A soft snort comes from Max’s direction.
From the corner of my eye, he heads toward the fridge. He opens it and grabs two bottles by their caps, then saunters in my direction again.
My eyes never leave his hands. I bite my bottom lip, the dried skin flaking under my teeth.
It moves closer and closer. I reach out but stop only a hair’s breadth from the plastic. If I accept this, then I really will be a thief.
Max moves it back and forth like a pendulum. “Take it. Stop being such a goody two shoes.”
My tongue feels too big for my mouth and I grab the bottle, twisting it open, and gulp.
Oh my God. This water is one of the best things I’ve tasted in my life.
“Ah.” Max raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, then gulps his bottle. “How does the stolen loot taste?”
When the bottle’s drained, I lower it and throw it at his face. “Asshole.”
He ducks and it sails over his head and lands toward the back. With a shrug, he snorts and walks to the counter, bending and searching the cabinets.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, swinging around the end of the wooden counter so I can keep an eye on him.
“What does it look like?” He shakes out a bag, stands, then promptly begins loading it with several cokes from the fridge. When he seems satisfied, he steps to a turnstile holding bags of beef jerky.
“Max,” I hiss. “You can’t take this stuff without asking. The owner may need it for their family. Now’s the time to share, not hoard and steal.”
“Tilly.” He moves to a display table offering different styles of decorative candles and adds those to his haul. “This is called survival mode. You’ve gotta be prepared to do whatever it takes to make it to the next day.”
“But it isn’t right.” I make a grab for his bag, but he holds it up, out of my reach.
Being too short to snatch it away, I press my lips together and march toward the front door. When my hand lands on the cold, metal handle, he clears his throat.
“I rode into town to pick up Kat from her friend’s house, but we’re out of food. I won’t let her go hungry and I sure as hell won’t apologize.”
Slowly, I turn to him.
His eyes are dark, and the smile is nowhere to be seen. He points to the bulging bag. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done to help my sister.”
He’s right. If stealing meant the difference between my family starving or not, I’d do it, too.
“Fine, but don’t take anymore. I told you we have plenty. Come to my house and I’ll make sure you’ve got enough to tide you over.”
He looks away, as if thinking about the offer. “I’d rather steal than feel like I’m a charity case.”
“You’re not, Max.” I step closer to him. “You’re a friend, and this is what friends do in bad times—help each other out.”
He cranes his neck toward me, his eyelids dropping a bit, midnight-blue stare going to my mouth. “Just friends?”
Swallowing, I nod, unable to speak. Behind him, the store lies in shadows, but the natural, subdued light from the front bathes his face in a bright glow.
“Do you mind if I pick up my sister first? It’s on the way.”
“Of course not.” I step back, uncomfortable under his unreadable gaze. “But my bike is toast, so I’ll have to walk.”
As if my words have broken the spell, he straightens and takes a deep breath. “Nah. You can ride behind me, and I’ll stick Kat in the front. She’s little enough to not take up much space.”
“Okay.” I twist away, eager to get into open space. Being in here with Max feels too intimate, and I have no idea how to deal with it—how to deal with him.
Strong, callused fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. “You should clean those scratches.” He tilts his head toward the fridge again, where one water bottle is left. “Certainly don’t need them getting infected.”
“They’re fine. Mamma’s got antiseptic at home. I’ll take care of them there.”
He nods, then motions to the street outside. “Then let’s make our getaway.”
I roll my eyes and frown. When I step onto the empty sidewalk, I’m sure unseen eyes follow and judge my fledgling life of crime that’s started since hanging out with Max…
Chapter Sixteen
I position myself behind Max again and hang on for dear life while he speeds around corners and accelerates with a hoarse shout, fist-pumping with one hand.
He has an exuberance for life, that’s for sure.
The wind throws his masculine scent in my face, and I inhale its amber spiciness, wondering what brand of cologne he wears.
