

"So," Maxie said, still as captivated by Gnar's apartment as she'd been the first time she saw it. "What _is_ all of this?"

Gnar looked around. "My dad was a collector," he said. "When I was a kid, we would go around to yard sales and antique stores and secondhand shops and pick up tons of old and rare finds, things people underestimated the value of. He would just hold onto it all until we needed the money, and then he would sell it."

"Is all of this worth a lot?" she asked.

"Most of it," he said. "Like those." He pointed toward the collection of violins hanging above the piano. Each one older and more fragile looking than the last. "I can get twenty-five grand for all of those, easily." Maxie gasped.

"And these," Gnar said, picking up one of three vintage toasters from a shelf. "They're from the twenties. Four hundred dollars each, maybe more."

Maxie looked around at everything again, now with a new appreciation of it all. "What else?" she asked.

He led her to a large closet at the end of the hall and pulled it open. "This is my gun collection," he said, revealing a trunk of antique guns. Pistols, rifles, even a machine gun. "All from the forties," he said. Then he grabbed a box from off one of the top shelves. "And these are my most prized possessions," he said. Maxie opened the box and inside were three old pocket watches. "This one is from the forties," Gnar said, carefully lifting the first one off the soft, velvet pillow they rested on. "That one is from the thirties. And the last one was my father's, from the eighties. Not as valuable, but priceless. You know?"

"Wow, Gnar. They're beautiful."

He shook his head. "Not as beautiful as the one Isaac has. His mother's fiancé gave it to him back in France. It's from the eighteen hundreds, Maxie. Worth thousands. Thousands and thousands." He shook his head. "I've told him over and over he's a fool not to sell it. A _fool_."

"I'm sure plenty of people would say the same thing about you and all of this. It sounds like you're sitting on a goldmine in here, Gnar."

"One day I'll sell it all," he said. "I'll sell it all and use the money to go see Europe, like Isaac got to. Europe and Australia and Africa. Every continent, every island, every paradise." He smiled wistfully.

"That's great, Gnar. I used to want to travel." With a chuckle, she said, "Travel, and then come back and open a restaurant." Though she'd given up nearly everything for her dreams, they still sounded so impossible when she spoke them aloud. Why didn't she feel as confident when she didn't have Isaac there encouraging her? Maybe because he'd been the only one encouraging her. She dropped her eyes. "I hope _your_ dreams come true."

Gazing fully at her, he replied, "I hope so, too." After a short pause, he said, "Hey, I have some old cookbooks, too. Do you want to see?"

With that, she beamed. "I would love to."

Maxie whipped up a meal from one of the cookbooks Gnar had provided, and they sat on the couch eating. A movie played, though neither of them even glanced in the television's direction.

"Where did you learn to cook?" he asked, swallowing down the last of his food.

She shrugged. "I sort of taught myself. When I was young, my mom would get super high and I'd cook her dinner. She always wanted something new, and from as far back as I can remember, I always loved thinking of different things to serve her."

' _Mm,' Noelle says, her eyes drifting shut as she tastes the first bite of Maxie's stew. 'This is the best thing I've ever tasted, baby.'_

Maxie laughs. 'That's what you said about the lasagna. And the chicken pies.'

_Noelle nods, taking in another mouthful. 'I know, but this._ This _is definitely the best.'_

"Is that why you smoke? Because your mom did?"

With a sigh, Maxie admitted, "When I used to dance, I would close my eyes and it would feel like she was right next to me again. Watching me. It was like all the rest of my thoughts cleared a path for her. I felt closer to her." She shrugged. "Same thing when I'm high."

Solemnly, Gnar replied, "I'm sorry you lost her."

After a moment of silence, she said, "I haven't smoked. It's been about three weeks."

"I'm impressed," Gnar said.

"You were right about the music," she admitted. "It just takes me away. Thank you for showing me that."

He nodded. "I'm glad to have been able to help."

"Anyway, it's not like I _need_ to smoke. I've quit before, in high school. After almost three years of smoking pretty much every single day, I just stopped cold turkey."

"Why?"

She lowered her eyes. "Van's dad caught me once. I went off into the woods behind the house, and he followed me. At first, I thought he was going to flip, but he just..." She paused and chuckled at the memory. "He asked if he could join me. We smoked a joint and sat under the trees laughing and talking like old friends. It was the closest I'd felt to anyone in so long, even Van. And then—" She stopped. Gnar waited, his eyes fastened on her. She bowed her head, pressed her lips together. "He kissed me," she said, at last.

Gnar inhaled. "Van's dad?"

"Anyway, I stopped after that, except for on a few occasions. And then Isaac had to go and get shot," she added. "Knocked me right off the wagon." She chuckled lightly, but Gnar remained silent, still staring at her.

She averted her eyes, dropped her gaze to Gnar's fingers that were holding onto the sleeve of her oversized sweater. His apartment was always chilly. Once in a while, when he'd offer her one of his huge sweatshirts to put on, she would imagine herself curling up in his arms.

He was so strong, so assertive. Even when she rejected him, he handled her with such confidence, as if she belonged to him anyway. She wondered if being in his embrace would make her feel as if she belonged to him as well.

She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to reel her thoughts back in, her eyes still on the fabric of the sleeve tucked between Gnar's fingers. And then he gently tugged at it, pushed it back, and slid his hand into Maxie's open palm.

"I got this one playing basketball," Gnar said, showing Maxie a scar on his elbow. "This one in a bar fight," he said, tracing his finger over the pale slit across the knuckles of his right hand. "Some guy hit me with a bottle. And this one," he said, raising his face to show her another healed gash just under his chin. "Is from a scuffle when I went to jail in high school."

Her eyes widened. "You've been to jail?"

He shrugged. "Not for anything major. A few nights here and there."

"I almost went to jail once. I was with a friend who got caught stealing from a department store." She shrugged. "The manager ended up just calling our parents."

Gnar laughed. "You're practically a felon, then." She, too, laughed and shrugged again. "Do you want to have a little bit of real fun, Maxie?" he asked.

She was curious. "Yes."

"Alright. This has to stay between you and me, though."

She nodded excitedly. "I won't say anything," she promised.

"Okay, c'mon," he said. He stood up and went to the kitchen, where he pulled open a drawer. From it, he revealed a large brass ring, full of keys. "I only pay a quarter of the rent that this apartment is worth," Gnar told her, holding up the keys, "Because I agreed to be a part-time super for the building when I first moved in."

"You're the super here?" He nodded. "So you're good with your hands?"

With a grin, he replied, "In more ways than one."

Also grinning, she shook her head.

"Anyway, these are the spare keys to every apartment in this building."

Maxie stared at him. " _Gnar_."

His smile swelling, he motioned for her to follow him, and they made their way out the door and up to the second floor.

"Remember," he said, stopping at the last door at the end of the hallway. "This stays between us."

Once she agreed, he turned back to the door and unlocked it. Maxie held her breath as he peered around the hall to make sure it was clear before leading her inside. "What are we doing?" she demanded, holding tightly to the back of his shirt as if something would jump out at them any moment.

"You don't have to whisper," he said. "No one's home."

"And no one is...?"

"Keith Henry," he said. "Young guy, even younger than me, I think."

She peered around the apartment, still uneasy despite Gnar's assurance. "What are we doing?" she repeated.

"Haven't you ever been curious about your neighbors?" he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder with a small grin. "I have. Fortunately for me, I have the keys to all of their apartments."

She gasped. "And you just come in and... snoop around?"

"Pretty much," he said, tossing the keys down on the coffee table as if he owned the place. He casually picked up a stack of mail and began to flip through it. "Bills," he said, frowning.

"We should go. What if he comes back?"

"He won't. I know the schedules of the tenants as well as I know my own. Go ahead, take a look around."

"Me?"

"Well _I've_ seen it all," he said with a shrug. "I already know what goes on behind the closed doors of the sickos this building seems to attract."

She shook her head, backing toward the door. "No. No, I'm not going to just go through this guy's stuff!"

Gnar looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "You're sure? You won't believe what there is to find," he said. She kept her arms crossed defiantly over her chest, not moving from her spot, despite the growing curiosity budding within her.

Finally Gnar shrugged and grabbed the keys from the table. "Fine, we can go."

"Wait," she conceded, stepping forward. "Are you sure we're safe?"

He smiled. "Positive."

"Alright," she said, still hesitant. "Show me to the goods."

He led her to the bathroom attached to Keith's room and pulled open the medicine cabinet. She gasped, leaning forward to get a better look the bottles upon bottles of prescription pills that neatly lined the narrow shelves. She reached out to grab one, but Gnar caught hold of her wrist. "Don't touch anything," he instructed.

She nodded, tilting her head to read the small labels. They were all prescribed to Keith Henry, Jr. "Oh my God. Is he...a drug addict?"

"Not quite," Gnar replied, kneeling down and pulling open the cabinet beneath the sink. She kneeled down beside him and peered into the space where she, in her own bathroom, kept the cleaning supplies. Her eyes bulged when they fell upon the large bags of marijuana and an even bigger assortment of pills.

"He's a drug dealer," she concluded aloud.

"That's what it looks like," Gnar agreed.

"Maybe he's doing it to pay for college," she suggested, feeling a strange need to defend the boy.

"Maybe," Gnar replied, rising to his feet. "Anyway, let's get out of here. I have an even better one for you." He pulled a rag out of his pocket and began to wipe down the surfaces of the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Fingerprints," he said. "Just in case."

The next apartment was on the fifth floor. "Who lives here?" she asked as Gnar led them inside.

"Reverend and Mrs. Pittman," he replied. "They're an older couple who walk around here turning their noses up at everyone. Once I came in to fix their toilet, and they pretty much told me I was going to hell after he found out I'm not baptized. A Jehovah's Witness used to live next door to them, but the Pittman's ran her out of here after just a few months."

