When I finally pull back, wiping my face with my sweater's sleeve, my voice is hoarse but steady. “I should go see him.”
Catalina doesn’t hesitate, nodding firmly. “Finally, coming to your senses, bitch.”
From the kitchen, Carter puts his sweet tea down, crossing his arms as he watches me with those intense, steady eyes. The smirk has disappeared, replaced by something quieter and heavier. He gives me a single nod.
“Will you two… will you drop me off?” My voice trembles, but the words are out now, heavier than anything I’ve ever said.
Catalina squeezes my hand. “Of course we will.”
Carter grabs his keys off the counter, the jingle sharp in the quiet. “Let’s go,” he mutters, though his gaze lingers on me just long enough to make my chest ache.
The ride begins quietly, with only the low hum of Carter’s truck and the faint shuffle of country music on the radio. I sit in the backseat, arms wrapped around myself, watching the hills roll by through the window.
Catalina twists in the passenger seat, her long hair brushing over her shoulder as she looks at me. “Alright, here’s the deal. You don’t get to go in there and clam up. You don’t get to ghost him again. You look that man in the eyes and you talk to him, even if it’s hard. Communicate, Amelia, don’t be one of those girls who ghost and run off.”
I frown, pressing my forehead to the cool glass. “What if I don’t know what to say?”
“Then say that.” Her voice is firm, no-nonsense. “Maverick doesn’t need polished. He doesn’t need perfect. He just needsyou.”
Carter makes a low sound in his throat, something between a grunt and agreement, but he doesn’t say anything. His hands grip the wheel tight, with his jaw working as if he’s biting back words.
Catalina keeps going. “And listen, Amelia—if it gets too hard, if you feel like you’re drowning, you text me. You don’t run, you don’t shut down—you call. I’ll pick you up myself if I have to.”
Her tone softens then. “You’re my best friend. I love you. And I’ll always make space for you in my home, no matter what. But Maverick? He’s my family now, too. And I’ve watched him come alive since you. You walk away from him; you’re not just hurting him. You’re hurting yourself.”
I blink hard, my throat aching, because I know she’s right. I’ve been running since the second Maverick told me how he felt, since the second he slid this ring on my finger. And running hasn’t made the fear go away. It’s only made the ache sharper.
Carter’s truck turns onto a familiar road, pebbles crunching under the tires. My heart jumps into my throat when Maverick’s house comes into view—the dark farmhouse perched against the hills, its windows glowing warmly in the gray morning. It looks steady. Like him.
And I’ve never felt more unsteady in my life.
Carter slows to a stop in the driveway, putting the truck in park, and glances at me in the rearview mirror, his blue eyes steady and piercing. “Don’t run,” he says, like it’s an order.
Catalina turns back to me again, reaching for my hand and squeezing it tightly. “Text me if you need to leave. I’ll be waiting. But try, Amelia. Please. Try.”
I nod as I run my sweaty palms against my jeans. Because the truth is, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stay.
I know I’m being stubborn. I can feel myself acting like a raging bitch, but for so long, I’ve convinced myself that all men are the same.
And now, the one man who has been there time and time again, probably doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore, with my actions and the hurtful words I’ve said to him.
I wave goodbye to Carter and Catalina as his huge truck accelerates out of the driveway, the sound of pebbles dispersing in the distance.
Sighing, I saunter towards Mavericks’ house. The porch light is still on, casting a warm glow on the worn, wooden steps.
I make my way up the steps, standing in front of the door, and enter the numerical code. The lock buzzes, letting me inside.
Cupcake greets me right away, licking my ankles. I lower myself and scratch behind her ear. Rex trots over, chirping and bumping his head against my knee.
“Hi, babies, I’m sorry I haven’t been around.”
I push off my knees to stand, scanning the living room, only to find it empty.
The house is eerily quiet and spotless as usual. Lemon all-purpose cleaner permeates the air as I make my way around the house.
I walk through the house, my bare feet softly pressingagainst the hardwood. It has a faint smell of him—his cologne lingering on the couch, the kitchen counters, the walls—and it’s maddening. I half expect him to come in through the back door, with his goofy grin, calling my name.
But there’s nothing—just silence.
