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“I’m in loooove.”
Bash dramatically drapes herself over her stacked drum bags, the back of the tour van dipping and creaking under her weight.
Izzie rolls her eyes in affectionate exasperation as she takes a drag of the cigarette that hangs precariously from her lips. “Already?” Salty smoke curls around her face as she exhales. “We literally just got here.”
“It’s love at first sight,” Bash insists.
“That doesn’t exist.”
“Maybe it doesn’t for heartless heathens like you, Izzie. She could be my one true love.”
“I thought that girl back in Minnesota was your true love?” Marisol interrupts before Izzie can smack their drummer. “You know, the one with all the tongue piercings.” She nudges Bash to the side to grab an amp case, nodding for Izzie to help.
“Ah, yes, she was but a girl.” Bash grunts slightly as she lifts two bags housing her tom-toms, the muscles of her tattooed arms flexing. “What I need is a woman. The woman of my dreams.”
Izzie tosses her cigarette to the ground and stubs it out with the toe of her boot. “Less dreaming, more moving. If the gear’s not in the venue before Chloe gets here, your ass is grass.”
“Oh, she’s already here,” Marisol says matter-of-factly, flipping her dark ponytail off her neck, already damp with a thin sheen of sweat.
“What?!” Izzie and Bash practically yelp at the same time.
Marisol slides the bulky amp case to the edge of the trunk. “Saw her jalopy out front. Probably talking to the stage manager.”
“Shit.” Izzie grabs one end of the case, while Marisol lifts the other. “Then there’s definitely no time for you to be mooning over your latest crush, Bash.”
“There’s always time for that,” Bash says as they carry their gear into the Pink Garter Theatre. “She’s breathtaking.”
“Uh huh.”
“Seriously, Iz. Her eyes. They’re so blue. Like, I dunno, marbles. Shiny marbles. The kind that crows steal and shit.”
Izzie makes a face at Marisol, who doesn’t bother to conceal a laugh.
“Thank god you don’t write our lyrics, Bash,” Marisol says.
Grunting in agreement, Izzie helps Marisol set the heavy amp down on the small stage.
“Mock me all you want. Just remember I saw her first…” Bash suddenly drops her tom-tom cases with a loud clatter. “Oh fuck, there she is. Act cool, act cool.”
Izzie turns just in time for reality to freeze.
A woman with shoulder-length auburn-brown hair approaches them, a vintage SLR hanging from a frayed camera strap around her neck.
She is, in one word, gorgeous.
Not in a super model way. But in a disarming, down-to-earth, girl-next-door way that’s just Izzie’s type. Light freckles dust her cheeks and accentuate the mesmerizing blue of her eyes.
And Izzie half hates that Bash, of all people, was right. But, hell, she supposes even a broken clock is right twice a day.
“Hey, you must be the infamous Drugstore Makeup,” she says with a polite but friendly smile. Her voice, with the barest hint of husk, makes Izzie’s stomach flip ever so slightly. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She holds out a hand. “I’m Max.”
The three of them stare at her outstretched hand for longer than what could be considered polite when Marisol is the first to snap out of their collective trance and actually shake Max’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, Max, I’m Marisol.” She gestures to the others. “That’s Izzie, and Bash.”
Izzie barely registers how soft Max’s skin is when it’s her turn to greet her with a handshake, before Bash snatches up Max’s hand and brings her knuckles to her lips.
“Enchantée,” Bash says in an embarrassingly mangled French accent.
If Max is creeped out, she doesn’t show it. The corners of her eyes crinkle in amusement. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“Bash, get your grubby lips off her,” a highly annoyed, highly familiar voice rings out.
Chloe appears in what feels like a blink of an eye, scowl firmly in place, lightly smacking Bash’s hands away from Max’s. “Last thing we need is you being a weirdo.”
“It’s fine, Chloe,” Max chuckles lightly.
“Yeah, Boss, just being friendly,” Bash beams at Max without an ounce of shame before pausing. “Wait, you two know each other?”
