He swallowed hard. “I’d rather get punched in the face again.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” My gaze skimmed over his battered features, worried about both him and Lauren.
“I promised not to talk about it. With anyone.”
That shot holes in my theory that he was out fighting because he was pissed off. “Promised who? Lauren?”
“Stop digging. This is her story, not mine. If she wanted you to know—”
“Okay, I get it.” But it stung realizing how completely she’d iced me out. Other than reiterating that I was willing to listen, I didn’t know how else to help.
“Stop looking at me that way. She didn’t invite me into her business. I was just there.”
I understood Max well enough to be sure he wouldn’t spill Lauren’s secrets, even to me. Accepting that, I changed the subject. “So we’re going to a party tonight, some guy Angus knows. You in?”
Max thought about it. “I guess.”
That settled, I sucked down my ramen and went to get ready. Despite the tension between Max and Lauren, it had been a while since the four of us went out together, and excitement percolated through me, enough to dispel the residual gloom over leaving Ty’s place. Focusing on fun—not my normal mandate—I put aside the subtext. The closer we got to departure, the more pumped I got, so by the time I put on my boots and jacket, I was ready to cut loose.
“I’ll be the DD tonight,” Angus said. “I definitely owe you, Nadia, and I’ve got that awful hangover memory to keep me straight.”
“Really?” Lauren smirked at him.
Angus flipped his hand at her in a whatever gesture. “You can be so literal.”
Max and I snickered as we followed them to the car. Lauren got in front with Angus, so I crawled into the back of the Audi. The drive took fifteen minutes, as the party was being held off campus, hosted by somebody who lived with his parents. I’d met Scott a couple of times, but we’d never hung out. Angus was in Biology, preparing for med school, and they had classes together.
Mount Albion didn’t have posh neighborhoods or houses worth millions, but this much land would definitely cost a lot. Scott lived in a farmhouse on at least twenty acres, judging by the length of the private-access road. It was an old place, but from what I could tell in the dark, beautifully restored, and the wooded privacy of the area meant nobody would call the cops. Part of me was also glad that we wouldn’t be bothering Sam and Ty. The sheer number of cars in the gravel parking area was insane. Later, they’d probably be lined up all the way down the drive.
“Who else is glad we don’t have to clean up?” I said as Angus parked.
“Cosigned,” Max answered.
The farmhouse was lit up from all angles, and Scott hadn’t skimped on the decor. Most of it was cheesy, holiday-store stuff, like the motion-activated skull that said “Happy Halloween” when you walked by. There were also paper witches and glowing, plastic jack-o’-lanterns. Already, the music was loud as hell, and we were still fifty yards from the house.
“Looks like Scott posted the invite somewhere. We’ll end up with bikers and truck drivers,” Angus predicted.
I shrugged. It wasn’t my house.
Max led the way inside, and I followed. The kitchen was bright yellow and jam-packed with people. Some of them were grabbing at chip bags while others were prowling through the alcoholic options. Scott was down the hall, but he recognized Angus and yelled something at him, then gave a thumbs-up. Following Max, I grabbed a beer as he forged a path into the living room, which was big enough to dance with the furniture shoved back against the walls. The floors were hardwood, easier to move; I could never spin quite the same on carpet. As I bent to take off my boots, my mood picked up even more. I shouldn’t feel responsible for Lauren or obsess over my relationship with Ty.
See, it’s fine. The weekend was fantastic, and now it’s over. Life goes on.
I worked my way into the cluster of thrashing drunk people and found a guy who seemed more sober than most. He moved well—not like Angus—but decent for a farmhouse party in Michigan. Not that the guys in Nebraska were the best dancers ever, either. Like Max, most of the dudes I went to high school with had just barely mastered the white-boy shuffle. Arms over my head, I threw myself into the music and danced for almost an hour. The guy signaled that he was getting a drink, and I just waved and kept going. Angus joined me after that, which was good. It kept other guys at bay, and he was a great partner, challenging me to vary my moves and try to execute some I’d normally be too self-conscious to attempt.
Finally, around midnight, I went looking for food and drink. Most of the chip bags were empty, and I was lucky to score a beer. I didn’t see Scott anywhere, and people were starting to pair off. Lauren was talking to a blond guy, a skater wannabe who never went without a beanie and couldn’t actually do any tricks on his board. Typical poser.
It didn’t take long to spot Max, watching intently. He had one hand balled up in a fist. Carrying my beer, I navigated through the crowd toward him. “Hey, dial it down. They’re just talking, and you look like you’re trying to make his head explode with your mind.”
“Would that be so wrong?” he muttered.
“Have you said anything to her?”
“Not about that.”
“God, you’re such weaksauce at telling someone how you feel.” Maybe that was too tough a stance since I’d just counseled him to talk to her earlier today.
But before I could apologize, he snapped, “Is this your idea of a pep talk, Conrad? You might need to up your game or risk turning all your little impaired kids into cutters.”
“Wow.” That was much harsher than Max usually came across. Shocked, I stared at him for a few seconds, and then I wheeled and started to walk away, but he put a hand on my arm.
“I’m sorry, okay? Sorry.”
Shrugging him off, I turned with a glare. “I’ve been nothing but supportive, you ass**le, even when I have plenty of my own shit going on. But do you ever ask how I’m doing? Fuck, no. I’m tired of you slouching around acting like nobody ever had a problem besides you.”
“Are you guys fighting?” Lauren must’ve broken away from skater boy when she registered the tension; by nature, she was a fixer and a people-pleaser.
“No,” Max answered, as I said, “Kinda.”
“Well, which is it?” She aimed a hard look at us.