Until the Last Breath

“Max? What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Uh—just give me one minute.” He dropped the bags, causing them to thump on the ground, and then turned away to call someone. The phone was glued to his ear as he walked to the lounge area.

“Max?” I called again, stepping up to him. His face was paler, his eyes darker. What the hell was going on?

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” He lowered the phone, staring at the walls made of glass ahead.

“Max?” I said his name in a smaller voice. Something was definitely wrong.

“We have to go back.”

“Back where?” I asked, but he didn’t answer me. Instead, he went back to our bags that he’d dropped in front of the counter and snatched them up.

“Max?” I hissed as he slung them over his shoulder. “What is going on? Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry to do this, but can you cancel our reservation?” Max requested, focused on the receptionist behind the counter.

“Um…sure. Maximilian Grant, correct?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

Max turned and hustled for the exit and I scurried after him. Dumping the bags in the trunk and slamming it closed, he hurried to get behind the wheel of his car. I climbed in the passenger seat again, staring at him.

“Why did you cancel the reservation? What the hell is going on?” I demanded.

He didn’t look at me, just stared ahead, eyes distant, no emotion whatsoever on his face. He was starting to worry me now. I’d never seen him like this. Speechless. Unmoving.

“Max?” I pleaded, placing my hand on top of his. “Max, please,” I begged in a whisper. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what happened. You’re scaring me.”

Finally, he looked my way, and when he did, a slow tear made its way down his cheek.

His voice cracked when he finally said, “My parents…”

“What about them?” I insisted.

“They…um…they were just in a car wreck. There was a crash.” He swallowed hard, looking through the windshield again. “That was a cop calling me. He said they…that they aren’t going to make it.” I gasped and he finally looked me right in the eyes. “They’re gone, Shannon. My parents…they’re gone.”

I kept my hand on his arm, but I was at a complete loss for words.

Gone? As in…dead? But…how? Why? We’d just seen them, just hugged and kissed them goodbye. How was this possible?

“Oh my God, Max.” I had no words. Truly, I had none.

Max’s gaze dropped and then his body shuddered so hard I thought he might break. His hand wrapped around mine and squeezed and it hurt, but not as much as the hurt in my heart.

How the hell had this happened? Why did it happen?

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, bringing his forehead to mine. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby.”

He sobbed harder, his thick tears landing on the middle console.

“Here,” I whispered. “Let me drive back.”

It took a while, but I managed to get him to move to the passenger seat and as soon as I did, I entered the address in the GPS on my phone and drove away from what was supposed to be a special getaway for us and back to our hometown. The getaway didn’t matter anymore. Nothing else mattered but getting Max back to Charlotte.

The ride was already overcome with gloom, but what made it worse was the rain that had started on our way back. I looked over and Max’s forehead was pressed to the window as he cried harder.

We finally made it to the city, parking at the police station where Eugene was already waiting in the parking lot with a cigarette pinched between his fingers.

“Fuck, Max,” Eugene said when he saw him. “I’m so sorry.”

Max ignored him, walking right past him and marching into the station. A detective was called for him and Max was sent to the back. I stayed in the waiting area. This felt too personal and I didn’t know if he wanted me there.

As I waited, Eugene told me everything. The driver that’d hit Max’s parents was driving an eighteen-wheeler truck and was intoxicated. It was raining and somehow, he clashed with Max’s parents, veering into their lane.

Eugene pointed to a man with a brown hat on, a confederate flag on the front of it. Brown hair hung below the hat, and the man looked greasy…and also unapologetic. The drunk truck driver sat cuffed to an officer’s desk, ignoring the questions being asked of him.

Once Max found out who the man was, things got really bad. We all knew Max had a temper, but I’d never seen him get so angry. And I mean, blood-boiling angry. He stormed through the police department and toward the driver, shoving chairs and objects out of his way, his face red.

The truck driver noticed Max coming, looked him over, and then laughed. He was lucky a cop was there to intervene and stop Max before he could get his hands on him, but it didn’t stop Max from spewing hateful words, to which the truck driver laughed even more, and even began taunting him by calling him and his parents’ names—rude names that no white man ever should have said to a black man in such a moment of grief and despair.