He pulls up to a medium-sized house with a cute, white picket fence around the yard. Its windows, outlined with white shutters, contrast with the red brick. A strawberry blonde girl of nine or ten waits on the wrap-around porch with a pink backpack slung around a skinny shoulder.
When she sees Max, her face breaks into a humongous grin. She runs through the gate and plows into him, throwing her arms around his neck. “It’s about time you got here, ya big doofus.”
“Did you have fun?” He hugs her in return.
“I guess.” From over his shoulder, her baby-blue eyes skim me and widen. “Who are you?”
“I’m—”
“This is Tilly.” He twists to face me. “She’s a friend.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. “A good friend.”
Kat narrows her gaze and twirls her ponytail around a finger. “How come I ain’t never seen her before, then?”
“Because we’ve just recently gotten to know each other.” He holds out a hand. “Here, get in front of me. Let’s see if we can fit your bony butt on the seat with me.”
With one last puzzled glance in my direction, she straddles the bike and faces forward.
We’re going to be lucky if he doesn’t kill us on the way home.
“Where am I supposed to put my feet, Max?”
“Lean into me and prop them on the handlebars.” He pats the metal.
She braces the soles of her shoes against the handles, and Max pumps the pedals. It takes a couple of seconds, but the bike slowly cycles, shaky and wavering.
I move my hands to his shoulders and lean close to his ear. “Need me to get out and push?” His hair brushes my cheek.
“Might be quicker.” He chuckles. “You did run pretty fast when we were at Emory’s house.”
“Max, how come you let this girl”—Kat thumbs a finger in my general direction—“come with you, yet I only ever saw Emory one time?”
His neck muscles tense under my fingertips, and the knuckles of his hands whiten. “Emory’s a loser.” He leans into a turn, and I bend with him, easing the resistance. “But Tilly’s cool. She’s nothing at all like that stuck up bit—”
I pinch his shoulder. Who would’ve thought I’d be censoring someone else’s mouth? Mamma would be so proud.
“Bitty. Plus, she likes breaking the law.”
With a small gasp, I box the side of his head. “Don’t you even go there, you jerk.” I lean over his shoulder to speak next to Kat’s ear. “Your brother tricked me.”
Kat turns her head, her ponytail whipping her face, and smiles, showing a small gap between the front teeth. “Yeah, he does that to me all the time, too.”
Up close, tiny brown freckles cover her cheeks and nose, and her blue eyes sparkle. Something that looks suspiciously like chocolate is smudged under a cheekbone.
I give her a grin. As I’m pulling back, I catch Max’s gaze on my face, and realize how close my mouth is to his. Swallowing, I jerk my head backward and wish I could shift my weight better, because the metal footrests on the back of the bike dig into the arches of my feet.
Ten minutes later, he pulls behind Daddy’s truck.
Swinging a leg over, I clamber to the ground with relief and stretch my calves and feet.
Kat leaves the bike, and Max lays it on the ground.
�
�Wow, Tilly.” Kat’s voice carries reverent awe. “Is this your house? It’s so nice.”
A snort of laughter erupts from me. “It’s really old. I think it was built in the nineteen forties.” Tilting my head, I try to see it with her eyes. It’s modest, not too big or too small, with a decent-sized yard and a graveled drive. “I guess it’s okay.”
“Look, Max. She’s even got trees in the backyard.” Kat races to the fence separating the front from the back and stares in awe. “Is that a swing set back there?” When she turns to face me, her eyes are round and wide.
“Yeah. My sister and I used to play on it when we were little.”
She claps her hands, then runs toward Max, tugging on his wrist. “Can I go play on it? Please?” Continuing to tow her brother, she half-jumps and half-skips in front of his body.
He stares at me, a question in his eyes. “If it’s okay with you?”
“Of course.” I pull the latch on the inside of the gate and swing it open, holding out a hand to motion her inside.
“Thank you, thank you,” she gushes, her lanky legs already sprinting for the old swing set which has lain neglected for years. Within thirty seconds, the rhythmic squeak of the swing rotating back and forth fills the late afternoon air.
