Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,25

to Crane. “Call her today and make an appointment. If she doesn’t work out either, I’ll refer you to someone else. But I don’t want to hear that you haven’t been in therapy, Crane. It’s important, okay? I care about your mental state, and I don’t want to see you get bogged down by whatever it is that’s happening here or at home.”

Crane nodded, folding the paper to tuck it into his pocket. “Thank you.” What in the hell did he have to say to a therapist? He couldn’t talk about Max, could he? Maybe in the loosest of terms. Maybe… maybe couch it in fiction.

“So,” Julie said with a wide smile. “Your patients… How are they?”

Apart from Max, Crane was counselling a woman who was trying to get over her social anxiety, and an old man who seemed like he was paying for therapy simply because he didn’t have anyone else to talk to.

“They’re good,” he replied. “We’re making progress.”

“What about—” Julie furrowed her brow as she turned a few pages “—Max?”

Pulse soaring, Crane blinked stupidly at Julie for a moment. Why was she singling out Max?

“He’s… just fine.” He may have murdered my neighbour, and when I’m not fucking him, all I can think about is fucking him, and the little psycho’s made me into this goddamn sick, twisted son of a bitch who cheats on his wife and almost cracks with guilt for doing it… but him? He’s just fine, thank you. Crane made his tone as calm and impartial as he could. “Why do you ask?”

“Debra mentioned that you warned her about him a while back, and I was wondering if you felt like you had things under control.”

“Ohhh,” Crane said. He nodded again, his hands untwisting. “Yes, it was a misunderstanding. It’s all right now.”

“Okay, then! I guess that’s everything,” Julie said, closing her notebook. “Good. See? This is why we have weekly meetings. It’s important to touch base.”

“Yes. You’re right,” Crane replied mechanically. He stood. Seven minutes on foot to the metro station. Eleven minutes by metro to Old Montreal. Another eight minutes’ walk to get to Max’s condo. Twenty-six minutes if he caught the metro right away. Thirty if he didn’t. In his mind he was already halfway there.

“Tell me how it goes with Dr. Durant.”

“I will.”

Max opened the door wearing a smile and nothing else. “Hi, honey,” he murmured, hand on his hip. “Long day at the office?”

Crane swallowed hard and pushed past him before anyone saw them together. The door closed with a click, and he was relieved when he heard Max turn the lock.

“I almost thought you chickened out on me,” Max said.

“The metro was stopped,” muttered Crane, looking around. This was the first time he’d stepped foot in Max’s condo. It was a new building, taller than the ones around it, and Max lived on the top floor. Crane left his overnight bag near the door and walked towards the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view was amazing.

Wrapping his arms around Crane, Max leaned his head on the back of his shoulder.

“I missed you.”

“Stop that,” muttered Crane. He hated it when Max acted like some love-struck teenager, and he hated it even more that he couldn’t push him away. “Mary says the police came around again today.”

“Oh? And what did they say?” Max said with a chuckle. His fingers were unbuttoning Crane’s shirt—Crane closed his eyes.

“He’s been missing a week and they have no leads…” he said in a hoarse voice as Max stroked his naked belly, his hands warm and smooth on Crane’s skin.

“That’s awful!” Max pinched his nipple softly. “That poor man.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what you did with him?” Crane grabbed Max’s wrist and turned him around. From the hazy, soft look in Max’s eyes, it was obvious he was stoned.

A smile dimpled Max’s cheeks. “Why on earth do you think I had anything to do with it?” He tilted his head slightly and licked his lips, staring at Crane’s mouth.

With a grimace, Crane pulled away before Max tried to kiss him.

Max’s eyes went cold for an instant, and then he grinned again. “One day you’re going to want to kiss me, you know,” Max said, turning around. His buttocks were covered in mottled purple bruising. Crane’s palm tingled at the sight, as though the memory of striking Max over and over was enough to rekindle some of the sensation.

Averting his gaze, Crane took in the rest of the condo. On the bare concrete walls