Lead Me Not (7 page)

I just needed to get out of there. I needed to walk, clear my head. My mother’s accusations bounced around in my mind and threatened to pry the lid off my carefully contained memories.

I had to move. I had to keep busy. My equilibrium demanded it. And sitting and studying with Brooks wouldn’t cut it. I required a change of scenery. I had developed carefully constructed coping mechanisms over the years for combating the nastiness that swirled in my head.

“Fine, whatever,” Brooks said, grabbing his stuff. I knew he was pissed at me. This wasn’t the first time he had tried to climb over my wall. It had been a frequent source of conflict when we were dating. He just didn’t understand that no one could get over that massive barrier I had created. He needed to stop trying.

“I’ll call you later. Maybe we can grab some dinner,” I suggested, offering the only olive branch I could give him. I didn’t want him to be upset with me. He was one of my best friends, one of my
only
friends, and even though I couldn’t let him in the way he wanted, he was still important to me. And I needed him to know that.

Brooks stiffened, and he turned away from me. “I’ll probably be busy,” he answered brusquely, heading for the door.

I grabbed his hand before he could leave my apartment. “Brooks, I am who I am. You know that. Don’t get angry because I can’t be the person you want me to be,” I pleaded tiredly.

His shoulders drooped, and he covered my hand with his and gave me a squeeze before leaving.

The emotional exhaustion threatened to undo me. So without another thought to Brooks or my mother, I hurried out of my building and onto the sidewalk. The routine movements of walking the familiar path toward campus did exactly what I needed them to do. I felt the tangled knots loosen and the aching in my heart lessen.

I went to the library, found the book I needed. I purposefully fit all my displaced pieces back to where they were supposed to be. I went into the bathroom and smoothed my hair and fixed my makeup.

Leaving the library, I cut across campus toward the commons. I noticed a couple of guys with buckets of white paint by the wall with the graffiti. I slowed my steps and watched as they took giant rollers and started covering the vibrant colors, drowning them with muting neutrality.

I walked closer, feeling sort of sad to see the Compulsion picture disappear. I stopped and stared at the men as they slowly and systematically erased all signs that the artwork had ever been there.

“Hey, Maxx! Where are those drop cloths? I’m getting paint everywhere,” one of the guys called out.

I froze. Maxx? What were the chances?

One of the painters turned to the speaker, and I could see clearly that it was indeed Maxx Demelo. And just because my day couldn’t get any worse, I noticed the pile of cloth by my feet.

I thought seriously about running, because that couldn’t be any more embarrassing than getting caught standing there staring at him like a moron.

Come on, feet, move!

But some masochistic part of me seemed to enjoy the sense of impending mortification.

Maxx turned around and started to walk in my direction. It was obvious he hadn’t noticed me yet. I still had a chance to get away if I wanted to.

But I didn’t. Because I sucked like that.

He was dressed in worn jeans and an old gray Longwood University sweatshirt. His blond hair was sweaty and matted to the sides of his face. He had white paint smeared across his forehead.

He looked gorgeous, and he walked like he knew it.

His arrogance was obvious in his every movement, and it annoyed me. I hated his confidence. I hated that he clearly didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. I hated that he seemed to possess every characteristic that I wished for myself.

And then he looked up and met my eyes. His lips quirked up into a self-satisfied grin as though my being there fit into some great plan of his.

“Hi, Aubrey,” he said, stooping down to pick up the pile of drop cloths.

I thought about ignoring him. But that would be rude. And he was in the support group I was co-facilitating. I was supposed to create rapport—which was difficult when he seemed to bring out this primal instinct to scream at him.

“Hi,” I replied shortly. The wind whipped my hair into my face, and I spit strands out of my mouth. Awesome. Way to look cool and collected, Aubrey!

Maxx cocked an eyebrow and regarded me steadily. He didn’t say anything. And neither did I. I started to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his scrutiny. Again I was bothered by a niggling sense of déjà vu. I felt like I should know him, though from where, I had no idea.

