Max doesn’t bother to come after me. When I throw a quick glance over my shoulder, he rounds the corner of a building with Emory and disappears.
Stupid asshole. I hope he gets food poisoning.
Chapter Thirty
It’s the second or third week of February, but it’s hard to keep up with the date without technology. Max and I have barely spoken more than five words to each other when passing downtown or in our patrol shifts. Disgusted with him, I even had my rotation shifted to the late shift, ensuring he and I wouldn’t be stuck together on watch duty.
It still hurts, knowing he picked Emory Watson over me, but I try not to think about it. Instead, I’ve been throwing myself into whatever needs to be done, whether it’s scavenging around town, helping Daddy set snares, or learning how to create homemade soap with Mamma.
Earlier today, I knew Max was bringing Kat by the house, so I made sure to disappear into my room until he left.
“Tilly?” Kat calls from the other side of my door. “Can I come in?”
“Sure, squirt.” I smile, glad to see the kid.
“Whatcha doin’?” She drops onto my bed and stares at the book in my hand. “Reading?”
“Yep.” I dogear the book and toss it to the floor. “Wanna play a game?”
She jumps up and claps. “Yeah. Can we play Uno?”
“You know where it’s at.” I twirl a finger toward my desk drawer.
Eagerly, she jerks the deck of cards from their hiding place, swipes my floor clean with an arm, and sits cross-legged.
Glad for her company, I chuckle and follow suit.
Five minutes into the game, she glances at me through her lashes. “Are you mad at my brother?”
I plop a blue 5 onto the pile on the floor and pause. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugs, matching the color with one of her own cards. “Max said you hate his guts.”
Thinning my lips, I place a Wild Card. “Red.”
She slaps a red 8 on the pile.
“So do you hate him? He said it’s why I can’t come over as much anymore, because he did something bad and now you can’t stand him.”
Fighting back angry tears, I slam a new card onto the stack. “I don’t hate him, but I am really mad at him.”
“What did he do? Hit you on the head with that stupid ball of his again?”
I wish that were the only reason I was angry. “It’s grown-up stuff, but you can come over any time you want, Kat, I promise.”
She lowers her hand of cards, revealing each one, her attention riveted to my face. “Does it have to do with Emory? I don’t like her. She talked to me in a mean way, and I don’t think she likes Max either—not really.”
At the mention of Emory’s name, a white-hot spike of jealousy thrums through my limbs. I throw out a Draw Four card and Kat groans.
“It’s nothing, Kat, don’t worry. Let’s stop talking about it, okay?”
Nodding, she draws her cards and begins a new topic.
My heart squeezes, and I flush away an image of Max and Emory kissing from my mind.
Chapter Thirty-One
“What’s going on with you and Max, honey?” Mamma asks while stirring a large batch of liquid that’ll hopefully become soap in a few weeks.
I line a mold with wax paper and hitch a shoulder. “Nothing.” Ugh, not this again. Kat already grilled me earlier. Two times in one day? Ridiculous.
“Then why do you always scuttle away whenever he’s nearby?” Her voice is gentle. “You should see the look on his face every time he glances toward your door. I can’t tell if he’s about to cry or rampage straight through it.”
Snapping on a pair of goggles to shield my eyes from the dangerous lye mixture, I snatch the bowl from her and stir with vigor. “He has no right to be furious.”
“What—”
“He dropped me like a hot rock as soon as that bitch Emory showed up.” A tear drips onto my cheek and I rub it away with my upper arm. “I thought…”
Instead of scolding me for my language, she takes the bowl from my hands and sets it down, then wraps me in a hug. “He may be eighteen, but he’s still just a boy, Tilly. I’m not saying it’s right, but everyone makes mistakes.” She pushes me out a few inches. “But you can still be friends, can’t you?”
Closing my eyes, I swallow the burning ball of pain in my throat. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure what we were before Emory showed up, so I guess I really have no business being mad at him.” I grab the wooden spoon and re-stir the mixture sitting on the counter. “I didn’t know how much it would hurt knowing I didn’t matter as much to him as she does. I thought we had something special.”