Izzie can practically feel Bash’s expression drop in disappointment.
“Uh, yeah, Sherlock.” Chloe crosses her arms. “Max’ll be our photographer for the rest of the tour unless you creep her the fuck out.”
“Oh my god,” Marisol exclaims. “It’s HER.”
“Her?” Bash’s face scrunches up in confusion.
“The girl Chloe upped and left us for in the middle of the night!" Marisol squeals, unable to stop a small hop of excitement. “Which,” she gives Max a slow appraising look, up and down, “I get now.”
Izzie expects Chloe to protest or fire off a snappy, sarcastic remark. What she doesn’t expect is for badass Chloe Price to actually look… sheepish. Max, for her part, watches Chloe, eyes soft, cheeks tinged pink.
“Where did you go, by the way?” Izzie interjects. “You never said.”
“Vermont,” Chloe practically mumbles, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Jeez, that’s like a thousand miles away,” Bash says.
“2,100 to be exact.” Chloe nods, gently interlacing her fingers with Max’s. “Worth it though. Especially when you see her photos.”
Izzie stares at their joined hands. So do Bash and Marisol, whose mouth drops open in surprise because… PDA? From Chloe “One Night Stand” Price?! It was bizarre. Unheard of.
Ignoring the band’s reaction, Chloe clears her throat. “What are we standing around for anyway? Get your asses to work.”
Bash
How in the hell does Chloe disappear for a week and come back with a girlfriend?!?!?!
Izzie
A HAWT girlfriend
Marisol
Guess she has more game than we thought??
Izzie
I’m still a bit speechless, tbh
Bash
I’m gonna say it. Max is out of her league
Izzie
WAY out
Marisol
Like in a different galaxy
Izzie
Universe even
Chloe
…You guys do remember I’m in this chat right?
Whatever Izzie’s expectations are about Max’s photography, the actual shots completely blow them out of the water.
She marvels at the prints in awe. They’re powerful. Organic. Effortlessly capturing movement and passion–not just of the band, but of their fans. The crowd’s pure joy and unadulterated elation are memorialized frame after frame.
Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. All of Izzie’s and Marisol’s and Bash’s internet sleuthing had easily uncovered Max’s awards and her work at Caledon University.
But the photos in Max’s “Walking with Ghosts” series had been vastly different from the ones spread on a table in the band’s modest motel room. The abandoned and dilapidated spaces Max captured had stirred an aching sense of loneliness and isolation within Izzie–quite the opposite of the thrill of their concert photos.
“Max, these are breathtaking,” Izzie says as she picks up a shot of herself screaming into a mic.
“You think so?” Max modestly asks.
“It’s amazing how you capture all this raw energy. Almost the exact opposite of your past work.”
Max’s eyebrows shoot up as she self-consciously tucks a tuft of hair behind one ear. “You’ve seen my photography?"
“Hell yeah!” Marisol exclaims from the other side of the table. “Kinda hard not to. They pop up at the top of your Google search,” she pauses, “not that we were spying on you or anything.”
“Right,” Max chuckles.
“It’s the dichotomy of existence,” Bash chimes in from where she lies across one of the double beds, head hanging upside down off the side.
Everyone pauses to stare at her.
“What?” Bash asks.
“Bash, I honestly didn’t think you knew that many words with that many syllables,” Izzie says.
“Oh, fuck you.” Bash flips her off as the others chuckle. “No, seriously.” She rolls over so that she’s right-side up. “Your other series, it was all about loss and emptiness and shit. Like what happens when you just couldn’t give a fuck anymore. But those,” Bash nods at the new set of tour photos, “That’s life when people give a rat’s ass about something.”
“That’s,” Max trails off and she clears her throat. “That’s it exactly, Bash. Thank you.”
“Every once in a while, Bash can actually be deep,” Marisol says as Bash rolls her eyes, unable to hide the pleased flush spreading across her cheeks. “Seriously, Max, our social media is gonna explode because of you. We’ve never had professional photos taken before. I mean, except for that one time Chloe tried to set something up in Seattle, but Bash pissed off the photographer.”
