A Maxley Story

Chapter 4

Bradley woke first.

For a moment, the world felt softer, warmer than it had in a long time. There was a sense of comfort around him, a warmth that he hadn't experienced since childhood, when things were simple, when being held close by someone else meant safety. His mind was still foggy, the details of earlier that afternoon blurred at the edges, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he let himself sink into that feeling, letting it fill the hollow spaces he so often kept guarded.

But as his consciousness sharpened, the weight of reality settled in. Bradley blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light filtering through the hotel room's curtains. That's when he became acutely aware of where he was—how he was.

His head was resting against Max's shoulder, their bodies pressed against each other. Max's head, in turn, leaned gently against his. The steady rise and fall of Max's chest, the soft rhythm of his breathing, sent a quiet shockwave through Bradley, pulling him fully into the present.

His heart skipped a beat, panic flickering in the back of his mind.

What the hell am I doing? He couldn't remember falling asleep so close to Max.

Bradley tensed, his muscles stiffening as it fully dawned on him the position they were in. Carefully, too carefully, he tried to extract himself from the bed without waking Max, but his movements were too sudden, too awkward. The bed creaked as he shifted, and before Bradley could steady himself, he felt his balance tip.

In a flurry of tangled limbs and pillows, Bradley fell off the edge of the bed, landing hard on his back with a thud on the carpeted floor.

Max stirred, groaning softly as his body reacted to the sudden absence of warmth next to him. His eyes blinked open, still clouded with sleep, his mind sluggish as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

"Bradley...?" Max's voice was thick with exhaustion, his brow furrowing as he rubbed at his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "What... happened?"

Bradley slowly struggled to his feet, his face flushing with embarrassment as he quickly tried to compose himself. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the bathroom door as though it were a lifeline.

"Nothing," he muttered hastily, avoiding Max's gaze. "I was just—uh, going to the bathroom."

Max, still half-asleep, blinked slowly, his confusion clear as he tried to process the scene. Bradley stood awkwardly by the bed, his posture stiff, eyes darting anywhere but at Max.

For a long, tense moment, neither of them spoke. Max's head tilted slightly as he pieced together what had likely happened, but he was too tired to press for answers. Instead, he let out a deep sigh, lying back against the pillows.

"Right..." Max mumbled, his voice still groggy. "Sure."

Bradley gave a sharp nod, limping quickly into the bathroom. Once the door clicked shut behind him, he let out a shaky breath, leaning heavily against the sink as he stared at himself in the mirror.

What the hell was that?

Bradley splashed cold water on his face, the shock of it chasing away the lingering embarrassment. He avoided his own reflection as he wiped his face dry with a towel, taking deep breaths to steady himself. He needed to clear his head.

Twenty minutes later, the two of them were on their way to the Gamma house. Max drove in silence, the thrum of the engine filling the space between them. Bradley's fingers tapped anxiously against the crutches leaning beside him, his mind racing ahead to what waited for him.

When they pulled up to the Gamma house, the scene was a bit more lively than Bradley had expected.

A group of the Gammas were outside, laughing and playing volleyball, the rhythmic thud of the ball hitting the ground punctuated by the clink of beer bottles and the carefree chatter of girls playing beer pong with some of the guys nearby. The house, once a fortress of his authority, now felt foreign—alive with a celebration he hadn't been invited to.