28. Chapter 28

Joyce hugs them both and invites Steve to stay for dinner when they knock on the door. Steve demurs, claiming an exciting weekend and a desire to be in his own bed, but Billy thinks he might just be uncomfortable at the idea of sitting with… you know, a mommish-mom. Especially so soon after seeing his own mother. Colleen was many things— hot, funny, maybe a little crazy— but a mother, she’s not.

Except for, you know, the obvious, biological way.

Jonathan’s not home, apparently out with Nancy, so it’s just him, Joyce, and Will around the table, chowing down on Hamburger Helper as Will talks about his final project for school and the newest book he’s currently reading.

Billy’s heart aches a little bit. Max should be here, too, complaining about the essays she needs to finish and demanding to know more about high school.

“Billy, what was Kali like? Did you find her?”

Billy snaps back to reality and focuses on Will.

“Yeah, we did,” he says. “Her and her friend are at the Chief’s, now.”

“Is she nice?”

Billy thinks about it.

“She’s… she could be, I guess,” he says. “But she’s scared right now, so she needs some time to get comfortable. Her friend, though— he’s a dick. Stay away from him.”

“Oh, Billy, I’m sure he’s not that bad,” Joyce says.

Billy makes a face.

“He’s a punk,” he says. “Punks haven’t been anything but junkies since like, seventy-nine.”

Joyce rolls her eyes but doesn’t answer, just clears off the table and presses a kiss to Billy’s forehead as she passes.

“I’m happy you’re home safe,” she says. “And I’m happy you had fun at Steve’s mother’s house. I remember her from high school, so I’m pretty certain what kind of a good time you had.”

Billy shrugs, smiling a little bit.

“I can’t believe she’s Steve’s mom,” he admits. “She’s like…”

“Not everyone’s suited to taking care of kids the way they maybe ought to,” Joyce says. “Colleen’s a good woman, but she wasn’t around much when Steve was little. Before everything with El, he was… a major prick, according to Jonathan.”

Billy snorts and after a moment, she laughs, too.

“Whatever he was before, he’s certainly shaped up since then,” she says. “He’s very protective, you know. Of the kids, and his friends.”

“... Yeah. He is.”

“You’re one of his friends now, too,” Joyce tells him. “I don’t think Steve ever invited anyone to meet his mother before— at least, not Jonathan or Nancy. So I guess you must be something special.”

Billy’s cheeks feel a little warm, and he doesn’t really know why, so he keeps quiet and doesn’t meet her eyes.

Joyce sighs and ruffles his hair.

“I’m happy for both of you,” she says. “You’re both too lonely for your own good.”

And then, apparently done with the conversation, Joyce turns around and sets about doing the dishes, leaving Billy wondering one thing:

What, exactly, was their conversation about?

*.*

Billy gets home from school on Wednesday and Max is just… there. Sitting on the Byers’ couch and looking like she’s trying very hard to make herself seem smaller than she is.

And then she sees Billy.

And Billy sees her face.

His stomach drops.

She doesn’t move from her spot on the couch, but that doesn’t matter, because there he is, already kneeling beside and tilting her face up so he can better see the damage.

“What happened?” he asks, words barely above a whisper.

Max doesn’t meet his eyes.

“It was my fault,” she says. “I threw a fit. I tried to run off. They caught me.”

Her eye is black and swollen, a pattern of scabs on her cheekbone that imply a big, bulky ring made contact at some point. It isn’t actually that bad— if anything, she’s pretty lucky, it only looks like she got hit the once— but the rage that bubbles under Billy’s skin is… well, it transcends just about anything he’s ever felt before.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Billy promises her. “Nothing— nothing like this is ever your fault, or ever will be. You understand?”

Max looks at him then, clear blue eyes blue eyes finally meeting his.

“I wanna cut my hair,” she says. “Can I, Billy? Please?”

Billy looks at her. He thinks that maybe that’s how they caught her, by her long red hair, and that maybe that’s how they held her when that hand shot out to mark her face.

Joyce is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed and mouth pinched and unhappy. When Billy looks at her for silent permission, she nods, one quick jerk of her sharp chin.

