Christina (Daughters #1) (12 page)

Her mouth whispers in my ear. “I’ll have you right over there,” she points towards the door to the alley. I nod. She saunters that way, her hips swinging. I turn back when Bruce finds me.

He slaps my back and I flinch, but don’t bother to explain my affliction. I doubt that will happen more often than just this occasion. “You put on a good show. Small guy, and everyone likes the underdog. You ready to make some real money?”

No question in his tone. I am breathing hard. I need water and a hot shower and ice. But I nod. “More fights like this?”

He nods. “You take a cut. I take a cut.”

“Fifty-fifty?”

“Well, Seventy-thirty. But maybe we can work it out from there. I take all the risk. My name. My ass.”

It’s a shitty deal. I get that. But I don’t fight for the money. It’s an addiction, my sick crutch. So it’ll be an easy fix for me. I nod, and that’s that. I wonder, however, just  to whom I’ve signed my health away.

Ignoring that for the time being, I find Tanya out back, ready and willing. She’s bending over and holding the wall for support so I don’t have to touch her. There is something to be said about hanging out with people who actually get you. Being twisted and weird themselves, they more readily accept that in me.

~Christina~

I SEE MAX LESS and less now. He’s distracted and almost uninterested when I do see him. Of course, he always seems a little bored with everything and everybody around him, but that doesn’t usually apply to me. When he does that, I really detest it. I want
my Max
back. My friend. My confidante. My pal. It hasn’t been the same between us since that party, and I learned about my parents, and he betrayed me, and refused to touch or comfort me.

I wonder if he has a girlfriend. He seems too content. I’m suspicious. When is Max ever content? He’s not. He’s restless. Annoyed. Angry. All of which he suffers in silence. But he’s not really what I’d consider a content person. I mean, it’s possible he met someone, but wouldn’t that occupy some of his evenings? Don’t they go out on dates? I’ve seen him almost every evening so far this summer. Twilight lingering until ten, we are often down at the river, hanging together, or with my friends. We drink beer and relax on the shores. It is warm and perfect for swimming and goofing around. The best nights of my life are spent this way, especially for the last few years. I only go now, however, if Max goes too. I stay close to the group and never venture off on my own.

He seems to like going to the gym since he started. I was surprised when he told me that Noah and Lindsey approved and paid for it. It sparked my interest too. Actually, anything that might even remotely engage Max’s interest, interests me. I can’t picture what he’ll do, however, come fall. He seems to have no designs on getting a job, although no one is forcing the issue. He says he’s not going to school; and never talks about anything besides right now.
Today
. So maybe this gym stuff offers him something, or fuels a new desire. I hope so.

I can’t stand to think of leaving next fall because I can’t bear to live a day without seeing Max’s smile. Every single day. He has a great smile. It starts out small and kind of ordinary, like he’s shy or something. Then it tips up the corners of his cheeks, and finally, lights up his dark, brooding eyes with
humor
instead of the usual apathy.

First of all, Max is not shy. He just doesn’t talk. There’s a big difference, one most people don’t see. The need to communicate with people is not in his DNA. And yes, it’s always been a thrill to know that I’m the only one to whom he chooses to bestow his spoken word. But this summer? I feel like he’s drifting away from me, something that’s never happened before. And this fall, with my upcoming departure, I dread us growing apart. I don’t want anything to change; and like a child, I try to deny that it could.

But now it feels like it already has.  I just can’t put my finger on exactly what’s changed between us. Is it as simple as just getting older and losing our old connection? We have to grow up, and things are just different? Still… I can’t figure out where we’re at, or what’s in his head.

It’s now August and during one such evening at the beach, I find him staring at me intently. I am talking to Garrett Chadlow, a friend from our class. He’s always had a bit of a crush on me although I never encouraged it. But when I glance up, Max is staring at me from across the beach. When I catch him, he turns and stares out toward the horizon. His expression looks all deep and contemplative. He’s wearing swim shorts that skim the top of his knees and no shirt. He was always slender and defined, but of late, he is starting to bulk up in sleek lines. It startles me. I don’t expect Max to look so much bigger. But he seems to like it. He’s even going so far as eating differently and drinking all kinds of healthy shakes. Right now, he seems far removed from the general chaos of twenty newly graduated seniors, partying together on the beach, trying to cling to that illusive safety of high school, and not enter the grownup world we’ve suddenly been plunged into.

