The Shape Of My Heart
I submerged the impulse to ask, Isn’t there anyone else? Because I knew the answer already, and I wouldn’t force-feed him that vulnerability on top of the shit sandwich life had already forced him to sample. But I couldn’t just pack a bag and ride off without some basic fact-finding. “How long will we be gone?”
“It’s a twelve-hour drive, but we’ll take regular breaks since you aren’t used to a long haul on the bike. I’m guessing five days, including travel.”
“Wait, we’re taking the motorcycle all the way to Rhode Island?”
As he turned his head, the moon popped out from behind a cloud, illuminating his smile. “You said we. So I guess so.”
“If I’m crazy enough to do this, you owe me some insider info on why.”
“Why?”
“You know what I’m asking. Why can’t you be polite long enough to put your grandfather in the ground? Or whatever you shegetz boys do.” I spoke the last sentence in a teasing tone.
Max got out his phone and turned it on, bright enough to startle me, then he pushed back the tumble of black hair, revealing a thin white scar. The screen flickered off, leaving me with the impression of his tan skin, dark eyes and the mark in sharp contrast. “I got that from my dad when I was eleven. Beer bottle. He chucked it, I didn’t duck in time.”
“Damn.”
“It’s not the only childhood souvenir.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “But that’s not why I can’t forgive him.”
“What happened?”
“Right now, I need an answer. Will you come?”
Angus and I didn’t have jobs, unlike Max and Nadia. Even if they disapproved of me, my parents still sent a regular allowance and paid my tuition. So there was no reason I couldn’t go to Providence with him; I just wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Some intuitive part of my brain sensed that it would change everything.
“Okay,” I said.
“Thanks so much, Kaufman. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“Because you don’t want to miss the services?”
Max shook his head. “My brother will be there.”
Before I could ask, he pushed to his feet, dusted off his ass and offered his hand. I took it and let him tow me upright. We retraced our steps back to the bike as I pondered how bad this was likely to be. My family might not be perfect, but nothing like this; it was only a matter of me refusing to conform to expectations, and my mother’s weapon of choice was guilt. He swung onto the motorcycle and I got on after him, troubled for reasons I couldn’t articulate.
The ride back to the apartment felt faster, probably because I knew where we were going. Angus still wasn’t home, so I just nodded a good-night to Max and headed to my huge, half-empty room. He surprised me by following, pausing in the doorway as if waiting for an invite.
“You can come in,” I said.
“I wasn’t sure. But I just wanted to tell you to be ready by seven.”
“Oh, my God. It’s already midnight. Go to bed, Max.” After setting my alarm, I got ready, packed a backpack and followed my own advice.
In the morning, Max tapped on my door as I was lacing up my boots. I’d packed a black dress and some flats, along with clean panties and a few spare T-shirts. The cargo pants would have to last until we got back. Fortunately, riding on the back of his bike wouldn’t even faze my hair, no need for curling iron or straightener. That made it easier to travel light.
“Ready?” he asked as I stepped out.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
“Thanks.”
“You said that last night.”
“I want to be sure it comes across. There’s no way I could go back by myself.”
A small, curious part of me noticed that he didn’t say home but it seemed like the wrong time to dig into his motivations. Pausing in the kitchen, I rearranged the fridge magnets to read: Gone. Back Later. I’d text Angus at a more respectable hour and explain the situation, assuming this wasn’t top secret for reasons unknown to me.
“We can’t do this in one day,” Max said as he stuffed our bags in the top box. “Or you’ll be too sore to move afterward.”
“Promises, promises.” It was the sort of joke I always made, expecting him to goof back with me.
Max paused, frowning. “I don’t think that’s hot. Or funny.”
“Huh?”
“Fucking a woman so hard it hurts her. The idea makes me sick, actually.” That was more sincerity than I generally got from Max in a week, but it was too early for me to parse.
“There’s a difference between being pleasantly tender, the result of good, rough sex, and crawling away from the bedroom all bruised and bloody.”
“I know, sorry. That’s just...one of my hot buttons.”
Pausing, I wondered about that story, but it wasn’t the time to ask. “No problem. Shall we roll out?”