Maxx’s lips were curved in a teasing smile, as though my discomfort amused him. And still he said nothing. He acted as though he had all the time in the world to stand there and make me feel awkward.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. “So you’re painting the wall, huh?” I asked. Just call me Captain Obvious.

Maxx looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s part of my community service,” he said dismissively.

“Community service?” I asked dumbly. Maxx moved to stand next to me. He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. I tried not to stare as he took a drag and blew out the lungful of smoke.

I hated smoking. I thought it was a disgusting habit. So why did I find it sexy to see Max curl his lips around the end of the cigarette? Ugh!

Maxx flicked ash on the ground and then unleashed a weapon most women would have a hard time resisting.

He smiled.

A full-mouthed curve of his lips lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle. I think I may have forgotten to breathe.

Because damn, he was dazzling.

“You know, being ordered by the court to pick up other people’s shit, paint walls, and otherwise make the world a better place,” he replied dryly, giving me a wink.

“Well, it’s good to know you’re taking it seriously,” I remarked, watching him as he took another drag from his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stomping it out.

Maxx shrugged. “It’s just I can think of a lot of other things I’d rather be doing,” he said.

Was I supposed to find a hidden meaning in his seemingly innocent statement? And why was I second-guessing every nuance in our conversation? It wasn’t like me to be so unsure.

“Really,” I muttered dryly.

Maxx chuckled and then sobered, his eyes heated and smoldering.

“Definitely,” he said quietly, raising an eyebrow, a smirk dancing across his lips.

He looked at me in a way that was both warm and intense, the kind of look that stripped you to the bone and left you shivering.

His eyes were piercing in their directness, and I knew he wasn’t fooled by my attempts at sarcasm and nonchalance. My uncomfortable attraction to him, which had begun only a few days before, practically oozed from my pores. It was mortifying.

And I knew I needed to shut this down—for both our sakes. It
wasn’t appropriate. And he was making me feel . . . disconcerted.

“Well, I think the group is going to be really helpful. I’m sure you’ll get a lot out of it,” I said lamely, hoping he got the point. It seemed extremely important to remind us both of who I was and what my role was in his life. I needed to reinforce where I belonged. I was a counselor in training, someone whose role was to guide him on a difficult journey.

Nothing more.

Maxx gave me a look that was hard to decipher. “I hope you’re right,” he said, running a dirty hand across his face, leaving a smudge along the bridge of his nose.

I had to clench my hand into a fist in order to resist the urge to wipe the smudge away. And I knew there was more than my OCD at work here.

His words unsettled me. Was I perceiving a subtext that wasn’t there? Or was he purposefully communicating something that I had yet to figure out?

My guess was the latter.

He suddenly dropped his eyes, and I was surprised by the vulnerability that danced across his face.

“I
really
hope you’re right,” he said softly, and I didn’t know whether the comment was for him or for me.

I tilted my head at him, looking at him closely. He seemed lost in thought, and I wondered what had him so consumed.

I couldn’t help but be curious about him. He made it impossible not to be. He was obviously a complicated man with a complicated past. I was simultaneously intrigued and annoyed that I was intrigued.

There was a definite line I shouldn’t cross. So why after meeting this man once was that boundary so hard for me to remember?

Maxx frowned and opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Then he looked at me, and I watched as his face smoothed over and any sign of openness was lost.

“At least I’ll like the view.” His gaze purposefully raked up and down my body as he raised his eyebrows mockingly. His smile, while trying to be seductive, was hard and brittle. Any softening I had felt was trampled by the overwhelming urge to scream in his face.

His need to fuel my unease seemed forced. As though he were firmly putting us back on ground he was more comfortable with.

“That’s not really appropriate,” I managed, annoyed by how let down I felt. Because I already missed the elusive, unguarded Maxx that I had glimpsed only seconds ago.

Because
that
Maxx seemed real.

This
Maxx was something else entirely.