She squeezes my upper arm, and her green gaze slides to somewhere behind my shoulder and widens. “Oh.” She gives me a nod. “Well, maybe now’s the time to tell him.”
My breathing hitches, and my heart slams in my chest. With a sickening dread, I swivel around to see who she’s looking at.
In the threshold stands Max with his black biker jacket, old jeans, and thick black boots. Light twinkles from the stud in his ear. He rubs his neck and casts his gaze to his feet. “Hi.”
Forget it. I have no desire to speak with him. Instead of answering, I calmly remove my goggles, slip off the neon yellow latex gloves, and march into my room, slamming the door shut.
I slump into my beanbag chair, grab my Liian Varus book of poetry, and scan through a page. This is definitely the book to read when feeling sad or angry.
The door whooshes open. From the corner of my eye, Max pokes his head through the gap. “Tilly?”
“Go away.” I flip a page and stare intently at the writing, even though I’m not registering anything on the paper.
“Please. I just want to talk.” He slides inside and shuts the door.
“Well, too bad. I don’t. Why don’t you go find your girlfriend and leave me alone?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” He leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. “I broke up with her.”
“Who cares?” Another page flies by my eyes, the words as foreign as Mandarin writing.
He pushes himself from the wall and stalks to where I sit, his shadow falling over me. One quick pluck, and he tosses the book from my hands.
“Hey, asshole. Don’t—”
“It wasn’t what you thought it was,” he hisses, crouching and grabbing my wrists.
“Oh, so you didn’t fuck her, then?” My muscles tremble from the fury simmering in my blood.
He glances toward the window and sighs, then refocuses on me, meeting my gaze. He swallows and looks at the floor.
“I knew it.” I give a humorless laugh. “I was always just your lookout, never your partner.” My voice is thick, and I choke my words through the pain. “I was an idiot for even considering you might actually care for someone like me, a nobody who—”
“I made a mistake.” He squeezes my wrists and moves closer, his stomach pressing against my knees. “I’m so damn stupid. I don’t know why I gave her another chance. Maybe because I was lonely and terrified of spoiling our friendship, especially since you didn’t seem interested in me, and,” he squeezes his eyelids shut, then pulls my hands to his chest, encircling the wrists with one palm and tracing my cheek with his free fingers, “and I’m a fool. I had no idea how much it would hurt you, not until afterward, anyhow. I miss everything about you, Tilly.”
Sniffling, I jerk my hands away and bury myself into the soft foam of the oversized chair. “It’s not like we were exclusive, anyway,” I mumble, not meeting his glance.
“Will you give me a do-over? You mean more to me than Emory Watson. I’m sorry I didn’t see it beforehand. She’s the same, shallow person before this mess started, and all she wants is someone to take care of her.” He presses into my space, his lips only three inches from mine, forcing me to stare into his eyes with their flecks of blue on the outer rims. “But you, Tilly, you’re different. You don’t hide behind a fake smile, y
ou don’t try to change people, and you don’t put people down just because they’re trailer trash.”
“Don’t say that. You’re not trailer trash, Max.” The ring on his finger gleams, and I remember my first time being with him, gripping his shoulders and flying through the streets, then the rush of adrenaline as he and I ran out of the house to keep from getting caught.
I tilt my head back and follow the curve of his jaw, the narrow chin, his long, brown hair. He’s right—I’ve never actually told him how I felt about him, and to be honest, I’ve been confused myself, so how can I be angry when we’ve only been friends?
“Max.” Cupping his cheek, I rub my thumb over his stubbly skin. “I had no right to get mad over who you date—it was none of my business.”
“But I was in the wrong, and I should’ve—”
“You’re my friend, you’ll always be my friend no matter what, but I don’t want to be friends with benefits.”
He frowns, then leans away, placing his palms on his thighs. “I… I’m not sure I’m following you.”
