“What do you want, Mia?”
Already told you, but you didn’t listen.
The sting of rejection from earlier still lingers. I’m not used to that … or wanting a different outcome.
“I want time,” I whisper. “Quiet. A moment to breathe.”
He nods, eyes straining to the distant horizon. “We’re trying to buy you that. But we need more information. A better understanding of what this all is.”
I freeze, the last glimmer of hope about Maverick evaporating. He’s not here because he wants to be. He’s here because it’s another job. My trusting him hasn’t been connection. It’s been transactional all along. Like every other aspect of my life.
That’s when I know I have to do this alone.
A thousand questions fill my head. Is that why my parents hired Lone Star? Is that why they let me choose Maverick? Because they’re trying to help me, like Edwin? Or is it about what everyone wants—a money maker?
My voice trembles. “I imagine you’ve seen the papers yourself. Edwin said Lone Star got served.”
Maverick nods, wheeling back around. His eyes are dark, dangerous.
“Edwin promised to make things easier if you go back now,” he says flatly. “That’s his word. Not mine.”
I step back, absorbing the hard sting of his words. I knew Maverick was all business. But I never thought he’d offer the same temptation as my manager.
“Easier isn’t easy.”
He steps closer, forehead creases deepening. I could almost read his face as concern. But I can’t make that mistake. “Easy isn’t what you want, anyway.”
I look down at the wicker hamper filled with freshly washed linens.Doesn’t matter what I want. No need to waste my breath saying it, though. If he hasn’t figured it out yet, he never will.
I raise my chin, eyeing him coolly. “I’ll be in shortly.”
He stops, mouth working. I almost think he has more to say, but nothing comes out.
Turning back to the laundry, I grab another piece, pinning it up.
“Gonna do a perimeter sweep. Be back shortly.”
I nod without answering.
The white tileof the kitchen countertop glares at me, cool and uncaring. Burnt orange and white bottles line the counter in neat rows. The instructions echo the pattern of my life.
Take with food before bedtime. Take on an empty stomach. Three per day when symptoms persist. May cause drowsiness, depression, apathy.
Actually, it’s my life causing these things.
The phone is beside me again. Edwin is using a different number to communicate with me. He assures me he’ll keep using new lines until I realize blocking him won’t change a thing.
I pop a child-proof cap, shuffle a few white pills into the palm of my hand. Take enough, and I won’t care anymore. Take more, and it won’t matter.
You can be a zombie as long as you don’t wake up. Edwin knows this well. That’s why the prescription regimen started young. Along with the gaslighting, the manipulation, the abuse that made me second-guess myself.
But going back to that life now? Not possible.
Maverick stands in the hallway, half shrouded in shadow, observing me. Face watchful and clouded, features rougher and more rugged than I’ve ever seen him.
My eyes flicker to his, absorbing the warmth he can’t hide, hating the restraint that hangs like a paper-thin shield between us.
“Edwin says I’m crazy. That I would implode my life without him.”
