One week ago, Max had held Liz in his arms and promised to follow her on her road trip.
Six nights ago, Max covered up a triple homicide and lit a car on fire to protect Isobel and their secret.
Five days ago, Max watched Liz sob in Arturo Ortecho’s arms as the cops stood in the diner and told them that Rosa had driven while intoxicated and killed herself and two others.
Four nights ago, Max had sat in his Jeep for three hours trying to get up the courage to go and see Liz. To tell her the truth. To tell her about him and Michael and Isobel. And Rosa.
Four hours ago, Max watched Liz pack up a crappy Civic she bought at the junkyard and leave Roswell on the 380 headed east and all he can think about is that he can’t remember the last thing she said to him.