“I’m not even sure I’m following myself.” Sighing, I grip his bicep. The muscle’s firm and warm under my fingertips. “I guess what I’m trying to say is if we decide to pursue a real relationship, I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine. Does that make sense?”
“Of course.” Hope flashes across his face. “I’d never think of—”
“But,” I add, “I need time, okay? I’ve never had a real relationship before, and I don’t want to jeopardize what we already have. I love being friends with you, too. It’s been a horrible feeling not having you at my side, and I don’t know if I can survive that again.” Though this admittance is a weakness, something deep inside of me sighs in relief at the truth.
He slides his fingers around my neck and gives me a light shake. “Tilly, give me a chance to prove myself.”
“Let’s start over as friends first, then we’ll see where it goes, okay?”
Swallowing, he gives a curt nod and stands. “Okay, Lookout. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Great.” He grips my hands and pulls me to my feet, and I rub my arms against the chilly air. “When’s your next patrol?”
He bends to the bed, grabs a throw blanket, and wraps it around my torso, tucking the loose end under my neck. “Tomorrow night, but it’s a reconnaissance, not a patrol. We’re going to scout the outer areas of Abilene, see what’s left.”
“Oh, I wanna go.” Daddy hasn’t been too thrilled about letting me go farther than a mile or two from Callahan, so I can’t help but jump at this opportunity.
“Meet me at the east gate at sundown, then.” He tugs me closer and slides an arm around my back. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers into my ear, the warm breath tickling the fine hairs of my neck.
Bam.
The bedroom door crashes open, and Max and I jump toward the sound.
Kat waltzes in and freezes, her eyes as big as two bowling balls. “Did you finally stop being mad at him, Tilly?”
I snort. “For now.”
“Good.” She snakes herself between us and wrinkles her little nose. “Does this mean you two are going to kiss and make up?”
Fire shoots to my face and I clear my throat, widening my eyes to subtly tell her to shut it.
“I dunno.” There’s a smile in Max’s voice. “But Tilly said I get another chance at being her friend, so maybe it means she’ll let me redo that first kiss, too.”
Finally warm—no, I’m on fire—I chuck the blanket at his face and rush out of the room, his high laughter following me all the way down the hall.
Irritating jerk. But my heart is fuller and lighter right now than anytime over the past few weeks. Who knows where things will go?
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Get down,” Max hisses, yanking on my belt loop until I scramble to the ground to avoid him jerking the pants from my body.
“Hey, stop that.” I bat his hands away and crouch at his side to peer over the hill, adjusting the binoculars hanging around my neck. It’s sometime past midnight, I think, and the moon is nowhere to be seen, keeping everything pitch black.
About a quarter mile ahead sits a tin-roofed building half the size of a football field. I twist the binoculars and focus on the weathered writing above the doors, which proclaim it as Averitt Warehouse. A few boxy, long-hauler trailers line the outer yard, but at this distance and with the scant light, it’s hard to tell if they’ve been looted.
Do I really think they’re empty? Abilene’s a city of over one-hundred-twenty-thousand people, and warehouses were probably the first businesses to get ransacked by desperate survivors. Still, it doesn’t hurt to check.
Scouting runs are great for locating potential supplies. If an interesting location comes up, the scouts take the info to town and a diplomatic team goes out the next day to open a line of trade or barter. Scavengers only move in when it’s obviously abandoned. Daddy says if we expect other communities to remain on good terms with us, then Callahan needs to abide by the same rules of civility.
“I wonder if there’s any ammo in there.” Unlooping the strap from my neck, I hand Max the binoculars, and he squints through the view piece. “Daddy said the town’s supply is getting critical.”
“Welp,” he lowers his hands and grins at me, “there’s only one way to find out.” He crouches, fingertips pressed against the hard ground, like he’s about to sprint.
“Wait.” I tug on the tail of his jacket. “Look.” Pointing to where a two-second flash of something orange appears, I blink but it’s gone. “Somebody’s in there.”
“Where? I don’t see anything.” He tilts his head and narrows his gaze.
