Maximum Commitment (Sin City #13) - Tricia Owens Page 0,37

“That’s a holdup that can be easily rectified. I’ll mention this when I speak with her. Not to worry.”

She seemed dismayed. “I didn’t want you to pay for any part of this, Maxmillian. This event is for you. We’re supposed to be pampering you.”

He touched the back of her hand. Her skin was as soft as tissue, veiny, and mottled with spots. He wished, in that moment, that his own parents weren’t a part of this and contributing to this kind woman’s stress.

“The expense means very little and won’t affect me and Ethan. And you are pampering us, Jeannie. You’re giving us a moment we would have skipped, and what a shame that would have been.”

Beneath the table, Ethan hooked his ankle around Max’s. I love you, he mouthed at Max, in full view of his parents.

Max didn’t mind at all.

~~~~~

After dinner, Ethan’s parents drove them around town in their Taurus, pointing out various places to Max that held significance in Ethan’s life.

“This is like slow motion torture,” Ethan complained as his mother pointed out the kindergarten where five-year-old him had kissed a girl on the cheek and then promptly wet himself.

“Honey, this is what parents do when you bring home your partner. It’s a rite of passage. You can’t avoid it.”

“Max doesn’t need to know that I peed my pants at school!”

“But it was so cute!” Jeannie clapped her hands together. “Your face was so red, but we couldn’t tell whether it was because you kissed Melanie or because of your wet pants.”

“I’m sure I was simply wishing for a hole to open up beneath my feet.”

His parents laughed heartily and drove on, showing Max where Ethan got his first job (‘he was the best ice cream scooper they ever had, the owner told us so himself’), to where he first learned to ride a bicycle (‘he cried the first two times he fell, but then he never fell again. Well, not until that time he hit a curb and crushed his little boy parts. Be he healed up just fine from that, Max. Well, I’m sure you know.’)

“Someone put me out of my misery,” Ethan groaned, pushing his face into Max’s shoulder. “Max, tell me you brought your weapon.”

Max curled his arm around his shoulders in support. “The best I can do is beat you with a pillow.”

“That’ll take too long.”

“Oh, Ethan, you’re so dramatic,” his mother teased him while looking like she was having the time of her life. Max had to work hard to suppress his own smile. “Coming up soon is the movie theater where Ethan tried to arrest two boys who snuck in through a side door. Ethan was only seven, though, so I’m afraid nothing came of it.”

“Should have filed a police report,” Ethan mumbled. “Even as a seven-year-old I had a right to make a citizen’s arrest.”

“Your sense of righteousness is truly awe-inspiring,” Max told him. He kissed the top of his head. “The FBI missed out on you.”

“The FBI is probably relieved.”

They picked on Ethan a bit more before his parents relented and decided he’d been bullied enough. Max’s heart felt full as they arrived back at the Winters’ home. Though not one for public displays of affection, he kept his arm around Ethan’s waist as they followed his parents into the house.

It was a small place, with only one bathroom and a kitchen the size of their bathroom back in Radcliffe Place. Nonetheless, the humble home was comforting with its lived-in furniture and decor. The Winters had been gifted the home by their parents after their wedding, and hadn’t left it since.

“It’s a little late for the old fogeys,” Dale said as he stood in the living room and palmed the back of his neck, obviously chagrined. “We usually go to sleep right about now.”

“It’s okay, Dad. We can watch TV for a while or just talk.” Ethan smiled at Max ruefully. He’d warned Max that his parents would want them to stay in the extra bedroom while they were in Indiana. Max had claimed it wasn’t an issue. But it was certainly a new experience for him to sleep in another person’s home, rather than at a hotel. He valued his privacy. There would be little in such a tiny house.

“We wake up early, like old folks do,” Jeannie warned. She kept an arm around her husband’s waist. “We’ll do our best not to wake you. How do you like your eggs, Maxmillian?”

Surprised by the question, he fumbled. “I—that