“Can I tell you something?” Maverick’s voice is unbearably soft. He keeps his face tilted away, like he’s scared looking directly at me will startle me.
He finally does tilt his face andlook. His penetrating gaze knocks the wind right out of me. It takes me a moment torecover, but he doesn’t press. He doesn’t get out of that chair and crowd me.
“You can talk to me like you wrote to me.” I grab for the bag of coffee grounds and clutch it in both hands.
“The prison censored a lot, I’m sure, even though there were strict guidelines. Things we could and couldn’t say. Things we weren’t allowed to read.”
“You don’t have to censor anything.” At least that comes out strong. I mean it. I truly do.
“When people find out that you’ve been in prison, they treat you differently.” He sets his hands on the table, palms up. They’re rough, just like his gravelly tone.
It gives me a sense of him disarming himself in every way. Baring himself.
“They look at you differently,” he continues, but his words are scraped up a painful throat. “It means the world that you’re just nervous, and that you don’t do that. I feel like this is the one place I can take a breath and try to figure out what it means to bemeas a free man again.”
Oh god. Oh my god, oh my god.This isn’t fair to him. He might be free, but I’m not. How can I just stand here and lie to him after he emptied himself out like that? He trusts me. He came in here with his guard down, vulnerable, so damn honest. So himself.
I sink down onto the floor. I don’t mean to do it, but my legs are shaking so badly that they can no longer hold myself up. I’m still clutching the black bag. The fragrant aroma of toasted caramel and sea salt fills me up when I gulp in air.
“Loreena!” Maverick scrambles up from the table. The chair screeches on the laminate flooring.
He kneels down, hovering right in front of me. Tears blur my vision. When he reaches out, I see three of his hands, all restrained. He doesn’t touch me. He’s only trying to be respectful and not scare me.
“I’m s-sorry,” I choke.
Words are impossible until I have more air. I gulp and thrust my hand over the bridge of my nose. It smells like coffee too. I can’t let him say anything. He’s going to ask me if I’m okay, and I’m not. He’s going to ask what he can do, and the answer is nothing. I need to just tell him.
“I’m so, so sorry.Idon’t even remember what it is to be free. I’m trapped in here. I’mstuck. I can’t have a normal life.” I bow my head, ashamed, bracing for the rejection, the loss of one of the few friends I have. More than a friend. Maverick is always going to be so much more. “I’m not like other people. I should have told you, but I just… couldn’t. I was afraid that you wouldn’t understand, if I wrote it.”
He rocks back on his heels. At last, that wariness creeps into his face. It makes me sad. Sadder than I’ve ever been for myself. I was something good in his life, but I’m not good. I was something true, but I wasn’t honest. I wanted to be the loudest voice for him, cheering him on, guiding him, helping him, but I can’t even do that for myself.
His beautiful face wasn’t made for this kind of worry. I can’t bring the light to his life. I have nothing to offer other than my own problems and troubles. I don’t want them to be his. He doesn’t owe me anything. He’s out now. He’s golden and in the prime of his life. He should have these years as the best ones yet.
If I really care about him, I should give him up. Maybemove on,but that’s a joke. There’s not going to be any moving on for me.
“I’m agoraphobic, Maverick. I’m not…right. Nothing is right.”
Chapter 4
Maverick
Ihate that big eyed, deer in the headlights, stunned off their rocker look that people sometimes get. It’s worse because I don’t know what to do other than kneel here and gape. I’ve never been good at finding the right thing to say. If it doesn’t involve a joke, then I usually opt for silence, but both those options feel like they’d be the exactwrongones.
It’s not like I can just whip out my phone and look up what Loreena just said. I don’t even know how to spell it.
“I- you’re going to have to help me out here.” I’m going to fall over. I’m on my damn knees and I’mstillunsteady. All the oxygen sucks right out of this small kitchen. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m not gonna run because there’s something wrong with you.” My hands are balled up, and I thrust one to my chest, thumping it there like a vow. “If you’re sick, I understand why you didn’t say anything, but you don’t have to face it alone.”
I don’t like the twisted smile that cuts across her face. It’s cruel, but it’s not directed at me. I want to try to reach out. Set my hand on her elbow or maybe brush her arm. Her pain stabs at me, a knife between my ribs.
“I’m not angry that you didn’t tell me. Everyone deserves their privacy. Or maybe you just found out, and you wanted to wait to see me in person. I—”
“I didn’t just find out.” That cruel smile drops away, and her lips thin out to an unhappy line. “I’ve known for years. Ichose not to tell you, because I didn’t want you to see me that way. Just my illness and nothing else.”
“I wouldn’t have… I still don’t know what that is.” If she’s been sick for years, then it’s not something that’s life threatening, is it?
She shakes her head, then lets out a shocking snarl, whips around, and hurls the bag of coffee back onto the counter. It lands without much force and doesn’t burst or spill open. Her head whips back to me, eyes glowing almost ferally, the starkest blue. “You’re meant for a good life. Just looking at you, I can see that you’re made for laughter. You should never have been in that place. You’ve lost enough years of your life already. You’re beautiful. There’s nothing cruel or mean about you. I can see it in your eyes and your face, but of course you’re gorgeous on the outside too. Whatever it is that I’d hoped for, we can’t do this. I’m glad that I could help you when you were on the inside. Maybe brighten your day or provide some small measure of relief, like you did for me. Getting your letters was sometimes the only good part of my day.” She wraps her arms around herself, clutching her arms so tightly that I imagine she’s leaving marks on her pale skin beneath her sweater. “I used to wonder what your voice sounded like. The exact timber and cadence.”
Why does that sound so fuckingfinal?
