Chapter Thirteen

The house settled into silence long before midnight.

No one had eaten much after the argument.

Sarah had retreated to her bedroom with a headache.

Micah had spent nearly an hour outside, pacing the backyard before finally going to bed.

Max had locked himself in his room.

Nate...

Nate had wandered onto the front porch with a bottle of whiskey and a glass he hadn't bothered to use.

The porch swing creaked softly beneath his weight.

The night air was cool.

Crickets chirped somewhere beyond the tree line.

He unscrewed the cap and took a long drink straight from the bottle.

It burned.

Good.

Maybe it would burn away everything else too.

It didn't.

It never did.

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Upstairs, Max lay on his bed staring at the ceiling.

His eyes were swollen from crying.

Not that anyone knew.

He had waited until everyone stopped moving around the house before finally letting himself fall apart.

Now...

He couldn't stand being trapped inside another second.

He quietly climbed out of bed.

His bedroom door opened with practiced care.

One slow step.

Then another.

The hallway remained silent.

Good.

He slipped downstairs, avoiding the third step that always squeaked.

The front door came into view.

Almost there.

His fingers wrapped around the doorknob, he turned it and stepped out into the cool night, closing the door slowly behind him.

"You planning on telling anyone where you're going?"

Max froze.

He slowly turned.

Nate sat on the porch swing.

One elbow rested on the armrest.

A whiskey bottle dangled loosely from his hand.

"You scared the hell out of me."

"I was here first."

Max sighed.

"You didnt’t see me."

"No."

"I don't have time for this."

"I've got all night."

Max pulled on his shoes.

"I'm leaving."

"I know."

"So let me."

"I can't."

Max looked at him.

"And why exactly not?"

Nate took another sip.

"Because I don’t want to... if you walk off this porch..." He met Max's eyes. "...I'll call Micah."

Max stared at him in disbelief.

"You serious?"

"Very."

"You'd snitch?"

"I'd keep you from self-destructing."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"No,you don’t."

The words hung between them.

Max looked away first.

"I'll be back before anyone notices."

"I believe you."

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is not tonight."

Nate rested the bottle on his knee.

"Not after all that earlier."

Max leaned against the porch railing.

"You don't know where I was going."

"No, I don't... But I know where you've been going."

Max's jaw tightened.

"You followed me?"

"I noticed... You come home smelling like smoke, you don't sleep, you've got new bruises every other day. You disappear whenever life gets hard."

Max let out a bitter laugh.

"Says the alcoholic."

Nate smiled faintly.

"...Fair."

That wasn't the response Max expected.

"You always do that."

"What?"

"Agree."

"When you're right."

"You should be mad."

"I usually am."

"So why aren't you?"

Nate looked down at the bottle.

"I'm tired."

The honesty caught Max off guard.

"So am I."

Silence settled between them.

----------------------

After a long pause, Max sat beside him.

"I still want to leave."

"I know."

"But if I do... You'll call Micah."

"I will."

Max sighed dramatically.

"I hate you."

"So you've said."

"I mean it."

"I know."

"You really are an asshole."

"I've heard that one too."

Against his own will...

The corner of Max's mouth twitched.

It wasn't quite a smile.

But it was close.

Nate noticed.

He pretended he hadn't.

----------------------

Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

The moon hung low above the trees.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance.

Max folded his arms against the cool night air.

"Does it ever stop?"

Nate looked over.

"What?"

"Hurting."

The question was so quiet Nate almost thought he'd imagined it.

He looked back toward the dark street.

"No."

Max's shoulders slumped.

"...Oh."

"It changes."

Max frowned. "What does that mean?"

Nate took a slow breath. "The pain doesn't disappear... It just..."

He searched for the right words. "...stops being the first thing you feel when you wake up."

Max was quiet.

"My dad's been gone three years."

"I know."

"It still feels like yesterday."

"I know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because I do."

Max studied him.

"You still miss your parents?"

"Every day."

"And girlfriend?"

Nate looked at him in surprise and then laughed softly.

"Unfortunately."

"You really loved her."

"I really did."

"Were you really going to marry her?"

"That was the plan, we’d even printed invites."

Max nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry."

Nate blinked.

It was the first genuine apology Max had ever offered him.

"...Thank you."

Neither looked at the other.

Some conversations were easier in the dark.

----------------------

Max glanced at the bottle resting beside Nate.

"You gonna finish that?"

"I probably shouldn't."

"You definitely shouldn't."

Nate chuckled.

"True."

Max hesitated.

Then he reached for it.

Nate caught his wrist before he could pick it up.

Their eyes met.

"No."

Max frowned.

"You've been drinking it."

"I'm an adult."

"You're still making a bad decision."

"So don't make the same one."

Max tried to pull away, but Nate didn't let go immediately.

"I know you're hurting... But I'm not going to help you start using alcohol to cope."

After a moment, Nate released his wrist.

Max looked at the bottle.

Then back at Nate.

"You think I'm a kid."

"I think you're sixteen, there's a difference."

Max rolled his eyes but didn't reach for the bottle again.

Nate picked it up, stared at it for a long moment, then quietly screwed the cap back on.

He set it on the porch floor, out of both their reach.

"I think I've had enough."

Max looked at the bottle.

Then at Nate.

"You sure?"

"No, but I should at least make one good decision tonight."

For the first time in days, Max let out a small, genuine laugh.

It lasted only a second.

But it was real.

Nate smiled. "I'll take that as progress."

"Don't get used to it."

"I won't."

They sat there in companionable silence, watching the empty street and listening to the chorus of insects in the trees.

Neither tried to fix the other.

Neither apologized for everything that had happened.

They simply shared the quiet.

Eventually, Max stood.

"We should go inside."

"Probably."

Nate picked up the bottle.

He looked at it once more before carrying it back into the house.

Neither of them had found the answers they were looking for.

But for one night, they had done something they hadn't managed since Nate returned home.

They had chosen to stay.

And sometimes, when grief made running feel easier than living...

Choosing to stay was the bravest thing a person could do.