Page 48 of Catch the Sun

My cheeks feel warmer, the closer he gets. I wonder if my fever is creeping in again. Max stops a few feet away from my bed, his gaze is fixed on my face. Something familiar flickers in his stare. For a moment, we’re in the water again, an earnestness passing through the murky space between us. A bind. A common thread. I swallow again, my throat tight. “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly…for saving my life,” I tell him. “And for going back for my book bag and bike.”

I’m not prone to being vulnerable and Max knows that. I don’t think he’s expecting the sincerity that bleeds into my words. There is no bite this time, no clipped tone or chewed-off edges.

I mean it. I’m so thankful.

He inhales a tapered breath. “You’re welcome, Sunny.”

My chest feels achy. I’ve come to loathe nicknames, aside from the ones Jonah used to call me. Piglet, mostly. And I’d call him Pooh Bear—or Pooh Stain when he was acting like a dweeb.

But lately, the nicknames that have been bestowed upon me have all been cruel and hurtful.

Princess.

Accomplice.

Scum, Waste, Garbage.

Even my last name sounds like an insult these days.

But…Sunny isn’t so bad. In fact, nothing feels all that bad when Max is around. And I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a cause for concern.

Before I can reply, Max’s gaze pans right and settles on what appears to be my nightstand. I watch his eyes narrow as he focuses on something. He blinks a few times before a small smile pulls and then he glances back at me.

I turn to face my nightstand, trying to find his source of interest. Wads of used tissues take up most of the space, along with fever reducer, water bottles, and the nasty bowl of half-eaten soup. It’s dark green and crusty. Embarrassing. “Sorry about the mess.” I wince. “You can judge all you want.”

His smile only blooms. “You kept that stone I tossed at you. From the clearing.”

When his words register, my eyes pop and my cheeks flame. “Oh, um…no. I didn’t. I infected you with fever and now you’re hallucinating.” I race toward the nightstand and snatch up the stone left in plain sight, trying to hide what he’s already discovered.

But it slips from my fingers and bounces off the table.

And in my frantic attempt to fetch it, my shoulder bumps the lava lamp and that, too, tips over, clattering against the wooden bedstand. “Crap.”

Footsteps approach from the adjacent room.

My mother.

Shit.

Boy in my bedroom.

Shit!

Panic rips through me and I rush at Max with my eyes bugged out and arms flailing. “Hide,” I hiss through my teeth.

He’s still smiling.

I grab him by the upper arms, spin him around, and walk him backward toward my closet. Then I whip the door open and shove him inside as his eyes twinkle with amusement. For a moment, I’m keenly aware of my hands curled around his bare arms. Warm skin, hard muscle. Broad chest inches from mine. Dark closet.

Mom knocks. “Ella? Everything okay in there?”

I jump back and slam the closet shut before jogging over to deal with my mother. I’m so flustered I forget how doors work, so I push instead of pull, twice, before successfully yanking it open. “Hi, Mom. Whoa, it’s late.” I yawn with exaggeration. “Good night.”

She catches the door before I close it in her face. “Are you okay? I thought I heard a crashing sound.”

“I was exercising.”

“Ella…it’s ten thirty at night.”

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