"Are you mad?"

"No."

"You sure? Because it kinda feels like you're..."

"I'm not mad, Chloe."

For a second, I consider telling Max that her tone says otherwise, but I've got a funny feeling that wouldn't go over too well.

I should've waited before giving her mom and dad the whole story. I know this. And even after I'd broken down and started talking, my plan had still been to stall like a motherfucker. I'd either tell them as little as I could possibly get away with, or give them such a crazy level of detail that Max would be finished and downstairs before I got around to any of the really bad stuff.

Unfortunately, not only did Max decide to take her sweet ass time in the shower, but once I got talking it all just started spilling out. I told them about Max saving me from getting shot, and about Nathan Prescott's spectacular mental breakdown, and all about Mark Jefferson and Rachel and Kate Marsh.

By them time Max finally came downstairs, her still damp hair up in a messy bun, I'd already filled her mom and dad in on way more gritty details than I had any right to. It's actually good she appeared when she did, because I'm pretty sure that if I'd been left on my own for another ten minutes I would've blabbed about the whole 'time travel' thing, too.

Of course, her parents reacted almost exactly the way I was afraid they would. That is to say, exactly the way any loving parents would and should react. Her dad had looked a half second from bursting into tears, pulling a startled Max into a bear-like hug and muttering one apology after another. Her mom sat at the kitchen table, silent and angry, and I could practically see her silently listing the names of the people she intended to see suffer for what had happened to her daughter. If the look in her eyes was anything to go on, most of those people are probably lucky that they're already dead.

Even after they'd calmed down a bit, they'd still demanded that Max sit down and go through it all again. That was a whole other level of shitty, because I'd already spent half an hour dodging around the fact that their daughter was a human time machine. That'd required no small amount of creative bullshit on my part, and I'd hoped that Max and I would have a chance to get our stories straight before her parents got to her.

Instead she'd been forced to answer all of their questions, sometimes more than once, while trying not to contradict anything I'd already told them. I'd done my best to cover for her when her responses didn't line up or accidentally strayed into an alternate timeline, and between the two of us we'd pulled off something resembling a win. Honestly, I think her parents were just willing to write off some of our weirder answers to exhaustion.

The sun was almost down by the time they let us go. it'd taken more than a few slightly exaggerated yawns on my part before they finally suggested the two of us go get some sleep.

I hadn't bothered to finish what was left of my hot chocolate; considering I hadn't even touched it in more than an hour, it wasn't even close to hot anymore. I just left the mug where it sat and quietly followed Max upstairs to a pair of doors, one plain and the other liberally adorned with a combination of postcards and polaroid photos.

"Okay, you're not mad." I'm not about to argue with her. I'm more than ready to own this particular clusterfuck. "I got it. I just didn't mean to..."

She lifts her hand (her left hand, after almost raising her right) to stop me. "I'm really tired, Chloe. Whatever this is, can we do it tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure." I force a smile. "So, I guess I'll see you in the morning, then?"

"Yeah." For a second, it looks like she's going to say something more. Then she lets out a faint sigh and disappears into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

It's always strange trying to go to sleep in someone else's house. Even if it's someone you know really well, there's always something that feels a little off. Sounds you don't recognize, or shadows that don't point in the right direction. The guest room is no different, but after this last week I'd probably find a pile of rusty nails comfortable enough to sleep on.

Still, it reminds me that the last time I slept in a bed that wasn't my own was almost a year ago. And considering I'd been with Rachel at the time, it's not as though we'd really been focused on sleeping.

Poor Rachel...

I feel my entire body shudder under a wave of grief and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of what Max and I found at American Rust. I can't even look at a real picture of her - they're all on my stupid fucking dead-as-a-doornail phone – but I still try to picture her real smile instead. The smile that'd somehow convinced me to ditch school and jump onto a freight train going who-knows-where with a girl I barely knew.

When I'd said that Rachel had been my angel, I hadn't been exaggerating. She'd reached down into the hole I'd dug myself into and pulled me back into the light. Being with her made me feel happier and more loved than I had since Max had left.

God, I loved her so much. Even after she broke my heart.

I shouldn't have been so shocked when Rachel and I broke up. We'd been together for over a year and it'd been amazing, but that didn't change the fact that I was who I was, and she was Rachel Amber. There wasn't a single person who knew her that didn't think she'd go on to do amazing things. She was going to take the world by storm, and I should have known that wasn't going to happen while she was still tied to a half burnt out emotional train wreck like me.

Looking back, the signs had all been there. She'd been in her last year of school, and the closer she got to graduation, the more distant she became. Kisses on the lips became kisses on the cheek. 'I love you' was gradually replaced by 'you're so special' or 'you mean so much to me'. Her plans for leaving town started to feature the word 'I' a hell of a lot more than 'we'.

I'd refused to see them, though. And probably the only thing that saved me from having a complete and total breakdown was how goddamn gentle she'd been about it. She hadn't said a single negative thing about me. And believe me when I say I'd been looking, because I'd gone to full battle stations the moment the words 'there's something we need to talk about' passed her lips.

Instead she'd talked about the way our lives were going in different directions. She'd said that I was an amazing person who deserved better than to live in her shadow. That I could accomplish great things of my own, but not if she forced me into a life that catered to her dreams. That I still meant the world to her and she still wanted to be friends.

I think the one that cinched it for me was 'This doesn't have to be an end, Chloe. Maybe it's just an intermission'. That was why I spent so much time looking for her, long after even I started to believe she'd just taken off and abandoned me.

