Abigail’s POV
The silky scarf felt cool against my fingertips as I lifted it just slightly to reveal faint bruises beneath. Catching Max’s curious glance, I quickly offered an explanation, “Ugly, right? I guess I had a bad reaction after a night out with Ella. Alcohol allergy, I think.”
I looked at him from the corner of my eye, wondering how he’d take what I just said. There was always something to Max, the way he spoke, the way he moved his body, as though he tried to control every single thing in his life out of sheer frustration that there were some thing he couldn’t control. Like people, for example.
Max hesitated, searching my face for any hint of humor. “Allergic, really?” he pressed, arching a brow.
“Yes, what else would it be?” I replied smoothly, tugging him forward as if this were any ordinary day. "Let’s keep moving."