Inside of the apartment, she noticed the crosses immediately. They were everywhere, spread throughout the apartment, all colors and sizes, paired with scriptures and rosaries and religious poems and pictures of J.C. himself. Then she saw the four-foot statue of Virgin Mary, standing next to the armchair like a houseguest.

"Wow," she said, bewildered.

"Holy shit," Gnar said. "No pun intended." He and Maxie exchanged glances and a chuckle. "C'mon," he said. "Let me show you the bedrooms."

She followed him to the first bedroom. It was small and plain, painted a pale blue, with oak furniture. There were more crosses, a big one hovering over the bed like a dark cloud on a sunny day. A few family pictures were scattered about, and they even had a small television on the dresser. "I like to call this their day room," Gnar said.

She glanced at him, confused, and he motioned for her to follow him. They went to the second bedroom next, which had to be unlocked. Maxie stepped inside and gasped, placing her hand on her chest as she peered around. Black curtains over the windows darkened the room, and there was no furniture, just... _devices_. The room resembled a medieval times torture chamber with its chains and locks and swings. There were whips, and gags, and blindfolds, and leather costumes. Sex paraphernalia decorated the room like trophies, like _art_. She wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped further inside, afraid to touch anything that may have previously been somewhere less than sanitary.

"They're masochists," she said.

" _He_ is," Gnar said. "She's a dominatrix."

"Oh my Go—"

"Don't even _say_ His name," he interjected, peering around the room. "Those two walk around judging everyone else. I have no problem with fantasies and fetishes. But the _hypocrisy_."

Maxie moved to the armoire and pulled the doors open to reveal a large flat screen TV accompanied by a broad collection of S&M-inspired porn movies.

"Better than any sex store you've ever been in, huh?" he asked.

She shuddered. "Let's get out of here. I feel violated."

He chuckled, and they headed toward the front door, stopping short when the knob clicked and Mrs. Pittman's voice carried from the other side. Maxie sucked in a sharp breath and reached for Gnar, but he already had her by the arm and was dragging her down the hall. She heard the front door open just as they disappeared around the corner.

"I don't know," Mrs. Pittman said into her cell phone. Her heels clicked across the living room to the kitchen. "One minute I was drinking my coffee, the next, I was heaving into the garbage can!"

"What are we going to do?" Maxie cried, her voice barely a whisper.

" _Sh-h_!" Gnar hushed, pulling open the closet door and shoving her inside. "Don't make a sound," he ordered, and before she could reply, the door was closed and she was alone.

Her heart pounded against her chest with the intensity of a jackhammer. She sank deeper into the small space as Mrs. Pittman's heels clicked past the door, biting down on her bottom lip and silently praying the woman wouldn't hear the merciless thumping behind her breasts.

"Pregnant?" Mrs. Pittman shrieked into the phone, and then laughed. "At my age? Don't be ridiculous, Meg."

Her footsteps moved back, pausing in front of the closet door. Maxie shut her eyes tight, held her breath. What if she needed something out of the closet? What if she caught them? She could call the police. They could get arrested. Just when Maxie thought her heart would burst through her shirt, Mrs. Pittman's footsteps receded.

"No, I didn't want to bother Andrew at work. I'm sure it's nothing. Just a stomach virus, prob— Oh! _Oh-h!_ " she moaned. "Meg, I need to call you back," Mrs. Pittman choked out, and then Maxie heard a loud _crack!_ —the phone falling to the floor, she guessed—followed by Mrs. Pittman's footsteps racing past the closet. A second later the bathroom door slammed shut, and a second after that, the closet door flew open and Gnar was there, reaching in and pulling Maxie to her feet.

"Let's go!" he whispered, hauling her toward the front door.

"Andrew?" Mrs. Pittman called from the bathroom, her voice now hoarse and strained. "Andrew, is that you?"

Gnar shoved her out of the door and shut it quietly behind him. "Run!" he instructed, and they dashed off down the hall, not slowing down until they reached his apartment.

Stumbling inside, Gnar slammed the door behind them. He bent over to rest his hands on his knees, breathing hard. They were both silent for a moment, and then he chuckled. In seconds, his chuckle turned into full-on laughter.

Maxie stared at him, wondering what the _hell_ was so funny. "What are you laughing at?" she lashed out, but he didn't reply, just continued loudly cackling.

"Weren't you there?" he finally managed. "How could you not find that funny?"

"She almost caught us," she breathed, the memory of it making her shudder.

He laughed again. "I know! That was fucking _close!_ And she's..." He paused to laugh more. "She's pregnant!" Maxie fought back the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. "They'll have to replace that dungeon with a nursery! That kid is bound to turn out fucked up with a start like that!"

Finally Maxie giggled. It _was_ a little funny. And they _did_ get away. She sighed, sliding down the door as she laughed a bit harder. "I don't think I've ever done anything like that in my whole life. I've never been so scared."

Still chuckling, Gnar took a seat on the floor beside her.

"Thanks for not leaving me," she said.

He looked at her, his face suddenly growing serious. "Leave you?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have left you, Max."

She nodded. "I know. Thank you."

Maxie laced her arm through Gnar's and leaned tiredly on him as they rode the elevator up to her apartment. "Was this a good day?" he asked her.

"Very good."

"I thought so, too."

The elevator stopped, and they stepped off. He escorted her to the door, where she began to fumble for her keys. "Will I be seeing you again tomorrow?" she asked.

"Why? Haven't you had enough of me?"

She giggled and shook her head. "You're completely right. I think I've had all that I can bear of you for a while—"

He cut through her words with his mouth, pressing it gently to hers. She was a bit taken aback at first, but his lips were very full, very soft, very inviting. Her eyes fluttered shut, she raised her hands to his chest as he pulled her closer, and although all the alarms of her better judgment were sounding, she didn't pull away.

Her eyes remained closed, savoring the sensation of his affection for a moment or so even after he let her go. When she finally opened them, he was wearing that grin of his. She couldn't help but chuckle.

"Now," he said, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Wasn't that worth the wait?"

She playfully swatted him and let him kiss her one more time.

"You know," he said, still so close to her that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. "You don't _have_ to wait until tomorrow to see me again. I can stay."

For the shortest of seconds, she considered his offer. Then she shook her head. "No, you can't."

With a chuckle, he said, "It was worth a try." Dropping one last kiss on her lips, he left.

Inside, she found Van and Isaac sitting on the couch, watching a movie. Van sat up immediately.

"Finally!" she said. "You're home! How was your date?"

"It wasn't a date," Maxie said.

"I spoke to Gnar earlier today," Isaac piped up. "Trust me. It was a date."

Van laughed. "Well, what did you guys do? Candle-lit dinner? Romantic movie?"

"We, ah..." She paused, unable to concentrate while Isaac stared at her that way. "We just hung out. I'm really tired, though, can we talk more in the morning?"

"Did you kiss?" Van asked, and Maxie felt her face grow hot.

"I'll tell you everything in the morning, Van," she insisted, turning toward her bedroom.

"Just tell me!" Van called after to her. "Yes or no?"

But she closed herself in her room without an answer.

As usual, Maxie made Charlie breakfast, crushing his six AM pills up into his serving. He ate it all as they conversed across the table.

"...And he tells me that the boy is having trouble getting adjusted," he said of his son and grandson. "And I says, 'it's fucking _potty training_ for Christ's sake. If the kid's having trouble adjusting to shitting on the toilet, you may as well give him the loaded pistol to shoot himself right now, because it only gets harder from here!' Then he gets pissed and hangs up the phone. What the fuck?" he grumbled.

"Maybe that wasn't the advice he was looking for," Maxie suggested.

"It wasn't advice. It was fucking facts. Let me tell you something about me, kid. I don't give advice. Advice isn't anything but some asshole's opinion. I give the facts. When you're being a fucking idiot, I say so, and I tell you that you should stop being a fucking idiot. That isn't advice. It's goddamn facts, and common sense."

She shrugged, knowing arguing with Charlie would only be a waste of energy. "Well, I need some facts, Charlie."

"Fine, I'll give 'em to you."

She told him about the photos Jenny had left for Isaac to find, and the bout she'd had with him after he found them. "I've been able to avoid him the past few days," she said, "but I'm going to have to face him eventually. What should I say?"

"Tell him the truth." Maxie sighed and shook her head. "Well, why the hell do you ask if you're not going to listen, anyway?"

"Let me rephrase the question. What lie should I tell him to avoid the truth?"

He opened his palms to her. "There ain't a lie good enough to disprove those fucking pictures, kid. He saw them with his own eyes. And seeing is believing."

She frowned. "I know. I just... there has to be _something_ I can say."

"What's the big deal? Just tell him the truth."

"I can't. You know I can't."

"Why the hell not? Let's just say the cosmos _are_ out to get you two. The Man himself sent that fucker to go in there and shoot your boyfriend in the head so you wouldn't break your best friend's heart. But now look. He found those pictures. Maybe that's a sign."

"It's not a sign. The cosmos didn't leave those pictures, Charlie. Jenny did."

He shrugged. "Fine, then. Tell him you two were just fucking. I don't know," he said, scraping the last bit of food off of his plate and shoveling into his mouth.

Running her fingers through her hair, she let her head fall back and moaned. "He's going to think I'm such a slut. Sleeping with my best friend's boyfriend behind her back. Then I turn around and date his best friend."

"So you _are_ dating him now?"

"No," she said, quickly. "I mean, I _am_ , but not officially. We're just hanging out, you know? Enjoying each other's company. I wouldn't put a label on it or anything. We've never even spent the night together." With a chuckle, she added, "Not that he doesn't try."

"You like him?"

She lowered her eyes. As much as she hated to admit it, she simply couldn't resist Gnar's charm. Not his confident grin, not his arrogance, not his tenacity. Ever since she saw him last, she daydreamed of his hand in hers, his lips, the heat he radiated when he stood too close to her. "Yes. _Am_ I a slut, Charlie?"

