I don’t wait for Catalina to break the silence. My eyes lock on Amelia, and the rest of the room fades away.
“Come home,” I say, voice rough, cutting through the silence.
Her throat moves as she swallows, fingers twitching on her lap. She doesn’t respond, only staring back at me with those wide green eyes, walls already rising brick by brick.
She looks at me like I’m a stranger.
I step closer, kneeling in front of the couch. “Four days, dollface. Four days of waking up to nothing. Not your voice. Not your texts. Not your laugh. Nothing.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I run a hand down my face.
Amelia shifts, pulling her knees up against her chest.
“Please,” I rasp, leaning forward on the cushions, desperate to close the distance. “I don’t care if you’re mad at me. I don’t care if you need to yell, throw things, or call me the biggest idiot in the NFL—I’ll take it. Just don’t shut me out like this.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She drags her gaze away, like looking at me hurts too much.
My chest caves in. I reach across, fingers trembling, and take her hand. She flinches but doesn’t pull away. The feel of her skin against mine nearly undoes me.
“I need you,” I whisper, thumb gently brushing her knuckles. “Not the version of you that runs. Not the versionthat hides. Just you. Messy, stubborn, smart-mouthed—mine. Come home.”
Her breath falters, her eyes glassy as they dart back to mine. I see it—the fight inside her, the walls she’s building up, the fear tearing at her.
So I grip her hand tighter, anchoring her, begging without shame. “Don’t leave me in the dark, Amelia. Not when you’re the only light I’ve got.”
Her hand jerks away from mine, her eyes flashing, glassy yet hard.
“You don’t get it, Maverick!” she snaps, her voice sharp enough to cut through me. “This—” she gestures wildly between us, her chest heaving rapidly, “—this was never real!”
I flinch, but she keeps going.
Her voice rises, sharp and frantic, with words spilling out like poison she can’t contain. “It’s fake, remember? A convenient little arrangement to clean up your image, to make you look like some family man? I don’t want the studio, I don’t want this, and I sure as hell don’t need you!”
The words hit like a linebacker to the chest. My lungs seize, vision blurring.
Behind me, Catalina gasps loudly, the bag of chips sliding right off her lap. “Excuse me?”
Carter’s voice rumbles low and dangerous. “What the fuck did you just say?”
But I can’t look at them. I can’t look at anyone but her.
My hands grip the cushion near her legs, as if I can hold myself upright or stop her from slipping further away.
Tears burn hot in the corners of my eyes, but I fight to speak, my throat raw. “You don’t mean that.”
Her chin quivers, but she still rips the ring off her finger. She holds it out to me with trembling hands.
My chest caves as I take it, the cool metal biting into my palm like it knows what it is—proof of everything I thought we were building.
Her voice cracks, but she screams anyway, as if raising her voice will make it true. “This was fake, Maverick! That’s all it ever was. From the beginning. A convenient marriage to fix your image!”
The room falls deathly silent, except for the sound of my heart splitting apart.
I look at the ring in my hand, then back at her, and it takes everything in me not to break completely.
Because even as she’s tearing me to pieces, all I see is the woman I love, even if she can’t admit it.
The ring feels heavier than anything I’ve ever held. My knuckles ache from gripping it so tightly, and my chest feels like it's splitting open as her words echo through the room.
Fake. Convenient. Never real.
