It took a second for Max to catch up, and when he did, everything inside him tightened, his breath lodging in his chest. “No—seriously? Look, I know what I said, but I’ve been thinking and I don’t think I can . . .” He blew out a breath. “When did you start having symptoms?”
Brendon stared at him, blank-faced, then, “Wait, no. I’m fine. I promise. Symptom-free.”
Max noticed his hands shaking and shoved them into the pockets of his cargo shorts, trying to hide the panic that had crawled up his throat. He wasn’t ready. Maybe would never be.
But a promise was a promise, especially between brothers.
“The charity is finally starting to get some traction,” Brendon said, motoring right over Max. Over the way his words had rattled him. “We have a number of big donors, and we need a spokesperson. We need you.”
Max closed his eyes. “No.”
“Bro, you told me that you would help out—be our spokesman, the face, you know?”
“No.” Max shook his head, just in case Brendon needed help. “I’m not doing it.”
Brendon stared at him, sucker punched. “Why on earth not? You said you would. The Sharpe brothers, changing the face of Huntington’s disease. It’s what you always wanted.”
“Again, no.” Max glanced at the congregation of family clumped on the deck or around the fire pit and cut his voice low. Not that any of this would be a surprise to them, but if anything could darken this day, it was a reminder of the Sharpe family curse. “It’s what you always wanted. I wanted to play hockey.”
Max turned, but Brendon caught his arm. “I cannot believe you are being this selfish. This disease has claimed too many of our family members. It’s going to claim me. And you, someday.”
“Then maybe we should stop procreating!” Max wasn’t sure where all the volume had come from, but the chatter on the deck above quieted.
His voice turned to a hiss. “I don’t want to be known for this disease. I don’t want my face to be on your ads. Pretty soon I’ll be pitied, not praised. I can’t let it define my life.”
Brendon looked as if Max had checked him into the boards. “Are you kidding me? It already does! In every important way, it defines you. Tell me the last time you had a girlfriend.”
Max looked away, his jaw tight. He glanced at pretty Lauren, at the kebabs. No doubt they were charred, but he couldn’t move.
“I’ll tell you when—never. You live in the here and now, playing hard, living hard, and, buddy, you’re going to die alone and sad.”
Max set his face, his words harsh. “And you’re going to leave behind a wife and a beautiful daughter.”
Brendon’s shoulders rose and fell. “Yes, I will. But for the precious years I have with them, I’m going to love them with everything inside me. Just like Dad did.”
Max’s eyes burned, and he hated Brendon a little for that as he turned away. “Yeah, well, you remember him a lot better than I do.”
“You remember him just fine. And you know he’d want you to do this. This is his dream for you.”
Max rounded on Brendon then, heat in his veins, his voice. “You’re right. I do remember him. I remember that he loved to watch me play hockey. He’d sit in the stands even when his body betrayed him and he couldn’t bear to go out in public. When he forgot where he was, and when he couldn’t even remember my name. Still, he believed in me. Cheered for me. Wanted life for me, not death.”
Now emotion had wrecked his voice, turning it ragged, his eyes burning. “Dad wanted me to play hockey, not be the front man for your useless charity organization.” He wiped his hand across his chin and accidently glanced toward the grill.
Lauren was watching him, something pitying and stricken in her expression.
Nice. “I don’t need this.” He pushed past Brendon, out to the driveway, where he rooted around in his shorts for his keys.
“Max!”
He heard his mother’s voice as he reached his Audi. The edge of anger softened at the sight of his petite, generous mother running up to stand next to Brendon, hurt in her eyes.
“I think I’m going to take off, Mom,” Max said, not sure she even heard him. But his mom gave him a soft, almost-broken smile. The same one she’d given when Max left home at age sixteen to play in the juniors. The same one she’d offered when Max packed for North Dakota State, and the same expression she’d left him with when Max moved to St. Paul. “I can’t . . . I can’t be here.”
A knowing, sad smile that understood that Max could never truly face the future. She crossed the distance between them and drew him into her arms. He hung on, just for a moment, and closed his eyes.