Boss of Me

Chapter Fifteen

        I'VE NEVER SEEN MAX STRUGGLE to articulate himself before, and it catches me off guard. Everything about his behaviour is off lately—from his drinking to the mixed messages—but I can't say I blame him. Grief doesn't come with a roadmap. Healing doesn't follow a linear path. Life and loss are messy and complicated. And for a girl who's mastered evading most of those things, I'm strangely okay about sitting here on his couch tonight, letting him offload a little bit of that weight he's carrying around.

        Besides, I've been with people who never hesitate to dump their baggage on me, but this is different. This conversation is almost like a silent warning. A last-ditch plea. Max is trying so hard to shoulder everything, to deal with his problems, all on his own. He clearly doesn't burden his best friend, and I get the strong feeling he doesn't open up to anyone.

        I don't know what I'd do—who I'd become—if I didn't have Lauren and Zac to lean on.

        "As you said, there's a lot you don't know about me, Summer," he mutters, changing the subject completely.

        I swallow. The prospect of getting so vulnerable with someone I've been intimate with scares me, but not enough to hightail it out of his office and bail on him when he's obviously hurting. I stare back at him, emboldened. "Right. Just like you don't know everything about me. Isn't that the point? We might've worked together all year, but we still don't know each other that well. I'm here, and I'm listening. This whole time, you've been so focused on me—giving me this promotion, righting this wrong or whatever. Let me be whatever you need for once."

         I know I've said the right thing when he closes his eyes and exhales a shaky, pent-up breath. He looks so emotionally wrung out. For a brief moment, I wonder if he's on the verge of tears. "We don't have to do this. Honestly, I'd prefer it if we didn't. It's not fair on you."

        "As much as I appreciate that, I'm a big girl, Max. I can make up my own mind about what is or isn't fair on me," I tell him, injecting as much gentleness into my voice as I can muster. I'm truly not trying to chew him out right now. He just needs to know I'd have bolted by now (and not looked back) if I wasn't interested in, or ready for, something like this. It's what I've done in every single one of my past relationships. But this is different. None of those people were Max. "And I'm even willing to overlook the fact that you ignored me all day because I'd like to think we've come to, I don't know, some sort of truce. We obviously care about each other. I can tell you're working through something . . . difficult right now. The last thing you need is me giving you a hard time. So I can be here, like that night . . ." I'm insinuating that if he wants a repeat of the first night he showed up at my apartment, I'd be down. Of course I would. I'm not judgmental when it comes to people's coping mechanisms. I have a few unhealthy ones of my own. "Or I can just be your friend, if that's what you'd prefer. It's up to you, Max."

         Wordlessly, he places his glass on the desk beside his suit-clad thigh. He covers his face with his hands and hunches over.

        Then I hear it.