“He’s pretty shut down,” Max continued, rubbing at a callous on his palm. “I’ve hit a wall, and I thought any information you could share would help.”
She fought back a sarcastic snort and turned it into a cough. Oh, the irony. “There’s not much to say.” Much she could say, was more like it.
“So I take it Cody has never met his dad?”
He was twisting the knife and didn’t have a clue. She pressed her hand to her chest, the pressure of his words as tangible as a weapon. How could she answer without lying?
He must have taken her silence for a confirmation. “Is that your choice?” Max frowned, clearly confused. “Or the father’s?”
Tears sprung, and she fought to keep them below the surface. “All of those, I guess.” Not true, though. The real father had had zero choice in the matter, but the choices he did make had left Emma with none. She clenched her hand into a fist. Such a complicated, confusing cycle.
“I don’t know your situation. But I know a boy’s relationship with his dad is crucial, and that void—”
“No!” Emma leaped off the couch, unable to sit that close another second with her secret weighing so heavily. She stared down at Max’s stricken expression, feeling her heart crumble into dust at her feet and helpless to stop it. “Just drop it, okay?”
His features morphed into a careful, practiced mask. One she knew from experience—she donned the same one when dealing with irate clients in her office. “Look, if it’s a bad situation, I understand. But anything you can tell me about this guy—”
“There’s nothing you need to know about him.” She had to stop this conversation now. What if she accidentally said “you” instead of “him”? The pressure building inside her head threatened to explode. She jabbed her fingers into her temples and briefly closed her eyes. “Just trust me on this. It’s for Cody’s own good.” Not that he had any more reason to trust her than she did him.
Max rose and stood before her, reaching for her hands. She jerked them away, avoiding the hurt in his eyes. “Emma. Talk to me.”
No. If she said anything else, she’d say too much. Especially with the tenderness in his voice, the compassion in his gaze. The sincerity in his touch.
Time to leave.
“I’ll be back in a bit.” She grabbed her notebook from the couch, stuck the pen behind her ear and marched to the kitchen door before she—or he—could change her mind. “I’m taking that break you mentioned.”
Visiting her mom had never seemed so appealing.
* * *
Max stared out the window into the afternoon sun as Emma bolted to her car, spraying gravel in an exit worthy of a Golden Globe nod. How did they go from having a comfortably quiet time together, to a really productive talk about the campers, to Emma running out nearly in tears from the room? From the entire ranch, for that matter?
Cody’s father must have hurt her worse than he’d imagined.
He probably looked like a real winner, too, dredging it all up. Still, he needed to know the basics, for Cody’s sake.
And maybe a little for his own sake.
Max slapped his notebook closed and began gathering the pens and highlighters they’d used. Emma had chosen pink, of course. She’d always loved pink. The one time he’d brought her flowers—okay, they’d been stolen from a neighbor’s rosebush, and still had the thorns, but it still counted—he’d made sure to find pink ones. And not that pale, flimsy pink, either, that seemed like it’d fade before it could be appreciated. Emma needed bright pink. A statement color.