Home > The Shape of My Heart (2B Trilogy #3)(42)

The Shape of My Heart (2B Trilogy #3)(42)
Author: Ann Aguirre

“I’m sorry,” Angus murmured.

“Me, too. So anyway, fast forward to the volunteer program. They asked me to deliver a message to the ER, something that wasn’t even on my to-do list, as I worked mostly with elder care and long-term patients. But I liked the woman in charge, so I didn’t bitch. Ended up at the desk when a GSW came in. Blood everywhere, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Darrell. But the doctor on duty was so calm, so capable, and she got everything under control so fast, brought order to the chaos. I wanted to be her.”

As it turned out, she’d only told me part of the story. I liked learning the rest. “And now you’re making it happen. Fuck Duncan for not getting it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Kia said.

We raised our OJ glasses and toasted. To lighten the atmosphere, I changed the subject. “So I have news.”

Max shot me a curious look but he already knew. Everyone was excited to find out about the band, and I promised to keep them posted about our schedule. “But I’m pretty sure it’ll be weeks, if not months, before I’m good enough for an actual performance.”

Kia tilted her head. “You want to be a rock star? Sex, drugs, all that. Is that why your parents disapprove?”

Maybe it was time I stopped clutching my dreams to my chest, hiding them like faded prom corsages I’d pressed in an old scrapbook. “Actually...”

Hesitating, I remembered sitting at Eli’s bedside while we created the business plan. I still had the notebook with the figures written neatly in Eli’s best accounting style, including studio time, marketing, production and engineering fees, PR, artwork, website design, accountant and legal fees, packaging, remixers and session musicians. At one point, I knew exactly how my future looked—with Eli beside me every step of the way. We’d been together since we were kids; there was no reason for me to imagine anything else.

A wistful feeling stole over me, not the anguish that left me hollowed out like a Russian stacking doll. For once, thinking of him didn’t bring his voice to life in my head. A few months back, the silence would’ve made me melancholy. Yet the idea of losing Eli’s echo seemed inevitable now, not a fate worse than death. Maybe I was getting better. Despite my mother’s compulsive fear, I no longer had the urge to eat sleeping pills and dream my life away.

With a small smile, I told everyone about my indie music label idea, omitting Eli entirely.

There were only Max’s fingers wrapped around mine, encouraging me to continue, warm and rough, completely real. He’s here, he’s healthy. He cares about me. To anyone else, those might seem like small things but from where I’d been, the brightness felt miraculous.

“Not to be crass, but that’ll require start-up money,” Angus pointed out.

I nodded. “I have some in savings from my grandfather. So far, I haven’t touched it because my parents are paying my way. I know that makes me a princess.” Ducking my head, I couldn’t quite look at Max and Kia, who had things much tougher.

“I guess that makes me a queen,” Angus joked.

“Yeah, I go home to Chicago over the summer, I don’t get sent to Europe for three weeks.” I teased him a little. “And didn’t they pay for Del to go this time?”

“God, it was incredible. You haven’t lived until you’ve had morning coffee on the Seine. We found a lovely café on the Quai d’Orsay, all Belle Epoque with fabulous hammered silver—”

“You realize some of us have never even been on a plane,” Max cut in.

“Seriously?” Angus asked.

Since Max tended to joke around, I understood Angus’s skepticism. But I’d learned to read him over the years, and he wasn’t kidding about this. I hadn’t known this either, though. No reason for Angus to feel bad. But on closer consideration, it made sense. Leaving home at sixteen didn’t exactly offer a ton of vacation opportunities. For years he’d focused on working and getting his GED. After that, it was probably a constant battle to make tuition payments.

“Yeah. My old man wasn’t big on family trips when we were kids.”

It would’ve taken away too much time from the drinking, I thought.

Before the others could dig into his past, I stood up, positive he didn’t want other people knowing as much as I did. “I’ll wash up. Kia, feel free to go back to sleep.”

She smiled at me. “I have some reading to do, but thanks. You, too, Angus.”

When she went into our room and closed the door, I felt like we were a few steps closer to being actual friends. That brightened my mood.

As I started clearing, Angus kicked my happy up another notch when he hugged me. “You’re the best, you know that? Del’s coming over later and I wasn’t sure how I’d get this place cleaned up fast enough to still have time to deliver my usual level of hotness.”

“Please, you’re fantastic even when you’re sweaty-gross from housework.”

“That’s enough of that,” Max said, elbowing between us.

“You’re not allowed to be jealous when Courtney flirts with me,” Angus complained. “It’s harmless fun...and great for my ego.”

“Bullshit. I can be, all the time if I want. I’m jealous of her sheets.”

“You’re so weird.” When Max came into the kitchen with a load of plates, I kissed him to show my approval of his brand of bizarre-love.

“That’s my cue to shower.” Angus headed down the hall with a wave, pointedly not looking back, which prompted Max to shove me up against the fridge. His lips tasted like pancakes and maple syrup. Yum.

“Whew. Stop distracting me, I promised to clean.”

“I could be convinced to help.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” I promised.

He waggled his brows as he pressed closer, teasing but not. Before sex, he’d totally tidy up the apartment to make me happy—on his day off—despite hating these chores. That was his way of showing devotion, so adorable, impassioned, sincere...and mine. He’s mine. Heat swept over me, not just a desire for sex, but deeper and fiercer, a hunger for everything Max, as if I could somehow absorb his sweetness into my bones.

Please, I thought. Please, Max. Don’t ever stop feeling this way.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I was lounging on my bed, half-heartedly reading assigned statistics material when the front door slammed.

Things had been...interesting since Sunday. I had to argue with Max about whose bed I’d be sleeping in every night, but I wasn’t ready to move into his room. That felt too fast and I definitely wouldn’t get enough sleep if we didn’t impose some limits. So right now, I was restricting us to weekend sleepovers because he had work and school, too. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t fool around, obviously. Max had been annoyed for two days, giving me his trademark puppy eyes, but I was iron woman; I just needed a titanium bustier to prove it.

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