Max climbed into the car with Aron, the engine humming softly as they pulled away from the curb. The ride wasn’t long, but with each passing street, Max felt the weight in his chest grow heavier.
When the car slowed to a stop, he looked up at the house ahead.
And the memories came rushing in.
This place... it wasn’t just any house. This was where he had come when he’d been at his lowest—when he’d lost Jay and the darkness had been too much to bear. Back then, when he had needed someone, this had been the place he’d found.
Abby’s house.
Pushing open the car door, Max stepped out. Aron followed close behind, silent but steady, as the two of them approached the front door.
I wasn’t there when you needed me most, Max thought bitterly. Sometimes I wonder if this so-called second chance at life is harder than my first. Back then, I didn’t have people I cared about this much... not like I do now.
He knocked on the door. The sound felt loud in the quiet street.
A moment later, it creaked open. Standing there was a man who looked like life had hit him and kept on hitting.
He wore soft, rumpled cotton clothes that could have been pajamas. His beard was untrimmed, his hair uncombed, and the sour-sweet smell of alcohol clung to him. His eyes were half-lidded, dreary, as though sleep—or collapse—might take him at any moment.
"You’re the ones that called me, right?" the man asked, his voice tired. "You’re Abby’s friend. Please... both of you, come in."
Today’s meeting wasn’t just a visit. This was Max meeting Abby’s father. He had wanted to see the man before the funeral, to find out if there was anything—anything at all—he could do for Abby’s family. Especially after failing to protect her.
It was the same crushing feeling he’d experienced when he’d come here with Sam before.
Inside, Abby’s father took a seat in a single armchair while Max and Aron settled onto the couch. A small side table sat next to him, its surface cluttered with whisky bottles in various states of emptiness.
"Sorry for the mess I’m in right now," Abby’s father said with a faint, bitter smile. "I’m struggling to deal with the situation."
His gaze shifted to Max. "So... you’re Abby’s friend. How did the two of you meet?"
"The two of us met in an online game," Max said, his voice steady but low. "Both my parents... they’ve passed on. So we shared something in common." He nodded toward Aron. "Aron here is my guardian at the moment. At school... Abby was always there to brighten my day."
He paused for a second, feeling the words catch in his throat before he continued.
"She was one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. Which is why I came here today. I want to offer to pay for all the funeral expenses."
"And if there’s anything you need—anything at all—the mortgage on the house, debts, or even just enough so you can live comfortably... I want to cover it," Max said, his voice steady but carrying the weight of sincerity. "Abby helped me so much. I want to at least be able to help you in return."
For a long moment, Abby’s father didn’t answer. He just sat there in the quiet, the whisky glass near his hand catching the faint light. Then, without a word, he picked it up and threw back the entire drink in one swallow.
"It’s a very generous offer," he said finally. His eyes flicked toward Aron. "And based on your guardian here, I can tell you’re serious about it. I don’t know how Abby ended up with a friend like you... but I’ll have to decline."
Max blinked, caught off guard.
He knew people had pride, that sometimes they refused help because they didn’t want to feel like a burden. But after everything Abby had done for him, after how much she had mattered to both of them... he had thought her father might accept.
"I’m sure you’ve got plenty of money, so maybe it doesn’t mean much to you," Abby’s father continued, his voice hardening. "But I’m not declining out of pride, if that’s what you’re thinking. Money... I hate money. I absolutely hate it. I think I’d be better off without it entirely."
He set the empty glass down with a dull thud.
"Do you know why I was away so much? I work on an oil rig—out at sea. I’m gone for six months at a time, sometimes longer. That’s why I wasn’t here."
His eyes turned distant, as if replaying years of decisions.
"I only started that job recently. Before that, I worked in a supermarket for most of my life. When Abby was old enough—at least, when I thought she was old enough to stay home alone—I took the oil rig job. Do you know why?"
Max didn’t answer.
"It was for the money," he said bitterly. "I thought, if I made more, I could make her happier. I thought she’d have enough to buy whatever she wanted, go to whatever university she dreamed of, and we’d never have to worry about bills again."
He let out a laugh with no joy in it.
"I saved everything for her—her college fund, every spare penny I earned out there. And now? Now it’s all useless. She’s gone, and I can’t bring her back. Money is the reason Abby’s gone. So I never want to see it again."
Max could respect that.
Abby’s father was a good man—flawed, human, but good. Just like Abby had been.
"I’ll be at the funeral, to say my goodbyes," Max said quietly, standing and pulling a small card from his pocket. He set it on the table beside the whisky bottles. "If you ever need anything, please contact me. It’s the only thing left I can do for Abby."
His eyes lingered on the man a moment longer. "It’s okay to drown your sorrows for a while... but you should know, Abby wouldn’t want you to stay like this."
With that, Max and Aron stepped out, leaving the heavy air behind them.
The meeting hadn’t eased the weight on Max’s chest. If Abby’s father had accepted the help, maybe he could have felt a little better. But he hadn’t—and that left only the same restless ache.
"Oh," Aron said as they reached the car. "I got some news from Wolf. Looks like he knows where the Rejected Corps is going to be in two days’ time."
Max’s eyes hardened.
"Everything is in place," he said. "Abby... I hope you’re watching."