Page 48 of Carte

I jerked my gaze up. Max was casually strolling from the woods edge over to me with a backpack slung over his shoulders. “What’re you doing here’”

He jolted the pack on his back, “Provisions.”

“Forgot about that,” I mumbled.

He rolled his eyes, “Figured something like that would happen.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He just gave me a look I chose to ignore. I was in no mood for one of his Yoda-type talks.

“You’re early,” I said, eyeing him.

“Yeah, well,” Max sighed. “I was on the road when Chace called and told me what happened. I planned on stopping along the road to get some shut eye. But when the word came down, I nixed that idea and came right on through.”

I grunted but kept my shout.

I didn’t want to give more fuel to Max’s worry.

He needed to see we were all good, not for me to have a breakdown.

I went back to work.

The steady beat of the sound of wood splitting in two, and then the thump as I put another piece on the thump soothing my fried edges a little.

Max stood five feet for me, quiet, his eyes tracing my every more. I knew he was biding his time. There was no way in hell he wouldn’t say something. I could feel his eyes as he looked at me, trying to figure me out, hoping to see what had me out in the cold doing a chore that didn’t need to be done since the overhang behind me was full of prepared firewood. I could only hope that he wouldn’t look too closely.

“Do you need something that will hit you, or is just decimating enough?” Max asked conversationally.

I arched my brows, “You offering, old man?”

Max gaped at me, the palm of his hand hitting his chest, “Take those ugly words back.”

I just stood there panting, not looking away.

He shook his head, and dropped the backpack next to the wall of the cabin before sitting down on the dirt. “Such a rude motherfucker, calling me old.”

Max, always playing overdramatic.

“Whatever.”

He sat there, watching me split wood in silence like he had all the time in the world. I kept expecting him to launch into one of his speeches, but he never did. Just plucked the grass here and there, and watched me.

“How’s Harley?” He asked casually after what felt like an hour.

“Fine. She was in the living room grumbling at her guitar when I came out.”

He looked at me, a muscle in his cheek ticked. He was expecting me to say something else. To elaborate why I was out here in the cold, pouring out my aggression on the wood we didn’t need.

Max went back to his plucking while I ignored his worried glances.

“Do you think that you have enough, or is it still coursing through you?”

I let the ax fly as my way of answer.

He grunted like I hit him, and not the wood. “Get it all out.”

His words were a blow. If only he knew it was impossible. I would never be rid of this feeling inside me. It was like a living, breathing thing. Trapping me in the shadows I couldn’t find my way out of.