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Stepping into the bathroom, he shut the door and leaned against the sink. He’d felt such a sudden burst of anger that it left him shaking, his fingers trembling even as he tried to grip the cabinet. The urge to throw his bowl, smash it against the wall and do the same with anything else he could break, had come and gone in a flash, but damn, it had scared him.
There were too many memories of his pa’s violent temper that Max carried around with him—he wouldn’t add his own.
He wouldn’t be his pa, not once, not ever. He’d put a bullet through his brain before he ever hurt people like his pa had. Same went for his ma and most of his older brothers—he would never be the hate-filled monsters they were.
“I ain’t him, I ain’t any of ‘em!” Max forced himself to look in the mirror. He tried to find any signs of the cruel people who’d raised him. Not in his features—he looked how he looked and that was all there was to that. No, what he was looking for was in the eyes, that spark in the depths there that was just… off, intense in a way that was terrifying and full of the promise of pain and punishment.
Max could see nothing like that in his eyes, but that was little relief. He’d felt that surge of anger—what if he’d been able to see his eyes then? What if—
A tap on the bathroom door startled him so badly that his hand slipped and he barely missed slamming his face into the mirror. “Hey, Max, you okay in there?”
Max’s sense of humour tried to kick in, but he kept it quite a bit cleaner than he would have if Annabelle had been a man. If that made him sexist, well, he was sorry, but he couldn’t bring himself to be crude around any woman.
“Showerin’ ain’t the only thing to do in here, you know,” Max pointed out. If it’d been Rory or Chance, he’d just have yelled that he was taking a shit and leave him alone. He just could not do that with Annabelle, though he suspected it would embarrass him a lot more than it would her if he did.
“Well, duh, but I didn’t hear any—”
“Jesus, Annabelle!” Max choked out. “What are you doing, sitting out there listening?
Go away and leave me to take care of my business!” Though at this point, he thought he may never be able to do his business again, not with Annabelle in the bunkhouse.
“Relax, I’m just teasing you!” She thumped the door for emphasis. “I pick on Rory and Chance the same way—all three of you are easy prey, so worried about offending the girl.”
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Max didn’t have an answer for that. “Annabelle…” His cell phone vibrated at his hip, saving him from digging himself into a deeper hole. From the other side of the door he heard Annabelle’s phone chime as well. Surely it was Rory and Chance calling. Max snatched the phone up, a glance at the screen confirming the call was from Chance. He tapped the button to take the call as he brought the phone to his ear, his palm slippery with sweat.
“Chance, what’s going on?” Max glanced at his reflection. He looked pale and stricken and he couldn’t stand to see himself, so he studied the sink instead.
Chance sounded exhausted and disgusted when he replied. “Rory told you we got a
call from a nurse at St. Joseph’s earlier. She told us that Bo had been brought in yesterday, unconscious and damn near beat to death.”
Max felt like an elephant sat on his chest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, and something inside him was threatening to burst.
“He didn’t have any ID on him, nothing, he was…he…” Chance’s voice hitched and
Max gripped the phone tighter as he began trembling. He clamped his teeth to keep them from chattering or biting his damn tongue in half. “Someone beat him and dumped him out in a field on the southern outskirt of San Antonio. It’s…he’s…fuck!”
While he’d known Bo had been beaten, hearing even those additional details made it so much worse. It hit him like a physical pain, ripping him open. Max’s legs gave out and he landed hard on his ass, the wood floor ensuring that a solid thunk would be heard throughout the bunk house. “Is he…” Max swallowed and forced the words out. “Are you telling me he didn’t make it?”
“No!” Chance nearly shouted. “Oh God, Max, that isn’t what I meant! He’s…he’s in bad shape—I mean, he looks like shit, but he’ll be fine. Someone delivered a fierce beating on him, and he looks like…like death warmed over, but he isn’t going to die.”
Max closed his eyes and leant back against the toilet, trying to get himself under control. His eyes burned and the tip of his nose tingled, but he managed to keep it together, except for the shaky breathing and the tremors that still shook his body. “That’s…that’s good then.”
“Yeah, it is,” Chance agreed. “Anyway, when Bo woke up today, he managed to give them his name, and mine for the emergency contact. Rory and I kind of freaked when we got that call. I’m sorry you didn’t hear from us again sooner. We wanted to wait until we knew MILES TO GO
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something, and frankly the staff here has been reluctant to tell us much of anything. If Rory hadn’t managed to charm one of the nurses, we might still be waiting for information.”
“No, it’s fine,” Max assured him. “Is Bo’s family coming up there?”
“He doesn’t have any family,” Chance
