Bottle It Up: (A Between the Pines Novel) Read online

  Max beats me to the front door, and with Sibby stopped in the middle of the driveway, distracted by something on her phone, he leans down when he opens the door and whispers in my ear.

  “You should be proud of yourself. You did great today. Just like I told you you would.”

  My feet are frozen to the spot, staring at him and wondering just where in the world he came from. Once again, he’s gifting me with the encouragement I need after my frustrating conversation with Sibby. He gives me one of his classic nods, and I’m starting to think his nods are like their own kind of sign language.

  The tapping of Sibby’s heels coming up the walkway moves me along, rushing inside. Once inside, she’s over the top about how cute my place is, and all it does is get under my skin. Half the time, she’s looking at her phone, and it couldn’t be clearer that she’s faking it because she knows I wasn’t happy about our conversation in the car.

  “Hey, I’m gonna go change and…”

  Max’s pocket pings, and both he and Sibby look down at their phones. Sibby’s face pales, and Max’s hardens, and somehow his jaw ticks, and his nostrils flare all at once.

  “What?”

  Sibby looks at Max. “I’m calling 911.”

  “No!” he barks. “That’s what they want. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Miss Ford, wait right here please.”

  “What do you mean wait right here?”

  Storming past me and down the hall, he checks the bathroom and all three bedrooms.

  “Miss Ford, go ahead and change, and please pack a bag,” he orders, disappearing into the spare room he’s staying in.

  “What do you mean pack a bag? It’s only Tuesday; we aren’t leaving until Sunday.”

  “Pack for a week just to be safe. Be sure to bring some winter clothes.” He’s calm. Matter of fact. Throwing his things in his bag and dialing his phone.

  “Smith, you got it too?”

  He pauses, listening to Smith on the other end.

  “Yep, I’ll text you our travel details shortly. You and Cleveland okay to hang back to see what you can find here in Eastlyn?”

  What the hell do they all know that I don’t?

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  “What’s going on, Max?”

  “If you could go pack, I’ll work on getting our flights arranged.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask louder. Firmer.

  “Somewhere safe.” His eyes are full of sincerity, and I know I should do what he’s asking, but why won’t he tell me what’s going on?”

  “Somewhere safe? What are you talking about?”

  “Miss Ford, please just do as I ask.”

  “You aren’t asking; you’re telling, Max!” I scream at him.

  “Emmett, Max is right. Do what he says, sweetie.” Sibby puts her hands on my shoulders, guiding me to my room.

  “But I’m supposed to meet up with everyone for drinks and then my parents for dinner.”

  “Text them from the car, honey.”

  Chapter 11

  Max squeezes into the aisle seat of row 22 after hitting his head on the overhead compartment when he got up to let the businessman in the window seat squeeze by him. “Well, you got your wish.”

  We barely made our connecting flight in Portland, and we’re both a little on edge. I texted the girls and called my parents on our way to the airport, and we were on our flight from Pendleton to Portland within an hour and a half of arriving home from the store opening. Max and I had aisle seats across from each other during the short hour-long flight that he spent either on his phone or his computer. Now, with five hours ahead of us, we’re seated next to each other, and his electronic devices are all stored in the overhead compartment, at least for the time being.

  “And what wish was that? To be pulled away from my home, without being told where I’m going, and missing Thanksgiving with my family?”

  “But you’re flying commercial. Silver lining?”

  “Smart-ass.”

  I can hear his attempt at humor in his voice, but I’m still pissed. Looking at the screen on the back of the chair in front of me as though it were the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen. My hands are in my lap, elbows pressed to my sides with nowhere else to go. Mr. Window Seat rudely took one of my armrests and Max, well Max just doesn’t fit in the seat, and therefore, my other armrest is all his.

  “Sorry,” he says when his shoulder pushes me toward Mr. Window Seat while he struggles to get his seat belt on. “I know it’s close quarters, but these were the best seats I could get at the last minute.”

  “The seat is fine. I just wish I knew what was going on in my own life.”

  “Miss Ford…”

  “I mean, what could have been so bad that we had to run away like that?”

  “Listen, whoever was doing this was in Eastlyn. It wasn’t just paparazzi pictures this time. A blocked number sent pictures, only this time they were of you outside your house, at The Verdict, at the bookstore.”

  “How is it possible that there could have been a stranger hanging around Eastlyn that none of us noticed?”

  “Well, what I’m afraid of, is that it isn’t a stranger. Thinking it’s somebody you know. Somebody who knows where you spend your time. Someone who can get up close and personal without anyone being the wiser. Emmett, they were in your house today while we were at the opening.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There was a picture of your bedroom. And there was today’s paper on your bed proving it was taken today.”

  “Oh.”

  A sliver of fear crawls down my spine. My knuckles turn white as I tighten the grip on my interlaced fingers to try to hide the fact that my body is shaking from the inside out with the news that there was somebody in my house today.

  “Right, so we’re gonna take a little trip just the two of us. You can’t let anyone know where we’re going. Not even Josh. We just need to lay low for a bit.”