Max follows me into the backyard and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Sometimes she gets carried away.”
“What?” I re-latch the gate. “No, I’m glad the old thing is getting some use. Me and my sister used to love it when we were her age.”
I think back to his trailer, and the broken tricycle. Wonder if it would get more use at his house? Or would he see it as a handout and get offended? I’ll ask him later when I get a better feel for how to approach it. Besides, right now, the priority is to make sure he has something to feed himself and Kat.
She pushes herself higher and gives Max a big wave on the upward climb, her laughter bubbly and contagious, lifting my heart.
I wish Sissy could see our old swing set getting some use today. I hope she’s okay.
Thinking about Sissy, a lump rises at the back of my throat but I swallow it down. “I’m going to go inside and grab the key for the cellar.”
“Alright.” Max nods and sits on one of the deck’s steps, his eyes following Kat, a gentle smile softening his face.
I test the knob, but the door’s locked. Fishing the house key from my front pocket, I let myself inside.
It’s empty, so Mamma must be at the clinic with Mr. Rawlings. Hopefully, he’s okay.
Standing in the middle of the kitchen, I turn in a careful circle, surveying what I can send with Max. I open the pantry and grab two reusable grocery bags and fill one with several extra cans of food, along with cereal bars and cookies.
A tiny, golden key hangs from a hook right above the light switch. I grab it and head outside, walking to the cellar next to the garden.
After removing the padlock, I fling the heavy door open and descend the narrow stairs, flipping on the light switch when I pass it on the wall. Of course, it doesn’t work. Old habits die hard.
The dank smell of earth and moisture hits my nose, but it’s not unpleasant. It reminds me of past summers spent traipsing here to help Mamma line the floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves with pickles, salsas, preserves, chow chow, and a plethora of other vegetables and goodies.
She jarred so much she usually ended up giving most of it away to Mr. Miller, other neighbors, or donating it to the local food pantry every year. Working with her hands has always been her hobby. She says it helps her deal with the ugly side of her career, especially on those days after losing a patient.
At the bottom of the stairs, I light one of the emergency candles with a spare lighter lying next to it.
“Wow.” A breath of air tickles the back of my neck. “This is amazing.”
Max’s voice is so close it makes goosebumps jump across my arms.
I swivel toward him. “It’s all because of my mom. She goes kind of crazy every year.” I hand him the empty bag. “Feel free to grab what you need. We have plenty.”
He rubs his neck and frowns. “I don’t know. I’ve been able to get by so far.”
“You call stealing getting by?” I grab two jars of jelly and shove them toward his chest.
Eyebrows lowering, he slowly reaches out and takes them. “Fine, but consider this a loan. I’ll pay it back.” He stuffs them into the bag, a small scowl pulling at his lips.
“You’re an enigma, Max.” My eyes roll and I snort. “You have no problem stealing from people’s houses and stores, yet you can barely bring yourself to accept help from a friend.”
“This is different.” His gaze roams the food, stopping on a row of apple butter. He licks his lips, and his eyes seem glued to the jar.
“Why? Because you don’t get a guilty thrill from taking it right out from under someone’s nose?” I watch his face while I reach toward the apple butter.
He swallows.
So, he has a sweet tooth, it seems. I plop it into his bag.
His gaze meets mine. “It’s different, Tilly,” he whispers. “Because I’m not used to anyone caring what happens to me or my sister. It’s hard to accept help when you’ve been on your own for a while. People think we’re trash because of where we live and treat us like we’re nothing. But it’s not like we have a choice where we live, or who our dad is.” His chest expands, then he lets out a breath. “The first minute Emory saw my house, she dumped me like I was dog shit stuck on the soles of her shoes.”
The soft candle glow caresses his face and turns his brown hair to gold. At his back, the late evening sunshine pools at the bottom of the concrete steps, the dappled light creating abstract patterns on the concrete floor.