The weather was perfect for taking to the open road, sunny sky in summer blue, not a cloud in sight. After two hours on the bike, I understood what he meant, though. It wasn’t like riding in a car; my arms were tired from holding on to him and my ass was numb, both from the pavement and the vibrations. Just past ten in the morning, he pulled off at a rest plaza in Ohio. The place was huge, almost like an auto-mall, plenty of parking, three fast food places, picnic tables, a strip of green for pets. I stumbled as I swung my leg over, and it hurt when I straightened my back; I had been leaning forward, pressed against Max for too long.
“Sorry. I should’ve stopped sooner. You hungry?”
“Yeah. I didn’t have anything before we took off.”
“Me, either.”
“I need the bathroom first, so I’ll meet you in the food court.”
I used the facilities, washed my hands and stopped, drawn by my reflection. Mirrors were too honest, showing me a woman with a sharp nose and deep-set eyes. I used the purple hair to distract from my face, like a male bird strutting his colorful plumage. My body wasn’t bad, though I carried extra weight in trunk and saddlebag. I’d long since come to terms with the fact that I didn’t attract looks from across a crowded room. In fact, I was pretty used to being the grenade a wingman would fall on in order to give his buddy a shot at my hot friend.
But on a global scale, problems like that were minuscule, and I was smiling when I found Max waiting with my favorite breakfast sandwich. Pretending to check it over, I sat down across the table from him. “Hmm. Bacon. Egg. Cheese. This passes inspection.”
“Glad to hear it. I didn’t know if you wanted coffee or juice so I got both.”
“Then I’ll drink both. How’re you holding up?”
“You make me sound decrepit. We haven’t been riding that long.”
Dropping my voice, I leaned forward, as if I was about to whisper a dirty secret. Max met me halfway. “I meant emotionally.”
“Oh. Then I’m wrecked.” The flat tone belied the truth I glimpsed in his eyes. “I don’t even know if my brother will talk to me.”
“What happened?”
“You want my sad life story in a travel plaza?”
Put that way, it sounded wrong, but I couldn’t deny my curiosity. So I ate my breakfast sandwich and followed him back outside, where I stretched for, like, five minutes. Max did the same, then we continued the trip. Though he was considerate and stopped every two hours so I could move around, by the time we hit the middle of Pennsylvania I was ready to call it quits. I’d have paid big money for a hot tub, but we stopped at an interstate motel, no Jacuzzis to be had, and I’d rather eat a bug than risk a yeast infection by soaking in a strange bathtub.
Max offered to spring for my room, but it seemed stupid for him to pay double. “Just get one with two beds. It’s not a big deal.”
“Thanks. I’m doing this on a shoestring budget.”
I could’ve told him that I had plenty of money and a decent limit on my plastic, but I suspected he’d be offended. It was a point of pride for Max to pay my way since he’d asked me along for reasons I didn’t entirely understand. Arms crossed, I waited by the motorcycle while he went into the office, and when he came out, he had the room keys.
“Come on, we’re around back.”
Climbing on the bike made me wince, so I could only imagine how I’d feel tomorrow. Worth it for a friend, I told myself. Max parked and handed me the keycards.
“Go on up, I’ll bring dinner. Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”
I shook my head. “Get my backpack? I’ll shower while you’re gone.”
“Good idea.”
“Some women might find that offensive, Cooper.”
“You know what I mean.”
Grinning, I took my bag and jogged stiffly up the rusted external steps. This place was a step down from a Red Roof Inn, and the room was about as depressing as I expected: dated decor in overly bright hues with hutch, tiny dining set and grubby, striped arm chair. But at least there was a coffeepot and a relatively new TV. Usually the smell gave away the worst places, and this only gave off a musty scent, like a room that had been closed up too long. The windows didn’t open so I turned on the air conditioner, which banged to the point that I imagined tiny gnomes inside the radiator with wee hammers. The added ventilation helped, though, and I got my pajamas, then went into the bathroom.
Water pressure was decent, and I took my time scrubbing off the road dust. By the time I came out, drying my hair on a scratchy towel, Max had pizza and beer waiting at the chipped table. He’d seen my pj’s countless times before, so he didn’t blink as I came over to get a slice of extra cheese, extra mushrooms and peppers.
“No meat?” I asked.
“Seems safer this way since we’re traveling tomorrow.”