  Gee, a trip with just the two of us. Twist my arm.

  “New York doesn’t seem very low profile.”

  “We’re just flying into New York. We’re going to Jersey.”

  “What’s in New Jersey?”

  “My family.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say your family?”

  Clearing his throat, he tries his best to adjust in his chair. “It’s unexpected, and nobody will look for you there. Hell, they wouldn’t even look for me there.”

  “You don’t go home often?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “How come?”

  “Been busy.”

  “What’s your hometown like?”

  “Well, Phillipsburg isn’t as small as Eastlyn, but it’s a quaint township, just like all the other townships in that part of the state. We sit right on the Pennsylvania border, and it’s actually really pretty. I think you’ll like it. P-burg is the kind of place where the whole town goes to the Phillipsburg vs. Easton high school football game on Thanksgiving Day, but not before they’ve gone to the bonfire the night before. It’s a thing.”

  “So...we’re gonna be with your family for Thanksgiving. Does that mean we’ll be going to the big game?”

  “I haven’t really thought that far ahead. In fact, I haven’t even called to say we’re coming.”

  “We’re just gonna show up?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, this should be fun.”

  “It will be fine.”

  “So, let me guess, you played football, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you were one of the popular kids?”

  Modestly, his shoulders lift as if to say, what can I say?

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  “A brother. Alex.”

  “Are you close?”

  Another shrug.

  “Been a while?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, were you homecoming or prom king?”

  “How’d you know?”
/>
  It’s my turn to shrug.

  Two hours into our flight, we’re chatting away like it’s our first date. We know each other’s favorite movies, and I’ve decided to forgive him for calling Love Actually lame. He’s decided to overlook my love of Justin Bieber, but only because he couldn’t deny that the Biebs has had some pretty great hip-hop collaborations.

  During all of our talking, we’ve had a couple of cocktails, so even though the captain warned us there was turbulence ahead, it still startles the hell out of me, and I grab his hand without even thinking about it.

  “Shoot, sorry.”

  He squeezes my hand, not letting me pull away. But I’m too tired to analyze what it means. Instead, I let the day catch up with me resting my head on his shoulder and floating away to dreamland.

  It’s late when we pull up to the sweet two-story house in a quiet neighborhood where all the houses have acres of land that I’m sure in daylight is beautiful. Pulling into a driveway our headlights light up the sedan parked under the car park, as well as a big truck parked uncovered next to it.

  We park our rental car next to the truck and sneak around the back of the house. Max messes with the back door and then opens it without a sound.

  “I think it’s safe to say you’ve done this a time or two.”

  “Yep.”

  “So prom king and bad boy all rolled into one.”

  “Shh...remember if you wake my mom up, she’ll feel the need to cook, and we’ll be up all night.”

  “Got it. Sorry. Wait, I thought you texted to let them know you were coming?”

  “I texted my dad, but he promised not to tell Mom until the morning.”

  We creep through a dark living room and up some creaky stairs that lead to a short hallway with three doors. Max opens the first door on the left and flips the switch illuminating the bathroom, flips it off, and then leads me to the room on the right.

  Wood paneling, a short brown dresser, and a full-size bed covered in peach floral are a welcome sight. Hell, the air mattress already blown up for us looks good too. Even after a two-hour nap on Max’s shoulder, I’m exhausted. I’m so tired I don’t think I have it in me to cover the air mattress with the sheets that were left on top of it.

  “I’ll take the air mattress, and you take the bed.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine on the floor.”

  “Don’t start. I’m on the floor, and you’re on the bed. Why don’t you do what you need to do in the bathroom before hitting the hay, and I’ll get the extra bed made up.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say with not nearly the punch I would usually give my sarcastic reply.

  I grab my bag and head to the adorable bathroom full of pink accents against a pink floral wallpaper. I change into a sleep shirt, and some leggings, then pile my hair on top of my head and make quick work of washing my face and brushing my teeth. When I get back to the room, Max is sitting on the edge of the bed with his laptop open, but he closes it as soon as I walk in the room.

  “My turn?”

  “It’s all yours.”

  “Be right back.”

  “Hey, Max?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you have to pick the lock if your dad knew you were coming?”

  “It’s his way of saying he knows I used to sneak out and then back in as a kid. He always says he’ll leave the back door open for me, and it’s always locked. It’s just kind of our thing, I guess.”

  “Like an inside joke. That’s cute,” I manage to get out through a yawn.

  “Just go to bed, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

  “So bossy,” I say, climbing under the covers. The peach comforter may not be my style, but it’s downy soft, and this bed may be even more comfortable than mine at home.

  What a day.

  I woke up to Max barefoot in my kitchen. Opened my own business on Main Street. Was rushed out of my hometown to fly across the country while holding Max’s hand and sleeping on his shoulder. Because I apparently have a stalker. Now, here I am, hands dried on pretty pink towels cozy under a peach floral explosion, but the most shocking thing about this entire day is how with all of this running through my mind, I am still too exhausted to stay awake another second.