“I don’t know you that well, Max, but even though you have a penchant for crime, you’re too good for someone like Emory, anyway. All she cares about is money, popularity, and looks. Shallow people like her are never happy, not deep inside, where it counts.”
He lowers his arm and steps closer, only a foot between our bodies. The fingers of his empty hand curls around mine, and he squeezes, the touch firm and warm. “You’re nothing like her, and you have no idea how happy it makes me.”
Confusion mixes with a flutter of… something. Does he like me, like as in likes me, or is he only establishing the friend zone?
“I, uh, hope that’s a good thing.” My laughter is weak and forced and I jerk my hand from his like it’s a wasp. I twist to the shelves to grab the first jar I touch and toss it into his bag.
“A very good thing.” With a finger, he rubs the back of my neck and I freeze for a second, then twist to gaze at his face.
His eyes search mine, and he cups the nape of my neck and pulls me a couple of inches closer. “Do you think…” He dips his chin and bends his neck, leaning inward.
The air in my chest stills. I stare at his lips as they open slightly.
I’ve never kissed a guy before. The thought terrifies me. What if I’m a horrible kisser, like a fish out of water, gasping for air, my lips all slimy and wet? Not that I’ve actually kissed a fish before, but I imagine it’s how they’d feel.
An even worse thought hits me—my breath probably smells like three-day old roadkill. I haven’t brushed my teeth since this morning, and my mouth is a dry, sandy desert.
“Hey.” I grab both of his forearms and give him a rough push. “Shouldn’t we go check on your sister?”
“Huh?” His lips quirk upward, and he shakes himself, as if breaking a daze. With a soft sigh, he steps backward. “Probably not a bad idea.”
I remember to breathe.
Throwing two more jars of God knows what else, I twirl around and scoot up the stairs, thankful the strange, intimate mood is gone. I’m not sure how far I want to take it with Max. I feel something for him, but I’m not sure what it is, and until I am—he’s staying in the friend zone.
Chapter Seventeen
Max carries the two loaded bags through the front yard toward his bike
.
Kat trails behind, a pout on her lips. “I don’t wanna go home. Can’t we stay a little bit longer?”
He shakes his head and opens the gate. “No. We need to get back before dark.” Waiting for us to clear the gate, he latches it behind us.
I’m torn, because I’m beginning to enjoy his company, yet now’s not the time get all googly-eyed over a guy.
“But Max, pleeeeeease?” She clasps her hands together and shifts her backpack. “There’s nothing to do at home, and Tilly has that cool swing set, and I bet she has other things inside, too.” Her sapphire eyes cut to me. Raising her eyebrows, she wiggles them at me. “Right?”
“Well, I do have some board games my sister and I used to play.”
“See?” She grabs Max around the waist and squeezes. “Told ya.”
He lets out a loud sigh and rounds his eyes at me.
I shrug and grin. “It’s not like we have anything to do right now besides sit around and hope the power comes back on.”
“You two are killing me.” When he rubs his temple, the senior ring flashes in the late afternoon sun. He glances downward to his little sister and gives her a rueful smile. “Only for an hour, then we’re going home.”
“Yay,” Kat shouts, jumping up and down. She turns to me. “Do you have Monopoly? What about Exploding Kittens? Or Catan? That’s my favorite.” She runs to the porch and looks back, twirling her hand as if she can force us to walk faster. “How about books? Do you like to read? Did you know I’ve read over one hundred?”
Max focuses on me as he and I ascend the steps. “See what you’re in for? Her curiosity never stops.”
“At least it’s a healthy curiosity, and not criminal.” I give him a wink and let them both in through the front door.
Max settles his bags in the foyer, and Kat tears off through the hall toward the kitchen, rambling about everything she sees.
Right as I grab the door to shut it, I spy Mamma and Daddy walking up the sidewalk.
Mamma’s face is haggard, and Daddy holds her hand.
The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Page 10