Because I thought she'd actually been straight with me. Because I didn't know that all those kind things she'd said might as well have been followed by 'while I fuck Frank Bowers behind your back'.

It's hard to believe that it's only been a few days since I learned about them. So much has happened since that it feels like years ago. I'd been so angry at the time, but now it doesn't feel like there's any point. Rachel's gone. Whatever she did, whatever she hid from me, no amount of anger is going to bring her back.

I'm going to miss her, and a part of me is always going to love her, but I've spent enough time punishing myself over people who are already dead.

I really don't want to start crying again, so instead of dwelling on memories I try thinking about the girl sleeping across the hall...and it takes me about half a second to regret it. It's not like there isn't a whole mess of confusing thoughts and feelings there, too.

"Max chose me," I hear myself whisper, as if I need the reminder. I start rolling from one side to the other, trying to get comfortable as I mentally chew on the concept. Why did Max choose me? Why did Max kiss me? And why the hell does thinking about that still make my lips tingle, almost two days later?

I mean, come on! It's not like that was my first kiss or anything! Except for some reason, that was sorta how it felt. Like something I'd been waiting on for so long that I'd pretty much given up on it actually happening.

Nope. Not going there. It was bad enough the first time around, before Max had moved to Seattle.

At the time, I hadn't really known what was going on with me. I just knew that no matter how close the two of us were, it probably wasn't typical 'best friend' behavior for me to constantly wonder how soft Max's lips might be, or to let my thoughts linger so long on how she looked in a swimsuit.

I tried to forget about it after she left. I even dated a couple guys, like I thought I was supposed to. It wasn't until after I met Rachel that I acknowledged those thoughts for what they'd meant; I'd been harboring a crush on Max before I'd even known what having a crush meant.

A crush I got over a long time ago, though. Max and I are 100% just friends now. No repressed feelings for me, thank you very god damn much.

Besides, there's that one little detail about how Max isn't gay.

Right?

I mean, she did kiss me. Twice, actually.

And unlike the brief, barely-even-there kiss in my bedroom, the one by the lighthouse definitely wasn't some 'ha ha you dared me to but we're just friends' peck on the lips. She just went for it, full-on romantic movie big finale style.

And her lips were even softer than I imagined they'd be.

"Stop it," I whisper, as if I can feel the empty room judging me. "It was just a goodbye. That's all."

Then why did it feel like a lot more than that?

And why am I still thinking about it?

"Cut. It. Out." I hiss, a little more forcefully. "She's not gay. Don't you dare make things awkw-"

The sound of the doorknob startles me into silence, and the bedroom door opens with a soft creak. The hallway is mostly dark, but I'm barely able to make out a slim shape entering the room before the door closes again. The sound of shuffling feet on the carpet comes next, and then the weight of someone sitting down on the bed.

"Max?" I sit up slowly, half-wondering whether I actually fell asleep and this is a dream. I swear to god if porno music starts playing I'm gonna punch myself awake. I mean, maybe not right away, but...no, focus. "You okay?"

She doesn't speak for a moment, peering off into one of the dark corners of the room, then she murmurs, "I am mad."

"I'm sorry," I respond on reflex. I don't even care if she's talking about something I did or not. I just can't stand seeing her look so sad.

"I'm not mad at you." Max's voice is so small that I can't decide what I want to do more; kiss her until the pain goes away or go on a screaming rampage against whatever caused her any pain in the first place. Both are definitely appealing, but I'm not sure how helpful either would be to her right now.

"Okay. But you just said..."

"I'm not mad at you, Chloe," Max repeats, turning to face me. I can tell that she's been crying, even in the dim light, and the needle tilts slightly toward rampage. "But I am mad."

"I see." To be clear, I don't see fuck all. But what else am I supposed to say?

"I...I didn't want to bring all of it back with us," Max continues, her voice cracking. "I wanted to leave it in Arcadia Bay, but now it's here. It's in my house with my mom and dad, and I should feel safe here, but I don't."

Oh, goddamn it. Not only did I fuck up, I fucked up on multiple fucking levels. Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around her. "Hey, now. I'm here, too."

"Yeah. Yeah, you are." After a moment, she gently pulls away and stands up. I expect her to leave, but instead she lifts the covers and crawls into bed, curling up against my side.

"It's too quiet in my room," she murmurs, tiredly gesturing toward the door. "I couldn't sleep."

"Yeah." Considering my heart is doing a decent impression of a jackhammer right now, I'm pretty impressed that I can keep my voice so level. "Me, either."

"Can I...would it be okay if I stayed with you tonight?"

"Of course." The answer comes before my brain has even processed the question, and the way her arm gratefully tightens around my middle make them easy words to stand by.

"Thanks." She lapses into silence for another long moment, then says, "I'm glad you're here with me, Chloe. I don't know if I could do this without you."

I swallow heavily as a rush of protectiveness and affection crashes over me, crushing any attempt to reason with myself. Without even thinking about it, I tilt my head to press a soft kiss into Max's hair. "You'll never have to find out. Partners to the end, right?"

"Always," Max whispers sleepily, nuzzling her cheek into my shoulder with a gentle sigh. A few seconds after, her breathing evens out and I know she's asleep.

Laying there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the hell I'm supposed to get to sleep now, I've got no choice but to admit the truth - my crush on Max is not gone. My crush on Max is very much still a thing, and I don't think it's going anywhere.

In fact, I'm starting to suspect that my crush on Max might be a whole lot more than just a crush.

I'm so screwed.