Jeremiah sat up a little straighter and raised his beer. “Fine. A night then.”
Chapter 15
Janie
It was well past midnight when I finally extracted myself from my sofa in my living room and decided to go to bed. I’d dozed off several times while watching trashy reality TV and binging on chocolate instead of having dinner.
I felt full to the brim but unsatisfied as I collected all the individual foil wrappers from the chocolates and brought them to the trashcan under my kitchen sink. I was turning off all the lights in the apartment when my cell phone rang. It rested facedown on the corner of the kitchen island. When I picked it up, Max’s picture flashed across the screen.
What on earth was he doing calling me at this hour? Was something wrong? Had something happened? Did he miss me?
I lifted it to my ear with a frown. “Max?”
“Janie.” My name sounded strange on his tongue. Slurred. Uneven.
“Are you drunk?”
He hiccupped, excused himself, and started laughing. “Maybe.”
“Where are you?”
“At home,” he said.
I listened for background noise and heard a door close, presumably his front door. Keys jingled as they fell into a bowl. Someone else, a man, muttered at Max to get the hell out of his way.
“Who are you with?” I asked.
“Jeremiah.”
“Jeremiah?” That was a name I hadn’t heard in a while. “As in big, brooding, cuts down trees for a living Jeremiah?”
Max laughed. “Man, she’s got you summed up in a nutshell. Do you need a bio for your website?”
Jeremiah, who didn’t seem all that amused by Max’s antics, continued giving Max instructions as Max’s speech became more slurred and harder to understand.
“Can you put Jeremiah on the phone?” I asked.
Max relinquished his phone to Jeremiah, who spoke smoothly into the line. “Hey, Janie. Long time no talk. Sorry about this. I didn’t know he was calling you.”
“Hey,” I said as I tried to still the butterflies flying around in my stomach. Curse these damn nerves. “Is Max okay? What’s going on?”
“He’ll be all right,” Jeremiah said. “He just had a few drinks too many at the bar. Bit of a rough night. He’s, uh, he’s going through some shit. You know?”
Max laughed in the background.
“I know,” I said. “He’s filled me in on everything. You too?”
“Yeah,” Jeremiah said.
“Did you tell him to call me or did he call on his own?”
“He called on his own.”
“I’m coming over.” I hurried to my front door and stepped into my sneakers. “Can you stay with him until I get there?”
I hopped out of the back of the cab in the pull-through driveway in front of Max’s mansion. The cab driver was gone before I even made it to the front door. I found it unlocked and shouldered my way inside.
“Max?” I called out for him.
Jeremiah’s voice responded. “We’re in the living room.”
I kicked off my sneakers, dropped my purse on the floor, and hurried through the foyer deeper into the house, where I rounded the corner into the living room.
The first thing I saw was Max sprawled on his sofa. His head rested on the back of the sofa and his gaze was lifted to the ceiling at the stained-glass skylight above our heads. I’d always thought that skylight was one of the most beautiful pieces of glass I’d ever seen. In the mornings when the sun was high, it would shine through from above and paint the whole room in brilliant colors.
The first time I’d seen it, I felt like a little kid again.
Max’s head rolled to the side and he smiled drunkenly at me. “Hey, pretty girl.”
It had been at least eight months since he’d called me that. I swallowed. “Hey.”
Jeremiah, who sat across from Max on the coffee table, winced in my direction.
Could he tell how much the term of endearment hurt to hear after all this time? I decided it didn’t matter. All that mattered was taking care of Max.
I’d never seen him lose his composure like this. Max Fisher was the cool guy with the level head. He never faltered, never had too much to drink, never lost control. He was always steady. It was almost maddening.
That was what made this all the more unsettling.
“Come sit,” Max said, beckoning me to join him with a curl of his fingers and a slight tilt of his head. He patted the open seat beside him.
“How much did he drink?” I asked Jeremiah.
“Ten beers,” Jeremiah said.
“It looks like more than that.”
“And seven or eight shots.”
“Shit,” I breathed.
“He needed to cut loose.”
“Cut loose,” Max murmured. “What does that even mean? Who came up with that? Cut loose.” He scoffed and shook his head. “Sounds like a cooking term.”
Jeremiah and I shared an even look before Jeremiah stood up and clapped Max on the shoulder. “Let’s go to bed, man.”
Max’s brow furrowed as he peered up at Jeremiah. “I don’t want to go to bed with you.”
My cheeks flamed red, and I buried my face in my hand.
Jeremiah chuckled. At least he could find some humor in this. Where I was worried about Max, Jeremiah seemed genuinely amused by the whole thing as he pulled Max not so gently to his feet and spun him around by the shoulders to face the stairs.
With one hand on his shoulder, Jeremiah guided Max forward.
Max shot me a crooked smile over his shoulder. “Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there?”
I followed.
Max teetered on heavy, leaden feet on nearly every step as we climbed the stairs. Jeremiah stood behind him just in case he took a tumble, but he never did. Max managed to make it to the second floor, where he veered down the hall toward his bedroom.
It looked very much the same as the last time I’d seen it. Everything was a cool, soothing shade of gray, save for his navy-blue bedding and the artwork mounted on the wall behind the bed, which captured brilliant shades of blue, green, and silver in an abstract wash of colors. Those were new.
Instead of stumbling to the bed, Max swayed and made for the bathroom, where he immediately began unbuttoning his shirt.
Jeremiah frowned. “This might be my cue to leave.”
I nodded. “I can take it from here.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I said as confidently as I could manage. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t fall in the shower and knock himself senseless. Then I’ll put him to bed.”
Jeremiah stroked his beard and retreated around the corner as Max moved to undo his belt and the fly of his jeans. “I’m sorry about all this, Janie,” he said. “I should have cut him off when the night started to get out of control. He just—fuck. I felt bad for him, you know?”
“Believe me, I do.”
“This is some messy shit.”
Messy and infuriating.
I gave Jeremiah the sort of hug you give a long-lost friend who you respected but didn’t know anymore. He returned it with a brief squeeze before stepping back and making for the top of the stairs. He cast one last look back in my direction as I stood in the open doorway of the bathroom, watching Max struggle to get his pants off.