Picking Up the Pieces (Pieces, #2)

“Are you even going to remember this conversation tomorrow?”


“Only one way to find out.” He had swung his head toward me, his eyes looking directly at me.

“Adam doesn’t want me to see you anymore.” I figured the best way to tell him this news was to treat it like removing a band aid. It was best to just rip the sucker off.

Max straightened up in his seat. “And you agreed to that?” His voice was emotionless, which betrayed just how hurt he really was. Max only bothered to cover up the feelings that affected him the deepest.

“No.”

Even from my periphery, I could tell he was confused. “Then, I guess that brings us back to my original question. Why haven’t I heard from you?”

“I just . . . need time to get my head on straight. I feel like I’m starring in my own version of Groundhog Day. And mine isn’t nearly as funny as Bill Murray’s.”

Max didn’t respond and we drove the rest of the way to his house in silence. I was surprised by his lack of a response. I wasn’t sure what I had expected him to say, but I sure as hell had expected something.

A short time later, I pulled into his driveway. Max started unbuckling his seat belt before I even had the car in park, but he fumbled with the door handle.

“You need help getting inside?”

“No, I got it,” he replied gruffly as he opened the door only to have it immediately swing back closed.

“Sure ya do,” I grumbled as I got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. Pulling the door open wide, I reached down to hook my arm under Max’s and began to hoist him up. God, he’s a heavy son of a bitch.

He leaned back against the rear door, while I closed his. But before I could turn back toward him, I felt his hand roughly grip my bicep, twirling me around and pressing my back against the door I had just closed. He then moved both hands to grip the car behind me, caging me in.

I almost called him out on his rejuvenated sense of coordination but decided to let it go. My skin prickled at his proximity, and memories of what it felt like to have his body pressed against mine flooded my brain. But these were the wrong thoughts to be having right now.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I spat.

He gazed at me for a long time, not saying a single word. Eventually, my body started to relax from the lack of conflict, and he noticed it immediately. “I’m reminding you,” he finally said.

“Reminding me of what?” I tried to pack my voice with annoyance, but I couldn’t hide the genuine curiosity that resided there.

“What it feels like. What we feel like.”

“We don’t feel like anything, Max. We’re just friends. And I’m not even so sure we’re that.”

He moved one hand to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. The feel of his icy hand reminded me that it was freezing out, but I didn’t feel cold. I wasn’t sure what I felt.

He replaced his hand on the car. “You’re right, Lily. We’re not friends. We’ll never be friends. Because, deep down, you know we’re so much more.” He leaned in, his lips on a crash course toward mine.

And I wanted it. I wanted his lips on mine so badly, I was nearly consumed by the thought. Until I remembered that this was how Max operated. He took. Whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. He had taken my common sense last year, he had taken Adam, he had taken every ounce of friendship I had offered him, and now he was trying to take even more. And I may not have had such a problem with that had it not been for the fact that Max never gave anything in return.

So, just as his lips were about to connect with mine, I turned my head away from him. The realization of just how one-sided our friendship was filled me with such unfathomable rage, it made me shake. I had been so fucking blind. All of this time, I had been making the effort, trying to be a good friend, to help him get his life together. Then I tell him what I need: time. And instead of respecting that or discussing it with me like a normal person, he decides to ignore my needs and take what he wants. Again.

“I’m done with this, Max.”

He pulled back from me and hung his head. “I’m sorry, Lily. I know. We’re just friends. I’m drunk and got a little carried away. It’s fine. We’ll—”

“No, I mean I’m really done.” I turned my head and waited for him to return my gaze. “With the friendship. With you. With all of it. I won’t risk my future on someone who clearly cares so little about me.”

His eyes narrowed and his voice was barely above a whisper. “How can you say that?”

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