Page 85 of All the Forbidden Things

My stomach rumbles loudly as a waft of bacon hits my senses.

“Look out, foods arrived,” Lennon states as Billie appears at the top of the stairs.

My eyes meet her wide smile, and she says, “my coffee machine arrived. I won’t have to sue you now.”

After a long, mentally drainingday, I’m on my way up the stairs to bed at the rock-star time of 9:00 PM. Billie and I went to Cal and Mel’s for dinner, but today has taken a toll on us both, and we were yawning in unison at the table. When we arrived back home, Billie went straight over to her place, and I put Layla directly to bed. I’ve just come down to lock up the house, when I find Deana making herself a drink. As much as I hate the intrusion, I can’t really tell her she can’t use my kitchen while she’s here. Not wanting to talk to her, I decide to use the time to stick my head in Whitney’s room and feign interest in her wellbeing.

When I pause in her open doorway, I find her lying back in her bed, watching something on the telly. “You got everything you need?” I ask.

Her brows rise in surprise at my voice as her eyes slide my way. “Max, yeah, thank you.” She pushes herself up into a sitting position. “Come in, please. Can we talk?”

I shake my head. “Whit, it’s been a long day. I’m tired. Can it wait?”

“No. Please, Max, I won’t keep you, I promise.”

I raisemyeyebrows now, ready to say something pissy about Whitney’s promises, but I decide that she just isn’t worth the effort.

“I know things got a little heated earlier, and I’m really sorry about that. I don’t expect you to believe anything I say after the way I’ve behaved, but I genuinely am sorry, Max. For all of it. For what I did to you, to Layla. And I want you to know how truly grateful I am for the way you’re helping me out.”

I feel nothing as I stare at her face, which is still beautiful and a lot less gaunt than when I saw her in the hospital. Still, it stirs nothing in me. I listen to her words and, nothing.

“I fucked up. I’ve thrown away the best things in my life, and I know I’ll never get them back. I knew it when I was doing it, and I know it now. I also understand that we can never be friends, but please Max, can we just try and get along for however long I’m here?”

“I thought you said it’d just be a week or so?”

I watch as she rubs each of her fingertips over the pads of her thumbs, something I know she does when she’s stressed.

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

I lift my chin when her eyes meet mine. “What?”

“Although I was released from the rehab facility early, it wasn’t because of the progress I was making, it was because I’ve managed to get my pain under control and no longer need to be hooked up to the IV.”

“So, what progresshaveyou made, what’s the prognosis?”

She blows out a breath, and her green eyes fill with tears. “Progress has been slow. They’re still hopeful that I’ll regain full use of my legs, but the longer . . . the longer . . .”

She trails off on a sob, and I jerk because, for one infinitesimal moment, I instinctively move forward to comfort her, and then I remember.

I remember it all. Who she is and what she’s done.

I fold my arms across my chest and watch as a shaky hand comes up to cover her mouth as she cries.

“I’m scared, Max. I’m so fucking scared I’ll never walk again. I don’t know what I’ll do. I have nothing, no money, no home, no way of supporting myself if I can’t walk, and I just don’t know what I’ll do.”

I hear the tremble in her voice. I watch the tears track down her cheeks and drip from her chin. Her nose is running, and despite her desperate attempts to wipe it away with the back of her hand, it flows onto her lips where she swipes at it with her tongue. That act alone should maybe repulse me, make me flinch at least, but still, nothing. I’m numb to all things Whitney Federov.

That doesn’t make me a monster, though, so as little sympathy I have for her, despite the zero empathy I feel, I know I have no option but to help her out.

“You can stay here for the next few weeks. Keep up with your physio and decide whether you want to remain living here.” Her eyebrows shoot up, and I know that I haven’t made myself entirely clear. “Byhere, I mean in the UK, or if you want to go back to the States, where, at least, you’ll have the support of your parents and sister. If you choose to go back, I’ll help you out financially with a flight.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Max. Thank you so much.” She reaches out to touch my arm, but I step back out of her reach.

“This changes nothing, Whit. I’m doing this because you’re Layla’s mum, no other reason. It doesn’t mean I feel anything but contempt for you and the things you’ve done.”

She carries on wiping at her face and letting out little sobs, but none of it touches me.

“I’ll talk to Aaron about all of this tomorrow, and, in the meantime, I need you to focus on getting better. If you choose to go home, which I sincerely hope you do, we’ll figure out how to make that happen.”