“And yet, you’re smiling.”
Damn him, I am.
Maverick plops onto the sand, his bucket hat pulled down so low it nearly shadows his eyes. His massive hands pat at a mound of wet sand with exaggerated precision.
“Needs a moat,” he mutters to himself, scooping more sand with both palms. He leans back on his heels, tongue poking out in concentration, as he begins carving a lopsided moat with the edge of his hand.
I settle on the towel, arms crossed, acting like I’m not watching him like an idiot. He’s six-foot-eight, broad as a house, a quarterback capable of tearing through a defense in seconds, yet here he is, crafting a sandcastle.
And somehow, it’s… cute, which is dangerous.
We continue collecting shells until our hands are full,then he leads me toward the rocks that frame the far edge of the cove. The climb is slow and slippery, with sea spray, but Maverick keeps a hand out for me, steadying me every time I slip.
Finally, we find a flat stretch high enough to stay above the waves but close enough to hear them crash beneath us.
I sit cross-legged, brushing sand off my calves as I watch the sunlight turn the water into molten gold. For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
I glance over at him, breaking the silence. “Tell me about your mom.”
His smile is small, not his usual cocky smirk. “She was everything.” He leans back on his palms, eyes fixed on the horizon. “She loved hard and loud. Always had music playing in the house, always had a million things going on, but somehow, she made time for all of us like we were the only people in the world. I think that’s why Carter is so serious; he felt like he had to carry the weight she left behind. Reed… Reed just got quieter. And me?” He huffs out a laugh, but it’s thin. “I turned into the class clown. Figured if I could make everyone laugh, maybe they wouldn’t feel the hole as much.”
He pauses as his thumb absentmindedly brushes over his tattoo. “She loved roses. We would always bring her a fresh bouquet. Had them in the yard, always in a vase in the kitchen. After she died, the three of us got them tattooed—different designs, but all roses. Felt like we were carrying a piece of her with us.”
The wind shifts, carrying the scent of saltwater and kelp. He blinks toward the horizon again, his voice softer. “We all deal with it differently.”
His gaze flickers to mine; there’s a glassy edge, like he’s only one memory from breaking. Before I can say anything,he shifts, reaching across the space between us to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Tell me about you,” he says quietly. “I wanna know more.”
I look down at my hands, tracing a grain of sand across my palm. “There’s not much to tell.”
“Try me.”
The sincerity in his tone makes my chest ache, so I start small. I tell him about growing up in a house where silence meant safety, about learning to read people’s moods before they spoke a word. It was through tattooing that I first felt I could turn something ugly into something beautiful.
His eyes remain fixed on mine the entire time, never wavering. No interruptions, no jokes. Just listening.
And somehow, sitting there with the sun setting behind us and the waves crashing below, I feel something shift—like maybe, for the first time in years, it’s safe to let someone in again.
I let my eyes drift toward the horizon instead of his face, because if I look at him while I say this, I might not be able to get it out.
“My dad wasn’t really in the picture,” I start, my voice low, almost lost beneath the ocean’s rhythm. “And my mom… she did what she could, but we weren’t close, not until recently.” I quickly learned that the easiest way to survive was to stay out of the way. Keep quiet, and don’t rely on anyone.”
Maverick doesn’t move, as he waits, listening to me intently.
“I think that’s why tattooing worked for me,” I continue. “It allowed me to rewrite things and turn scars, real or not, into something worth looking at.”
There’s a tightness in my throat I try to swallow down.The waves crash harder against the rocks below, white foam spraying up.
“The marriage I was in,” I choke out, and the words taste metallic on my tongue. “It wasn’t… good. He knew how to tear me down without leaving bruises. Knew how to make me believe I was the problem. And I stayed longer than I should have because I didn’t want to admit I’d been wrong about him.”
I finally risk a glance at Maverick, expecting pity—or worse, judgment. But all I see is his steady, unwavering focus. His jaw is tight, but not in anger at me.
“Amelia…” His voice is low, gravelly. “I’ll beat his ass ag?—”
I shake my head quickly. “Don’t, he’s not worth your time.”
“Dollface, anyone who’s made you feel like you had to be less than you are? They’re worth my time.” He leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees, so close I can see the tiny saltwater droplets clinging to his lashes. “You’re the most… unapologetic, stubborn, gorgeous woman I’ve ever met. And if someone didn’t see that, that’s on them.”