"'Course not," he said. "I know you're feeling guilty, but you can't keep beating yourself up, kid. You want to spare Van's feelings, Isaac's feelings, Gnar's feelings. What about _your_ feelings?"

They went for their usual walk and stopped by the café to see Milla on the way back. "Hello, Maxie!" Milla greeted with her signature enthusiasm. "Charlie! You look so handsome today."

Charlie's face reddened, and he lowered his eyes. "Thank you, Milla."

She smiled, batting her eyelashes, and then motioned toward a nearby table. "You two have a seat. I'll be right back with your usual."

They sat down, and Milla disappeared behind the counter. Maxie nudged Charlie. "She's flirting with you."

"Don't start."

"C'mon, Charlie—"

"What did I say?"

"What happened to all of that moving on stuff you were saying? I thought those were the facts," she whispered. "Charlie, your wife isn't with you anymore. You're allowed to be happy again."

"Take your own advice," he snapped.

"If you take yours first." He rolled his eyes. "Seriously. If you agree to give Milla a real chance, I'll agree to give Gnar a real chance. For the sake of our happiness, Charlie—"

"Fine, fine. You can cut the bullshit song and dance, I'm not paying for a goddamn performance. What the hell am I supposed to say to her anyway? Milla, go out with me? _For the sake of my happiness_?"

"Invite her over for lunch. I'll cook for you two."

"Hush, here she comes," he said.

"Tomorrow!" Maxie quickly whispered. "She doesn't work on Tuesdays!"

" _Sh-h_!"

"Okay," Milla said, setting Charlie's coffee down in front of him, and Maxie's muffin in front of her. "Can I get you anything else?"

Charlie didn't reply, just brought his coffee cup to his lips. "Actually, Milla, we were wondering if you worked tomorrow," Maxie said.

"What? No, you know I'm off on Tuesdays."

Charlie's eyes widened. "Right! Charlie _did_ mention that. Well, there you go, Charlie, now you can ask her."

"Ask me what?" Milla asked, eyeing Charlie with a small grin.

He cleared his throat. His face was impossibly red. "Oh, well, nothing much," he stammered. "Don't feel obligated to say yes or anything, but I just figured maybe you'd like to come over for lunch tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'm testing out the menu for my cookbook," Maxie added. "I need taste-testers."

Milla's grin swelled into a full smile. "Charlie, I would love that. Tomorrow afternoon, huh? What time? Should I bring anything?"

He breathed out a small sigh. Maxie assumed it was relief. "Well, I'm going to run to the bathroom and let you two get the details in order," she said, standing.

Charlie's eyes widened as he silently demanded she sit back down, but she pretended not to notice and went to the bathroom.

When she came out, she slammed right into a little girl, no older than four, nearly knocking the child to the floor. "Ooh!" she cried, catching her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay!" she said, bouncing up and down excitedly. She had a wide smile, big cheeks, and a head full of wild curls. Maxie recognized her immediately. She frequented the small café with her mother, and sometimes Maxie watched them, wondering what their days were like, imaging what days with her own mother would be like if Noelle was alive.

"Addison!" a woman called. Both the little girl and Maxie turned as the little girl's mother rushed toward them. "Addison, what did I tell you about running off like that?"

"Sorry, Mommy. I just have to go pee-pee."

The woman sighed and brought her attention to Maxie. For a moment, she said nothing, just stared at her. Her eyes moved over the contours of Maxie's face, down the frame of her body, and back up again. Maxie wondered if the woman recognized her as well. "Hi," she said.

"Hi," Maxie replied. "She's alright. I caught her as I was coming out of the bathroom."

"Oh," the woman replied, still eyeing Maxie. "Thank you."

"No, problem." She leaned down to the little girl's level. "Bye, Addison. You know, my name was supposed to be Addison."

Addison smiled widely. "Why _isn't_ your name Addison?"

"Because my mommy and daddy decided to name me Maxie instead."

Addison reached for her mother's hand. "This is _my_ mommy."

Smiling, Maxie nodded. "I see. You're a very lucky girl."

When she returned to the table, Charlie and Milla were still talking.

"Well, what do you like?" Charlie was asking her. "Maxie can make just about anything."

"Maxie, honey," said Milla when Maxie sat. "Charlie is really talking you up. I can't wait to taste your cooking."

"Maybe you can make that stuff you made last week? That soupy stuff," said Charlie, looking at Maxie. "You'll love that, Milla. Do you eat beef? Oh, she can make a mean steak, if you do."

Maxie couldn't help but smile as Charlie continued to rave about her one-of-a-kind steaks, and to-die-for beef stews. Bragging almost. He was _proud_ , she realized, flushing red. And suddenly, the familiar blaze of longing that usually burned in the pit of her stomach as she watched Addison and her mother faded to nothing but a wistful sting.

#

THEN

It'd been over a month since he had last kissed her. Almost five weeks, living in a place that resembled heaven as strongly as it resembled hell. Isaac was at the apartment every day, every _single_ day. Eating there, sleeping there, bathing there. Maxie couldn't escape him. Though she loved coming home and finding him lounging on the couch, or leaning over the refrigerator, or doing pull-ups from the bar he'd attached to one of the doorframes, it was getting harder and harder for her to watch him with Van.

Sometimes, when Van was around, he'd barely acknowledge Maxie. It was as if they'd never kissed, as if they'd never _met._ He wouldn't look at her, wouldn't address her, treated her as if she really were _just_ Van's roommate. _You asked for this_ , she reminded herself. She'd asked for his indifference, and she was certainly receiving it. Yet still, she yearned for just a small bit of attention. A look, a graze, a sign that she hadn't dreamt every moment she'd spent falling in love with him. That she hadn't conjured up their hidden kisses and forbidden caresses in a fantasy of hers.

He was punishing her, she concluded. He wouldn't leave. He wouldn't just put them all out of their miseries and leave. Every time he smiled at Van, kissed her, held her, _anything_ , Maxie couldn't help but glare at him. It was all a lie; he'd said it himself. And now he wasn't speaking to Maxie, so why wouldn't he just _leave_?

Because he was punishing her, that's why.

One night, just after dinner when they'd retreated to their separate rooms, Van crept into Maxie's bed. She wrapped her arms around her friend and rested her head in Maxie's curls. "Max?" she whispered.

"Yes, Van?"

"Is it too soon for me to be in love with Isaac?"

_Is it too soon for_ me _to be in love with Isaac?_ "I don't know, Van."

"A part of me feels like it is. But then another part of me feels... well, feels in _love_. He makes me so happy. When I'm with him, I'm happy. And when I'm not with him, I want to be with him."

_And he gives me butterflies, sometimes with just a glance. And he's constantly in my thoughts, even when I'm sleeping. And when he smiles, I smile. And when he laughs, I laugh. And when he's sad, I'm sad. I trust him, and I know he trusts me. I want him, and I know he wants me_.

"It sounds like love," Maxie fretfully admitted.

"You know what? I think it is. I think I love him."

_You know what? I_ know _I love him._

It was like torture watching them, and it only seemed to be getting worse. With Van suddenly _in love_ , everything Maxie thought she could learn to deal with only became even more unbearable. The confines of the apartment were near agonizing at times, so she began to get out.

Most of the time she wouldn't go much farther than the roof. She would disappear up there for hours, reading, dancing, thinking up new recipes. Anything to keep her mind off of what was transpiring just below her.

One afternoon, while Maxie roamed the city aimlessly, she came upon a sign that caught her eye. Large and glowing, she stopped to peer at the word TATTOO just in front of her. The shop was down a short flight of steps, pushed back and practically hidden. But Maxie was drawn to it.

She went inside, where the buzzing of the tattoo guns filled the air. The walls were sea-foam green and covered with drawings, paintings, photographs, sketches of tattoo ideas. There was a sofa behind a small coffee table where stacks of artists' portfolios were spread out. Maxie peered around the place until a girl emerged from the back room.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

Maxie gasped. The girl seemed as colorful and aesthetic as her artwork. Between her green eyes and long, fire orange dreadlocks, and colorful tattoos that nearly covered her, Maxie couldn't help but stare.

The girl frowned. "Ah... Are you looking to get some work done?"

"Yeah," Maxie replied, though before that very moment she _hadn't_ been looking to get any work done. What the hell would she get? And what about dancing? She couldn't dance with tattoos.

She followed the girl to one of the back rooms anyway.

"My name's Beatrix," she said. "Call me Bea."

"Hi, Bea. I'm Maxie."

"Nice to meet you, Maxie. What did you want to have done today?"

"Ah..." She thought a moment. _Barely_ a moment. The idea simply came to her, or maybe it'd always been there. "I want to get _Unfair_."

Bea raised an eyebrow. "Unfair, huh? What's unfair?"

With a sigh, Maxie replied, "Life."

They couldn't stop talking, not even when Bea finished the tattoo and wrapped it in plastic. She was endlessly interesting; just twenty-four years old, the second oldest of eleven, all half siblings by her father. She had started tattooing when she was just seventeen. After she decided not to go to college, her mother kicked her out of the house when she graduated high school.

"How did you live?" Maxie asked.

Bea shrugged. "I stripped."

Maxie felt her mouth fall open.

"What? It's not as big a deal as people make it. I got to wear a thong the whole time. Shook my tits for some old men a few nights a week, made more money than a lot of people make working forty-hour jobs."

"I'm not judging you," Maxie assured her. After all, who the hell was _she_ to judge? _She_ was the one falling helplessly for her best friend's boyfriend. _She_ was the one dreaming about the last time his hands were on her, wondering if, despite her protests, she would ever feel them on her again.

Bea had stripped at night, but during the day she had apprenticed at a tattoo shop. A year and a half later, she was significantly wealthy and officially tattooing. No more stripping, not that she had minded it. And she had a career. Just nineteen years old.

"Talk about following your dreams," Maxie said.

Bea nodded. "I know. It seems so impossible sometimes, but I'm living proof that it _is_ possible. You just have to sacrifice. But if it's for something you really want, it doesn't always seem like a sacrifice."

