A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter thirty two

The sky was overcast as I stood at the small gate leading to Max's house—or room more like. The world felt muted, the colors dulled. My hands trembled as I hovered at the bottom of the stairs and in front of the wooden door.

Clara—feeling immensely sorry for me—offered to distract our father to give me a chance to go out and see Max.

I had rehearsed what I would say to him over and over. Apologies mingled with confessions swirled in my mind, but all of it felt inadequate. Still, I had to try. I couldn't let things end the way they had.

"Max?" I called softly. The sound of my shoes against the cobblestones and gravel left and were replaced with the sound of creaking wood that echoed in the quiet, as I make my way to the top of the stairs—in front of the door. I suddenly hated for how loud it felt.

There was no answer.

I tried again, louder this time, my voice carrying a tremor I couldn't suppress. "Max, it's me. Please... I just want to talk."

Silence.

I hesitated, glancing at the windows. The curtains were drawn tightly, shielding the inside from view. It felt wrong to be here uninvited, but my heart urged me forward.

I knocked on the door, each tap feeling heavier than the last. "Max," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Please..."

Nothing.

"Thomas?" I called in a futile attempt.

I pressed my forehead against the wooden surface, the rough texture cool against my skin. My breath hitched as tears threatened to spill again. He was here; I knew he was. The classroom was empty and so was the bar—empty from him at least. I could smell hints of a dying fire and stale bread.

"Why won't you let me in?" I murmured, the words meant more for myself than for him.

I stepped back, swallowing the lump in my throat. I lingered for a moment longer, but the silence was unbearable. My shoulders slumped, and I turned back toward the gate, each step feeling heavier than the last.

As I walked down the stairs, I allowed myself one last glance at the door. A part of me hoped it might open, that he'd step out and tell me everything would be all right. But it stayed shut.

Of course it did.

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Third Person P.O.V

Max watched from behind the curtain, his heart breaking as she stood on the doorstep. Her voice, soft yet desperate, called out to him, but he stayed frozen, his hand gripping the windowsill tightly.

Each knock sent a pang of pain through his chest. He wanted nothing more than to open the door, to take her in his arms and tell her she was the only thing that mattered in this world. But he couldn't.

Her father's threats still echoed in his mind. The cold, unyielding tone, the promise of ruin—not for himself, but for her. Max couldn't bear to be the reason she lost everything.

"She deserves better," he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse. "She deserves a life I can't give her."

She called for Thomas as a last attempt. It shattered him. Glancing behind him, Thomas was blissfully unaware of the situation, sitting on top of the bed, his eyes fighting to stay open so Max could help him with his reading.

"Max—" Thomas began but Max quickly shifted to look at him, finger over his lip to tell him to be quiet.

When she finally turned away, her head bowed in defeat, it took everything in him not to chase after her. He pressed his fist against his mouth, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape.

"I love you," he whispered, his breath fogging the glass.

"Max, was that your pretty lady?" Thomas asked quietly.

All Max could muster up was a weak nod as he left the window and began to read the small tattered book to his brother.

Max couldn't help but think about his Annie, about how when she got back home she too would probably read a book—the one he had gotten her perhaps.

But he wouldn't know.

How could he?

-

Annalise sat by the window of her room that night, her knees drawn up to her chest. The world outside was quiet, but inside, her thoughts spiralled. She replayed the scene at Max's house over and over, each memory a fresh wound.

She didn't understand. He had promised her, had said he would wait a lifetime if that's what it took. But now, he had shut her out completely.

Her father's anger still loomed over her, the weight of his threats pressing down on her chest. But the hurt in Max's silence cut even deeper.

The sound of the door opening pulled her from her thoughts. Clara stepped inside, her face soft with concern. "You haven't eaten," she said quietly, setting a tray of food on the small table.

"I'm not hungry," Annalise replied, her voice hollow.

Clara hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the bed. "Did you go to see him?"

Annalise nodded, her gaze fixed on the window. "He wouldn't answer the door."

Clara sighed, her hand resting lightly on Annalise's arm. "You know why, don't you?"

Annalise turned to her, tears shining in her eyes. "Because of Father. Because he threatened him."

Clara nodded, her expression pained. "Max thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks he's protecting you."

"I don't want protection," Annalise said, her voice trembling. "I want him. I don't care about titles or expectations or any of it. I just... I just want him."

Clara's heart ached for her sister, but she didn't know what to say. The world they lived in was cruel, and love often came second to duty.

As the night wore on, Annalise sat in the darkness, her thoughts consumed by the man who had stolen her heart and now, it seemed, had taken it with him.

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