Faking It (Losing It, #2)(41)

I was tempted to say yes, to take him to the the Garage or some other place, and just lose myself in alcohol and the moving bodies. But I had to stay focused. For so many reasons.

“I’m taking a rain check on that offer, Golden Boy. But . . . I was serious about Christmas. My parents really want you to visit for the holidays, enough that they volunteered to pay for all your flights and stuff.”

He kept smiling, even as his head tilted to the side and his brows furrowed. “I thought we were going to be broken up by then?”

“We were . . . but hell, I’m just going to say this. My parents were coming to Philly to tell me it was time to stop singing, to move on and get a real job. They’ve been helping me with money stuff so that I had time to write and sing, but they were going to stop . . . until they met you. Apparently my dating you is enough to make them believe I’m not a total screwup, and they’re willing to keep helping me out for a little while longer. But if I have to tell them we broke up, they’re going to cut me off, and with the cost of living here and my debt, it will be almost impossible for me to keep going with the band. So, like a complete coward, I’m asking you to pretend to date me to keep my parents happy.”

“Max . . .” His body shifted away from mine slightly. I turned to face him.

“I know it’s crazy, but I promise it will just be a few days, just an appearance, and then you can leave and go home for the holidays with your family. You said you needed money for your flight . . . my parents will pay for it.”

His eyes searched mine. “I couldn’t let your parents do that, Max.”

I grabbed one of his hands and held it between both of mine. “It’s nothing to them, Cade. I promise. You should see the ridiculous things they spend their money on. I’d much rather they spend money on you.”

He placed his other hand on top of mine, and stared at me. “Max, I want to help you, but you have to know how bad of an idea this is. You can’t keep pretending for your parents. You’ll only resent it. And you know that. The first song you played tonight . . . that was yours, wasn’t it? Didn’t you learn anything from writing it?”

I felt sliced open, like he’d dissected my mind and my heart and laid it out for everyone to poke and prod. I’d written that song right before I dropped out of college, and he was right.

I hadn’t changed at all.

I thought by leaving college I was putting all of that pretending behind me. I thought I had ripped out the roots of that old life and started fresh. Pretending for holidays and other meetings had seemed so insignificant, but it wasn’t.

I’d grown right back into that same person.

And I hated that he could see that.

I ripped my hands out of his and stood, even though the train was still moving. “I didn’t ask for a therapy session. I’m sorry I can’t be perfect like you. Just forget about it.”

We pulled in fingernails scrape because owlmyto the station, and I walked to the other end of the car while I waited for the train to come to a complete stop. I heard him call my name as I stepped out onto the platform, but I didn’t look back. He caught up to me on the stairs, but I kept going, taking the steps as fast as I could without falling.

“Max . . . wait.”

When I surfaced into the night air, his hand caught my elbow and turned me to him.

“Let me go, Cade.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

He caught my other arm, and pulled me right up against him.

“I mean that we’re not going to have a fight over this.”

I said, “You don’t get to just decide what we fight about.”

“I’ll do it, Max.”

I blinked and stared up at his face. His dark eyes locked on mine, and he wasn’t joking. “Why? You just said . . .”

“I think you have to stop pretending to be something you’re not, yeah. Which is why I’ll come to Christmas with you if you go as yourself, not as that tame, turtlenecked version of you. That’s step one of escaping the bell jar.”

My heart was beating so hard I could feel it up in my throat. My lungs felt far away, like they had sunk down into my stomach, and everything in me felt out of place.

“I’d still be lying about you. I’d still—”

“So, it’s baby steps. You knock out step one first, and let your parents get used to the idea of who their daughter is. Then you hit them with Mace.”

Somehow, in all the chaos, I still managed to laugh. “I’ve thought about hitting them with mace quite a few times actually.”

His half-smile snuck on his face again, and it made me feel a little steadier, a little less out of sorts. Somewhere in my freak-out, his hands had worked their way up from my arms to my neck, and his fingertips now cradled my jaw.

He asked, “So what do you think? Are we a go for Operation Introduce Your Parents to the Real Max?”

“More like Operation Give my Parents a Panic Attack . . . but yeah, we’re a go.”

“Excellent.”

His thumb traced the line of my jaw, and a shiver raced up my spine. I swallowed and wet my lips. “Thanks,” I said. “For everything. The walk. The talk. And you know, fake dating me.”

He paused for a few seconds and then said, “You know, I seem to remember you promising me a real date the other day.”