Maxie thought of Isaac. If he were there, he would have agreed with Bea. He would have told Maxie that if she really wanted to publish her cookbook, or open her restaurant, she wouldn't care what Van or Van's family thought of her. She wouldn't care about the time and money and energy she had wasted in Julliard.

She wondered if she could apply that thinking to wanting _him_ as well.

Aside from tattooing, Bea's life revolved around her thirty-seven-year-old boyfriend, a man who was married with two children.

"He says he's leaving her," she said with a shrug and wave of her hand. "I don't believe him for a minute. I mean, he's cheating on her, so obviously he's not that good of a person. But he's not a bad person, either. He wouldn't just leave her hanging."

"Don't you feel bad?" Maxie asked. "About...you know... sleeping with someone else's husband?"

"Not really. I mean, if it wasn't me, it would probably just be someone else. Why _shouldn't_ it be me? He buys me things. I genuinely enjoy his company most of the time. And he's a damn good fuck. I don't see what the big deal is."

No, Bea never saw what the big deal was. She stripped, _so what_? She carried on an affair with a married man, _and...?_ She smoked weed like most people smoked cigarettes, _it's natural, after all._ Once in a while, she went skinny dipping in her apartment's community pool for fun, _because who the fuck is going to do anything about it_? Maybe that was why Maxie felt so comfortable opening up to Bea. Or maybe it was because she couldn't bear to keep her secret inside any longer.

She told her everything.

About the first night she met Isaac, when he hit her with his car. About how she had wanted him that night, but she had let Van have him. She always gave Van what she wanted. But then he'd shown up at the coffee shop. And they sat and talked for hours, and she _knew_ she was getting herself into trouble. Into big trouble. Before he even opened his mouth to tell her the truth about his own feelings, she could feel hers, brewing in the pit of her stomach. Then there were the dinners, the seemingly innocent dinners that were anything but innocent. And then the kiss. And then everything else.

"...And now he hardly even looks in my direction. I feel like I don't even know what's real or fake anymore. And you know the worst part? Sometimes I wish I never would have ruined things between us. Sometimes I wish I never would have said anything." She buried in face in the palms of her hands. "What kind of friend _am_ I?"

Bea scoffed. "A damn good one if you ask me. I wouldn't hesitate."

"You don't understand. Van is like my sister. She _is_ my sister." She thought of Arnold. "And she's sacrificed a lot for me."

"Is that what your tattoo is about?" asked Bea.

"Among other things," Maxie admitted.

"Well, then," Bea said with a sigh. "I guess you're right. That _is_ pretty fucking unfair."

"So," Isaac said, tugging at Maxie's sweater to reveal the word _Unfair_ written across her shoulder. "Are you going to tell me what that's about?"

She shrugged, moving her sweater back in place. "It's about a lot of things," she said, not looking at him. She sat at the table working on her cookbook. Isaac stood behind her, hovering over her.

He leaned down close to her ear and said, "Van told me she loves me. Did you know that?" Biting down on her bottom lip, Maxie said nothing. " _That's_ unfair. How long are we going to drag this out?"

She finally turned to look up at him, their faces just inches apart. She wanted to kiss him, she wanted to tell that they didn't need to drag it out for another second. She wanted to tell him that she wanted to be with him, that she _would_ be with him. Instead, she said, "You know where I stand."

With a sigh, he nodded and stood. "Fine," he said. "Have it your way."

As if on cue, Van sashayed into the kitchen and, as always, threw herself into Isaac's arms. And he took her, gladly, pulling her against him as he leaned against the sink. Maxie watched as Van's arms went around his neck and she pulled his face against hers. They stood there for a while, frozen in a passionate kiss, only parting so Van could whisper, "I love you," against his mouth.

Isaac opened his eyes, met Maxie's gaze, and held it for a moment or so before replying, "I love you, too." For a moment, he watched Maxie while he kissed Van, and then let his eyes flutter shut again. Swallowing hard, she gathered her books from the table and rushed to her room before he could see her cry.

That night, she woke to the sound of Van and Isaac's lovemaking. At first, she wasn't sure if that was really what she was hearing. The sounds came every couple of minutes, the bang of Van's headboard against the wall, the creak of her mattress, a moan, a giggle. She listened for a while, not because she wanted to, but because she needed to be sure that what she was hearing wasn't what she thought she was hearing. But indeed it was.

It was three AM, and the morning air was brisk, but Maxie left the apartment anyway to spend the rest of the night sobbing on the roof.

NOW

Isaac sat in the kitchen, waiting for Maxie when she returned from work. He wasn't going to let her avoid him anymore. He didn't care what time she snuck in or how tired she was. He didn't care who came around. He didn't care if she didn't feel like talking about it. All he cared about was getting the truth.

It was after eight when she quietly pushed open the front door and crept inside. He knew she didn't see him sitting in the dark, watching her from the kitchen, because she practically tiptoed across the living room toward her bedroom. And then he stood.

"Oh, my God!" she cried, jumping back and clutching her chest. "Oh, my God, you scared the _fuck_ out of me."

"We need to talk," he said, ignoring her. "Come, sit."

He could tell she contemplated it for a moment. Maybe she was going to try to give him another excuse of why she couldn't. However, she finally conceded, dropped her bag on the couch, and made her way to the seat across from his.

With a sigh, she asked, "What do you want to know?"

He flipped on the light to see her, and inhaled sharply.

She looked beautiful.

Her hair was pulled up into a perfect bun at the crown of her head. Her nails were painted a deep, blood red. She wore a dress. A tight, black dress that showed enough of her thigh and enough of her chest to make Isaac stare a little longer. And _makeup_. Smoky eye shadow. Lipstick to match her nails. A bit of rouge. "How was your day?" he breathed.

Her eyes widened. Of course, she hadn't expected him to ask _that_. "Huh?"

He finally tore his eyes away from her. He wasn't thinking straight. "I mean, why are you so dressed up?"

"Oh." She glanced down at her outfit. "Charlie had a woman over for lunch today. I thought it would be fun if I served them, like a waitress. It was nice. Almost like a date."

He didn't want to say it; it just wasn't the time. But he couldn't help it. "You look very pretty."

She blushed, looked away from him. "Thank you."

"Maxie," he said, sitting down again. "Please tell me what was going on between us. I need to know the truth."

"It was really nothing," she said, averting her gaze. "For a little while, just in the beginning—"

"Look at me," he said.

She exhaled heavily, slowly raised her eyes to his. Her leg bounced under the table, she tapped her fingers against the surface of it. "In the beginning," she repeated, "we... we had a fling. It was before you and Van got too serious. And once that happened, we ended it."

"A fling?"

"Yeah."

"Were you in love with me?"

She grimaced. "No."

"Was I in love with you?"

Even lower: "No, Isaac."

"Were there any emotions at all?"

She shook her head.

Isaac contemplated for a moment. It wasn't _so_ unbelievable. He'd had countless meaningless relationships with women, just for sex. The difference was, they all remained nameless, faceless. Maxie was anything but _._ She was a permanent resident of his thoughts, the main object of his dreams, the sole occupant of his memories.

Was it possible that it was more than just a fling to _him_? Maybe she hadn't known. Maybe he'd cared for her more than he'd let on. That didn't seem so unlike him, either, he thought. Especially if she hadn't returned the feeling.

"That's all, Isaac," she said.

"Those pictures didn't look like that was all."

She shrugged. "I didn't say we didn't _like_ each other."

"Why did you lie?"

"Because what we did was wrong," she said, her voice no longer low and timid. "What was the point of reminding you of it? It's over now, and it'll never happen again."

"Why didn't I choose you, Max?"

She lowered her eyes again. "Because Van is my best friend. You and I were never a real possibility."

He thought a moment. Something still didn't make sense. But what choice did he have other than to believe what Maxie told him? Or at least accept it. He had no proof otherwise. "If you're lying to me..."

"I'm not."

"I hope not."

"I just told you we were sleeping together behind my best friend's back. If there's anything else besides that, what's the point in hiding it, Isaac?"

"I don't know, Max," he replied. "You tell me."

#

NOW

"Thanks for coming with me," Van said, lacing her arm through Isaac's. "I finally get to show off my trophy boyfriend."

Isaac laughed. "We can't _both_ be trophies."

"I know. I'm the smart one."

He laughed again. Van laughed, too, and playfully pinched his arm. They made their way across the lobby of the swanky hotel where Van's modeling agency had gathered for their annual industry meet-and-greet. It wasn't Isaac's ideal Saturday evening, but Van had gushed about what a big deal it was, how she couldn't _possibly_ miss it. How _he_ couldn't possibly miss it. It was at that very event, two years ago, where she'd been discovered in the first place.

Isaac didn't bother saying that she didn't really count as discovered, seeing as she had yet to land anything more than spots in low-end fashion shows, and minor catalogue and promotional gigs.

"It's one of the biggest networking events of the year," she'd said. "I could walk in there Van Trimmel, and walk out Van Trimmel: _supermodel._ "

And so, there they were, at the doors of the grand ballroom. Van paused to fix her dress—another short, tight number, this one the color of her skin—and run her fingers through her hair.

"How's my makeup?" she asked Isaac. "Do I have lipstick on my teeth?"

"You look beautiful."

"According to my boyfriend's standards of beautiful or according to fashion industry standards of beautiful?"

Running his fingers across her hip, he assured, "Both, Van."

She smiled. "Now, remember. This is a professional event. No hanky-panky, alright?" As she said it, she moved out from under his hand, which had found its way to her behind, practically up the hem of her skirt.

"I'll do my best," he promised. But he wasn't sure he could follow through; her body was absolutely ravishing in that dress. Offering his elbow for her to take, he said, "C'mon. Let's get this over with."

Inside, the ballroom was swarming. Hundreds of people stood around talking, laughing, holding glasses of champagne and little plates of hors d'oeuvres.