The sun has already set and the orange sky spans the distance. A soft breeze stirs and Max’s hair flips up and back down over his forehead. He has silky, black hair that’s easily tousled. The water level is low and a few people are still in it, up to their waists, or floating idly in inner tubes. I have long since dried off and am sitting on a towel with my toes in the rocky sand. It’s not the best beach, since pebbles are mixed in with the smoother sand. But it’s private, on Kyla Winfrey’s land, so no one bothers us. Cops included. No one needs to get a possession infraction. Especially me. My father would freak.  I tilt the beer can in my hand to my mouth and let the icy beverage slide down my throat. I shudder. I don’t really like the taste of beer, but it’s all that’s available. I can’t really custom order my drink. And I want to drink alcohol, so beer it is.

I don’t know what Max is thinking about, and that bothers me. I get up and slip my flip-flops on. I pull my bikini bottom out from my butt crack. It’s cut too slender and always tends to ride up my ass. I slip into my white cover-up that just reaches the top of my bikini. It’s sleeveless and strapless. Simple.

I stop beside him and he glances down at me. His mouth quirks up on one side. My hair stirs around me and I clamp it back with my hand. We’re removed from everyone now, and off by ourselves. I really want to touch his arm with my hand, but, holding in a sigh, I don’t. “You look a little too deep in thought for this crowd.”

He shrugs. “Just enjoyin’ the view, I guess.”

“The sunset? Since when are you so poetic?”

He grins, but doesn’t answer. Pointing my toe, I dig into the wet sand. He’s standing on the edge of the river. The wet sand sticks to my feet. “I’m going to miss these nights.”

He glances down. “Yeah, well, I’ll miss these nights with you.”

“It’s soon, you know. I leave for my dorm in three-and-a-half weeks.”

He nods. “I can read a calendar.”

I flinch, surprised at his snappish reply. He rarely uses that tone with me, or gets into any kind of bad temper. It’s been happening more often of late. I first attributed it to him being tired from working out, but now, I’m not totally convinced it’s because of that.

I bite my lip. He’s still staring hard out at the sky. I raise my fingers and faintly run them down the side of his arm. He flinches and shifts away with scowl at me. “God damn it, Christina, why do you keep pressing me?”
Yeah, why do I keep pressing him?
I can’t articulate a reason why. I just do. Like a little kid who wants the attention of the boy next to her, but feels too afraid to just say so.

I shrug and let my shoulders slump forward. “I don’t know why. I just feel… alienated from you lately. I don’t get why. It’s like you’re just biding your time with me until you get back to whatever you
really
want to do.”

He doesn’t react. Finally, he shifts his feet around and turns towards me. He’s glaring down at me. “Is that what you really think? I bide my time with you?”

I lick my lips. “I don’t know. I just feel like you aren’t the Max I used to know. Not since…”

“Since what?”

“Since that day I forced you to hug me. Since the day I needed you. Since… Is there someone else?”

His scowl deepens. “Someone else? Like a girl? And if there was? What would it matter, Christina? How would it change our friendship? Huh? What would that have to do with us, coz?”

“Is there?” I insist. I have no answer for why it would change our friendship.

“No. There’s no one that affects us. There’s me and you, best friends forever, right?”

His thick sarcasm and expression are just rude. He drops his hands to his hips with his elbows poking out.

“What? We’re not best friends anymore? We’ve what? Outgrown each other? I guess you didn’t tell me that.”

“I didn’t outgrow you. We grew up. We’re not fifteen anymore, Tina. We can’t just be good buds, playing video games, while I try to stutter out a few words to you.”

I have no idea where his attack is coming from. My mouth pops open and I think about laying into him with a nasty retort. But I seal my lips and try to make sense of the Max I see before me and the Max I know still exists inside him. That would be the Max who smiles at me when he comes into my house, or I go into his. The Max who invariably sits next to me at any family dinner or birthday. The Max who teases me about worrying too much about my grades, or not being serious enough about who’s going to win the Super Bowl. We played together in our early teens and then moved on to hanging out in our later years. But whatever we do, we always do it together. 

