His father was smiling, but his eyes were narrowed slightly, just enough that Max got the message. “Sure,” he said tightly. He went to the cabinet to get another place setting. He took it to the table while his dad and Evelyn continued to flirt.
The table was set for four. He would be adding the fifth setting. But . . . there were only four of them here for dinner. “You already set it,” Max pointed out.
“Hmm?” his dad said and had to work to turn his attention from his date. “Oh. Yes. Evelyn has invited her daughter to join us.”
“My daughter,” Evelyn said heavily. “I’ll explain to you, Max, just as I explained to Toby, that my daughter isn’t quite on board with her mother having a boyfriend.”
Boyfriend? So it was that official? How could his dad have a girlfriend and not have told him? How was he just hearing about this? And moreover, why was he so disturbed by it? He couldn’t make sense of his own emotions.
“I don’t know this for certain, but I think she doesn’t like the idea that I have a boyfriend when she doesn’t. You know how that is,” Evelyn said. “I mean, not you, obviously, because I imagine you are dating all the time. Just look at you—very handsome! But in general. What do you call that? Do you call it jealousy?”
“I’m not a psychologist,” Max said. His dad shot him a look.
“Yes, but isn’t it all the same, the brain sciences?” she asked, as if Max wasn’t certain what sort of brain scientist he was.
“Oh, this came out perfect,” his dad said as he pulled a dish from the oven. “I’m going to put in the popovers now. They won’t be as good as yours, though, Evie.”
Another stunning development. Max had never known his dad to bake. And she had a nickname. Yeah, okay, this was fucking official.
“I’ve been making them a really long time. Can I help you, Toby? Do you want me to do something?”
“Could you toss the salad?”
“I’d be delighted!” She took her wine around to the other side of the bar and picked up the salad tongs.
They were puttering around like they’d done this a million times and Max wanted to demand an explanation. How long had this been going on? Why was it a secret? Where was it going?
He might have demanded, too, had the knock not sounded on the front door. In the backyard, Hazel began to bark.
“I’ll get it,” Max said, and walked out of the kitchen. He made his way to the front door, still the door they never used. Were they going to start using it now? Even that irritated him.
Max opened the door. And stood, paralyzed, unable to speak.
He couldn’t say which of them was more shocked—Him? Or Carly?
Seventeen
For the second time in her life, Carly’s mind could not process what her eyes were seeing. She could not comprehend why Max was standing at the door of her mother’s new boyfriend’s house. He should not be here. He didn’t know her mother. Oh hell—was she at the wrong house? Had she been thinking about him so much that she’d accidentally driven to his house? She leaned back and looked at the house.
This was not Max’s house.
She heard a dog barking, and she knew that bark instantly. That was Hazel. The barking dog was Hazel, and this was Max, and this was definitely the address her mother had given her to meet her new boyfriend. What were Max and Hazel doing here?
Max wasn’t smiling. He looked stricken. Sick, almost. Stunned. Like a man who had been caught red-handed. Like a man who had seen something awful or had done something awful.
And then it hit her—Max didn’t look that way because he’d murdered anyone. He looked that way because he’d been caught with their parents.
Carly’s mind said no, but when she tried to say it, it came out in a shriek. She whirled around—to do what, she didn’t know—but Max caught her by the hand before she could run screaming into the street.
“Carly,” he whisper-shouted. “Wait. Wait.” He made her turn around, then quietly shut the door behind him.
“Did you know?” she whisper shouted back at him.
“No, of course I didn’t,” he said, frowning. “I didn’t even know my dad was seeing someone until yesterday. And this?” he said, gesturing wildly to the house at his back. “Tonight? I had no fucking clue. I’m as