C.A.R.M.A

17

"You remembered?", I asked. Gesturing in disbelief at the lemon drop next to his old fashioned, and the basket of french fries I saw sitting on the table.

An old tradition, in a past life with him, after a successful kill.

Max smiles at me, eye level from his barstool. I stumble back a step, not meaning to walk that close.

The bartender smiles at me, her long braid cascading over her shoulder. "He insisted I make them quick while you were in the bathroom. Tipped me handsomely for it, too." A wink.

I met Max's stare, mischief dancing in his eyes. He knew and I knew exactly why I'd want the vodka and salt. What exactly had sparked my appetite.

That happy look flickered and vanished when he said "Thea. I really want to explain why I left."

I let out a long breath and decided. "I don't. I want to get drunk with my friend and talk about the good old days."

His eyes sparkled with mischief again, "Well, Killer", an old nickname, from our old life again. "Congrats on another take down."

"Oh, Wisdom", I gushed. So easy, so incredibly, stupidly, wonderfully easy to fall into our old patterns. "I could never do it without you."

And so began many hours of reminiscing. We ordered another drink and another. The bartender smirked at us, pouring us shots. As if she knew she was fanning an old flame. Sparking it back to life.

"So you made Becca do all of that after she broke your nose, and she still brings you a cupcake every year?", Max shakes his head incredulously.

"Like I told you, it took some serious groveling", I rubbed my nose self consciously. "But I could never stay mad at her. Especially after CARMA bought my new one."

"I liked the old one, but I stand by what I said after the surgery, I could get used to this one", Max ran a cold finger down the bridge of my nose.

I turned away, his finger tracing down the side of my face.

"Max", I warned.

"And what about me?", he pressed. "Could you stay mad at me? Could you forgive me?"

I looked up at him.

"Not as my lover, not at first", Max continued, blazing forward like he couldn't keep the words in anymore. "But as my friend, my best friend."

If I was being honest with myself, I missed him. I missed these nights.

And I knew he was trying. I caught myself subconsciously rubbing the warm sleeve of the cardigan he'd stashed for me in the back of the car.

But could I forgive him? Could I move past the humiliation of being blindsided?

I opened my mouth to reply, having decided once more.

"Alright now", the bartender's voice sounded from the opposite end of the bar. "That's enough, Timmy, let me go."

A man slightly older than Max and I, had his button down untucked, tie slung over the back of his chair, and hand clamped firmly around the slender wrist of a woman trying to shake him off.

Her voice sounded firm and tired. Like she's done this before.

She knew his name. I felt my blood begin to roll with adrenaline.

Max watched the stranger with equal intensity as he reluctantly released the bartender. There were angry red marks blooming on her wrist.

"I know a way we could round out the night like old times", Max whispered in my ear.