Kate

---

What the hell happened?

It’s like they can’t stand each other—any of them, besides Kyle and Rachel. And Max...this is his office? I’d pictured something more...I don’t know. Fun, maybe. Boardroom meets breakroom, like the dotcoms of the nineties. That’s what he used to talk about. Not this sterile corporate cage.

I don’t know him at all any more.

But he defended me. He defended me...right before he called me out. I wanted to tell him I did reach out, a couple of years back. I called, and it went to somebody else’s voicemail, and it felt like an ending. Like he’d changed his number and changed his life, and I’d be intruding.

As excuses go, that one sucks.

I gather up my laptop and purse. Wes doesn’t seem to be coming back. No reason for me to hang around. And this place is creepy at night, like something out of a sci-fi movie—all silver light and hard lines. A water cooler’s dripping, out in the lobby, and it’s setting me on edge.

I tiptoe down the hall. Max’s door’s open. He’s in there, looking out over the city, bathed in the same weak moonlight as the rest of the office. Our eyes meet in the window, and he turns around. He’s changed so much, but he hasn’t—those are the same gray eyes that caught mine in algebra class. That’s the same shaggy brown hair, tamed and gelled into submission. He’s filled out, hardened around the edges, but—

“Can I help you?”

That’s not the voice I remember.

“I, uh...I—”

“Yes?” So cold.

“Thank you. For standing up for me.”

“Yeah, well.” Max shrugs. “Looked like you checked your spine at the door.” He turns his back on me. I should go. But—

“Max?”

He exhales harshly and says nothing. I should really go.

I step through his door instead of away from it. He wanted to hear from me? Here I am. Under the worst of circumstances, at the darkest of hours, but here I am. Ready to take it, whatever he wants to dish out.

“What happened with everyone? It seemed like—”

He spins on his heel. If he was masterful in the meeting, he’s terrifying now, crossing the room in two long strides. I barely suppress a yelp. He’s in my space, towering over me. “You’re asking me what happened? Me?”

“I—”

“Look, talk to Rachel. Talk to Carson. Talk to Dev—oh. You can’t. He’s gone.” Max is circling me, blocking off my exit.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Oh? Tell me, then. What did you mean, coming in here—no ‘nice to see you’, no ‘how’ve you been?’—just ‘what happened with everyone?’ like it’s my job to catch you up?”

“I didn’t know where to begin.”

He laughs, a harsh bark that has me backing away again. I can feel the chill of the night leaching through the glass. Nowhere left to run.

“Max—”

“You tore my heart out.” He snarls it at me through clenched teeth. His fists are bunched at his sides, eyes narrow with rage. I wither before him, shrinking against the window. “Our wedding day—what the fuck? And you couldn’t...you never...why?”

I can’t look at him. Let him call me a coward—I was. It’s true. But this isn’t Max. This is some stranger wearing his skin, spitting fury from his lips. It’s my turn to show him my back. I turn to the window, staring at the city with unseeing eyes.

“What? Nothing to say?”

What can I say? Nothing could be enough.

“That whole year. After Matt Danbury. After we....” Killed him? He’s advancing on me, slow, measured steps. “You were there. You saw the way I—” His voice cracks. “You kept me going through the funeral. Through the investigation, through school, through graduation—and you swore our future was waiting. Our future. Together. Don’t you remember? We were supposed to climb these towers hand in hand. You and me.”

Those were my words. We’ll climb the towers of Manhattan together. I promised him that every night for months.

“I waited for you in the church. Till it got dark out. Did you know that?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. That’s his voice. My Max. Max, who called me every morning and every night, our whole senior year. Young and vulnerable, but so strong. So determined. He kept me going as much as I did him. Didn’t he know?

“Well? Did you?”

I nod. A tear escapes and trickles down my cheek. A thousand times I’ve pictured him watching the doors as the stained glass went dark.

“Did you even think about calling?”

“No....” I couldn’t. It hurt too much already, that hole in my heart where our dreams were ripped out.

