are probably on the blink.
“Why?” I ask bluntly.
He winces. “Do I need a reason?” He’s trying for lightness, but I’m not in the mood.
“Yes,” I say coldly. “You do. What do you want, Max?”
I want to shout that it’s been a month and he hasn’t felt the need to see me before. I spent four weeks missing him so desperately it was as if I’d had a limb amputated. Even now, after being on a date with Carl, I can feel the old insane pull towards Max—the desire to step into his arms and let him shut my mind down. But I remind myself that while I’ve been feeling all these awful feelings, he… hasn’t. I haven’t heard a jot from him. Not one text. Not one phone call. And my anger rises further.
“I’m tired,” I say shortly, walking past him. I’m much too aware of the exact moment that he turns and follows me, his arm brushing against my own and sending sparks down into my fingers. I stop and turn to him. “Tell me what you want.”
“And then leave?” he asks softly. His mouth lifts slightly at the corner like the sad smile of a clown.
I fold my arms across my chest. “That about sums it up.”
His hands come up as if he wants to touch me. I glare at him, and he thrusts his hands into his pockets. “I needed to see you,” he says. “I’ve been by a few times, but you were never in.”
“I’ve been busy.”
He winces. “Yes, I–” He clears his throat. “I went to see Charlie tonight, and he told me that you were dating again.”
“Why on earth would you go and see one of my friends?”
“Because Zeb wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“And you couldn’t pick up the phone?” I snap. I’ve been waiting for him to ring all bloody month. “Why would you want to know what I was doing anyway? You never displayed that much of a desire to do that unless…” I pause and feel rage sear through me. “Unless you fancied a shag and wanted to see if I was still available,” I say slowly.
“No,” he says urgently. “I wanted to see you because I need you to—”
“Oh my God,” I say interrupting him, wanting to hurt him so badly. “It was for that! You fucking wanker. Are there no men in London that will do for a quick shag? I mean I knew my arse was golden, Max, but this is fucking ridiculous.”
“No,” he says, grabbing my arms. “I need to tell you that I—”
I wrench away from him. “You need to stop fucking talking right now. Whatever you have to say to me, I’m not bloody interested anymore.”
He flinches. “But, Felix, please. If you would just listen to me, I need to tell you that I—”
“No. I was a twat for you, Max, but I’m not making a habit of it.” My anger settles into coldness. “I don’t think my new boyfriend will be too keen on that anyway,” I say deliberately.
He goes pale, and the hand he runs through his hair is shaking. I wonder if he’s been drinking. “So, it’s true, then?”
“Yes,” I say coldly and with relish. “His name is Carl. He’s lovely. He's a teacher, and he really likes me. He takes care of me. I’m very happy.” Take that, I think viciously.
He flinches back as if I’ve hit him, and suddenly like a curtain falling, all my anger drops away to be replaced by regret and sadness. Whatever happened to us; whatever he did to me, I still don’t want to hurt him. That’s not me, and it never will be.
“Max,” I say softly, but he shakes his head.
“No, it’s fine, Felix,” he says hoarsely. I wish it were light enough under the tree to see his expression because his body language is saying a lot of things that can’t be true. “I’m glad you have someone.” He runs his hand through his hair again. These nervous gestures don’t belong with the Max I knew.
“You should have someone,” he says, suddenly fierce. He grabs my hand, and I gasp as he drops a kiss on my palm, folding my fingers over it and watching the movement as if in a dream. He looks up at me. “You’re amazing, Felix. The best person I know and you deserve everything. I wish you joy.” He drops my hand and backs up a few steps. “You need joy,” he says earnestly.
I want so desperately to grab