"Fancy," said Isaac.

"Right? Doesn't it remind you of that one scene in _Pretty Woman—_ "

"Sav!" someone called from behind them. Van and Isaac turned to see two girls making their way toward them.

" _Sav_?" Isaac mumbled.

"Hush!" she shot back just as the women approached.

Isaac thought they looked like they belong to a special society, tall and stunningly beautiful, flawless faces of dramatic eye makeup and deep lipstick. Even the least beautiful of the people in that room seemed infinitely more attractive than most of the general population.

"Sav, I'm so glad you could make it," the taller of the two girls said, placing an air kiss on Van's cheek. "You'll never guess who's here."

"Who's _this_?" the other girl asked, eyeing Isaac.

"My boyfriend," Van said proudly. "Babe, this is Quinn and Jess. Quinn, Jess, this is Isaac."

"Nice to meet you both," Isaac said.

Both girls grinned stupidly back at him. Jess's eyes barely left his face through the remainder of their short conversation, while Quinn tried her best to avoid his gaze. When they finally walked away, Van laughed. "Did you _see_ them?"

"I sure did, _Sav_."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't start."

He laughed. "What? It's cute. Real cute, _Sav_."

He continued to tease her between conversations as they made their way through the room, stopping often to chat with a model or agent or photographer. Before Isaac knew it, two hours had gone by.

"I'm actually enjoying myself," he admitted, filling the tiny plate in his hand with an array of exotic appetizers. "Who knew making fun of beautiful people could be so much fun."

"Hey," Van snapped. "Don't forget, _I'm_ one of these beautiful people."

He peered around when she said that, then looked at her again. Her lipstick was slightly faded, her hair wasn't lying as flat as it had been when they first arrived, but she still looked absolutely breathtaking. She _was_ one of them. Inside and out.

"How did we meet?" he asked.

Van's brows furrowed. "What? You know how we met, I've told you before."

"Tell me again. Tell me everything. Was it... I mean, did I...?" How could he ask her if he'd been genuinely interested right away? How could she have known if he hadn't been? Memory or no memory, he knew himself well enough to know he could convince a woman he was absolutely head over heels for her if she had something he wanted. And he was sure Van had had something he'd wanted. She had something _every_ man wanted.

"Well, you met Maxie first, but you guys were just friends." Maxie. Of course it all started with Maxie. "You brought her home one night, and that's when you and I met. We ended up talking for the whole night, even after Maxie went to bed. When you left, you kissed me goodnight. Afterward, once we started officially dating, I mean, you told me that you just knew. You said that by the end of the night, you _knew_."

He blinked, her words sinking in. He knew after one night? Months upon months had passed since he got shot, and he was still trying to figure it out, but the first time around, he just _knew_?

"What?" Van asked, wrapping her arm around his waist. "Are you remembering?" Her eyes lit up at the thought.

"No," he said. "Just trying to figure out how..." _How I fell in love with someone like you._

It wasn't as if she were _un_ lovable. Once he got to know her again, he got to see the woman beneath the model. The sensitive, goofy, huge-hearted woman that Van was. But before, the first time around, what had made him keep digging?

"And what about Maxie?" he asked.

She recoiled a bit, her brows furrowed. "What _about_ Maxie?"

Wrong question. Van's features were suddenly hard and full of hostility. Lucky for Isaac, the sound of her name distracted her.

"Van, here you are!"

She and Isaac both turned as another model advanced toward them. "Hey, Elanna," Van said, an edge to her voice.

"Have you been here long? I just got here, and guess with who. Patrick Wesley!" Suddenly the girl stopped speaking and her eyes went to Isaac, as if he'd just materialized from thin air before her. "Oh, hello."

"Hello."

"Isaac, Elanna. Elanna, Isaac," said Van. The introduction was much shorter, much colder than the rest had been. She wasn't smiling or giggling and gripping at Isaac's arm.

"Isaac? _The_ Isaac?" Elanna cried. Van's eyes grew larger. She opened her mouth to speak, but Elanna wasn't finished yet. "Well, I feel like I practically know you already. The tall, dark, and elusive fiancé. Is the wedding back on since... you know."

Isaac's head jerked in Van's direction. She was looking down at the floor. "Elanna..." she said.

"How does that work?" Elanna continued. "I mean, do you just jump back into things?"

"We're taking it slow," Van replied tightly.

Tilting her head to one side, she said, "That must be hard for you, huh? Going from almost married to practically just dating again?"

Isaac's stared at Van, jaw taut, nostrils flared. "Van," he said evenly.

Looking from Isaac to Van, Elanna asked, "What? Did I say something wrong?"

Van forced a smile. "No, it's fine. I think we're actually on our way out, though."

"We are," Isaac confirmed. Without even looking at her as he pulled Van toward the exit, he said, "It was a pleasure, Elanna."

Outside, Van and Isaac walked in silence back to his car. She nearly had to run to keep up with his long strides.

"Isaac," she said, out of breath and only halfway to the spot where they'd parked. "Isaac, wait."

"Engaged?" he lashed out, turning so abruptly that Van slammed into his chest. "Engaged, Van?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

He withdrew. "So it's true."

She groaned, raising her hands to her face. "It wasn't like, some big official thing, Isaac."

"Were we planning to get married or weren't we?"

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, in a small voice, "We were."

He shut his eyes, turned away from her. He searched his brain for even the smallest of clues, the tiniest of details. It only gave him a headache. Frustration raged inside of him. How could he be so helpless? He had lived his entire life guarding himself from vulnerability, building walls and barriers to keep people out, trusting no one, and now his own mind was betraying him.

"Just let me explain—"

"What I need you to _explain_ , Van, is why the _hell_ I had to find out from some _stranger_? She's allowed to know the intimate details of my fucking life and I'm not?"

"It was a secret!" Van explained. "No one was supposed to know, that's the only reason I told Elanna. I mean, I had to tell _someone_. I didn't think... I mean, if I knew she'd be the one..." She shook her head. "Please, can we just go to the car? I'll tell you everything."

He walked full speed the rest of the way to his car. Van could barely breathe when they reached it and she collapsed into the passenger seat. Groaning, she pulled off her heels and began to message her feet.

"Start talking," Isaac said.

She frowned. "Can't we go home first—"

" _Now_ , Van."

With a heavy sigh, she said, "You proposed, alright? You asked me to marry you, and I said yes. But we hadn't told anyone yet because..." She paused, shook her head as her eyes rolled. "Because of Maxie."

"Maxie?"

"We didn't want to hurt her. We didn't want her to feel left behind or abandoned. So we kept it a secret, waiting for the right time, and then..." She turned in her seat to face him. "What did you want me to do, Isaac? When you woke up, the idea of a long-term _girlfriend_ freaked you out. Was I supposed to just drop the bomb that we were actually _engaged_?"

He wasn't listening to her anymore. It was all too much. Van and marriage and secrets and Maxie. Always Maxie. Somehow, someway. She must have known. Van must have told her. Maybe not at the time, but afterward. After he was shot. They had _all_ kept it from him. With a huff, he turned on the ignition and started for the apartment.

Gnar sat on the floor in the living room, his back propped up against the couch, as Maxie fixed them each a plate of barbequed salmon. He was watching television, one of Maxie's favorite shows, a dance competition. At the beginning of the season, twenty dancers—ten men, ten women—were chosen to compete. At the start of each episode, they were paired with a new partner and assigned a dance genre to perform. At the end of each episode, two dancers were chosen to leave, until only one man and woman were left victorious at the conclusion of the season.

"I used to say I would audition," Maxie told Gnar as he watched intently.

"You could have. You're as good as these girls. Right?" Maxie shrugged. "Hey, can you do _that_?" he asked for the hundredth time. Every time one of the women did something he liked, he wanted to know if Maxie could do it, too. She noticed he asked mostly about splits and leg extensions and anything else that demonstrated flexibility.

This time, though, he was watching a Latin routine. Maxie came to the living room with their plates and sat his before him. "Look, look at that!" he said, tapping her leg and pointing at the television. The girl on the screen's feet were moving back and forth, forward and backward, her hips shifting to the quick beat. Picking up his plate without looking away from the screen, he asked, "What's that? Salsa?"

"Samba," Maxie replied, watching. She'd primarily studied ballet and contemporary herself, but all forms of dance interested her and she'd dabbled in most of them at one point or another.

"Let me see you do that," Gnar said, eyeing her with a grin as he bit down into his food. " _Mm_ ," he moaned. "If you keep feeding me like this, _I_ might start dancing."

Maxie tasted a mouthful. She, too, groaned. "Wow, I outdid myself this time, huh? It _does_ make me want to do a little two-step." Standing just between his legs, she began to mimic the dancer on the screen, moving her feet and her hips as she took another bite of her food.

Gnar laughed, playfully dancing with her where he sat. Maxie also laughed, watching him move his shoulders and arms like the man on the screen as he held his food, taking bites at the same time. "You know," he said, "You'd make an exceptional stripper."

Maxie lost her step as she exploded with laughter. "I would never strip!" she cried.

With a mischievous smile, he asked, "Not even a private show for a devoted fan?"

"You know, you aren't allowed to touch strippers," she pointed out. "It's a rule."

He shrugged, trailing his fingertips up her calf. "Rules are made to be broken."

She chuckled, but before she could reply, the front door opened and Van stepped inside. "What's this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "For someone who gave up a promising dance career, you sure don't stop moving, Max."

Deflated, Maxie plopped down between Gnar's legs. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. Kissing her cheek, he whispered, "Don't you _dare_ stop moving."

Isaac came inside behind Van and stepped forward. Maxie could immediately see the distress in his eyes. She could feel the trouble in the air. "Maxie," he said, sharply.

"Isaac, wait—"

"I thought we agreed. I thought we agreed there were no more secrets," he lashed out. He came so close to her that Gnar raised his hand in her defense.

