Faking It (Losing It, #2)

Max propped her chin on my chest and looked at me. When she wasn’t looking at me, I could pretend that this was all an act. That this was a role like any other. But with her eyes on mine . . . I lost focus.

She said, “I mentioned she’s the Antichrist, right?”

“Ah, so this is a battle of good-and-evil kind of thing.”

“No, this is a she’s-psycho kind of thing.”

“I could buy that. She enjoys hearing herself talk too much to not be at least a little bit sociopathic.”

Max’s eyes fluttered closed, and I realized that my hand was threading through her hair. I hadn’t even realized I’d been doing it. I knew what that did to her. I started to pull my hand back, but she laid her cheek back against my chest and wrapped an arm around my waist.

If that wasn’t permission, I didn’t know what was.

Bethany came back with Michael, and Mrs. Miller brought out a tray with mugs of hot chocolate. I took one, but Max declined. She stayed pressed against me, her head resting over my heart as her family took seats around the room.

I tried to keep my body calm, and my mind calmer as we sat there.

I was tired of questioning what everything meant, so I just gave in. I brushed my fingers through her hair, skimming her neck and her back. I didn’t know what she was thinking or if she was thinking at all, but it was peaceful, like a reprieve from the world.

Bethany kept glancing our way, but for once she didn’t say anything. I closed my eyes and leaned my cheek against the top of Max’s head. I took the reprieve because we both needed it.

“Michael,” Mrs. Miller called to her son. “Why don’t we put all those years of piano lessons to work and sing some Christmas carols?”

Ah, there was the Christmas fiend Max had mentioned.

Michael obediently moved to the piano in the corner of the room, and he pulled the cushion of the bench up to look in the hidden storage beneath. He picked up a book.

“The red book,” Mrs. Miller said.

He returned the book he’d chosen, and picked up a red one instead.

He flipped through the pages for a few seconds then asked, “Silent Night”?

Mrs. Miller nodded, and he began to play.

Max sat up a little, and leaned her head against my shoulder instead. Everyone began to sing, but my ears only heard her.

“Silent night. Holy night.

All is calm all is bright

Round yon virgin mother and child

Holy infant so tender and mild

Sleep in heavenly peace

Sleep in heavenly peace.”

It was amazing how even a song I’d heard a hundred times sounded beautiful and special coming from her. There was something just slightly different in her tone, in her phrasing, that made the song sound fresh to my ears. Her voice was soft and vulnerable, and I couldn’t stop myself from turning to face her. She lifted her head up and looked at me. I brushed a hand across her cheek, and she leaned into my touch.

I brushed her hair back, and I could feel her walls dropping. Her fear fled, my anger abandoned me, and certainty crept in. I was certain that we weren’t as different as we wanted to believe, certain that she felt something for me, certain that this could work.

She took a breath, and I was certain that she could feel it, too.

Then the music ended, and the spell broke. I saw her retreat back into herself. She slid over on the couch, and all my certainties came crashing down.

I understood that she was unsure, but I just couldn’t take this anymore.





38

Max

I kept my distance.

It was the only way I knew to keep my heart.

I knew I couldn’t keep him away forever, but I managed it through the rest of Mom’s impromptu caroling session. I maintained the distance until it was time for bed. He was in his room, and I was in mine. And I was going to need my sleep to recharge my resolve—both with respect to Cade and to telling my parents the truth.

It was a bad sign for both that I was still wide-awake at 2:00 A.M. when a knocking started on my door.

I was wearing an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boy-short underwear. I thought of rummaging for a pair of shorts to pull on, but whoever was knocking was making enough noise to wake up my parents, so I figured it was better to just answer them.

When I pulled open the door, Cade stormed into my room. Panicked, I peeked my head out the door, but there were no lights on, which meant he hadn’t woken anyone . . . yet. I shut the door quietly and said, “What are you doing here?”

His eyes snapped from my bare legs up to my face, and his eyes were blazing.

“You’re mad,” I said in confusion.

“Hell yes, I’m mad.”

“I told you that I would tell them, Cade. I was planning to do it in the morning, in fact. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“That’s not what I’m mad about.”

I barely had time to mutter, “Then what?” before he’d caught my face in his hands and pulled my lips to his.

His kiss was angry and punishing, and I felt it all the way in the marrow of my bones.

“I’m angry that you keep pushing me away when I know you don’t want to.”

He crushed our lips together again, bruising and beautiful.

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