She worked her lips to the side, absently turning her phone over in her lap again and again.
“I’m sorry, honey.” I ran my fingers through her hair and tried to think of something more to say–something wise and insightful. But all I could think of was how much it sucked for her. She had a dad who failed her, a mom who wasn’t in the picture, and a surrogate mom who hadn’t wanted her. All she had left was Christian Stone, the man without a heart. This little girl needed someone with a heart in her life–someone to care about her.
“It’s not your fault,” she said, and from the way she emphasized her words, I sensed that I knew exactly who she felt the fault belonged with.
“For what it’s worth. I don’t think your uncle is trying to punish you. I think he genuinely wanted to see you in a better situation. It’s just that he’s… well, not the most equipped man in the world to nurture a young teen girl.”
Max snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
“And hey, I know this thing with the boy is hard. It probably feels like nobody could understand how bad you feel right now. And honestly? Even if an adult says they know what you’re feeling, they probably just think they do. You’re young and everything hurts more right now because it’s the first time. Nothing is ever going to hurt quite the same as that first heartbreak, and that’s okay. You’re going to feel terrible for a few days, you’ll listen to sad songs and cry your eyes out, and you’ll tell yourself he was the one. But give it a little time and I promise it’ll all start to hurt less. And then one day you’ll look back and you might even be able to laugh about how you dodged a bullet, because you’ll see him on social media with some insane conspiracy theory t-shirt on while he’s posing with his beat-up car.”
Max smirked. “You give some very specific examples.”
“Yeah, well, I had my own little heartbreak in middle school. I thought it was the end of the world. He was cool and popular and cute as anything. But twenty years later and I can safely say he was no longer any of those things.”
We both laughed, and it was good to see that Max looked to be in slightly higher spirits. I didn’t expect to cure her heartbreak with a trip to the movies, but at least I seemed to make a dent in the pain.
“Well, I should probably get you back to Stone Tower. You’re sure you don’t want that milkshake?”
Max screwed up her face. “Positive.”
* * *
We both got out of my car in the parking lot of Stone Tower. I was about to say she could head inside first and that I’d go in on my own in a few minutes. But a tall, dark man with black hair and tanned, smooth skin approached us. He had a long face with a pointed, defined jaw and the easy blue eyes of a man who was used to meeting very little resistance. He wore a deep red suit that was almost black except for little decorative trims in a lighter maroon color, and his shoes looked like they probably cost more than my car.
“Uh, hi?” I said, hoping Max would take it upon herself to scurry off towards the building before whoever this was might recognize her.
“Sorry,” the man said. He had a very slight Americanized Italian accent. He pulled a hand from his pocket and extended it toward me. “I’m Adrian Bellamo. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I thought I recognized your friend here.”
I took his hand and shook, pulling my hand back as soon as I could as if by some protective instinct.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re both in a little bit of a hurry, so if you don’t mind–”
“I’ll only take a minute of your time. I promise,” he spoke in a deliberately slow way that seemed to hold me captive. The more I was in his presence, the more I sensed something was off about this man. It felt like walking by darkened alley at night. Sometimes, an alley just like all the rest would make the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and my instincts scream to run. This Adrian guy was like one of those alleys.
Max fidgeted. “Look, dude. She said we’re in a hurry, so–”
“I know you, don’t I?” he asked. He surprised us both by easily plucking the hat and sunglasses from Max, who reached after them but not quickly enough. “Maxine Stone,” he said with a satisfied smile. “That’s so peculiar. Last I heard, your father went to jail and left you in the care of his girlfriend, no? A Miss Melina Budreau, if memory serves.”