Page 87 of Bitter Truths

We grab drinks and head toward Max, who’s snagged seats on the sofa, and I spy my damn painting still hanging on the wall. I tore the matching piece up last year in a fit of rage, but it would seem Griffin hasn’t grown tired of the remaining one.

Does he want the reminder? Or does he not care enough to take it down?

“Hey Max,” some guy with long dark hair says, and Max turns away stiffly to chat with him.

Eyeing my brother, I wonder if any of these people are even his friends or if he hung around them because Griffin did. Maybe Max doesn’t have an identity either. Maybe we’re both lost in the face of our sun moving away.

What a cluster of epic proportions.

“You okay, chica?” Aaron asks softly, and turning to him, I lean into his chest and snuggle in with a sigh.

“I love you. You know that?” I murmur when he brushes a hand down my hair gently.

“Ditto, love,” he says before pushing me away playfully. “Now, pull yourself together. The best revenge you can ever have is to move on.”

“What if I can’t?” I ask, glancing at Griffin standing by the back door and talking to his friend.

He’s smiling as he takes a chug of his beer, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that leads me to believe he’s worried or tense. Is it because of me?

I don’t know, but it makes my wish for us to be friends seem naive at best, especially when we’re all so uncomfortable around each other that we’re at opposite ends of the room.

“Then pretend,” Aaron says.

Nodding, I turn my head just as Griffin looks my way, and I frown when I spy a face I didn’t expect coming through the crowd. He’s looking for Max and heading in his direction when he glances toward me and smiles.

Ice slides down my spine at that look because this dick has always given me creepy, dangerous as fuck vibes. What the fuck is Patch, my brother’s drug dealer and the dick who threatened me, doing here? And how can he possibly walk through, as pretty as you please, knowing he’s not welcome?

Max is facing away from him, and I half rise with alarm when Patch taps his shoulder and Max turns, his face losing all color.

“Shit,” I mutter, standing to push through the crowd.

I can’t see Patch’s face or hear what he says, but Max searches his gaze with wide eyes before nodding and following Patch back toward the front door.

“Max!” I call, but he doesn’t turn back.

Bumping into people in my rush to get to Max, I emerge at the door as he stops beside Patch’s car at the curb, and another man leans out the passenger side window. He’s a scary motherfucker with cold, dark eyes, and when I see his wide smile, I lose track of my footing and stumble on the last step.

Fuck. I hesitate because this new guy only has to smile, and I’ve got visions of horror films dancing through my head. Jesus, what now?

Max shakes his head vehemently, and Patch slaps his face. Rearing back, Max bows his head.

“Max?” I call, stepping forward.

Max turns to me with wide eyes and says roughly, “Go back inside.”

“Not so fast. Who’s this?” The guy in the car says.

Ignoring his question, I say softly, “You need to leave my brother alone, or I’m calling the police.”

“Is that right? And what are you going to tell the pigs, baby bitch, that your brother got shaken down by his boss?” Patch sneers.

“What the fuck did you just call her?” Griffin says icily behind me.

Max lifts his hand and waves it in our direction. “You both need to go back inside, now,” he says shakily.

“Go,” Griffin says, stepping past me into the yard.

“Griff—”

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