"Max?" My heart crumbled at his words. Maybe just at the realization of how selfish I'd been to cast him as the villain just because Nathan had hurt me in the past.

Max shook his head. "That was low. But you're going to have to talk to him sometime."

I know. Before I said it, however, someone pounded on the door. It was Nathan, uncharacteristically cheerful. "Hie ye hence to the van, wench, afore the sun comes up!"

"You really want to spend eternity with that guy?" Max's scowl bent into a reluctant smile.

"I'm having second thoughts."

In the garage, the four of us said our goodbyes. Nathan grudgingly shook Bella's hand—I could picture the word toenails flashing through his disgusted mind—and Max hugged me.

He whispered in my ear, squeezing me tighter as though it would help me comprehend. "Don't waste time on this, Carrie. The four of us might not have much left."

"Same to you," I whispered back.

Nathan and I had pulled out of the garage and onto

Wabash Avenue

before he asked me about the exchange. "So, what did Max say to you by the car?"

I could tell he was dying to know, but I couldn't share. To share would mean to explain, and to explain was to launch us into a confession I didn't want to make.

I smiled brightly, teasing, "It's a secret."

Nathan chuckled and turned back to the road.

At around midnight, Grand Rapids emerged from behind a curve as northbound I-96 turned into the Gerald R. Ford Freeway. When I was a child, I used to pass a few boring minutes in school pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes and watching the grid of sparkling lights flare up in the dark behind my eyelids. That was how the city looked at night, with my eyes opened.

"Are you awake?" Nathan asked gently from the driver's seat. He'd refused my offer of splitting the driving, citing my "long day" as reason for being rewarded with some extra sleep on the trip.

I nodded and smiled. I'd dozed a bit during the boring stretch of highway from I-94 to here, but I'd spent most of it watching Nathan. He'd hummed some of the time, occasionally singing soft lyrics from a song I didn't recognize, probably some relic-of-the-seventies classic rock monstrosity waxing poetic about Lord of the Rings. Every now and then he would smile and turn to look at me, and I'd close my eyes to feign sleep. I didn't often get a chance to observe him without his knowing, and I couldn't pass it up.

I put my hand on his knee, smiling when his leg jumped under my touch. "I was enjoying watching you be happy."

He glanced at me, his expression suddenly tender. "You're not used to it."