Max looked up sharply. “Excuse me?”
“Your name,” Jed repeated. “What’s your fucking name?”
“What? What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Tell me your name.”
Max stared at him like he’d grown two heads. “You know my name, Jed.”
“Do I?”
Max froze, like he suddenly understood the gravity of the situation, like he suddenly knew he’d been caught.
Jed waited… waited for the indignant, defensive anger that would put the final nail in the coffin. It was classic, textbook human behavior, and though Max was unique in many ways, in this he was the same as any other man.
Max shoved the photos aside and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes flashed with a fire Jed had never seen from him before. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck has got into you, or what the hell these photos are, but you don’t get to talk to me like that. Not here, not in my own bloody home.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“No, I’m not! I’ve never lied to you.”
“Oh yeah?” Jed picked up the box of old junk, the box he’d absently picked up to search behind for the missing cordless phone. It was only by chance that a typical, jarring pain in his leg had caused him to drop it and reveal the photographs hidden inside.
He jammed the box back on the shelf, scooped up the photos, and stormed past Max to the boat shed door. He didn’t look back to see if Max followed.
He knew Max would.
He crossed the yard and slammed open the cabin door. It smacked against the wall, gouging out a hole. He ignored it. The rented cabin was Max’s pride and joy, but in that moment, he didn’t give a shit. All that mattered was getting to the bottom of the sudden black hole between them.
He went to the sink, pulled out the locked medicine box, and busted it open on the table. Max flinched again. The unease in his eyes bothered Jed, but he was beyond reason. He rummaged in the box, spilling pill bottles and packets until he found what he was looking for.
“There.” Jed pulled out the Irish passport he’d found all those months ago and tossed it on the table. “If you’re so fucking honest, who the hell is Lamumba Moore?”
Silence. Max stared at the passport like he’d seen a ghost. Perhaps he had. “How did you know that was there?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it bloody matters. It’s not the sort of shit I leave lying around.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that? What have you got to hide?”
“Nothing.”
Jed closed his eyes, the fight in him gone. This was his fault. He’d known from the start that something about Max didn’t add up. He should’ve walked away, said thanks but no thanks to the room, and left Max standing by the lake.
But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d succumbed to the warm light that radiated from the spirited young man in front of him and let his attraction to him override everything he’d ever learned about dishonest human beings.
He knew Max had lied to him the very day they’d met, and he’d let it go. And for what? A quick fuck when he was feeling down? A helping hand when he felt like shit? A year ago, such foolishness would have got him killed. Life had changed beyond recognition since then, but the deception was no easier to take.
An ache formed at the top of Jed’s gut. He steadied himself on the kitchen counter. His gaze fell on the photographs again, and he shook his head, baffled. Nothing made any sense, but the pictures least of all. Max was seven years younger than him. He would’ve been twelve years old when Jed was shipped out to Somalia. Why the hell would he have pictures of a war he was too young to remember?
Why the hell would he havethosegoddam pictures?
Max turned his back on him and began gathering up the scattered medications. He threw them into the damaged box, his movements sharp and jerky. Even from behind, Jed could tell he was as worked up as he was.
Fuck that. Jed was angry, really fucking angry, but however mad he was, the last thing he wanted was Max dropping with a seizure.
“This is bullshit. Just tell me. Whatever it is. If you’re in trouble, I can help you. Or don’t tell me, and I can walk away right now. Nothing is worth this, Max. Trust me. This kind of shit fucks you up.”