"Whoa," Gnar said. "Relax, man. What's going on?"

"This has nothing to do with you," Isaac snapped, glaring at his friend. Maxie shrank back into Gnar's chest as Isaac took another step forward.

"This has nothing to do with either one of them, Isaac, _please_ ," Van insisted.

"What's going on?" Maxie asked. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Van told me the truth. She told me about the engagement."

" _Engagement_?" Maxie cried.

Isaac shook his head. "Don't fucking play dumb, Maxie. I'm done with everyone lying and keeping fucking secrets. Secrets about _my_ life. I deserve to know if I'm fucking engaged to someone."

Maxie sucked in a deep breath. She looked past him at Van, who stood clutching her face in her hands. "Who..." She could barely utter the words. "Who are you engaged to?"

For the first time since he burst through the door, Isaac's chest deflated. His glare softened, he took a step back.

"I told you that no one knew, Isaac," Van said quietly from behind him.

"Who are you engaged to?" Maxie repeated.

"Me, Max," said Van. "We planned on telling you. Before he was shot..."

_Before_ he was shot? Maxie inhaled sharply. Could they see the horror, the anger, the immense, indescribable sadness that as they flooded through her? Maybe Isaac did. He was looking right at her the entire time, right in her face.

She blinked. "Oh," was all she could manage.

Silence fell over the room. No one spoke, no one moved.

"Is that all?" Isaac asked her at last. The way he was looking at her, like no one else was in the room, made her shift in Gnar's embrace.

Swallowing hard, she said, "Congratulations."

"Well, we're not _still_ engaged," said Van stepping forward. Turning to Isaac, she added, "Right?"

Without waiting for his reply, Maxie collected her and Gnar's plates and stood to bring them to the kitchen.

"Are we finished?" he asked, frowning.

"Oh," she repeated, looking down at their food in her hands. She'd lost her appetite. "Right. Sorry." She put Gnar's plate back down but continued to the kitchen with her own.

Pausing at the sink, she shut her eyes tightly. They'd been _engaged_. For how long? How many nights had he snuck into her bedroom, kissed her, asked her to be with him, to _really_ be with him while he'd been _engaged_ to her best friend?

Engaged to be married.

He'd said he didn't love Van. He'd said it hadn't been real. But if he'd been able to fool Van, why would Maxie have been any different?

She could feel the heat of shame rise inside of her. Shame, and bitterness, and hurt. And guilt. So much guilt. Because she'd betrayed her best friend for a man who had been betraying them both. And she was _still_ betraying her best friend, because despite her anger, she was still in love with him.

Still.

Gnar appeared beside her. She could feel his arm against hers, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Max," he said, softly. "Are you alright?"

"Of course," she said with a mild shrug.

She was anything but alright. Her insides were dissolving. She wanted to melt into the floor, disappear.

In the living room, Van and Isaac continued to argue: Van insisting she had had no choice but to keep it from him, Isaac insisting that she absolutely had. And all the while Maxie wondered when Van had become so good at keeping secrets.

Maxie tried to ignore the knock at her door. She shut her eyes and pulled her blanket over her head and let the darkness and the sheets and the silence swallow her. It was well past the time she would normally be sleeping. Well past the time anyone would be knocking at her door.

That's how she knew it could only be Isaac standing on the other side.

He knocked again, but this time he didn't wait for a reply before pushing the door open. "Max?" she heard him whisper.

She said nothing. Maybe he would leave if she remained silent.

But he didn't leave. He made his way to her bed, and he sat at the foot of it. She felt his hand rest on her leg through the comforter.

"Max," he said. "Please."

Finally, she sat up and looked at him. "What, Isaac?"

Even through the room's blackness, he stared at her. "I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"For..." He paused.

How could he even know? He couldn't remember the lies he'd told her. He couldn't remember how she'd absorbed them all. He had no way of knowing that every single one of them remained engrained in the core of her being.

And now. Now she felt as if she were coming apart, from the inside out.

"For everything," he said, at last.

She slowly shook her head. "You're not the person you were," she murmured. "You're not—" _My Isaac_. "I can't be mad at you for things you have no control over now, things you can't even remember. It just... sucks."

Lowering his voice, he said, "You said it was nothing, Maxie. You said _we_ were nothing."

How ironic, she thought. How ironic that all along _she'd_ been the fool.

Nodding, she replied, "We were, Isaac. We were _nothing_."

"Then why are you upset?" His tone was almost imploring. It only made her more furious.

"Why are you in here?" she demanded. "What do you want?"

"To make things right," he said softly.

She scoffed. "With me? Why don't you go make things right with your girlfriend? With your _fiancé._ Stop coming in here. Stop speaking to me like I—"

"What?" he said. "Like you're what?"

_Matter_. She knew now, more than ever, that she didn't matter. She'd never mattered. "Just stop," she said.

"I've tried," he admitted. "But I can't, Maxie. I'm incapable of stopping. I don't want you to be mad at me."

It was like his bare hand was in her chest. It was like his fingers were wrapped around her heart, squeezing it, bleeding her completely dry. "And what about Van?" she asked. "She's mad at you."

He nodded once. "I'm at little mad at her, too, at the moment."

"Tell me, Isaac. Does being engaged to Van sound like such a horrible thing to you? Does it sound so impossible?"

"She lied—"

"Forget that," she said. "Forget all of that. Here and now, knowing what you know, not what you're told. Does it sound so impossible?"

Dropping his eyes to his lap, he said, "No. Not impossible."

Maxie could feel the heat rise into her face. Tears burned behind her eyelids. She waited a moment to speak again, waited until she was confident in the strength of her voice. "I'm not mad at you," she said, plopping back down on her pillow and pulling her blanket up over her head. "You can go now."

"Max—"

"Just go!" she cried. The words came out in a wretched sob.

Isaac remained there for what felt like an eternity. When she finally felt his weight shift from her bed, he said, "You said we were nothing."

Yes, she'd said that. She'd said it to hide the truth, only to find out that it _was_ the truth. When he left the room, she wept.

Like falling into a bottomless pool, she let herself sink.

#

THEN

Isaac knew that he'd messed up. He'd wanted to prove a point, he'd wanted to hurt her. But once he'd succeeded, all he'd wanted to do was take it all back. Every second he'd spent angry with her, every moment he'd spent trying to punish her, could have been spent trying to convince her to be with him. And now she was further from his grasp than ever.

She wouldn't even look at him. Not a single gaze fell in his direction. Not across the dinner table when they ate, not across the living room when they all sat together and watched TV. If she were alone in a room when he walked in, she would just get up and walk out without a word. But of course, that was when she was actually home.

She spent more and more time away, disappearing for days at a time without a word. "Last time she stayed out so much was when she met Alex," Van said as they lay in bed one night. "She just wouldn't come home. And then, when she finally did, he was with her." She shrugged. "Maybe she met someone else."

Isaac said nothing. He couldn't. Not without giving himself away, not without Van knowing how much it ate him up inside even _considering_ the possibility of Maxie meeting someone else. Someone else who kept her out so much, kept her away from him. And the worst part of it all was that it was his fault. He drove her away. If there was another man, Isaac had driven her right into his arms.

"Maybe she's with her new friend," Isaac suggested at last, more for his own benefit. "The tattooed girl. Bea."

"Maybe," Van said. "Or maybe our little Maxie is finally becoming a woman." Van laughed, and the sound of it haunted Isaac for days. He needed to speak to Maxie.

Days before her birthday, he caught her sneaking into the apartment just after midnight. He emerged from the kitchen as she made her way to her bedroom.

"Maxie," he called.

She kept moving as if she hadn't even heard him, shutting herself in her room.

But he wouldn't be ignored this time. Checking to make sure Van was still in the bathroom, he followed Maxie into her bedroom. She spun around as he entered, immediately disgruntled by the mere sight of him. He ached for her.

"Maximilienne."

"Get out," she spat.

He shook his head. "No."

"I don't want to speak to you."

"Well, I need to speak to you."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her glare not softening. He stepped toward her, but she only stepped back. He thought he would crumble.

"Maxie, please," he said. "Just let me touch you."

"I never want you to touch me again," she said.

"You don't mean that."

He could see her face grow crimson. Tears welled in her eyes. She, too, was crumbling. "Yes, I do," she choked out, her voice shaking despite her attempts to keep it strong.

"You can't mean that," he said, attempting another step toward her. "Please."

"Just leave," she said, her voice barely a squeak.

"I can't," he said. "For the hundredth time, I can't leave you."

"Me or her?"

He let out an exasperated breath. "What kind of question is that, Maxie? You, of _course_ you."

She shrugged. "Well, I can't tell. You seem more than happy with Van now. You two can't keep your hands of each other. I get it."

"Max..." he groaned.

"You got what you wanted," she said.

He shook his head. "I never wanted this."

"No? You didn't want to torture me these last few weeks, you didn't want to break me? If not, what were your intentions?"

He said nothing. Those had been his exact intentions. He was angry with her for rejecting him. He was hurt, so he wanted her to hurt. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just don't know how to handle this. I don't know what to do with myself."

"Well, that makes two of us."

"Can't we at least be cordial? I miss you. I just want to talk to you sometimes, I just want to..." His voice trailed off. She wouldn't even let him touch her, she certainly wouldn't let him do all of the other things he wanted to. "Your birthday is on Friday. I have something for you."

"I don't want anything from you," she said.

"Well, I have something, anyway," he said. "Maybe we can have dinner on the roof like we used to?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I already have plans."

He remembered what Van had said. _Maybe she met someone_. But that couldn't be true. It just couldn't. "What plans?" he demanded.

"I have..." She lowered her eyes. "A date. With Alex."

Isaac sucked in a sharp breath. It was even worse than he imagined, much worse. " _Alex_?"

"Yes, Alex. The man I _don't_ have to listen to _fuck_ my best friend in the next room at night."

