I blink at him, my lashes heavier with the weight of mascara - something I don't often wear. "I feel. . . content. Like, I got some kind of closure tonight as well." I nod to myself as that truth seeps in. "I've always worried about Konnor. I think, maybe, I was a little obsessed with wanting happiness for him. I was only five when my parents adopted him. And I was the baby. I had all the attention. Then I didn't. He challenged us, ya know?"
I pull my hands into my lap, staring at my nude-coloured nail polish, feeling guilty for what I'm finally admitting. I was gifted a brother - this amazing little boy who deserves the world after what he went through. I should be grateful. "This broken kid became my brother," I say to my fingers.
Max lifts my chin up and I meet his narrowed eyes, which hint at concern. I stare at the swirling sheer layers of blue in his irises and they ground me, whispering acceptance in a way I've never felt before. Like, this is my safe place. With him. I can tell him anything. Even admissions I'm not proud of.
"I would do anything to make Konnor smile. Even then, at five. I remember feeling that way. Flick was older. She had her own life and friends and didn't get dragged into it as much, but I still needed Mum's and Dad's attention a lot, but it was often directed at Konnor. So to not be left alone, I took on that role too, in a way. None of this makes sense. I'm being silly-"
"It makes complete sense," he states, sliding my backside a little further up his thighs until I can feel the heat from his body radiating beneath mine. With the music humming and the car rolling, the darkness outside and the dim in, I feel so much right now. For Max.
My love for him burns too strong. Too bright. But no words of sentimentality will ever do that feeling justice. It's like when I try to take a photo of fireworks and it just doesn't come out right. It's because some things aren't meant be captured or titled.
They are just for us.
Like this, it's our thing.
"Do you remember the first time we met?" I ask, presuming that he doesn't.
He searches my face. "When we first spoke at your birthday? Or when I first saw you in that fucking pink leotard I wanted to rip straight off your body?"
"Neither." I smile at the memory. "We met years ago. Like, ten years ago."
He frowns. "Do tell."
I shuffle up a little on his lap. "Konnor has a problem with his anger. He found out that a kid across the street stole my yo-yo, so he went to get it back. I didn't care too much. I was a bit upset, but I didn't want him to get into a fight over it. I chased after him. He took a swing at the kid who took it. But he had a bat. He started wailing on Konnor. Is any of this ringing a bell?"
"Nope."
Smiling at him now because I had a feeling this was a casual encounter for him, I continue, "I was screaming. Konnor was bleeding. I remember, seriously thinking, he was going to die. Then this boy appeared." I lift my hand to his cheek, feeling the way Max's jaw tightens beneath it as he swallows. "You. You looked a bit bigger than Konnor; I thought you were like fifteen or something. You jogged casually across the lawn towards the fight, grabbed the kid attacking Konnor, and nailed him with a precision that looked effortless. You laid him out across the lawn, grabbed my yo-yo, and approached me. I remember it as clear as looking at you right now. You reached for my hand. Barely touching me, you placed the yo-yo in my palm. I said nothing. You said nothing. But you looked straight into my eyes. I remember your eyes, Max. Then you walked off like nothing had even happened."
Something like realisation crosses his face. "That was you?"
"You were like a superhero to me," I admit without shame because he's my safe place and I don't need to be cool or coy or protective over my heart. I can wear it on my sleeve. Hell, I'd thrust it right into his chest if I could so his and mine could beat at the same cadence forever. Max Butcher is the love of my life. And I'm his. "You saved my brother. My precious, sensitive, broken brother. You're my hero, Max Butcher."
He winces a little at that, so I smother his discomfort with my lips, cupping his smooth jawline as I take his mouth lovingly. I lift my other hand and feed my fingers back through his brown hair, knotting the strands in tight because I can't get close enough to him. Can't connect us enough.
Just as our lips move together, a loud siren breaks through our world. I'm jerked backwards as Carter slows the vehicle. Max catches me, his fingers spanning my spine protectively.
"Boss," Carter warns, his tone filled with urgency.
Red and blue lights glow through the rear window. Chasing us. Were we speeding? Is it because I didn't have a seat belt on? Everything inside the car shifts in an instant - the energy, the air, our connection.
Max slides me from his lap.
I hear Carter cock his gun.
My heart stops.
The black Chrysler pulls up along the coastal road. Carter winds my window up and yet, even through the reinforced glass, I can still hear the sound of the ocean smashing on the shore. Can still hear it through the wailing of sirens. It is like a force that has nothing above it. Nothing to still it. Silence it.
I shudder. I lean back in my seat, willing myself to stay calm.