I grinned. “Your forethought is both impressive and disturbing.”
The pizza wasn’t bad for a random dive, certainly not the worst, though it didn’t compare to the deep-dish Chicago-style I’d grown up on. After dinner, I propped up on my bed and checked my phone for the first time all day. I had a text from Angus and two from my mother. Angus had just replied with Finally eloped with Max, huh? Name your firstborn after me. Boy, girl or other, doesn’t matter. Make good choices! Sighing, I read the maternal messages next.
Ma, text one: Why aren’t you picking up?
Ma, text two: Where are you? I tried the house phone. Are you avoiding me?
Yes. That’s the only reason I wouldn’t answer.
She hadn’t wanted me to move out of the dorms until I told her my roommate was into illegal drugs. Then she’d supported the apartment idea wholeheartedly. Since she regarded spontaneity as her nemesis, she’d be pissed about this trip. I could hear her already: Vacations should be planned, Courtney. You can’t just take off this way.
I typed back, I’m hanging out with a friend. What’s up? That was sort of true, right?
“Everything okay?”
“Hmm?”
“You look pissed.”
“It’s just my mother, trying to track my movements. I’m surprised she hasn’t chipped me like a Chihuahua. Though if she has, you’ll probably be arrested for kidnapping.” I smirked, rubbing the back of my neck as if searching for parental hardware.
He paused with a slice halfway to his mouth. “You know, that sounds like it sucks, but I also wonder what it would be like to have a parent so...invested.”
“Your mother’s not around?”
“She died when I was five, having my brother. Amniotic fluid embolism. I was fourteen before I even knew what that meant.”
I still don’t. Mentally I made a note to look it up on Google ASAP. “So your brother’s sixteen? What’s his name?”
Max nodded. “Michael, but everyone calls him Mickey. Or...they did. I haven’t seen him since my dad kicked me out.”
“Wait, what?” I figured he’d just put up with a shitty home life until he got accepted at Mount Albion, and then he was all Sayonara, suckers.
“Yeah. I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen.”
“Did things get worse with your dad?” I asked.
“You could say that,” Max said quietly. “That was when I put my brother in a wheelchair for life.”
CHAPTER THREE
So many questions ricocheted around my brain, but Max’s shoulders were pulled up almost to his ears, his chin nearly on the table. Without looking at me, he shredded the napkin in his hands into four pieces and then in half again. The waning sunshine streaming in the smeared window behind him haloed his dark hair, so that the highlights shone blue instead of tawny or copper.
“You don’t have to tell me a bedtime story,” I said gently.
“No, you need to know. So you understand what’s going on and why it’s so tense when we get there.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’ll set the stage.” His tone was brittle, uneven, and the bits of paper in his hands kept getting smaller. “I was sixteen, just got my license. My dad was drinking, acting like a fuckhead. Business as usual. When he started in on Mickey, I grabbed the keys. Figured I’d get us both out of there for a while. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but taking off is kind of my specialty.”
“Between your bike, the garage office and the place you showed me by the river, I’ve picked up on the pattern, yeah.”
“I thought I was doing the smart thing, you know? But I was driving too fast and some asshole blew the stoplight. T-boned us. Mickey got the worst of it...weeks in the hospital without knowing if he’d make it. Then, once he stabilized, we found out he’d never walk again.” He curled a fist and slammed it onto the table, making the pizza box dance. “Ironic, huh? I was worried that my dad would hurt Mickey but I’m the one who—”
“Not true,” I cut in. “That’s a textbook accident. Don’t tell me you blame yourself.”
“It’s impossible to do anything else. No, wipe that look off your face, Kaufman. I didn’t open up to make you feel sorry for me. I just want you to know the deal going in. I mean, my dad’s the biggest asshole I ever met and he hates me, too.”
“What about Mickey?”
“We weren’t talking much when I left. Every day I think, what if I’d put up with my old man’s shit for five minutes more? What if I’d picked a fight with him instead of grabbing those keys? I—” His voice broke on a shuddering inhalation.
Until this moment I hadn’t realized how much weight Max carried on a daily basis or how good a job he did hiding it. I came out of my chair and rounded the little table before I consciously decided to make a move. Standing beside him, I hovered, unsure what to do. He answered the question by wrapping both arms around my waist and pulling me onto his lap. Unsettled—unnerved, even—I let him press his face into my shoulder, resting a hand on his head.
