Max’s eyes traced Grace’s name across the top of the flyer, alongside a photograph that he recognized from her living room in West Virginia. “Her show,” he whispered. “Dammit, she took all those photos for this show she said she was doing and—I forgot . . . I didn’t even know it was in New York.”
“She’ll be there,” Riley said cautiously. “This might be the shot you’ve been waiting for.”
Max stuttered. “I . . . I’m not sure if— Should I?” He wasn’t certain arriving unexpectedly on Grace’s big night was the right thing to do. He had no idea how she’d react.
Riley reached out and squeezed Max’s shoulder. “I’ll let you decide that.” He patted him and maneuvered around Max to get back to the door. “Let me know what you want to do, okay?”
Max nodded, still staring at the flyer in his hand. “I will.” He looked up. “Hey, Riley. Thanks, man.”
Riley nodded. “Sure.”
“Are you going?” Tate asked before he took a sip of the mango juice Max had poured for him.
“Of course,” Max replied, sitting down in his usual chair while Tate all but lounged on the sofa. His T-shirt was faded black across which, in a familiar yellow font, it read, “Jedi on the streets. Sith in the sheets.”
Max blinked in bewilderment before asking, “You don’t think I should?”
Tate shook his head. “I’m with Elliot, I absolutely think you should go, but I’m wondering what you think will happen.”
Max blew a breath between his lips, turning it into a raspberry. “Who knows? All I can do is hope she’ll give me a chance and listen.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“I wouldn’t blame her. I was . . .”
“A fucking asshole.”
“Yeah.” Max snorted.
“But are you a fucking asshole who’s going to hit something hard to ease the pain if she turns you down?” The serious concern in Tate’s voice was punctuated by the way he stared at Max, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Sorry. But I have to ask, buddy.”
Max licked his lips. “Honestly? I haven’t thought about drink or powder since I saw Lizzie.” He glanced toward the living room window of his apartment and to the clear blue sky beyond it. “It’s like, now that she and I have said good-bye, I can breathe. Like I got closure or something.”
Tate’s mouth pulled into a knowing smile. “Yeah, man. I hear ya.”
The two men sat in silence for a moment before Max sat forward, lowering his voice despite the fact that they were alone. “So, will you tell me something about Riley?”
Tate blinked slowly. “If it’s anything to do with Seb and me putting red juice powder mix in the showerhead before he used it, then I know nothing.”
Max knew Seb to be the youngest of the Moore brothers. “Red juice mix?”
“Powder mixed with the water when he turned on the shower.” Tate snickered. “Bathroom looked like that scene in Carrie. Mom nearly shit bricks; he scrubbed himself for damn near a week to get clean. Man, it was awesome.”
Max rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers, tittering. “No, that wasn’t it, but thanks for that visual. I was wondering if you knew who it was that he lost.” Tate appeared perplexed. “A woman,” Max clarified. “When he came over last night, he said something about knowing what it was like to lose the woman he loved.”
It wasn’t that Max was prying. Since Riley’s visit, he’d been genuinely worried about the man and concerned that he’d known nothing about Riley’s past and the obvious pain he’d suffered.
Tate took a deep breath and sat back gradually, all hints of joking and pranks forgotten. He rested his ankle on the opposite knee. “Yeah, I know who it was.” Max waited, but Tate didn’t embellish. His expression was firm. “It ain’t my story to tell, man.”
“I get it,” Max offered, knowing a big brother’s protectiveness and loyalty was not something to fuck with. “He’s okay, though, right?”
Tate nodded. “I think so.” He smirked. “Riley’s like a bouncy ball, doesn’t matter how hard you throw him, he always comes back harder and faster.”
At seven o’clock Saturday evening, decked out in black dress pants, white shirt, and a thin black tie he’d borrowed from Carter, Max sat in the passenger seat of Riley’s Jeep as Riley drove the two of them across the city toward the art exhibition.
“You okay?” Riley asked for the fourth time since they’d left Max’s place.
“Other than being dressed up fancier than I would be for a damn court appearance, I’m fine,” Max answered with a sly grin.
“Prick,” Riley muttered, shaking his head and fidgeting with his own tie. “The flyer said to dress sharp, so, shit, we dressed sharp.” He glanced at himself in the rearview. “Damn sharp, baby, I look fucking hot.”
Max chuckled and shook his head, his heart rate rising as they drew closer to Greenwich Village. He ran a hand down his tie and breathed deeply.
“You look okay, I guess,” Riley muttered before grinning. “And you know, if this shit doesn’t work out, we could always hit a couple of gay bars. We’re in the area. You’d fit right in.”
Rolling his eyes, Max shrugged. “I take that as a compliment.”