Isaac recoiled as if he'd been slapped. He wasn't sure whether he was more furious with her for being stupid enough to take Alex back or with himself for driving her to it. He wanted to speak, but he was afraid if he opened his mouth flames would leap out in place of his words. He stood and stared at her a moment longer before turning and leaving.

Maxie stared at her reflection. She wore a dress Alex had given her for the occasion, short and tight with long sleeves and a back that dropped open, nearly to bottom of her spine. Her shoes were tall and sharp, elongating her legs, accentuating her figure. She had her hair styled the way Alex liked, pulled back in long waves. She even wore makeup. Twirling for herself, she thought she didn't look half bad.

She only wished it were Isaac on his way to pick her up instead of Alex. The whole time she'd dressed, she couldn't help but wonder what Isaac would think. Of her dress, of her shoes, of her hair. Of the shade of lipstick she'd chosen, or the way she shadowed her eyes.

_It doesn't matter what he thinks_ , she scolded herself. And yet, she still wondered.

When the doorbell rang, she ran her hands over her dress one more time before hurrying to answer it. When she pulled the door open, she inhaled sharply. As if she'd thought him into existence, Isaac stood there.

He breathed out upon setting eyes on her. They moved down the length of her and up again. Biting down on his bottom lip, he slowly shook his head as if it pained him to see her standing there. She imagined it did. It certainly pained _her_ to see him.

"You look..." His eyes danced over her body, her face, her hair, consuming her. "Breathtaking."

"Thank you," she replied.

"Can I come in?" She nodded and stepped aside so he could enter. "I guess you're leaving for your date soon," he said.

"Any minute now."

He nodded. "I won't keep you then. I just wanted to give you this." He pulled a small box from his pocket. It was wrapped in gold paper with a red bow. "Happy birthday, Maximilienne."

She took the box from him and looked at it. "What is it?" she asked, unable to keep her lips from turning up into a small smile. A smile he'd spent weeks yearning to see.

"Open it," he replied.

She sat down on the couch and carefully tore the wrapping off of the box. When she opened it, another box sat inside. Small and velvet. She paused and gazed up at him as he sat across from her. He nodded, motioning for her to continue.

She opened the velvet box next and gasped. Her hand went to her chest, her heart swelled beneath her palm. Sitting on the dainty pillow was a small, gold lock. Though she'd never set eyes on it before, she immediately recognized it. She looked up at Isaac again, who stared back down at her, bottom lip between his teeth.

"Your mother's lock," she choked out.

He nodded, pulling the key out from beneath shirt. The thin necklace with the tiny pendant was the only piece of jewelry he ever wore.

"Oh, Isaac—"

"Knock, knock," came a voice as the front door opened. Both Isaac and Maxie stood as Alex walked in. He paused when he saw Isaac standing there. "Oh. Am I early?"

"No," Maxie said coming forward. "You're right on time."

Draping his arm around her shoulder, Alex looked at Isaac and said, "How's it going, Isaac?"

"Very well, Alex. How about you? Nose feeling better?"

Still glaring, Alex smirked. "Yep. Good as new." He looked at Maxie. "Don't you think, babe?"

Nostrils flared, Isaac took a step forward, but Maxie moved in his path. "Alright, I guess we'll just be going now. Thank you, Isaac. For the gift."

He looked down at her and nodded. "It's no problem. Enjoy your date." Without further words, he left.

Isaac didn't go back to his apartment. He couldn't. Sitting still wasn't an option for him, not while Maxie was out being wined and dined by Alex. Not while Isaac was so furious _._ He was overflowing with pent up aggression that he needed to release. That he was aching to release on Alex. But that wasn't an option, so he made his way down to his gym instead.

He spent nearly two full hours at the punching bag, delivering solid blow after solid blow, kick after kick, imagining it was Alex, his father, his aunt's prick of a boyfriend. It wasn't until he could hardly lift his arms that he collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard, staring up at the ceiling.

When had his life spiraled so completely out of control? Nothing had ever been perfect, but for a while it was at least in order. Easy. He came to work every day and went home every night. Once in a while he would go out for drinks with guys from the gym. Of course, there were woman, plenty of them, but none of them ever mattered. He never thought about them past the short time he spent with them.

And then Maxie had come along and turned it all upside down.

Now he was in a relationship with a woman he could just tolerate, falling deeply and endlessly in love with another woman who remained just out of his reach, no matter how close she was. He knew what he needed to do: Leave them both behind. Especially Van. Poor Van. He strung her farther and farther along every day, without any regard to how it would affect her in the end. If only he could let her go, release her. But he knew that losing her meant losing Maxie, and he couldn't lose Maxie. Despite her constant rejection, her impenetrable tenacity, her wavering yet unbreakable loyalty to her friend, Isaac couldn't help but believe that one day she would give into him. Give in to herself.

He took a long, hot shower before finally deciding to retire home. He was significantly calmer, though he imagined his body would feel the consequence of his emotional ease in the morning. When he reached his apartment, he stopped short at the end of his hallway. Sitting in front of his door, propped against the wall in her tiny dress and high heels, was Maxie.

Her back was to him and her head was bowed. Sleeping. How long had she been there? he wondered, going to her. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her head rested in her folded arms. Kneeling beside her, Isaac gently pushed her hair back. With a small groan, she stirred and looked up at him. "Hi," he said.

"You're home," she replied.

He nodded. "What are you doing here? How long have you been waiting?"

She shrugged. "An hour or two."

He breathed out heavily. She never failed to shock him. "What are you doing here?" he repeated. "What happened with your date?"

"I told him I was sick."

"Are you sick?" asked Isaac. Maxie shook her head. With a small smile, he leaned forward and kissed her. She let out a small moan against his lips, her arms fell around his neck. For a while they sat there, frozen in a kiss they'd both endlessly longed for. Finally, with one swift motion, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind them.

He went straight to his bedroom, where he carefully set her down on his mattress. He pulled back to behold her. God, she was beautiful. Young and soft and luscious and _perfect_. Absolutely fucking _perfect_. From her lustful eyes to her moist, pouty lips, down to her heaving chest, full, perfect breasts, tiny waist, flat, smooth belly, down to... to...

His mouth watered. How was he ever going to stop? This was it. He was _done_ for.

"Isaac," she breathed, her chest rising and falling with every inhale...exhale...inhale... exhale. She opened her arms to him, her legs to him, she opened everything to him. But he couldn't move from the spot he stood in, he couldn't stop looking at her. On his bed. Waiting for him to take her, like he'd been wanting to do for months. Months upon months. He almost couldn't believe it. If it weren't for her fleshy thighs at his fingertips, he _wouldn't_ have believed it. He wanted to savor the moment. Every second of it.

Lowering himself on top of her, he kissed her, undressed her, struggling to keep his hands from trembling with anticipation. He could feel her warmth, her moisture, her excitement, her anticipation. And he was certain she could feel his, too, standing at full attention. Summoning her. He took his own clothes off next, often stopping to kiss her, lick her, stroke her. She wrapped her arms around him, her legs around him, pressed all of her small body against his massive one.

She moaned. Yes. _Yes_. Moan again. Just like he liked. Louder. _Again._ She did. Had he said it out loud? He didn't know. He couldn't decipher his thoughts from his words. What language was he speaking? Maybe all of them. He couldn't be sure. Not while she was under him, against him, tangled in his limbs. Not while her naked body was in the palm of his hands, not while the scent of her soap and kiwi shampoo and sweat and excitement were in his nostrils. He kissed her neck, kissed her shoulder, gently sucked it until the flesh turned purple, and then opened his mouth and bit her.

She gasped in pain, and he softly kissed the spot he'd just bitten. "Is this what you want, Maximilienne?" he asked, but it was too late. He wouldn't be able to stop, he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to stop.

She purred a reply, gently thrusting against his erection. He slid his fingers down to her moisture, then pulled back and watched her respond to his probing. She moaned and wiggled beneath him, squeezed her eyes shut. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry of pleasure. She shuddered, held him tighter, and his fingers grew wetter and hotter, and the sweet sounds of her moans filled the air again.

Her body relaxed a bit, her eyes fluttered shut, she moved with his hand. That was it. He couldn't wait any longer. Pushing her legs open wider, he readied himself. "I'll go slow," he promised. "I won't hurt you. Alright?"

"Do it," she said. "Just do it, Isaac."

He moved slowly, as promised, and yet Maxie's thighs slammed shut against his hips and she grimaced in pain. "Do it," she repeated, eyes squeezed shut, breathing hard.

"Are you sure? Are you ready?" But she had to be ready, because he was past the point of no return.

Fortunately, she repeated, "Do it."

So he did. With one quick, slightly forceful motion, he entered her. She inhaled sharply, her eyes shot open again, and then rolled into the back of her head. Her arms fell limp at her sides, her entire body relaxed. She _fainted._

"Maxie," Isaac whispered. How did she stand the four tattoos she had already? She was _terrible_ with pain. "Max," he said, gently kissing her face. He stroked her hair, her cheeks, lightly shook her. "Maximilienne, open your eyes, sweetheart. You're alright. Wake up. The worst is over."

She stirred, her eyes fluttered open, and she winced. "What happened?" she asked.

Grinning, he replied, "You fainted." He chuckled, kissed her nose, her chin, her lips.

"I _fainted_?"

"It's okay."

She gasped and looked down. "Did you...?"

"Yeah. For about a second." He laughed as her face turned impossibly red. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Like..." She paused, looked in his eyes. "Like I still want you."

He smiled and kissed her. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered.

"You can't hurt me," she said, thrusting against him again. "You can never hurt me."

He held her tightly, pushed himself—slowly, slowly—deeper inside of her. Deeper, until she was completely full of him, until she was breathing in short, quick wisps, until he was entirely surrounded by her warmth, and then he pushed even deeper still. "Maxie," he said, holding her even tighter. She was already gasping for air, but he couldn't let her go. Not when he finally had her.