His breath warmed the skin of my throat, rousing an inappropriate shiver. Now is not the time. It wasn’t like I’d never noticed his hotness; he specialized in a scruffy, soulful appeal that women of all ages seemed unable to resist. But it was so much better for him to call me Kaufman and confide in me instead of flirting. At the moment, Max needed a friend. I stroked his back for like five minutes before he raised his gaze to meet mine.
“Sorry. The closer we get to Rhode Island, the worse I feel.”
“It’s understandable. You have to be worried about how your brother will react when you see him.” The rest of his family sounded like jackwagons. Though he’d only told me about his dad, if he had any decent aunts, uncles or cousins, they would’ve stepped up when his old man went upside his head with a bottle. A scar like that would take eight or ten stitches, minimum. I imagined Max as a scared kid with blood gushing from his scalp, and all of my protective instincts roared to life. People had been calling me a bitch since I was fifteen, and I was ready to wade in against Max’s family. Yeah, the funeral might be tense and shitty, but if his family said one fucking word—
“You’re looking especially fierce.” Max was smiling slightly, his head cocked in apparent fascination.
It was interesting that my expression could distract him. “Just contemplating all the ways I can kick ass and take names.” With a last twirl of fingers in his hair, I slid off his lap. “Your leg must be asleep, huh?”
Max was on the lean side, and I suspected I weighed as much as he did, possibly more. In his case, the weight was also stretched along eight additional inches. But he just shrugged and shook his head. If I wasn’t mistaken, a touch of color also burned high on his cheekbones. Wow, never thought I’d see him blush.
Clearing my throat, I moved away, taking my half-eaten slice of pizza to the bed I’d dumped my backpack on. I bounced onto it, completely casual, as if we hadn’t just been sharing deep emotional stuff. Max silently threw away the napkin he’d shredded and went into the bathroom. The shower switched on, resulting in an awesome banging of pipes. I pictured them breaking through the wall and flooding the floor. By the time he came back barefoot, wearing a ratty T-shirt and sweats, I had the TV on, watching a bad action movie.
“Oh, this. I’ve seen it eight times.” His offhand tone told me we were good.
“Then line it up for number nine.”
“Hey, Kaufman...”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“Stop. Your boundless gratitude is freaking me out.”
“Okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. So obviously I’ll proposition you instead, get us back on familiar footing.”
I grinned, wadding up a piece of paper from the pad next to me and chucking it at him. “I’m not making out with you.”
“Does that mean sex without kissing is off the table?”
“Definitely. So far off, it’s out the door, chained up in the backyard.”
He let out a mock-wistful sigh. “Poor coitus. What did it ever do to you?”
“It was the best of sex, it was the worst of sex...”
Max laughed, and it felt fairly glorious to bring him to this point so soon, relatively speaking, after he’d told me about the accident. “Are you butchering Dickens in a subtextual pun or am I reaching?”
“That depends,” I said.
“On what?”
“If you thought it was funny.”
“Definitely.” He shot me the lazy grin that crinkled his eyes and displayed a dimple.
Okay, stop being adorable, Max. It’s bothersome.
“Then it was definitely on purpose. But why do you recognize a misquote of A Tale of Two Cities, science-engineering person?”
“I read.”
“Dickens? Really? I disbelieve.” I pretended to roll some dice. “Natural twenty! Now tell me the truth or I’ll resort to drastic measures.”
“Okay, Dickens was compulsory. It’s not on my summer fun list.”
“And what is?” I couldn’t remember if I’d ever seen him with a book, but he did fiddle with phone and tablet a lot, so he might be reading that way. “Fictionwise, I mean.”
“Oh, and here I planned to share all the freaky places I did it in August.”
“Max.” I infused his name with a warning tone, so that I sounded uncannily like the rabbi’s wife, back when I still went to synagogue.
“Fine. My favorite genre is horror, but I also like sci-fi, fresh and edgy stuff, not boring white guys saving the universe and banging space hotties.”
Surprise popped up like a weasel. Great, now I had that kids’ song stuck in my head. “Wait. You read mostly genre fiction? Max Cooper. You’re a secret geek.”