We grew up.
What exactly is he getting at? We can’t be friends because we graduated high school? It makes no damn sense in my eyes. When did I join Max’s enemies? Am I another person who doesn’t see or understand Max? That is such crap because most of the time, I really believe I’m the
only
one who understands him. Including him!

“Then what are we? What are you getting at? I came over to see how you were. You seemed to be thinking pretty hard about something, so for showing my concern, you’re what? Informing me I’m not really anything to you? Not anymore, that is? I get you through high school, but suddenly now, you don’t need me anymore?” Tears quickly fill my eyes. It is no less than humiliating to be almost totally put off by Max.

I start to turn away when he reaches out towards me, by instinct I think, because Lord knows, he wouldn’t dare touch me. He grazes my arm and it’s enough for me to stop dead and glance back at him. Max is staring in horror at his hand before dropping it back to his side as if it were a wayward pet that temporarily escaped his control. I turn back, away from him, but I don’t run.

“I need you,” he says finally to my retreating back. His tone is so low, the river’s gurgle almost drowns him out. “I need you so much. More than anyone. And anything.”

I am frozen. I don’t know what to do. Do I turn back towards him? Or answer his tortured voice? I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound like that. And never has he admitted to needing me. My heart shifts as it drops in my chest. Is it painful for him? Or does he hope? Hope for what? Maybe we’re not really friends? Maybe we’re really more than friends? Is that… could that be what I want?

The twilight is getting much darker until the trees look like big, dark, ink splatters across the landscape. People are moving up on the beach, further from us, until they are lost to the shadows of twilight. My heartbeat sounds harsh to my ears. I finally turn, slowly spinning on my flip-flops.  It’s hard to make out his facial expression. My pulse is erratic. What is that tension between us? A physical, almost embarrassing tension. It’s way different than a friendly conversation. My breath catches in my chest. His head lowers so he’s not looking at me.

I need to touch him. I have never felt such a burning need to touch anyone as much as I do now. I want my hand to grasp his hand, squeeze his arm, and simply touch his face. Anything. It’s a physical pain for me not to, and even worse is the sharp betrayal of knowing he would not want me to anyway.

“Then why were you saying those things? Like we aren’t… us?”

“We’re us. Always have been. I don’t know,” he whispers almost. I have to step closer to hear him. “I don’t know what it is with us anymore. I just hate being your friend, and I can’t stand being called your family.”

“But you act like you can’t stand
me
anymore.”

“I don’t mean to,” he says. His facial expression turns to weary regret. “I really don’t mean to hurt you. It’s just… yeah, something’s different.”

“Is it because I forced you to hug me? I know I shouldn’t have, but sometimes, I just can’t resist the urge to touch you. It hurts not to just be able to hug you. Hold your hand—”

“Friends don’t run around hugging and holding hands. You don’t do that with anyone. Not even Carly.” Carly is the closest thing I have to a girl best friend. Max has always been my best friend, him above all.

“No. I guess I don’t. But I feel—”

“What?” he says, his tone low and sharp. “What do you feel?”

“Like I need to touch you sometimes. And maybe, you need that too.”

“You want me to touch you?” He closes his eyes and turns his face away from me. But it doesn’t feel like he’s being a jerk again, or pushing me away. I feel like he needs it too. He lets out a long breath. “You understand, of course, that there is only one way I can touch you.”

I stare at him, my cheeks filling with heat. It’s not a blush of embarrassment, but a flush of warmth and understanding. He’s already told me the way he touches others: sex. Max is talking about sex. He’s right, of course, and it should not matter that he can’t touch me, if we were just friends. I see now, in that instant, so clearly, it almost startles me,
we are not friends
. I don’t want to be touched as a friend. I have lots and lots of friends, both male and female. We hug, we high five, we squeeze shoulders, but I never really think about touching them. I don’t really care if I touch them, or not. If they said I couldn’t touch them ever again, I doubt I’d do more than just shrug and say,
okay, no real loss for me.
But I think about not being able to touch Max all the time. It’s the one thing I’m most aware of between us.

Holy shit. I obsess about touching Max. And there is no friend thing to that. No family thing either. I finally shake my head in affirmation. “I get there is only one way you can touch me.”

He holds my gaze. I can see his eyes growing wider in surprise. “And… what? What do you get?”