“Wow,” he breathes. “You look incredible.”
“I was actually just thinking the same thing about you,” I say, and he pulls me into his arms.
He holds me for a few quiet beats, breathing me in as he seems to pull strength from our connection. I hold him to me as well as I try to be what he needs, hoping it's enough. HopingIam enough as we face this difficult day together.
Eventually he lets go and takes my hand in his. We head down to the front of the hotel, where a car is already waiting to take us to the funeral home.
The day will start with a service at a church, the burial, and finally a luncheon where we’ll greet other people who cared about his mother.
As the car travels on toward our destination, I sense his nerves pick up. I grab his hand as I promised I would, and he looks gratefully over at me. My heart skips a beat when I see the appreciation in his eyes that I am here with him, that he doesn't have to go through any of this alone.
It makes me wonder whether I'll have his hand to hold in mine when the time comes when I have to do this with my own family.
Before me, I think hewasalone except for his mother. Maverick has no brothers or sisters to face this with, no one to stand between him and the father who betrayed his family so often should the man decide to show up today.
I feel a sense of nervousness for him that he may be forced to face the man he carries so many negative feelings for. I find myself in a strange position as I wonder whether I'll meet his father today. We’re not at ameet the familystage yet, though I feel a dart of sadness rush through me that I never got to meet the mother who gave so many of the characteristics that I love about him, that the first time I'll ever interact with her is at this funeral today as I stand by his side to help him say goodbye.
We pull up in front of a church, and he pauses for a beat in the backseat before he gets out of the car. He draws in a deep breath and finally opens the door. He walks around the car and helps me out, taking my hand in his and not letting go.
When we walk into the atrium, a few people are gathered, but it's not a huge affair. It makes me wonder a little bit about her final years and whether she had anybody aside from Maverick who would come visit her and spend time with her. Maverick lets out a soft breath beside me as a man who I immediately identify as his father walks toward us.
My chest tightens as a shudder runs through me at the obvious similarities between these two men.
His dad is tall like he is, maybe an inch or two shorter, coming in a little over six feet. He's lean and handsome, and it's easy to see where Maverick gets his devilish good looks from.
It's also pretty easy to see how his father could take whatever he wants. He has an immediate charm about him that puts me a bit on edge. It's a little wonder how he was able to score however many women Maverick claims he was able to, even though we both know his loyalty should have been to his wife.
He stops short of his son and gives me a once-over before his eyes focus on Maverick. “It's been a long time,” he says.
“Wish it could have been longer,” Maverick replies.
His father sighs. “This isn't the time.”
“You shouldn't even fucking be here,” Maverick hisses. “All you did was hurt her for her entire adult life, and you have the fucking nerve to show your face here.”
I'm not quite sure what to do. On the one hand, his father is right that this isn't the time for airing dirty laundry.
But on the other hand, Maverick deserves to grieve in whatever way he needs to. And if that's attacking a man who,by all accounts, did more harm than good to the woman we're here to say goodbye to, then maybe that's his right.
Instead of doing anything at all, I just keep my hand planted firmly in Maverick’s and let him handle this the way he needs to. The way his mom would have wanted him to.
“When the divorce was finalized, she told you she never wanted to see your face again. I would imagine that includes in the afterlife,” Maverick says.
“I just came to pay my final respects,” his dad says a little wearily. His eyes edge over to me. “Aren't you going to introduce me to your girl?”
My heart wavers in my chest as I wait with bated breath to hear what his response is going to be. The truth is that Iamhis girl, but only in secret. We still have to play that I’m simply his brand strategist, here out of an obligation to my client rather than because he needs me here.
Even if we weren’t together, it’s logical that I would’ve needed to travel here with him today.
“Not that it's any of your business, she's my publicist,” Maverick says thickly.
I shouldn't feel upset that those are the words he uses to describe our relationship that's so much more than that, yet I do.
His dad's eyes moved down to where our hands are joined. “Awfully cozy for a publicist,” he grunts, and it’s yet another example of seeing the son in the father's reaction.
He would hate that I even have that thought, but I can't help it. There are just so many similarities between them. And I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Maverick hates that fact.
I try to ease the tension by sticking my hand out toward him. “Everleigh Bradley,” I say.
