The Masked Truth(40)

“Oh.” Aaron eyes the setup. “Okay. That’s a good idea.”

I brace myself against Max’s smart-ass reply. He thankfully keeps his mouth shut and just fusses with the boxes.

Brienne and Aaron retreat to the next room. I stay and watch Max, intent on his task, getting it exactly right, frowning and reconfiguring when it’s not. His hair falls in his face every time he leans forward, and after he makes a few increasingly impatient swipes, shoving it back behind his ear, I tug off one of my hair band bracelets and hold it out.

He takes it and smiles, and it’s not his cocky grin or sardonic smirk or even his distracted no-really-I’m-fine smile. He pauses what he’s doing and gives me a genuine smile. It’s warm, and it’s real, and it relaxes me. I suppose that’s a weird reaction. Relaxes me. I should say “it sent a thrill through me,” or “it lit up his face and I realized how cute he was.” But it’s like hot cocoa on a cold day, making me feel warm and happy and comforted. When he smiles, I hear, It’s okay. We’ll get through this, and that’s exactly what I need.

He ties his hair back, and I gesture at the boxes, saying, “May I?” and he bows—not his usual mocking formality, but as amiable as that smile. I tweak the top box, angling it slightly, and when he tests with the door, his smile widens and he says, “Perfect,” and we head into the other room with Brienne and Aaron.

Max stops beside me and lowers himself to the floor, knees up, his back against the wall. Brienne opens her mouth, as if to say sitting isn’t a good idea, but I join him.

After a moment Brienne crouches beside me and whispers, “How are you holding up? Are you okay?”

“Right as rain,” I say before I can stop myself, and Max chuckles.

“I’m fine,” I say as Brienne looks confused. “You?”

She nods. “I was worried about you.”

“Max is keeping me on track.” I smile over at him, and he dips his chin and shifts, as if uncomfortable accepting credit.

Aaron finally sits, sideways facing us, his knees drawn up.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’d say I’m sorry my dad’s rich, but that just makes me sound like an entitled *. Which isn’t to say I’m not, but …” He shrugs. “I’ll at least apologize for having an * for a father, which means I come by it honestly. I’m sorry he’s not getting the money faster.”

“I’m not sure it would help,” I say. “Even after he pays, our captors can stall for a while before the police will expect us to come out.”

“He will pay,” Aaron says. “He just doesn’t want to be too quick for fear they’ll raise the final price. Like I said before, he can afford it, and it’s a smart business move. It’ll also buy him leverage with me. Which he also needs. Get his kid to shape up and toe the party line.”

“Stop crashing cars?” I say with a half smile.

“Nah, he’s fine with that. I’m supposed to be a hotshot brat. Follow in Daddy’s footsteps and make him proud.”

When I raise my brows, he says, “I’m serious. I actually crashed the Rover on purpose. Even had a six-pack in the car and an open can in the coffee holder. Which is why I’m pissed off about this weekend. I did exactly what he expects, and he punishes me for it?”

Now Brienne and I both look at him.

“What?” he says. “Your families don’t expect you to drink and drive and smash up a fifty-thousand-dollar car? Oh, right, sorry. You guys come from normal families.”

“Not exactly,” Brienne murmurs, looking uncomfortable.

It takes him a second to get it, but then he jostles her leg. “Sorry. Open mouth, insert foot. Especially when I’m feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, my family is screwed up. I crashed the Rover because I’m trying to convince my dad I’m just a normal bratty teen. I got in a fight with my girlfriend, dropped her off at the side of the road, bought some beer, cranked up the tunes and wrecked the car. Proving I’m the son he wants, and any evidence to the contrary was a one-time error in judgment.”

“Uh-huh,” I say.

He glances over. “He caught me in bed with Chris a few months ago. Chris and I have been best friends since grade school. Chris, by the way, is short for Christopher, not Christina.”

“Ah.”

“Yep. The world may be progressing, but in some circles, it’s still the fifties. A gay kid is not what my dad wants for a son. That causes all kinds of inconveniences and complications, don’t you know. So it’s my job to convince my dad it was just teenage experimentation, indicating nothing but curiosity and a lack of judgment.”

“Why?” Max says.

Aaron scowls at him. “Why what?”

“Why not just say this is who you are, so get stuffed, Pops. It doesn’t seem as if you two get along anyway.”

“Do you know what a conversion camp is?” Aaron asks. When Max frowns, he says, “You don’t have them in Britain, I’m guessing. Lucky you. Mostly, they’re religious, with therapy to ‘straighten out’ gay kids. Like this weekend, plus prayer. Lots of prayer. But there are others. There was one in South Africa a few years ago. Three kids died because they didn’t get with the program. That’s the sort of thing my dad was threatening. And as long as I’m under eighteen, he can do it. So I have two more years to play straight and then he really can ‘get stuffed,’ as you say. Just as soon as I’m sure my mom gets whatever money’s coming to her.”