Alec turned down the brown comforter on the motel bed, sat down on its sad, squeaky mattress, and untied his dress shoes. Toeing them off, he lay down and stared up at the ceiling.
This sucks – being here for this.
He'd been avoiding this day ever since he'd been informed about it, as if it would somehow make it not come, as if it would somehow make it not true.
He fished the service announcement from his suit jacket and held it between his face and the ceiling. There was a washed out picture somewhere in the background of someone who kind of looked like him, somewhere behind all the stupid words and phrases, phrases like 'celebration of life' and 'wake to follow.'
Is this what being transgenic means? That the people you love die just for knowing you? No, not just people you love, but also strangers and mere acquaintances?
He was definitely feeling the pressure of it all. He felt as though he might burst if he couldn't get it out. Somehow. Anyhow. He let his arm fall to his chest and shut his eyes tight, shutting everything out.
Suddenly, his cell phone buzzed. Even in the dark, by himself and in a different state, he still wasn't alone. Max.
He held a quick debate in his head about whether or not to answer, but it was over before it really even began; she never called him for no reason. He answered.
"Hey Max, what's up?" he choked out.
"Alec, I – are you okay?"
Damn it! How does she know? "Yeah, you know me. I'm always okay."
She took a deep breath.
"Are you okay?" he asked, sensing something terrible.
"I just – I guess so. I just-" she stammered.
Alec sat up. "What happened?"
It was quiet on the line.
Left to his own devices for moments that felt like eternities, Alec ran through the possibilities of what could be the emergency, and how long it might take him to get to her. "Max, what happened?" he asked in a more urgent tone.
Eventually, she asked, "Can we go for a walk or something?"
"Sure, but if you're looking for that to happen sooner rather than later, you'd probably be disappointed. I'm in Texas."
"I know," she said.
A knock came at the door.
Alec's heart raced. She didn't come here, did she? The mattress springs sounded again as he stood to go answer the door, shoving the announcement in his jacket pocket. Even as he approached the door, he could smell her. He knew her scent anywhere. He felt attuned to her.
When he turned the scarred knob and pulled open the thin door, there stood Max, looking the softest she'd ever looked. Instead of the cool, hard leather and head-to-toe black, she wore blue jeans and a fuzzy dark pink sweater.
She held out a bagged bottle in some kind of offering, which he took after a few seconds. They disconnected their phones and put them away.
"Max," he muttered, almost as if in question, almost as if he didn't believe she was actually there.
She held her leather jacket in one hand, and her hair seemed wind-blown, which only confirmed to him that she had driven all the way there on her motorcycle. It also made him suspicious that she might know why he was in Texas.
Max's eyes drifted over him with a deep appreciation, from the stubbled part of his face, over the span of his suit and tie, and to the bag she'd just given him.
He seemed frozen in place with one hand on the door and the other grasped around the bottle.
Max looked back up to him, but his eyes were still glued to her, as if turning them away would reveal her presence to have been a dream. As if blinking would make her disappear. And this was something he really didn't want to be a dream.
Her sullen stare was wide with worry. "You gonna invite me in?"
It took every fiber in his being not to break down in front of her. He felt a big lump forming in his throat. He couldn't talk.
Instead, he pushed the door open and stood to the other side to let her through.
Max took a few wary steps into the room, passing him on the way in.
For a split second, he stared at the door, wondering. Why did she come? Does she know, or was there something else? Did she come to Texas to talk more about Logan and their doomed romance?
Or was she there for the only reason he wished she was?
If he closed the door, what would it mean? If things were about to get emotionally raw, he wanted it to be based on the truth, and not on pity. He wasn't sure he was ready for this.
Which is why he closed the door.
Alone with Max.
When he turned to face her, she tossed her jacket at the chair and seemed to move in slow motion to cross the distance between them, like a cat hunting its prey, with a focused stare and careful step. She kept his stare until they seemed to be standing toe to toe.
She looked down at her hands, which were slowly rising to the lapels of his jacket, fingerwalking over his chest. As her fingers climbed the rest of the way to his neck, she rose up onto her tiptoes and pulled him toward her. She muscled his head between her neck and shoulder, swept her hand up the back of his head, and pushed him further toward her collarbone.
He wasn't sure how to respond, but it seemed slightly difficult for her to hug him properly while standing on her tiptoes. When it became evident that she wasn't letting go anytime soon, he wrapped his arms around her tightly – as tight as he could without breaking her bones – and buried his face in the crook of her neck.
The bottle's contents sloshed like cresting waves.