“Of course we are.”
“Then I’m here as a friend, not as an employee, if that makes you feel better,” Felix said, and before Max could try again, and maybe not put his foot anywhere near his mouth this time, he swept out of the room.
“Fuck,” Max said wholeheartedly to the empty space where Felix had just been.
With Felix obviously occupied with groceries and some kind of meal, Max finally reached for his phone. He carefully peeled off the sticky note—hot pink, Felix’s favorite color—and stuck it gently against the wood surface of the table. He quickly texted his parents first, letting them know that he was fine, that he had someone helping him out, and that he was glad they hadn’t come from their retirement home in Florida just for the surgery. Then he opened the group chat he shared with the other Star Shadow members. Felix wasn’t in this one—it actually predated Felix’s involvement with the group, which had only come about after the reunion tour—but Felix’s brother was. And Max knew Leo would goddamn lose his mind if he thought Max wasn’t being appropriately grateful that Felix was there.
Surgery went fine, but it turns out I had an unexpected ride home.
Max watched as, one by one, the message was read by all four other members.
Great, Leo responded. We’re both so glad that it went well. And it shouldn’t be unexpected. Did you think we’d leave you without any help?
Sighing, Max let the phone slip to the comforter. That was exactly why he hadn’t asked Felix. This wasn’t his job, even if Leo might act like it was. There was a part of him that wanted to ask if Leo had asked him, or if Felix had actually volunteered, but he was afraid to hear the answer.
He wouldn’t have blamed Felix if he stayed away for longer, if he left entirely, after how epically Max had fucked up his explanation. But twenty minutes later, he was back, and he had a plate in one hand and a glass in the other.
“I made you a sandwich. Peanut butter. Cherry jelly. No crusts. Just the way you like it.” Felix perched on the end of the bed and passed the plate over. “Just make sure you don’t get crumbs everywhere. My skills might extend—barely—to the kitchen, but I’m not going to be your housekeeper too.”
Max took the plate. “You don’t have to do any of it. That’s what I was trying to say.” He paused. “Badly.”
Felix rolled his eyes. “And leave you here, on your own, when you’ve just had your knee torn open? I don’t think so. You need help, whether you want to admit it or not. Besides, I thought you might appreciate that it was me and not some stranger that you couldn’t trust.”
He wasn’t sure he was reading it right, because sometimes Felix could be both frustratingly opaque and perfectly, clearly open, but Max was getting the impression that his half-hearted attempts to push Felix away were actually hurting his feelings. Maybe he did want to be here.
“Of course I’m glad it’s you,” Max said between bites of peanut butter and jelly. “You even know how I like my sandwiches.”
Smiling, Felix handed him a glass of milk just when he wanted it. Even with the awkward distance of the last few months, it was a reminder that underneath, they were still very good friends who’d spent a lot of time together. More time than Max thought the other guys in the band knew about.
“I’ve got your pain pill too,” Felix said. “You’re probably going to be begging me for it soon.”
“As long as you give it to me before you leave for the night,” Max joked feebly.
Felix shot him a baffled look. “When I leave for the night?”
“When you leave for the night,” Max repeated impatiently. About eight months ago, Felix had bought an adorable little bungalow near Venice Beach, and was carefully, painstakingly restoring it to its former glory. It was only about a twenty-five-minute drive from Max’s house. At the time, Max had hoped that he’d bought closer to Max than to Leo and Caleb on purpose, but after Felix had begun to be selectively “busy,” and only occasionally respond to Max’s texts, it was hard to assume that anymore.
Turning suddenly, Felix marched back out of the room, leaving Max awkwardly balancing the plate on his good leg and holding the half-empty glass.
But before Max could call out and apologize—for what, he wasn’t quite sure, but he was sure gonna try anyway—Felix was back, holding a large Louis Vuitton duffel bag. “What do you think this is?” Felix demanded.
“A bag?”
Felix shook his head. “It’s my bag, you dummy. I’m staying here. You just had fucking surgery on your knee, and you’re going to be on heavy pain meds. Do you really think I’m leave you alone for a second?”
Max couldn’t quite believe it. Felix was staying here?
“Well,” he joked feebly, “I do hope you leave me alone for a second. I might need to take a shit.”
Felix didn’t smile or laugh. Just stared at Max.
“Okay, well, other than that, I . . .” Max swallowed hard. “I’m grateful. I guess it was stupid to think I could do this without any help.”
“Monumentally,” Felix bit off. “Completely fucking moronic.”
Max was trying to remember that one of the things he’d always loved most about Felix’s friendship was that he didn’t hold back—he told you the whole truth, even when it wasn’t pretty. Pretty, why was that word cropping up all the time? Max felt like he was missing something, and he was afraid it was from his brief time in the hospital, when he’d been drugged out of his mind.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Max said, chuckling under his breath. “I really get it.”
“And,” Felix added, like Max hadn’t even spoken, “Leo didn’t ask me to be here or order me, or any of that bullshit I know you’re thinking. I’m doing this because you’re my friend, and I care about you.”
“Good, because I’d hate to think you’d give up your break for me just because you felt obligated.”
“Why?” Felix questioned. “Because normally I’m in charge of you?”
That was the other thing about Felix—he one hundred and ten percent believed that he was the boss, and Star Shadow should listen to everything he said. Which was . . .painfully, embarrassingly probably the best way the situation could work, as far as Max was concerned. But then he didn’t need Felix’s ego growing any bigger. His head wasn’t going to fit through the door.
“I kind of think we’re in charge of ourselves,” Max suggested.
Felix rolled his eyes. “That’s cute,” he said.
“I pay you,” Max protested. “Well, we pay you.”
Felix’s glare turned pitying. “But do you, really? I manage the payroll, and all the HR for everyone who works for you. Including myself.”
“That’s . . .” Max swallowed hard. “That’s a good point. You know, we really couldn’t do any of this without you.”
“Oh, believe me, I know it. The only question,” Felix said, taking the plate and depositing a pill on Max’s upturned palm, “is, do you?”
Chapter Three
As he marched out of Max’s room, Felix wondered why he let Max push his buttons—well, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? He knew why Max’s button-pushing always worked, and there were equal parts of him that anticipated and dreaded the moment when Max didn’t affect him anymore. What would that feel like, if he finally got over Max? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.