“Do you still want to quit?”
“Maybe.”
I heave a long, weary breath. It’s like trying to get blood from a turnip. I need to switch tactics. So I stand and extend my hand toward him.
His eyes flick up to meet mine. “What are you doing?”
“Calling a truce. Whether we like it or not, we’re stuck here together for the weekend. We’re not going to miraculously resolve all of our problems with conversation, but we do have a choice. We can make the most of this predicament, or we can be completely miserable. I know which option I prefer.”
His eyes bounce between my hand and my face as he weighs up his response, taking more time than is necessary—I mean,really—before eventually getting up and cautiously sliding his calloused hand into my palm. “Okay. Truce.”
Just as I’m about to let go of his hand, he adds, “And for what it’s worth, I am genuinely sorry for how I acted before.”
Maybe I’m an idiot.
Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.
Maybe I still haven’t learned my lesson after getting burned by my ex and former friends.
Whatever the reason, as I hold his calloused hand firmly in my grip and lose myself in those dark-green eyes, I believe him.
20
Jackson
All my life, I’ve had plenty of ammunition to fuel my anger.
Getting diagnosed with an eye condition when I was four. Dad dying. Mom leaving us. Clancy losing our family land. Rich assholes moving to Silverstone, treating it like their own personal playground with little regard for the locals.
Wherever I look, there’s an injustice, something to get mad about, to rally against.
I’ve been raging at so many things and so many people for such a long time it feels like anger is baked into the foundation of who I am. And now that I’m so used to it, anger has become my default response, and it’s every other emotion that’s complicated.
It’s not something I’m proud of. I realize it’s a character fault. A defect. Something I’m stuck with, that I’ll never be able to fix, even if I could afford all the therapy in the world. Which is why I’ve been trying to create some distance between Maverick and myself. This is just one of the many ways I’m broken, and he deserves better.
At the very least, he deserved an apology, which is why I said sorry. Twice. It doesn’t make up for me reacting like a jerk, but it’s a small first step. I am truly sorry, and for more than just exploding at him the way I did before.
Coming up with that nightmarish to-do list was pretty messed up on my part, too. It seems to have really hurt him in a way I never intended…probably because I was too wrapped up in my own head to think it through properly.
Maverick is the best owner the sanctuary has had in all the years I’ve worked there. He actually gives a shit and means it when he says he wants to make things better. Why was I trying to make him leave, only to get replaced by someone worse?
A truce is exactly what we need right now. I’ve misjudged him in several big ways, made assumptions about who he is based on ideas I had of his so-called perfect family and life. But I plucked those ideas out of nowhere, really, a few online articles and my own deeply entrenched belief that most rich people are self-centered assholes. I’ve never given him a proper chance.
Until now.
We’re stuck here until Sunday. This weekend could be the fresh start we need. We didn’t exactly have the best of beginnings. If I remember correctly, I flipped him off within two minutes of meeting him outside Bunny’s.
This can be our do-over. Starting with me giving the guy an actual chance. Heck, I might even try being nice to him…and actually mean it this time. No ulterior motives.
After a joint trip to the kitchen, mining for even more sugary junk food to add to the world’s unhealthiest dinner, we settle into a conversation that feels refreshingly warm and comfortable.
“Okay, okay. Last TV show you binged?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes, polishing off a Kit Kat. “That would beThe White Lotus.”
“Thoughts?”
“Meh.” He lifts a shoulder and smirks. “My family has stayed at nicer places.”
