Page 109 of Downforce

You know what he witnessed as a child. What if what you’ve just brought back all of those painful memories?

The obsessions grow louder, making me unable to stop myself when I blurt out, “Are you okay?”

He gives me a confused expression.

“About earlier,” I say without thinking. “I mean, the fake accident. Are you okay? I didn’t really scare you with that or anything, did I?”

The V between his brows deepens. “No,” he says. “Briefly, but the moment you took off in the go-kart, I knew you were fine.”

He’s lying. Or worse, what if he doesn’t even realize the trauma I’ve caused him?

The obsessions don’t stop.

“But you know it was just a joke, right?” Even as the rational part of my mind screams at me to drop it, to let it go, I feel the need to ask for reassurance again.

“I’m aware,” he says.

I nod and turn back toward the direction we were walking, unaware that we’d stopped.

“You’re a night person,” I say as casually as I can to get back to the conversation.

“Annalise.” My heart drops a little at the way Max says my name. It tells me he’s not about to let this go.

“Tell me about your late nights,” I say, even as the obsession continues to whisper in my head.

“What was that?” he asks.

“What?”

He comes to another stop in front of me, his face a little harder, firmer than before. He doesn’t follow up with another question, but I know what he wants.

My shoulders slump.

“You swear I didn’t hurt your feelings or anything when I pulled that stunt?” I almost flinch from the question.

“No, my feelings weren’t hurt. Why would they be?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. Never mind.” I start to walk again, but Max’s hold on my hand stops me.

“What’s going on?” He holds up his free hand. “Don’t say ‘nothing’ again.”

A lump in my throat prevents me from saying the words. I don’t want to bring it up, but the concern in his eyes tugs on the truth I don’t want to say.

“I just … I um … I have OCD,” I force the words out. I’m not embarrassed about it but it’s not something I willingly share with people I don’t know well for a variety of reasons.

A myriad of emotions cross his handsome face. Surprise, confusion, apprehension.

“Like, uh, you wash your hands a lot?”

From anyone else, the question might’ve pissed me off. From Max it’s not an insult but a true quest for understanding … in particular, what it has to do with what’s happening right now.

“Yes. I mean, no. Well, that was one of my compulsions years ago, but not for long.” I stop, knowing I’m not making any sense. “My kind of OCD is more perfectionism and constant checking. Like checking and rechecking to make sure I haven’t made a mistake or,” I clear my throat, “hurt someone’s feelings. It, uh, can lead to me asking the same question again and again, even after they’ve said repeatedly that they’re fine.”

“You think you’ve hurt my feelings?”

I nod. “Because …” I let that one word hang in the air.

He takes in my pause, and I see the gears of his mind working. “You think a fake accident where you pretended to be hurt could hurt my feelings.” He says the words as if he’s a detective reviewing a case. “Because … of what happened to my father,” he accurately guesses.