Max pulled up the car to his driveway. He shut off the engine, and just sat. He wanted more than anything for Liz to be happy, but deep inside, he wanted to be her source of happiness. He felt horrible for deserting her, and then expecting her to stay away from every guy, but more than jealousy, Max was frustrated being away from her. He had an urge to go back, and take back everything he had said to her, but he told himself that what they were doing was ultimately good. Although, Max was starting to wonder if he was so right in the first place.

Max had seen Liz decline Dave’s offer, and while that relieved him, he felt responsible for making her feel so unhappy. But there was really nothing he could do about it. It was better that she moved on. If they both dwelt on their current situation, they were destined for gloom for the rest of their lives.

Max reached home to see his mother sitting on the couch reading a book.

“Hi honey. Where were you?”

“Oh, just…nothing.” Max mumbled.

Max was about to go up to his room, and seek solace in the Counting Crows, when his mother spoke. “Max, is it okay if we talk for a little bit? I wanted to ask you something.”

“Mom, I’m really tired. I should really just go to bed--“

“I know. I know. You’ve had midterms and should get some rest, but I’m worried about you. We all are -- myself, your father and Isabel. Is there something wrong that you want to tell us about?”

Max stood silent. “No,” he finally answered.

“No, there’s nothing wrong, or no, you won’t tell us?” Mrs. Evans warily eyed the face of her expressionless son.

“No, there’s nothing wrong.”

“I mean, honey, I know you’re naturally quiet, but it seems you’ve been more reserved than ever. Are you doing okay in school?”

“I’m doing fine, mom. Really.”

“What is it then? Friend problems?”

Max shook his head.

“GIRL-friend problems?” she asked pointedly.

“Mo-om, I’m fine. Believe me. Don’t worry. You worry too much. I’m gonna go sleep now. Goodnight.” With that, Max took the stairs up to his room.

Max threw himself onto his bed, and turned on the radio. The soft strumming of a guitar lulled him to sleep. Max listened closely, and heard one of his favorite bands playing on the radio -- Gomez. He always thought of Liz when he heard “We Haven’t Turned Around.” Max closed his eyes as the rich chords lulled him to sleep, whilst he began to dream about the only person that had ever meant anything to him more than life itself, the girl that had captivated him from the millisecond he laid his eyes on her graceful figure -- Liz.

*****

Liz was writing in her journal when she heard the one song that made her want to drop everything, and find solace in Max’s arms. She looked up, half-imagining that Max was right there in the room with her. For some reason, she felt like he was there.

Shaking her head, she looked down at her journal and continued to write.

“What bothers me most about this whole thing with Max is how I’ve been acting. I feel like a spoiled brat towards Max. And now, Dave Lynch appears at my side. What does that mean? Is it a sign? A sign that Max and I really aren’t meant to be? That Max was right about us all along, even though I pray he truly believes different?

The thing is, every ounce of my body tells me that Max and I are so right for each other. But if I hadn’t been shot that day, maybe we would have never happened. And that really scares me. I don’t know who I’d be without him. Being without him now is scary enough. But the idea of never being with him and never being able to be with him makes me so scared and depressed that I don’t even know what to think anymore.”

Liz dropped her pen onto her journal, and pushed it all aside. She curled up on her bed, still wearing her dress and ridiculous headband from work. She fell asleep, thinking of Max Evans. She thought about his touch, his smell, his taste. She thought about his broad shoulders and the strength and support they gave her. She loved the feeling she got whenever she was in his arms. She felt so safe. She loved the feeling of his chin resting on her head, and the way he looked at her when she was so close to him. She loved the half-smile he reserved for her. Or at least, used to reserve for her. She thought about his rich, deep eyes that made her feel dizzy whenever she so much as glanced at him…