“Wait, Zach Anderson’s dad?” I butt in, and when my dad nods, I cut a look at Max. I knew something was off the other day when Zach was asking about dad.
“It all got blown out of proportion and the wager got higher and higher until we were at twenty-five grand.”
“Twenty-five grand for a stupid race down the quarter mile, what the fuck were you thinking?” All sympathy is rapidly disappearing; I can’t believe how stupid he has been.
“Language, Leigh,” he warns before carrying on. “The car went into a tailspin, and I lost control. It spun around, and I hit the car behind me before I ended up at the side of the road upside down.” Even just hearing these little details makes my stomach seize. When I realize how close I was to losing him, it makes me feel physically sick.
“So you never finished the race?”
“No, I was in the lead and then I crashed. Tom Anderson won.”
“Then surely the bet’s off?”
“You would think but not according to Tom.”
“Did he come to see you?” Max asks. He hasn’t said much, but he’s pissed, if the way his jaw clenches and unclenches is anything to go by.
“Yeah, the other day. That’s when I contacted the bank. He said I still had to pay up. Then he clapped me on the shoulder, which was sore as hell, and told me to get well soon.”
“That fu-” I jump off the bed just as Nurse McCartney sticks her head around the door.
“Everything all right in here?” she asks, her gaze jumping from one to the other of us.
“Yes, fine. We were just leaving.” Max stands and takes hold of my wrist to guide me toward the door.
“We’ll be back later,” I say, and I swear my dad pales slightly as he hears the veiled threat.
“Oh, you’re the boy who waited in the ER for Mr. Storm.” She pats Max on the arm as we pass and my jaw drops. This is news to me; Max never said anything about seeing Dad that night. Why didn’t he call me? All this time that we’ve spent together, getting closer, him apologizing, and then I find out this. What a fucking idiot I am, getting sucked in by Max Morgan after I swore that I would never fall for him or any of his bullshit.
Once we’re in the hallway, I yank my wrist out of his grasp and march down the hallway to the elevator. My finger jabs at the down button constantly as it takes its sweet time arriving at this floor. Max follows at a slower pace and reaches to take my hand off the button.
“Don’t run from me.” His voice is quiet, waiting for me to talk or shout or scream at him, but I don’t have it in me. I’m not even sure if I’m mad at him for not telling me or mad at myself for thinking this could be anything more than chemistry.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper and feel tears of frustration or anger prick at the corners of my eyes.
“I didn’t want you to be mad at me.”
“I’m always mad at you.”
“Not lately. When you first came back, it was like it always was but then you started to open up to me, and I didn’t want to ruin that. Then it got too late to tell you and now you know and you’re mad at me anyway.”
“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed that you weren’t honest with me in the first place.” I wrap my arms around my body.
“Your dad asked them to call me, said there’d been an accident. When I got there, I wanted to call you right away, but he made me promise not to. They told me to wait in the ER. They were sticking tubes in him, and I panicked. But he said he would phone you the next day.” His sincere expression cracks my resolve a tiny bit, but I’m still mad. Mad at my dad, mad at the Andersons, and now a little bit mad at Max, too. “I’m sorry.” Then he shuts up and faces the front.
The elevator arrives and we stand in silence, the tension inside the cart unbearable. No one else gets in this time and thankfully the descent is quick. The ride back to the garage is silent, and I really don’t know what to say. I need time to process all that has happened this morning.
Chapter Nineteen
Beth’s Honda is parked outside when we get back from the hospital; Kyle’s Camaro is inside on the ramp. Both of them come out at the growl of Max’s GTO as he parks. I am out of the car and walking away before he’s even killed the engine. Beth and Aaron share a worried look as I walk over to them
“How’d it go?” Aaron asks, wiping his hands on the rag in his pocket.
“He owes Tom Anderson twenty-five grand.”
“What? How the hell did that happen?”
“That stupid race he was in. Well, that was the bet and because he didn’t win, he still owes him. Doesn’t matter that he crashed and ended up in the hospital.”