“I could’ve sworn…” Sighing, I shuffle to my feet and draw my pistol. “Maybe it was my imagination.”
He tugs me behind his body and pulls me to follow, holding a large revolver in his other hand.
The air’s frigid, but not unbearable with a long coat, scarf, and dark beanie to ward off the chill.
As Max and I cut a diagonal path through a field, we reach the gravel road lying between our feet and the warehouse. He pauses, holds out his free hand, and cocks his head. “Shh.”
Backpedaling, I yank him with me and scramble into the ditch, crouching so my head doesn’t stick above the road.
Max lowers himself to his chest since he’s taller.
The wind carries several male voices, and I zero in, my ears straining to hear the conversation.
“You good, Roger?” a familiar tone asks, and I frown, trying to place where I’ve heard it before.
“Yeah, all set. Ain’t gonna be much left after this last haul, Lennie.”
Leonard from Eulan. My stomach takes a nosedive and I squeeze Max’s fingers. “Shit. Of all the people for us to run into.”
“I know.” He grimaces and blows out a soft breath. “Just what we needed.”
“Let’s go. It’s not worth it. I don’t care what’s in there.”
“I’m not leaving empty handed, Tilly.” Releasing my fingers, he swipes his bangs from his forehead. “I can’t continue to protect my home and Kat without ammunition.”
“Move in with us or stay with Mr. Miller. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” There’s a pleading tone to my words, but I can’t help it. A heavy feeling of foreboding weighs on my shoulders, and suddenly, all I want to do is leave and never come back. “This was a bad idea.”
“I appreciate everything you and your family have done, but I hate looking like the local charity case.” His voice, even though it’s a whisper, deepens. “Once they leave, we’ll swing around to the back, where it’s clear, and have a quick look.” He rubs my spine, as if trying to reassure me. “Easy peasey, Lookout.”
I bite my fingernail and raise my head to peer across the road.
Leonard and another man stuff something into a metal grocery basket, then pile blankets or something similar on top. With a cheerful whistle, Roger pushes the cart along the ro
ad, the jarring metal bouncing over potholes like nails dragging across a chalkboard.
Max and I dig our bodies into the ground, turning our heads to stare into each other’s eyes. The faint glimmer of starlight glints from his corneas with little pinpricks of light. Determination hardens his face, and his mouth thins to a grim line.
I grab the collar of his jacket and shake my head, mouthing, “Let’s go.”
The rattling basket fades, easing a little of the uneasiness settling itself into my chest like an unwelcome visitor.
His eyes soften and he places a finger against my lips, then slides his hand against my cheek. The warmth contrasts with the frozen hard ground cradling the other side of my face.
“Max, please, let’s go. Someone else can come check it out.” The words are barely more than a sigh under my breath.
“It’s going to be okay.” His gaze drops to my mouth, and he shifts closer, his hot breath washing my face with the faint smell of toothpaste.
An inch separates his nose from mine, and I stop breathing, my stare riveted to his lips. This could be different than the harried kiss when he was lying on the road hurt. It could be full of passion and love, couldn’t it? I’m not sure, but suddenly, I want to find out because I’m sick of worrying about the future, I’m sick of being careful, and I’m sick of second-guessing myself all the time.
I push my head closer, and the tip of my nose collides with Max’s—which is cold and soft. A shiver of anticipation runs through my veins, lighting them on fire, and I close my eyes.
“Got ‘em,” a voice yells as someone yanks me up by the back of my coat.
“Get your fucking hands—”
The burly man shakes me so hard my teeth snap shut, slicing my tongue. Tangy blood pools in my mouth and I twist my head to spit it on the asshole who’s tossing me around like a ragdoll.
“Must be my lucky night.” Leonard stands across from me with a gun pointed to Max, who still lies on the ground, now on his stomach with his arms angled out, as if Leonard caught him in the motion of rising. “Ask, and ye shall receive.” He throws a hard kick to Max’s shoulder.
The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Page 17