Maybe I’d tell him the whole sordid truth. Maybe I’d stick to the schoolwork story.

Maybe I’d start speaking in tongues while my head rotated a full 360 degrees.

Someone cleared his throat before I could find out.

I looked over my shoulder to find Maxx, his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the doorframe. Our eyes met, and a flash of heated awareness blazed between us. He looked better. The dark circles weren’t as pronounced, and his skin was less sallow.

Maxx’s gaze darted down to my hand, where it was still held by Brooks, and I instantly pulled away. I shot a look at Brooks, who narrowed his eyes.

Maxx entered the room and took his usual chair, never looking away from me. I licked my lips nervously, my mouth suddenly dry. My cheeks and neck flushed, and I knew without a doubt that tonight would be a lesson in avoidance.

Brooks walked over to Maxx and held out his hand. “I’m Brooks. I’m going to be sitting in tonight. What’s your name?”

Maxx looked at Brooks’s outstretched hand and then returned his eyes to me, ignoring him completely.

The silence was deafening as it became apparent that Maxx wasn’t planning to answer.

“This is Maxx Demelo,” I hurriedly answered for him. Brooks’s lip curled up in a sneer before he turned his back to Maxx. His expression said it all. He was going to make this as awkward and difficult as possible.

Just flipping fabulous.

Thankfully, the rest of the group members arrived after that. Brooks went around introducing himself to the others, and I couldn’t help but be impressed with how easily he interacted with them, even Evan and April. He spoke with them, and they responded with a lot less venom than I was used to seeing. Of course, Brooks was a natural.

A natural pain in my ass.

After everyone had taken their seats, I let them know that Kristie was sick and I would be leading group that evening. Twyla snorted and rolled her eyes, but that was the only reaction I received. I was relieved. I hadn’t been expecting rioting in the streets, but I had been anticipating some substitute-teacher shenanigans.

I started my discussion on the stages of the recovery process. I knew this material backward and forward.

And while my mouth moved, the words flowing easily, my brain was engaged in a desperate battle. My willpower was flagging and threatening to give way under the force of Maxx’s eyes.

Do not look at Maxx! I admonished myself over and over again.

I tried to ignore the tingling sensation as I passed out the evening’s worksheet and just happened to brush my fingers against his.

I was failing miserably.

“Tonight you’re going to be writing a letter to yourself. I want you to think about where you want to be in six weeks, six months, six years. Write about the challenges you see for yourself, but also the successes you’ve had. You’re also to include some positive self-messages that your future self would want to hear. Be honest. Be realistic,” I said.

“Can I get some extra paper?” Maxx asked.

I cleared my throat and responded with a barely audible, “Sure.”

I handed him the paper, and when he took it from my hand, his fingers purposefully caressed the skin of my palm. His touch lingered, his eyes burning into mine. The room around us receded, and there was only us.

“Aubrey,” Brooks called out, returning me to reality. I instantly pulled my hand back as if the touch had singed me.

Maxx’s face darkened. He looked at Brooks, who watched us like a hawk. Maxx’s expression was murderous.

“Can I get a pencil and paper?” Brooks asked stiffly, arching his eyebrow. Maxx opened his mouth as if to say something, but I hurried over before he was able to speak.

“Here,” I said, thrusting the paper into my friend’s hand. Brooks’s eyes flashed as he looked at me.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

I returned to my chair and made nonsensical notes on my pad of paper, trying to calm the pounding of my heart. Everyone was silent; the only sound was that of the scratching of pencils on paper.

I watched Maxx as slyly as possible, but he seemed to be engrossed in writing his letter.

When the time was up, I handed out envelopes and instructed everyone to put the letters inside, writing their addresses on the outside. Kristie had explained to me that she would mail the letters at the end of the group for them to read.

“This is so f**king stupid,” Evan stated as I went around, collecting the letters. Here we go. I should have known I wouldn’t be able to get through the group without Mr. Pleasant telling everyone his opinion about something.

I tried not to roll my eyes. Honestly, I did. But I was having a hard time with self-control. “Why is that?” I asked him blandly and knew I had pissed him off.

“Like a f**king letter will change what we do with our life. This psychobabble bullshit won’t do anything. You prissy bitches on your soapboxes lecturing about what we should and shouldn’t be doing need to f**k off and worry about yourselves,” he spat out. I felt my face get hot as a few others made noises of agreement.

I held my hand out to take his letter, refusing to engage with him. Deep breaths, Aubrey. Rein it in. Ignore him. I chanted soothing phrases over and over in my head.

I knew that Evan was looking for a reaction. He wanted an argument. And I wouldn’t be giving him one even if I had some choice, colorful comments that I’d like to make.

Evan glared up at me, clicking the ring in his tongue across his bottom teeth. “I’m not giving this to you,” he said angrily. April looked between her boyfriend and me nervously.