“I didn’t piss her off!” Bash protests. “She just couldn’t handle her attraction to me is all. My ice queen.”
Izzie scoffs. “Please, Bash, I bet you don’t even remember her name.”
“Of course I remember it!”
“Then what is it?” Izzie presses as Max watches them in amusement, taking a small sip from a water bottle.
“Veronica Mace,” Bash states with all the confidence in the world. “From Chloe’s old town.”
Max instantly chokes on her drink, coughing as Marisol claps her back in concern. “Sorry.” Her eyes tear up slightly. “Do you mean Victoria Chase?”
“Nah.” Bash waves a hand in the air dismissively. “Pretty sure it was Veronica.”
It’s then that Chloe kicks open the door to the room unexpectedly, pizza box in one hand and a six-pack in the other.
“Dinner’s here,” she says before freezing in place, taking in the scene before her: Marisol with her hand on Max’s back and Max still clearing her throat. “Did I miss something?”
Chloe
You all just had to bring up Victoria.
Izzie
Why is that bad exactly?
Bash
And is it bad enough that Max would dump you?
Chloe
…
Chloe
Let’s just say Max, Victoria, and I have a complex history.
Marisol
Like a polycule?
Chloe
A what now?
Bash
Like a threesome. Which… ROWR
Chloe
FUCK NO
Marisol
Wait wait so back up. All three of you grew up in Arcadia Bay. Along with Izzie’s ex, Steph
Chloe
…yes?
Marisol
And you and Max knew each other for years and then you just… went your separate ways?
Chloe
It’s… complicated
Bash
I don’t get it
Chloe
And what, pray tell, don’t you get?
Bash
How you fumbled such a baddie!
…
…
…
Marisol
I think you made her mad
…
…
…
Izzie
Can we at least talk about how fine everyone from AB is? Something in the water maybe?
A gentle guitar riff floats through the air, catching Izzie’s attention as she walks through the rundown rehearsal studio that Chloe booked a day ahead of their next gig.
It can’t be Marisol or Bash. Izzie had just left them to argue with Chloe about what to get for lunch.
Even if she hadn’t, the melody is too sad, too haunted to have been either one of her high-energy bandmates who prefer brash and crunchy chords.
Izzie quietly enters the studio lounge to find Max softly singing as she fingerpicks the strings of an acoustic guitar.
Max must sense her presence because she startles, the music ceasing abruptly.
“Sorry!” Izzie blurts out. “Please don’t stop on my account.”
“I thought everyone went to get lunch,” Max says, face flushed.
“They did, but I needed a break from the chaos.”
Max chuckles as she adjusts the guitar in her lap. “You all are so cute together.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Izzie half shrugs. “I didn’t know you played, too. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Plenty, actually.” Max gives her a lopsided half smile. “I can char you a mean grilled cheese sometime.”
“Yum.” Izzie tries to ignore how her stomach involuntarily flips in a way that hasn’t happened since… well, since she was with Steph. But now is definitely not the time to be crushing on her manager’s girl. “What was that song by the way? I don’t think I recognize it.”
“Oh.” Max looks down at the guitar, left hand tightening slightly on the neck. “Just something I’ve messed around with for a while.”
“No shit?” Izzie eagerly sits down next to Max. “You wrote that?”
“Um, yeah, I guess so.”
“Keep going!”
Max cringes, full on embarrassed. “I don’t know…”
“C’mon. It’s just us. This is a safe space.”
Hesitating, Max eventually puts her hands back in place. “Okay, but go easy on me.”
Izzie nods in silent encouragement and Max begins the melancholy song once again.