But who really knew which persona was authentic?

Hell, maybe neither was, and the real Maxx was someone I hadn’t met yet.

But one thing was for sure: I couldn’t allow myself to
want
to get involved with any side of him. He was in a group I was helping to facilitate. Any relationship we had would need to be strictly professional. I was required to uphold a code of conduct that was as essential as it was required. There wasn’t room for gray areas. There was only black and white. Right and wrong.

In-betweens couldn’t exist, particularly between me and a man I knew instinctively was trouble—a man who brought with him a whole mess of problems, a man I could only imagine to be the worst kind of disaster.

I hefted my book bag up on my shoulder and shifted on my feet. “I’d better let you get back to painting. Nice seeing you,” I said, lying through my teeth. Our encounter had been anything but
nice.

Confusing
was probably more accurate.

Maxx smiled again, and this one was much more natural. He crouched down to the ground and picked a pale purple aster flower from the campus landscaping. He got to his feet and handed it to me. I took it hesitantly, meeting his eyes as I tried to understand his motivation.

“It’s just a flower, Aubrey. Don’t read anything into it,” he scoffed, his eyes laughing at my wariness.

I tilted my chin up, my shoulders stiff, my spine straight as I met Maxx’s eyes one final time. “Thanks,” I said. I cleared my throat, which had become oddly tight. “I’ll see you later.”

My heart hammered in my chest as we stood there, staring at each other again. A thousand things seemed to be communicated in his look, if only I was fluent in Maxx.

“Yeah, see ya in group next week,” he said, gathering up the drop cloths.

I gave him a small wave and left in the direction opposite the one from which I’d come, forgetting about going to the commons. I just wanted to get back to the sanctuary of my apartment.

It wasn’t until I had left campus that I looked down to find the flower crushed in my tightly closed fist. I slowly opened my fingers and let the ruined petals fall to the ground.

chapter

six

aubrey

“d
evon wants to go back to Compulsion tonight,” Renee said, coming into my bedroom. She didn’t venture far from the door, standing awkwardly as though unsure she had a right to be there.

At one time, she wouldn’t have thought twice about barging in and sitting down on my bed. If I’d complained about having homework to do, she would have thrown a pillow at me and then gone about trying to convince me to get drunk with her.

We would have gone out, and Renee would have gotten wasted. I would have been the DD, but that was all right, because I would have had fun. Because that’s how it had been with me and Renee. That was us.

Now she stood in my room as though she had never been there before. She wouldn’t make eye contact, and even though her bright red hair was perfectly styled, her makeup was just shy of overdone, and her clothing was clearly thought out and planned. This was
not
the girl who used to invite the entire soccer team back to our apartment for a game of strip poker.

Renee’s eyes were dead, her mouth turned down, and she was uncharacteristically . . . blank.

“What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Devon wants to head over to Compulsion tonight. I thought you might like to come with us. Get out of the house for the eve
ning,” Renee suggested with feigned indifference.

No matter how unaffected she tried to act, I knew she was nervous. She did
not
want to go back to the club. Otherwise she’d never have asked me to come along. She would never put Devon and me in a social situation together unless she was completely and totally freaking out.

“Why would you want to go back there?” I asked sharply. I tried to rein in my bewildered accusation. As much as I hated the reason she was asking, I couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of hope that her asking at all was a sign that our friendship could be salvaged.

Because I missed Renee Alston. A lot.

Renee’s jaw tightened, and her eyes became flinty. “Look, I knew asking you was a lost cause. God forbid your weekend consist of something other than watching
The Vampire Diaries
for the millionth time while Brooks makes his super-witty comments that no one finds funny but him,” Renee snapped. I felt a flash of anger.

“Look, if you want me to go anywhere with you and that loser you call a boyfriend, you’re going about it the wrong way, sweetheart,” I countered sarcastically, allowing myself to unload some of my anger in her direction.

Renee sucked in a breath. “Fuck off, Aubrey,” she bit out.