“Don’t tell anyone, ’kay? Not that they’d believe you.” He flipped up his shirt to reveal tasty abs. Not mega ripped but taut and fine with delicious V-lines revealed by loose sweats. “I mean, just look at this package.”
Fortunately, my brain had never let me down, no matter how much sexy, muscled, yummy tan bod was on display. “If you have to ask a girl to inspect your package, you work for UPS or you’re trying too hard, bro.”
He smirked. “I don’t like how you call yourself a girl. It’s demeaning.”
“Hey, I’m allowed to say it. Dudes aren’t.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
We stopped talking after that, but the silence didn’t thrum with badness. Max seemed as okay as he could be, considering he was on his way to bury his grandfather and see his brother for the first time in five years. And that didn’t take into account his asshole dad or the extended family, who might make his life hell for the next two days. Though we had another long day of riding ahead of us, I was looking forward to sitting behind him on the bike more than our arrival. The shit might really hit the fan then.
Before ten, I passed out on top of the covers and didn’t know anything until a pained sound roused me, however many hours later. Shoving up on an elbow, I glanced around in confusion. This isn’t my room, that isn’t Nadia... What—oh. Max. He writhed in the bed next to mine, an arm lashing at the mattress, and he was bathed in sweat.
That’s definitely a bad dream.
This was so far outside my jurisdiction—then again, maybe not. He’d invited me along, knowing we’d be in close quarters for the duration of the trip. So possibly he’d foreseen this development and didn’t entirely mind? Whatever. When he snarled an unintelligible curse, I rolled out of bed and crossed to his, perching on the edge.
“Max. Wake up. You’re bothering me.” That was the first thing that popped into my head, but it didn’t rouse him.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no.”
The pure anguish in his voice told me he was reliving the accident. There was no way to know if talking about it summoned the dream or if this happened fairly often. For as much as we hung out at home, I’d never slept in the same room with him. Sucking in a breath, I rested my hand on his head, brushing the damp strands away from his brow. With the light from the sign outside illuminating his face, I saw a tear trickle from the corner of his eye, something I never imagined, ever.
Fuck me. Max cries in his sleep.
My heart twisted in my chest, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning down, touching my forehead to his. That was enough to rouse him, thank God. He blinked up at me blearily, his hands unclenching. “You okay?”
“Bad dream. Scoot over.” Since he wasn’t even fully awake, he mumbled as he did. I fell asleep with my back against his.
Hours later, I stirred in increments, then snapped alert when I realized Max was spooning me. His arm was strong and warm across my waist, hips snug against my ass, and I felt each slow breath into my hair. Well, crap. No good deed, and so on. It seemed unlikely that I could get away without disturbing him. The bedside clock read 5:45 a.m., so it was still mostly dark. As I shifted, he tightened his hold and nuzzled my neck. Obviously, it felt incredible, but it had been eight months. These days it didn’t take much to turn me on. But I wasn’t a shy virgin trembling with fear that he’d ravish me. So I lifted his arm and crawled out of bed. Max was rubbing his eyes when I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get dressed.
“Okay, did I imagine—”
“Nothing happened.” I wasn’t about to tell him that he was crying in his sleep so I figured I better go on the offensive. “My bed had janky springs, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. Anyone ever tell you your hair smells like lemons?”
“That’s the top-notch motel shampoo.”
“Couldn’t resist me, huh? This always happens, sooner or later. Should we just do it already, defuse the sexual tension?”
“As if. You were on my side of the bed. There are Russian hitmen who would pay big money to spoon this.” I slapped my ass with a teasing grin and yanked the covers off him. “Come on, get up.”
He immediately grabbed a pillow, going for basic crotch camo. “Are you kidding?”
“Oh. You already are. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I have to pee,” he mumbled.
“Take your time. If you need me to step out, so you can—”
“So help me, Kaufman, if you don’t stop talking, right now, I’ll make you.”
Smirking, I did a taunting little dance, hip swivel and half turn. “Sure you will. What, you gonna kiss me? Now, that’s original. Besides, I’m way too good at it, remember? Pretty soon you’ll be dry humping me and then come all over yourself. Let’s not go down that road.”