So I walked into the haze
And a million dirty waves
Now I see you lying there
Like a lilo losing air, air
Black rocks and the shoreline surf
Still dead summer I cannot bear
And I wipe the sand from my eyes
The Spanish Sahara, the place that you'd wanna
Leave the horror here
Forget the horror here
Forget the horror here
Leave it all down here
It's future rust and it's future dust
Sorrow washes over Izzie as she listens to the barely concealed emotion in Max’s voice, wondering if she perhaps overstepped in asking Max to play something so obviously personal and intimate.
Max keeps her voice hushed, and though not classically trained, Izzie is mesmerized nonetheless. Max’s eyes are closed, so lost in memory that she doesn’t notice Chloe standing in the doorway.
Now the waves they drag you down
Carry you to broken ground
But I'll find you in the sand
Wipe you clean with dirty hands
So God damn this boiling space
The Spanish Sahara, the place that you'd wanna
Leave the horror here
Forget the horror here
Forget the horror here
Leave it all down here
It's future rust and it's future dust
Izzie is torn between watching Max or Chloe, who is so focused on Max that she’s completely oblivious to Izzie’s scrutiny.
She’s never seen the usually guarded Chloe like this, emotions on full display. Even from where she’s sitting, Izzie can see the gloss in Chloe’s eyes and how her fingers twitch to reach out to Max.
I'm the fury in your head
I'm the fury in your bed
I'm the ghost in the back of your head
'Cause I am
A choir of furies in your head
A choir of furies in your bed
I'm the ghost in the back of your head
'Cause I am
The song drifts to a close and Izzie blows out a long breath she had been holding throughout the last chorus, swiping away the moisture building in her eyes.
“Max, that was…” Izzie can’t help the way her voice sounds wet.
“Amazing,” Chloe finishes, instantly drawing Max’s attention.
“Thanks.” Max only has eyes for Chloe now. “I wrote it after…” Her throat bobs as she swallows thickly. “After everything.”
They start doing the thing they do: stare at each other like nothing else exists.
Izzie coughs slightly, not wanting to be the third wheel. “I’m gonna check on Bash and Marisol.” She gets on her feet and moves toward the door as Chloe approaches Max, barely registering Izzie’s presence.
She’d feel insulted if not for the fact that she found Max and Chloe grossly adorable in how they were head over heels for each other.
As she exits, she takes one last peek behind her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Chloe gently caressing Max’s cheek and Max leaning into her touch.
Bash
Do you think Max would let us cover her song?
Marisol
Holy shit that’s a great idea!
Chloe
Hold on, guys, I don’t know about this.
Izzie
Why? It’s a great song. Or are you being anti because it’s about you?
Chloe
What? No.
Chloe
Also what makes you think it’s even about me?
Marisol
We’re not idiots, Chloe. Well, except maybe Bash sometimes.
Bash
YEAH! Wait, what?
Izzie
It is HELLA obvious that song is about you.
And don’t even get me started on her Walking with Ghosts photography
Chloe
…
Chloe
Look, it’s…
Izzie
Complicated
Bash
Complicated
Marisol
Complicated
Marisol
Jinx!!!
Chloe
Well, it is. But if you all really feel that strongly, we’ll have to ask Max.
Marisol
YES!!!!
Bash
I can do it. No way she’ll say no to me. We have an artistic connection now
Izzie
Anyone but Bash
Marisol
Agreed
Bash
HEY!
Chloe
I’ll do it, but no promises, OK?
Bash
Deal
Marisol
Oh, and Chloe? We’ve only had Max for a few weeks, but if she ever gets hurt again, we know where you sleep
It’s at the ass crack of dawn when Izzie decides she needs a smoke and sneaks out of the motel room she shares with her bandmates, shivering in the brisk autumn air.
She’s surprised to spot Max in the dim twilight, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Leaning against the second floor railing a few feet to the left, Max holds the familiar shape of a polaroid picture in one hand, and a zippo in the other. It’s hard to see the image from where Izzie’s standing.
The lighter sparks once, twice, as Max flicks the flint wheel with her left thumb. A tiny flame ignites, casting a muted orange glow in the darkness.
