Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,38

and hadn’t yet been repaired. There’s a nasty hum-bar of interference that rolls over the display every few seconds. Impossible to see exactly the moment where Dr. Durant drowned.”

“Oh,” Crane said weakly, “that’s terrible.”

“A young couple with their kid found her in the morning. A terrible, terrible accident.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe Dr. Durant wasn’t the strongest swimmer…”

Crane’s breath hitched in this throat and the blood pounded in his ears. I’m not the strongest swimmer. Let’s just say it didn’t go well for me. He tightened his grip on Max’s hand, making him grimace in pain.

“Ow… What?”

“What did you say?”

“I said maybe she was a shitty swimmer. Ow, fuck, you’re going to break my fing—”

“What did you do, Max?” Had Max bugged him… somehow listened in on his session with Dr. Durant? It was too much of a coincidence. Had he followed her to her condo and hid in the shadows, lying in wait? Was it a warning to Crane not to talk to anyone?

“Me? What did I do? Stop, Dennis… You’re really hurting me,” Max pleaded, scratching at Crane’s hand to pull him off. “Please stop… I didn’t do anything.” There was a glimmer of tears in his eyes.

Grimacing, Crane let go of Max before something in his hand snapped, and shoved him back hard on the bed. Max rolled off the mattress and landed on the rug with a thump and a small groan. Then Max started laughing.

Crane frowned when Max, still chuckling, sat up and stared at him, shaking his head slowly.

“What is so goddamn funny?” he growled, getting to his knees. He clenched his fists, but his limp nakedness detracted somewhat from the weight of his choler.

Leaning his cheek on his fist, Max smiled up at Crane. “You’re so gullible, Doc.”

“What?”

“I was just fucking with you. It’s still Friday… well, Saturday real early.”

“What?”

“Wow… if I’d known you’d fall so hard for it…” Max’s grin went crooked, and he let out a sigh. “Gosh, you’re cute.”

“Explain,” whispered Crane. “Explain right now.”

Gingerly picking himself off the ground, Max flexed his fingers, testing his hand. “You almost broke my wank hand, you jerk,” he said lightly as he crawled back onto the bed. “Though if you had, I suppose being forced to use my left hand would have been an interesting change.” Noticing Crane was still waiting for him to explain, he shrugged. “You came home earlier after your therapy session and said you had a raging headache so you took a bunch of that codeine Tylenol and poured like half a bottle of whisky into your glass. I told you not to mix, but do you ever listen to me? No… Instead, you got shitfaced and proceeded to pile all sorts of dog’s abuse on my head—you know you’re a mean drunk? You’re lucky I only gave your blood pressure a bit of a rise just now… God, the shit I put up with—I should have made you think you killed her.” Max placed his palms to Crane’s chest, his expression softly teasing. “Anyway, after you passed out, I got you into bed and threw on a movie.”

“Victoria’s still alive?”

“Of course she’s still alive.”

“And it’s the sixteenth of September?” Relief was finally setting in.

“Seventeenth—but yup. Check your phone if you don’t believe me, Doc.” Max smoothed his hands down Crane’s chest and cocked his head. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Brow furrowed, Crane lifted a hand to brush the swelling on Max’s bottom lip with his thumb. Max caught him by the wrist and nuzzled into his hand, just like a cat would, and it made Crane sigh. The bruises were still there around Max’s neck, not faded like he’d thought, only less obvious in the dim bedroom light. And his overgrown stubble… He kept forgetting he wasn’t shaving for a few days because Max had said a beard would look sexy on him, and it had stroked his ego enough to try. He’d done it to please Max, because despite all of his trickery and depraved tastes, Max was incredibly attentive to all his needs and made him feel… good. He was even beginning to believe Max cared for him in his own way.

“I guess I’m sorry too,” he said. He thought about what he’d told Victoria, about how being with Max was an addiction… And here he was talking himself back into the cradle of insanity instead of running far, far away like his gut told him he should. He didn’t even try to pull away when Max drew his head down for