He kissed her again. Again and again, gently pulling himself out and then pushing back in. She groaned into his open mouth. He pulled out again, as slowly as he could, pushed back in. He tried to remember the last time he'd felt anything so good. If he'd _ever_ felt anything so good. Out again, in again.

She was so warm, so moist.

Out, in.

And her lips felt so soft.

Out.

And her skin smelled so sweet.

In.

And the sound of her moaning. It was like music.

Before he knew it, he was moving faster, going deeper, pumping harder. She tried to pull back, but he held her firmly in place. "Isaac—" she choked out, pressing against his chest. Finally, he found himself and stopped. When he looked down, her face was crimson and she was damp with sweat.

"Shit," he groaned. "I'm so sorry. You're just..." _Too much for me_. He pulled out of her, all the way out, and collapsed on top of her. _Take a breather. She already fainted once,_ he told himself. He'd never been with anyone so fragile, so _new_. So _good_.

"What's wrong? Are you finished?" He was far from finished. Far, far from it. But he was going to break her in half if he kept at it. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I can't take you, that's what's wrong," he said, kissing her neck, her collarbone, her chest, her breasts. "I don't want to hurt you."

"So it's _me_ that can't take _you_."

"No," he said gently. "It's me that can't take you, Maximilienne." His lips were down past her breasts, at her belly button, still descending. And then he disappeared beneath the sheets.

Her heart pace quickened, her legs trembled. She gasped as she felt his lips against her—" _Oh!_ " she groaned. "Isaac, I..." But her words melted into a chorus of moans until her whole body shook and her back arched and she was practically crying with pleasure.

When he emerged from under the sheets, she was flushed and sweaty and breathless. Her hands rested above her head, her eyes were closed, her limbs were limp.

"What about you?" she still managed to ask.

He pressed his chest against her back and nestled in her hair, taking her in his arms again. "I'm satisfied," he whispered.

Already, she was halfway sleeping. Would it always be like that? she wondered. Always so painful? Always so amazing? She would take the pain, every day, if every night could end like that. Isaac and his beautiful, blessed hands and beautiful, blessed mouth that she could barely keep herself conscious for. He was just perfect. _Perfect_.

She dozed off, curled up in his sheets and in his arms, the only place she ever wanted to be. And then she felt his lips against her ear, and he whispered her name. Did she reply? She didn't think so. She was just too tired.

"Maxie," he repeated. "I love you. Do you know that?"

He loved her? Did she hear correctly? Was she dreaming?

"I love you, Maximilienne," he said again. No, it wasn't a dream.

I love you, Isaac.

And then she was asleep.

#

NOW

What good was memory anyway? Maybe Isaac just didn't realize how lucky he was to not have a constant reminder of the good things that can never again be, nor the bad things that you're forced to relive every time they find their way to the front of your thoughts.

Maxie sat cross-legged on the fire escape outside her window, a lit joint between her lips, a bowl in her lap, a stack of small squares of paper in her hands, all filled with Isaac's notes.

Memories.

Reminders.

' _You know what?' Noelle says, staring at the flames before her. They're taller than Maxie by now, reaching up toward the sky as they dance across the night. 'Eighty-five percent of pain is self-inflicted. At least eighty-five percent, I'd say.'_

Maxie doesn't reply. Noelle's been crying. She knows it's best to stay silent when Noelle's been crying. 'If something's bothering you, Maxie, you have to do something about it. You have to lash back.'

She bends over and picks up the box at her feet. It's full of photos and letters and dozens of keepsakes from a life with Maxie's father that her mother has collected over the years. Maxie's contributed to the box herself a few times. A ticket stub once, from her first trip to the movies with her parents. A paperclip bracelet, too, from the one year her father brought her to the office with him for Bring Your Daughter to Work Day.

But none of that is important now, Maxie guesses, because right before her eyes, Noelle throws it all into the fire. Handfuls at a time.

Maxie held up the first piece of paper, decorated with Isaac's small, curvy handwriting. _One day, Maximilienne_.

Lie.

She let the flame lick the corner of the paper before dropping it in the bowl and watching the fire swallow it.

I love only you, Maximilienne.

Lie.

Marry me, Maximilienne. Children, Maximilienne. A future, Maximilienne.

Lies, all lies.

Maxie remembered the first time they made love. The first time, the last time, every time in between. For a moment, she immersed herself in the memories of his hands on her. His hands, and his mouth, and his entire massive frame, all pressed against her. A sob formed in her throat as a single question invaded her thoughts: How many of those nights had he been engaged to her best friend?

Had any of it been real?

She may as well have been fifteen again, sitting on the floor of the bedroom she'd shared with Van, waiting for a phone call that would never come. Waiting for a man who would never return to her. Like her father, Isaac was gone forever.

"It's okay to cry," Van had said. She'd squeezed Maxie's hand and given Maxie her shoulder, and Maxie had cried like the broken soul she had been. And yet, here she was years later, still broken, and still fatherless. And even if she cried now, Isaac would still have been engaged to Van. It would still have been nothing but a lie.

Tears changed nothing. So she wiped hers and watched as the last of Isaac's empty promises disappeared into the flames, and then into the night as the breeze swept up the ashes.

It was over.

Nearly two years later, they were done. She exhaled the realization, and for a moment, she sat paralyzed by the torrent of emotions that gripped her. Sorrow, disappointment, longing and uncertainty. Resentment, bitterness, remorse. And in the shadow of those, like a lightness in her chest, relief. She couldn't remember what it felt like to be free of her love for Isaac, but now she would know again. Now she would be free.

"I thought I smelled you out here," came a voice behind her. She turned around to see Gnar poking his head out of the window. Like a small beam of light against a backdrop of blackness. "Is something burning?"

"No," she lied, pushing the bowl out of his view. Getting to her feet, she said, "I was just coming inside."

Her bedroom was nearly as cool as the air outside, but when Gnar pulled her against his firm chest, she could only feel his warmth. The low hum of classical music filled the air around them. Giving her a sideways grin that she was still powerless against, Gnar rested his hand on the small of her back, raising his other for her to take. "Dance with me?"

She slid her fingers up his wrist and into his palm, and then they were moving slowly back and forth. "Do you want to stay the night?" she whispered, as if her voice would break the serenity of the moment.

He pulled back to look at her face. Her cheeks were as pink as the whites of her eyes. "You're under the influence right now. If I said yes, would that be considered taking advantage of you?"

With a small smile, she shrugged. "I wouldn't mind, either way."

He drew her to him again, fully and completely. Every part of her body was against his, his hand remained firm against her back. "Of course I'll stay," he said, whispering as well. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

"Let's start with tonight," she replied.

He chuckled. "I'll take it."

When they retreated to the bed, his large form took up most of it, yet she seemed to fit perfectly in the curve of his side.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She wondered if he could sense when her emotions were in disarray, when her insides were in shambles.

Maybe they'd been in shambles since she'd met him. Maybe he was just checking his progress as he constantly worked to mend the broken pieces of her.

With a sigh, she nuzzled in closer to him, inhaled his scent, and replied, "I'm fine." And to herself, she silently promised, _I will be._ "Do you remember when you asked me about finding true love twice? If Charlie and Milla gave me hope?"

"Mm hmm," he said. Her eyes drifted shut as the tips of his fingers moved in soft circles against her temple.

"The answer is yes," she said. "I have hope."

For a moment, the air between them was silent, and then Gnar leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. Satisfied, she let herself relax, slowly yielding to the pull of slumber, dreams of a conceivable future waiting in the shadows of her unconsciousness.

# Acknowledgments

From the beginning, I've been surrounded by so much love and a tremendous amount of support. For that, I would first and far most like to thank my mom and dad, and my sister, Paris, whose unconditional belief in me has always been my greatest motivation.

I will also always be indebted to Martine, aka Martini, for being my very first reader. I don't think I would have gotten through the first draft without her. And I probably wouldn't have gotten through the second, third, fourth or millionth draft without my many friends and family who saw past the typos, grammatical and spelling errors, and the array of plot and developmental issues to read it and give me feedback. Special thanks to Lani, Aunt Marci, Bee, Janine, Gretch and Nonie, Taurian, Noel, and everyone else who took the time out to help me make this book the best it could be.

For constant encouragement, motivation, and support, I send my love to my family, especially my extended brothers and sister, Jen, Brandon, Terrance, and Chase, as well as my Aunt Lenora, aka WaWa, and Uncle B. And I definitely can't forget Lissy, my English model in Australia; Randy, one of my best friends and main sources of encouragement; and Shayla, who after meeting me just once, never stopped rooting for me. I'm also very grateful for Deborah, who truly made this novel sparkle; Ellie, who always met my anal retentiveness with nothing but patience; and, of course, my team at Diversion—Hannah, Sarah, Mary, Randall, Seth, Laura, and even Angela—whose advice and support helped me more than they will ever know.

Finally, I'd like to thank those who I will never be able to thank enough: My cousin, best friend, and backbone, Nicole Pierre; my best friend and [self-proclaimed] biggest fan, Lauren McGregor; my best friend and writing partner-in-crime, Maria Burgos; Rachel Myton, my best friend who, after four years, maintains that this is her favorite book; Christopher Hampton, eternally in my corner and always pushing me forward; Kevin Edwards, my alibi (and lawyer in case the alibi doesn't hold up); and my Aussie-Mom, Sylvia Lushaj, who continues to motivate me to be the best that I can. You all are absolutely irreplaceable and I don't know what I would have done had you not been on this journey with me. Thank you, and thank you again.

# About the Author

_Brielle Skye_ is from New York where writing, reading, crocheting, and traveling keep her busy. She is the founder of the New York City Writers Network, an organization dedicated to uniting the very people who share her passion for words.

For more writings and ramblings by Brielle, visit www.lost20s.com

For more information on the New York City Writers Network, visit www.nycwritersnetwork.org

Don't miss part II of _Solitude of a Birdcage_ :

Like the Red Sky At Morning

Coming 2015.