  Chapter 12

  Stretching myself awake, I adjust on my pillow to avoid the bright light blinding me through the small space in the curtains that have opened just enough to do the dirty work of an alarm clock.

  I’m slow to fully wake until a few more seconds go by, and I take in my surroundings.

  Shit!

  I’m in New Jersey at Max’s parents house!

  Pulling the comforter up to my neck, I peek over the edge of the bed, but the space that should be filled with my giant bodyguard on the floor next to me is empty. Bed made. No trace of him.

  Where is he?

  Sitting up in bed, I sigh and my mouth smiles to find my phone plugged in next to the bed. I know I was way too tired to have had the mindset to do that myself. No, that was all Max. How very thoughtful of him.

  My internal clock says it isn’t time to get up, but it’s already nine o’clock, East Coast time, so I force myself out of bed. I throw on a hoodie, brush my teeth, and make sure I’m presentable before I go in search of Max. I wander down the steps and through the living room we crept through like criminals last night, and it’s then I notice this part of the house looks like it was added on, like it was built in a different decade than the rest of the house. However, there are two recurring themes throughout the house, wood paneling and pictures of Max and his brother, Alex.

  Baby pictures, grade school pictures. Pictures in the snow and pictures from prom. Max’s senior pictures are where you really start to see him blossom, but once you get to his military pictures, you start to see more of the man I know today. A thinner version with fewer scars but definitely, the man I know.

  His brother must have kids because there are recent baby pictures as well as a grade school picture of a little boy clearly taken recently, even if he is the spitting image of a similar picture of Max down the hall. He must look a lot like his brother to have a nephew who looks so much like him.

  Finally peeling myself from the pictures, I tiptoe into the kitchen where Max sits at the u-shaped kitchen table with a man who must be his father, both of them looking at something on Max’s laptop with giant smiles on their faces. His mother is at the stove cooking, but when she swings around to say something, she sees me lurking in the corner.

  “Good morning, you must be Emmett. I’m Mrs. Hopper, but please call me Linda. Did you want some coffee or juice? How would you like your eggs? Over easy? I’m guessing you're an over-easy girl. Am I right?”

  “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Linda. A cup of coffee would be great, but I can get it myself. Just point me in the right direction.”

  “Nonsense, go have a seat, and I’ll bring it right over. Max says you like mochas, so if you want me to sneak some chocolate in there, I can do that. Now, how about those eggs?”

  He told her what kind of coffee I like? Isn’t that interesting?

  “I’m good with a little sugar and a splash of milk. And over easy would be perfect.”

  “I knew it!” Linda boasts.

  “Morning,” Max says with a smile not just on his face but in his voice as well. A smile that says I told you it was better to sneak in the back and not wake my mom up last night. “Emmett Ford, this is my father, Donny,” he says, closing his laptop.

  I see where he gets his barreled chest and broad shoulders. If it weren’t for his hazel eyes, he would be the spitting image of his father, but he has his mother's eyes. And from the pictures on the walls, his brother, Alex, got his dad’s piercing blues.

  Donny offers me his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Ford.”

  “Thank you so much for having us. I know it was last minute, and I really appreciate you letting us stay.”

  “Nonsense,” Linda chimes, delivering my coffee. “It’s
been way too long since Max has been home, and the fact that he’s home for the holiday is even better.”

  “Well, still, it’s very kind of you. I’m sure it isn’t every day your son turns up in the middle of the night with one of his clients.”

  “Very true, but we’ll take a visit from him any way we can get it. Won’t we, Donny?”

  “I’m afraid these days we will.” Max and Donny are sitting side by side in the middle section of the table, so Max is close enough for his dad to put his arm around him and pull him close. “It’s been too long, Son. Never again.” He kisses him on the top of his head and then releases him. It’s incredibly sweet.

  “I know, Dad, I promise.”

  Linda lifts the bottom of her peach apron to her eyes and pats them dry.

  I feel like an intruder who’s sitting smack dab in the middle of a private family moment. Max said it had been a while since he’d been home. I wonder what his idea of awhile is?

  I sit back quietly and blow on my cup of coffee before taking a sip, wishing I could disappear and let them have their moment.

  “Well, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters. I just hope next time you’ll bring my grandson with you. Now, Emmett, tell us about yourself.”

  Grandson?

  He has a son?

  Max is a dad?

  Swallowing the sip of coffee I nearly spit all over the table when she mentioned her grandson, I hide my shock and tell them what little there is to tell about me, eat my eggs, my toast, and even some bacon. It’s good but not as good as the bacon I had with yesterday morning.

  How was that just yesterday?

  It feels like a lifetime ago.

  After eating, I excused myself to go take a shower. While washing away the gross feeling of a cross-country flight, I couldn’t help but continue thinking about Max being a dad, and how it’s possible to spend so much time with someone but not really know them.

  The real question is, why does it matter so much to me? It’s really none of my business. Still, it matters.