Page 19 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
“Plus, I’m not exhausted all the time anymore. Before…” I faltered for a moment, struggling to articulate something I’d never fully explained to anyone. “I’d be so mentally and physically shattered every day because my brain was working on overdrive just to filter basic stuff. That makessomuch sense, right?” My voice cracked slightly. “Anyway, I never knew I could be not exhausted.”
My words hung in the air. I’d never told anyone how bone-deep tired I’d been my entire life before medication. Not even Kit.
“So, now I can actually cook dinneranddo laundry atthe same timewithout my brain melting,” I tried to joke. “If Kitwantsme to cook. He normally does it, though, becausehe thinks he’s a pro masterchef.”
I became acutely aware of Maxwell’s silence. The quiet stretched on for so long I wanted to melt into the car seat.
Christ, what was wrong with me? I’d just delivered an unprompted TED talk on ADHD to Detective Dickface of all people. The one person who already thought I was an incompetent disaster. Mortification settled in my stomach like a lead weight.
I sneaked a glance at him. Though instead of the judgement or boredom I expected, his expression was thoughtful, brow slightly furrowed as if processing. I quickly focused back on the road, clamping my lips together. Maybe if I didn’t acknowledge my verbal diarrhoea, we could pretend it never happened.
Then Maxwell laughed softly, my head snapping straight back to him. Was he… smiling? Not that sarcastic smirk of his, but something… genuine?
“So that explains why you have the energy of a caffeinated squirrel on speed,” he said, his voice light. “And here I thought you were just trying to drive me mad on purpose.”
A surprised laugh burst from my chest, and the tension drained from my shoulders. “Annoying you is just a bonus.”
“Yes…” Maxwell added, his tone still gentle but with a hint of amusement. “But I have to say, for someone who’s supposedly learned how to regulate better… you seem to find it very hard to resist insulting me to my face.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Yeah… you bring it out in me, I guess…”
“But seriously, I’ll try to do better,” Maxwell said, looking out the windscreen rather than at me. “And… try even harder to block out your thoughts. They’re just… louder than other people’s.”
A tiny smile played at the edge of his lips, and I laughed.
“Figures.”
He met my gaze. “Figures.”
The moment stretched between us, almost comfortable, until Maxwell’s phone rang, a loud electronic jingle cutting through the silence. He glanced at the screen, hesitated, then pressed decline.
“Sorry. I forgot to tell my mother we couldn’t talk today.”
“Aww, Teddy Bear has a standing call with his mummy?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, my default teasing mode reactivated. “Do you tell her about all the big scary criminals you catch?”
The look that crossed his face made me instantly regret my words.
“We do talk most nights. She worries,” he said, voice flat. “My father’s no longer around. He was also a police officer—not a detective, though he was working up to it. He was almost there, then he was killed in the line of duty when I was seventeen.”
“Shit.” I grimaced at myself, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. “I’m sorry.” There was a long pause before I asked, “Did you always want to be a cop, like him?”
“Yeah,” Maxwell said softly. “Even before he died. I used to dress up in his helmet and march around the garden, telling everyone I was going to catch all the bad guys.” A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. “He’d come home exhausted—double shifts, overtime, constantly pushing himself. Always studying for the next exam, the next qualification. He’d tell me stories about helping people, making things right. He had this… determination. Like he was trying to prove something to the world every single day.” Maxwell’s voice grew more distant. “I suppose I’ve been trying to live up to that ever since. To continue what he started.”
My own father’s face flashed through my mind—not the warm image I presumed most people had, but the twisted expression of disgust he wore that last time I saw him. The day he told me I wasn’t welcome in the pack anymore. Three days before he was shot by an Authorised Firearms Officer during a full moon.
One single well-placed bullet to the heart. A gamekeeper had reported our pack, apparently. Told the authorities the “wolf infestation” was a danger to life.
My pack had been unable to recover his body. No funeral rites for them. All I got was a phone call from my mother three days later, her voice cold as she informed me of his death, like she was telling a stranger. “I thought you should know,” she’d said. Not “I miss you,” or, “Pleasecome home,” or even, “How are you doing?” Just the bare minimum obligation of information before she hung up.
I hadn’t spoken to her since.
“My dad’s dead too,” I said, the words tumbling out of me. “But I don’t talk to my mother. Sometimes I think I miss her. Other times she’s dead to me.” I stared straight ahead at the road. “Sorry, I know it isn’t a competition. You must think I’m pathetic, after this morning with Ezra and now all this. I promise I’m not usually like this.” Why did I even care what he thought? But I did. Because I always cared what people thought of me.
Maxwell shifted in his seat, turning toward me. “I don’t think you’re pathetic, Rory.”
He sounded so serious that I almost believed him.Almost.
“Sure,” I muttered, and the awkward silence stretched between us like an elastic band ready to snap.