Max stares at the polaroid, hesitating, contemplating, before she brings the bottom corner of the photo and the lighter together. It instantly catches on fire, small at first but steadily expands, faint smoke rising.
“Photo that bad?” Izzie tries to joke quietly.
But her voice startles Max, who accidentally drops the still burning photo off the side of the second-floor walkway.
“Shit,” Max exhales sharply, watching the flame float down to the parking lot, dimming until the polaroid is nothing but char on asphalt.
“Sorry.” Izzie grimaces as she stands next to Max. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Max’s shoulders relax slightly, tension still evident in her frame as she grips the railing. “It’s okay.”
“Was that an ex or something?” Izzie asks, curiosity getting the better of her. “‘Cause if so, I’ve definitely been there.”
Lighting a cigarette, she tries not to think of the photos she still has of Steph, not having the heart to get rid of them after all this time. They had been friends after all, before they were exes.
“No, nothing like that,” Max shakes her head, pausing before adding, “It was a selfie. Of me, actually.”
Izzie’s eyebrows arch up. “Thought you artistic types loved self-portraits.” She takes a drag from her cigarette.
One corner of Max’s lips curls up slightly. “I do, normally,” she admits. “Let’s just say… it was part of me that I’m trying to move on from. That I want to move on from.”
“And what part was that?” Izzie presses her luck, knowing full well it’s none of her business.
Max shrugs, letting the distant chirps of early birds fill the silence that stretches between them. Before Izzie can apologize for prying, Max quietly adds, “The part that can’t let go of the past.”
Izzie hums before blowing out a stream of smoke. She thinks of Max’s photos and her song. Lord knows she’s shared enough speculation and theories with Bash and Marisol about Max and Chloe’s relationship–almost to the point she feels guilty about gossiping so much. Almost.
“For Chloe?” She hazards a guess.
Max glances at Izzie out of the corner of her eye. “For both of us.”
Izzie is sorely tempted to ask more. In some ways, it made no sense how two people so obviously in love somehow spent years apart.
“I know you’re all curious about us,” Max says.
Izzie winces. “We’re nosey asshole, I know.”
“It’s kinda flattering, actually,” Max admits. “I love how much you all care about Chloe,” she hesitates slightly, “It’s not my place to share what Chloe isn’t comfortable sharing but… we all make choices we think are right, in the moment, and we have to live with them.”
“For better or worse.”
Max nods. “And sometimes no matter what we do, there are things we just can’t stop.”
Izzie thinks of Steph and how they fizzled out, wanting different things in life. Neither of them were blameless, per se, but neither of them were at fault either. Sometimes love wasn’t enough, even when you wish it would be.
“I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down. Shit happens.” Izzie flicks her cigarette off the railing, replacing smoke with cool, crisp air. “Listen, I know we haven’t known Chloe all that long. But whatever happened before, it doesn’t matter now. I honestly have never seen her this happy.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Then it’s all worth it.” Max looks back down at the remains of the polaroid.
“What’s worth it?” Chloe yawns from behind them, words husky from sleep.
“You,” Max smiles, voice softening. She pushes off from the railing and steps toward Chloe.
“Me?” Chloe looks confused as her hands come to rest on Max’s waist.
“Yes,” Max says simply and presses her lips to Chloe’s cheek, instantly making her blush. “Good morning.”
Izzie would gag if they weren’t so damn cute.
Marisol
Can’t believe the tour is almost over
Izzie
Me too
Bash
Me three. Though in all honesty, I cannot wait to do nothing for a few days
Chloe
You barely do anything now
Bash
Har har you’re so hilarious
Marisol
What are you going to do, boss?
Chloe
Max and I are gonna head to Arcadia Bay. We haven’t been back together in ages
Bash
Oh my god does that mean she’ll meet your mom?!
Chloe
She already knows her, doofus
Izzie
As long as you two don’t disappear off the face of the planet. I wanna get back in the studio! I’ve already been thinking of arrangements for Max’s song.
