Concerning Chance ✔

TWENTY-NINE

Family breakfasts during the week are a rare occurrence in the Brewer household; normally Mum and Dad skip the alleged most important meal of the day and run off coffee until lunchtime. And most mornings, I get up too late to scoff anything more than a slice of toast on the way to school.

But this morning, we make an exception because of Max.

Once he and I are up, showered and dressed, we traipse downstairs to find my parents sitting waiting for us at the dining room table. Mum's made poached eggs and Dad's toasted English muffins — which is usually what we have for breakfast on Sundays. I guess they're trying to make Max feel welcome.

Max shifts, a little uncomfortable, as he sits down on one of the chairs. "Thanks for letting me stay overnight and for breakfast. I don't mean to be a burden, sorry."

I watch his stiff back, knowing the secret that lies beneath those fresh bandages I reapplied for him after his shower.

"Max, you'll never be a burden to us," Mum tells him sincerely as she pushes a plate of food in front of him.

He bobs his head in submission and clears his plate quickly — maybe his parents don't feed him enough. The thought, though it's unbidden, doesn't surprise me as much as it should.

"We've been talking it over," Dad announces, "And we've decided you can stay here for as long as you need, Max."

Max's cutlery clatters to the table and he looks up in disbelief. "Do you really mean that?"

I smile gently as I reach for his hand under the table, knowing that my parents wouldn't announce something unless they're sure it'll work out.

"Yes, we do." Mum smiles at him kindly — probably in the way that every mum smiles at her kid, apart from Max's mum, that is.

Max's fingers finally latch onto mine and our hands press together tightly.

"Thank you. Thank you both so much," he professes sincerely, his voice wavering with emotion ever so slightly. "I'll work for it. I'll earn my keep somehow — get a part-time job or—"

"Max, son, Rory doesn't have to earn his keep and neither do you," Dad informs him seriously. "You don't have to work to be cared for."

He called me son — I can practically read Max's thoughts.

"But we do have a couple of conditions," Dad continues, to which Max nods sincerely. "While we're more than happy to let you stay here, you do have to talk to social services about how your dad treats you, and that you can't safely live with him. We can go through that process together, and we can help find you some new guardians until you turn 18. At least once, you have to make one of your curries — no one here will have a problem with you cooking."

"I definitely won't!" Mum laughs, happiness twinkling in her eyes.

"Anything else?" Max asks.

"Oh yeah, one last thing," Dad tells him, and then Mum finishes:

"Don't break our Rory's heart."

"Mum! Dad!" I groan in embarrassment, rubbing a hand over my face. "You don't have to—"

"I won't ever, Mr and Mrs Brewer," Max reassures them as he throws a smile across at me.

"Call us Charlie and Erin," Dad insists, then frowns at us both. "We may have to talk about your sex life as well at some point..."

My cheeks are burning now, which is only worsened by Max squeezing my hand tight. I glance across at him; the memory of our intimacy last night is seared in my brain.