Max snorts. “’Course you didn’t. What was I thinking?” He laughs, and all trace of his old self is gone. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter, anyway. Tell me why; don’t tell me why—it’s not like I’d believe you.”

“I don’t—” My voice catches in my throat. This is horrible: my eyes are streaming. My chest’s heaving. Another word out of his mouth, and I’ll be sobbing out loud, ugly-crying right here in his office. I might not have much pride left, but I don’t want that.

“Kate....”

He’s crowding in on me, close enough I can feel his heat at my back. I turn my head to keep him from catching my eye in the window. He follows with his hand: I feel more than see his palm hovering over my hair, my shoulder, barely an inch from my skin. I break out in gooseflesh as he traces a path down my arm to the elbow, never once making contact. For an instant, I’m positive he’s going to take my hand, pull me into his arms, kiss me like he used to. Promise me—

He jerks his hand back like I’m a flame that could burn him by proximity alone. “Get out.”

“Max—”

“Get out!”

I flee. My hip collides with the corner of his desk, but I barely feel it. He’s right. I need to go. I should never have come. My first instinct was right: to run, run, far from whatever this is. It’s not too late. The airport’s half an hour away. I could be in New Zealand this time tomorrow. And where the fuck is the elevator? I press the button furiously, five times, ten, and I lose count.

“Come on...come on....”

If I run, what then? I didn’t get far enough last time. Would this time be any different? Does far enough exist?

The elevator arrives. I step inside, eager to be gone. Gone—but where? Time’s collapsing in on itself, and nowhere’s safe. Even my wavery reflection in the elevator door takes me back there—my bedroom, my mirror, my veil floating out like a dream. The way I kept turning into the light to make the beads sparkle. And the dress... I’d never worn anything so elegant. The brushed silk made my prom dress look cheap.

I watch the numbers light up, one after the other, as the elevator starts moving. I still have the note I found in the garment bag when I turned to hang up my veil:

---

I KNOW ABOUT MATT DANBURY.

LEAVE MAX. LEAVE TONIGHT. LEAVE WITHOUT A WORD.

SAY “I DO,” SHOW ANYONE THIS NOTE, I GO TO THE COPS.

---

I find myself mouthing the words I meant to say to Max after the wedding, after I showed him the note—the words I rehearsed all night. You’re my future. You’re my everything. I’d take life in prison over life without you.

It was the thought of his jubilant expression giving way to one of horror that changed my mind. The thought of his fury at the realization I’d sacrificed us all on the altar of my happiness. We wouldn’t have gotten life, not even close, but our lives, our dreams...we’d never have crawled out from under that shadow. And he’d have left me. Hated me. Everyone would have.

Everyone does.

My eyes well up anew. Was it all for nothing? Did I break both our hearts for no goddamn reason?

If I could be the one to solve the mystery—if I could bring down the blackmailer—maybe I’d redeem myself. But I don’t even have a theory. It’s been ten years. And Lake George was packed the day Matt died. Bursting at the seams with summer people. Everyone saw us head over there.

It was only a prank—we wanted Matt to know it was us. We weren’t exactly hiding. Anyone could’ve spotted Max sneaking round the side, Wes at the gate...anyone at all. Or maybe someone was lurking at the beach, after, watching us watch the smoke blot out the stars.

I’m so pissed at myself. Eight hours on the plane, and I came up with bupkis. And the meeting—I sat there like an idiot, thinking about the wedding. Max in his suit, at the head of the table; Max in his tux, at the altar. Even when they went for my throat...it was like I was looking on from a distance. Barely present.

I need to do better.

I brush away tears, wiping my eyes till my fingers come away mascara-free. Slow, even breathing—that’s the ticket. I dab concealer under my eyes between floors thirty and twenty-four; reapply my mascara the rest of the way down. I’m not getting in a cab looking like the Bride of Frankenstein. I’m going to walk out of here with my head held high, and tomorrow....

I don’t know.

A bottle of wine might inspire me.