“Okay,” Billy says, looking back at Max. “Okay, let’s do this. How short do you want it?”

His hand finds hers, the other finding the side of her neck. He feels like he’s on fire, but he can’t act like it, not until Max is safe and comfortable and looks a little less like she’s going to shatter under his hands.

Max squeezes his hand tightly.

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”

*.*

Max doesn’t tell him to stop until most of her hair is in the bathroom sink, the two or three inches left behind spiky and uneven. It actually doesn’t look that bad— or it wouldn’t, if she were one of the boys in California she always used to trail after in the skatepark.

Well, whatever. Max seems happier with it, so Billy doesn’t really care, even if it does make him grit his teeth that she can’t hide behind her hair anymore, can’t hide the angry bend of her mouth behind a curtain of soft red.

She meets his eyes with defiance when he looks into the mirror, with an angry desperation he’s never seen before. With a sigh, he runs his fingers through her short hair, spiking it up.

“You look like a punk,” he says. “Guess I gotta go shopping again, get you stuff that fits.”

“... Jonathan knows punk,” she says. “He said he’s going to let me borrow some of his tapes.”

Billy nods.

“That’s cool,” he says. “If— if you want, we can play ‘em in the car, when I drive you to school tomorrow.”

Max’s eyes widen at the suggestion, and why shouldn’t she be surprised? Billy never lets her touch his radio.

“I— yeah. I’d like that,” she says thickly. “Thanks, Billy.”

Billy snakes an arm around her middle and squeezes, pressing his lips to the back of her head like his mother used to do to him.

“I missed you too, kid,” he says quietly. “Do you wanna go somewhere? See anybody?”

There’s a pause.

“Can I go to Lucas’ house?” she asks hesitantly. “Just for a little bit?”

Billy swallows down his annoyance.

“I— yeah, of course,” he says. “I bet Joyce has his number— I’ll call.”

Max deflates, her shoulders slumping and her lip trembling.

“Thanks, Billy,” she says softly.

Billy closes his eyes and leans his chin against her hair.

“No problem, kid,” he says. “Wanna clean this up? I’ll go get the number off Joyce.”

Max nods, and Billy lets her go, slipping out of the bathroom and making his way back to the kitchen.

“How is she?” Joyce asks. She’s got a cigarette between her fingers and a look on her face that Billy’s never seen before.

“Her hair’s gone,” he says. “And she wants to see Sinclair. Do you have his number?”

Joyce does, and five minutes later, Billy is listening to the phone ring. Once, twice…

“Sinclair residence, how may I help you?” asks a sweet little voice.

“Uh, hi,” Billy says, brain kicking into gear. “Could I speak to Lucas, please?”

There’s a pause, and then,

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“... Billy Har— Billy McCloud. I’m calling about Max.”

There’s a pause and the sound of a little girl on the other end of the line shouting.

“Lukey, someone’s on the phone for you!”

Billy blinks. That is not the voice he was greeted with.

“He’s coming,” the girl tells him.

There’s the sound of the phone being handed off, and then, a voice that Billy knows.

“This is Lucas.”

Billy takes a deep breath.

“Lucas, it’s Billy,” he says. “Max is back.”

There’s a pause, then a quiet, “Really?”

“Yeah.” Billy runs a hand through his hair. “She wants to come and see you, if that’s alright. She’s… yeah. She wants to see you. Can she come over for a while?”

“Yeah,” Lucas blurts out. “Yeah, of course— my mom won’t mind. Definitely.”

“Great. Cool. Um…” Billy glances around the kitchen, but it’s only Joyce. He turns back to the phone. “Listen… Max didn’t have it great, where she was. She… don’t freak out when you see her, alright?”

“What happened?” Lucas asks sharply.

“... They fucked up her face,” Billy says, a little helpless. “And we cut her hair just now.”

“They— they hit her?”

Billy holds onto whatever his first reaction is. His first response is never the best.

“Yeah,” he says. “So, like I said, don’t freak out. This is your warning.”

Silence.

“Yeah, okay. I get it,” Lucas says quietly. “I’ll go tell my mom.”

Billy sighs.

“Thanks,” he says. “We’ll be over in half an hour.”