“The kitchen’s too far,” he mumbled. “And your mom will fatten me up, I’m sure.”
“If you get sick, I’ll be really pissed.” Seeing him like this was...scary. It was hard not to make the mental leap to how Eli had looked the last few weeks of his life. He hadn’t started that way, either. I remembered when he was healthy and in remission.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry, Courtney.”
“Have you seen yourself lately?”
He flashed me a tired smile. “Pretty hot, huh? I don’t know how you’re holding back.”
Since he seemed disinclined to take my concern seriously, I changed the subject. “Are you all packed?”
Max nodded. “Make sure you dress warm tomorrow. It’s only three hours to Chicago, but it’ll feel longer if you’re freezing.”
“Maybe I should get a leather biker jacket. Think I could pull it off? Black leather, silver studs...?” I was mostly teasing, but he surveyed me through a tangle of thick lashes, as if seriously considering the possibility.
Then he said in a low, rough voice, “Definitely. Get the boots, too.”
I went breathless. “Okay.”
With some effort, he got himself to his feet. “Come on. I’m so fucking tired that I could pass out in your bed, and I suspect Kia wouldn’t be amused.”
“She’s already gone home for the holidays,” I said. “But your bed is bigger.”
“True.” When Max draped his arm around my shoulders, it felt more like he needed physical support than a gesture of affection.
“You sure you’re okay to ride tomorrow?”
“I’ll be fine. Just let me sleep for ten hours and feed me something good in the morning.”
“If you’re sure.”
He fell face-first on the bed and I finished packing. The apartment was quiet at this hour; Angus must have been at Del’s place, and nobody else seemed to be stirring, either. Usually on a Friday night, I heard music in the complex, doors slamming, cars pulling up and roaring away. But it appeared that a bunch of folks had rolled out for the holidays already. I tiptoed back to Max’s room and climbed in beside him. Since I was pretty tired, too, I passed out right away.
* * *
In the morning I made the huge breakfast Max wanted with pancakes from a box mix and scrambled eggs. When he came out of the shower, he looked better. Though he was still thin, he’d lost some of the heroin chic he was rocking last night. One night couldn’t erase dark circles like those, unfortunately, but he could rest up at my parents’ place. Since I was thirteen, we’d lived in a condo within a few blocks of Lakeshore Drive, three bedrooms, which allowed my mom to keep my room as a shrine and still have a spare for guests.
He ate with flattering gusto, considering half the pancakes were burned on one side; it took me half the batter to get the skillet temperature right. I watched him for, like, five minutes, letting my own food get cold.
Max glanced up with a question in his eyes. “You’re not hungry?”
“No, I am. Sorry.”
I can’t believe you’re mine.
Hurriedly I finished up, then I got my stuff so he could pack our bags into the top box. As instructed, I layered up with a hat, gloves and scarf, and then we took off on our second road trip. For obvious reasons, I was more nervous. Last time, I was just doing a friend a favor. Meeting my parents, well, it was a huge deal; there hadn’t been anyone significant since Eli died.
An hour and a half into the trip, Max called, “Do you want to take a break?”
I shouted no. We rode straight through, mostly because I was eager to get there. Sitting in a rest-stop food court sipping coffee would warm me up, but it would also add to my agitation. Probably I was on edge because I’d basically never done this. Eli didn’t require an introduction; we’d gone to nursery school together, and our parents were still close.
Once we hit the city, I gave directions until my voice was hoarse. Just past one in the afternoon, he pulled up in front of the building. Max stared up at the imposing glass and steel shining in the wan winter sunshine. People at school didn’t know that much about my background since I tried not to come across as a privileged asshole. Even now, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my dad owned the building—and that it wasn’t the only one. He’d started off as a stockbroker, but he was so good at gauging the market, he’d started investing his own money, and by forty, he’d made his first million.
“Holy shit,” he said quietly.
Feeling like an asshole, I took a breath. It’ll be fine. “The garage entrance is over there.”
I’d definitely led him to believe my folks were upper-middle-class, no big deal. Some money, normal affluence, and he was already self-conscious about that divide. God only knew how he’d react to this.
“Okay, just tell me where to park.”
I guided him to one of the VIP spaces designated for my family’s use. That earned me a sharp look, but he didn’t say anything. Honestly I had no idea how to act because it wasn’t like I hid this from him on purpose. I didn’t consider my dad’s money mine; I had my own dreams. There was no way I’d conform to parental expectations to earn an inheritance. And both my mom and dad knew that; I’d made it completely clear when I left rehab that I was done letting them write the checks that dictated my behavior. They were only paying for college because I hadn’t cared enough to argue when they pushed me toward a business degree. Now that I was alive again, I suspected it might even come in handy when I started my indie label, which was why I hadn’t changed my major.
“We’re going to the penthouse, aren’t we?” Max said, as I swiped my card in the elevator, then pressed the PH button.
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
“You don’t think you should’ve prepped me a little better?” His voice was tight, mouth flat and pale. When he glanced down at his jeans and work boots, I registered his uncertainty.
But we’re both in jeans and hoodies. I’d never matched the Kaufman ideal of elegance, either. So I didn’t see what difference it made. Max might put on a Boss suit and shiny shoes, but it wouldn’t change anything about him. More to the point, I didn’t want him to pretend to be somebody he wasn’t, not even for my parents. But maybe he didn’t get that.
“Would it have helped?”
He didn’t answer as the floors ticked away, eventually opening into the foyer. I registered his shock. Yeah, the condo takes up the whole top of the building. The place was huge with phenomenal views, three bedrooms, three baths and a study. At this point my dad didn’t do anything except own property and invest money. I didn’t remember my mom ever working. When I lived at home, we’d had a daily housekeeper because we all agreed it would be intrusive to have someone stay in the condo with us, though there was a small maid’s room near the laundry.