Chloe
I promise we won’t
Marisol
Do you also swear not to fuck things up with Max?
Chloe
With my life
“You know they’re all in love with you, right?” Chloe asks Max as they walk back to her truck after saying goodbye, for now, to the band. The setting sun casts an amber glow around them.
“They are not.” Max chuckles as she playfully nudges Chloe with her shoulder.
"It’s true.” Chloe nudges back. “They’re probably plotting my downfall if I don’t return you to them in one piece.”
“You’re being crazy.”
When they reach her truck, Chloe veers to the passenger side first, heading Max off so she can open the door for her. Max braces her feet on the step bars and hoists herself up into the truck’s cabin. Chloe gently shuts the door and leans in toward the rolled down window.
”To be honest, I can’t blame them for wanting to protect you. They think it’s my fault we were apart for so long.”
Max stares at her for a beat before she responds, “Chloe, we both know that’s not true.”
“Not true for you, maybe.” Chloe gives her a small smile as she backs away, circles the truck to the driver’s side, and slides in behind the wheel.
Max only watches silently. Chloe can already see the questions forming in the darkening blue of her eyes.
“Before we left Lakeport,” Chloe starts, nerves fluttering in her stomach. “Moses gave me a crash course on when you merged the timelines. Or tried to anyway. He told me about storm amnesia.”
Max nods patiently.
“And I wonder if that’s why you don’t seem to have the memories of the Max who…who…” Chloe trails off, at a loss on how to finish. Who sacrificed Arcadia Bay? Who chose me even if I didn’t deserve it? Who I loved for years and who loved me too until I shattered her heart and mine?
Chloe doesn’t even realize she’s starting to tremble until Max places a warm hand on her right forearm. “It could very well be.” Max’s voice is reassuring, soothing.
“Then you should know. In my reality, or one of them at least, fuck if I know, we were happy together, even when it was hard. Even when we were depressed and drowning with guilt. But then we started arguing about… everything. Nothing. I don’t even know what now.” Chloe glances away, unable to maintain eye contact while she attempts to keep the swelling ache inside her chest at bay. “And I just… ran. I left you. Or, well, not you you. But some version of you. I convinced myself that I didn’t deserve to be happy. That you’d be able to move on without me in your life. I thought I was doing the right thing, but the truth is… I was a coward.”
It all comes rushing out and Chloe’s eyes sting as shame washes over her, stomach twisting from the incongruence of it all. She didn’t know what was worse: dying in one reality while single-handedly destroying her own happiness in another.
“Oh, Chloe,” Max murmurs, reaching out to gently tilt Chloe’s face back toward her.
Her fingertips are so warm against her jaw, so reverent, that Chloe can’t help but nuzzle her palm.
“Hey, look at me,” Max says and doesn’t continue until Chloe’s gaze meets hers again. Max’s eyes are glassy. “I meant what I said before. I don’t care about the past. I love you, Chloe. I always have. And I always will. All that matters is that we’re here now. We won’t go down the same paths. We’ll make sure of it. Together.”
“I love you, too,” Chloe whispers, reaching up to cup the hand Max has on her cheek. She can’t stop the tears that slip down her face. “But… do you think she knows? How sorry I am. How much I loved her.”
Max brings their foreheads together. “She knows.”
And then Max’s lips brush against hers, soft and tender, and Chloe melts, heart mending as she sinks into Max and the calm from knowing she’s finally whole.
Chloe’s not sure how much time passes. Seconds? Hours?
But before long, they’re interrupted by a loud, obnoxious honking.
They break apart just in time to see Drugstore Makeup’s tour van roll by, windows rolled down, with Izzie yelling: “GET A ROOM ALREADY!!!”
Chloe flips them their bird as they peel away, the wind carrying their laughter.
Max giggles and Chloe can’t help but join her, swiping the tears from her face.
“You ready?” Max sniffles, intertwining their fingers and squeezing.
Chloe squeezes back.
“Always.”