Faking It (Losing It, #2)(52)

“The past is past, Angry Girl.”

I snapped my mouth closed, and after a moment, I nodded.

He pressed his lips together in something that was meant to be a smile, but there was no life in it. And his eyes were distant, like he was looking past me.

For the first time I felt positive that he was acting.

Suddenly, the thought of spending days with him didn’t make me nervous. It made me sad. There were many parts of my life that I wanted to leave firmly in the past, but now I was pretty sure he wasn’t one of them.

Once again, I was too late.





35

Cade

I hated how easy it was to put on a mask in front of her. I’d been pushing her to be herself, and I wasn’t any better. All I wanted to do was grab her and kiss her.

But I had to listen to my brain instead of my heart. It was the only way I could survive this trip. The new hair color softened her somehow, but her eyes were lined with terror. It was so unnatural to see fear written across the face of a girl who was so fearless that for a few moments she had felt like another person entirely.

So, I told her what she needed to hear. Even though it shredded me.

She relaxed, but only a little. She spent the rest of the flight fidgeting and checking the time. The closer we got to landing, the more frenetic she became.

The plane’s descent turned rapid, and Max tensed up. Her hands clutched the armrests, and her eyes closed. She pressed her head back into the seat, sat very still, and took deep breaths. I had the}e 19ifferent urge to put my arm around her again, but I fought it off.

I asked, “Is it the landing that has you nervous or what’s waiting for us on the ground?”

She didn’t open her eyes as she answered, “I choose option C.”

“Both?”

She nodded. She licked her lips and explained, “I just feel like landings last about one minute longer than I can handle. And frankly, as far as this trip is concerned, I’d prefer we just stay in the air.”

She didn’t get her wish. The sound of the wind roared in the cabin as the plane came in for a landing. Her hands turned white on the armrests, and her lip turned a vivid pink as she bit down. I knew, logically, that she was nervous, but the tension in her neck and the way she worried her bottom lip reminded me of other things entirely, and I had to look away.

The wheels touched down, and she pressed her hands into the back of the seat in front of her, grimacing as the plane slowed down. When it was over, she released a long breath and wilted back into her chair. I waited for her to perk back up, but her eyes stayed closed, and her hands still gripped the armrests.

“You’re looking a little green, Angry Girl.”

I was expecting a response like “You’re looking like you wanna get punched, Golden Boy.”

Instead, she stayed silent. When she did open her eyes, she just stared at the people ahead of us unloading their things and pressed her palms into her thighs. I didn’t see her fear anymore. I didn’t see anything really. She was blank, like she had just shut down completely. It was torture seeing her this way. Maybe I shouldn’t have made her do this.

I decided then . . . no matter how painful it was or what it cost me, I’d help her get through this in whatever way I could. Even if I never saw her again afterward.



I carried both of our bags off the plane, and Max was quiet as we left the terminal for the arrivals area. She pulled out her cell with numb hands to call her parents. We walked side by side until suddenly she was no longer there. I looked back, and she was standing still as a statue, looking as if she might scream or pass out or both.

When I got closer she groaned, “They didn’t.”

“Who didn’t?” I asked. “What’s the matter?” I placed my hands on her arms and her eyes snapped to mine. For a few seconds neither of us said anything, and I knew I’d crossed a line. I pulled back, and put another foot between us.

Her face went soft, and she said, “I’m sorry.”

I thought she meant for her reaction to my touch until she stepped behind me and began buttoning her coat. She fastened it all the way up to her neck, and threw on her scarf, too. She undid the clip holding back her hair so that it fell around her face.

She still looked beautiful, but I knew what she was doing.

“Max . . . what is going on?”

She tamed her appearance with the same ease and efficiency that she had before her parents’ arrival on the day we met. I turned and looked behind me, but I couldn’t see her parents anywhere.

“Damn it, Max, we talked about this . . .”

“I know.” Her eyes met mine, and t fingernails scrape shoulder” drinkhey weren’t blank anymore. “They sent Bethany and Michael to pick us up. I just can’t start with her. I can only fight this battle once.”

The minute she had hidden all the things that made her Max, her body relaxed and all the tension that had plagued her disappeared. I had the sinking feeling that I wouldn’t see my Max again for the rest of the trip. Not that she was mine anymore. Or ever had been really.

“I promise I’ll do it, Cade.” She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than me.

I sighed and said, “Okay, fine. Let’s go meet the Antichrist.”

She squared her shoulders, like she was preparing for battle. I followed her glare across the terminal to a couple dressed in business attire, and I recognized the man as an older version of the brother I’d seen in her mother’s photo album.