“I think you should use your real name, too,” he says, and the weight of what we’re discussing finally sinks in. This could blow up my whole life. End my career. Especially if Edwin has his way … and healwaysdoes.
“When I start talking, I trigger the fallout—whether immediate or more measured. I know that much.”
“The woman I’m looking at is strong enough to handle it,” he says calmly.
“You have more faith in me than I do,” I confess with a soft laugh. “I’ve spent most of my life being told what was best for me, which means I’m still learning—slowly—that silence doesn’t equal stability.”
“No, it doesn’t. But words for words’ sake, emotion for drama won’t help you either. You need cold, calculated fact. That’s what Edwin fears most, I’d imagine.”
“So maybe a written statement then. Something that will make my fans notice. That might get advocacy groups involved.”
He nods, face stern without being mean. “Something that makes Edwin’s response look like guilt rather than a curtain he can hide behind.”
More hours passas I pore over years of journals—documenting abuse, framing timelines, ordering and aligning facts—until the truth is impossible to ignore.
Maverick sets a fresh mug of tea down on the coffee table, eyes dark and warm, as I read back through my statement again, mouth moving wordlessly.
To see my life laid out without emotion, detailed with quiet precision, knowing that what I allude to is only a tiny sliver ofwhat I’ve endured… It’s almost too much. It feels dangerous, far more dangerous than my earlier candid attempts at videos.
I let out a sigh that carries weight, weight I didn’t know I’d been holding this whole time.
“What can I do?” he asks quietly, the friend I need instead of the bodyguard I require.
I stare into my mug for a long moment, measuring the cost of what I’m compelled to ask. This will change everything between us.
I bite my bottom lip until I taste salt and metal, hands fidgeting.
He turns away, strides to the kitchen counter, and returns with a crochet hook and yarn. He sets them on the arm next to me wordlessly.
“Sorry, it’s not alpaca yarn. I’ll do better next time.”
His words are the peace offering I need. The corners of my mouth turn up despite myself, and his face lightens subtly.
“Will you read this for me now? Give me your honest opinion?”
“Of course, Mia. But I’m no lawyer, and I don’t understand the intricacies of all of this. So, take what I have to say with a grain of salt.”
“I know.” I sigh, fingering the soft wool with one hand, letting its feel transport me back to another time and place. “But I still trust you more than anyone on the face of this earth.”
The words make me feel smaller, like I’m back on the soundstage toGood Morning USA, waiting for Edwin to snatch my stuffed animal friends.
“Then, I won’t break that trust again, Mia Lowell. No matter what it costs me.” Something shifts in his face—not softness, not relief.
Resolve. The kind that only comes when a man knows he’s crossed a line he can never uncross.
He says my name as if he’s seeing me for the first time. Truly seeing me, and I can’t doubt his words. They crack open something in my heart that I didn’t even know was there, and my mind wanders to a future I’ll never have. And the man who can’t be anything more than my temporary bodyguard.
Sitting next to me, he reads through it several times without saying a thing. Finally, his eyes meet mine over the laptop screen, all pupil so that they’re two ebony orbs.
“Is there anything that would make it easier for them to say I’m crazy?” I ask.
Maverick pushes the laptop back toward me, drawing closer. He doesn’t stop until I feel the heat of his body on my arm and shoulder, with only a thin sliver of air between us. Safety, ache, and need all at once.
My throat thickens, heart pounding against my ribs. I remember the feel of his arms like steel bands around me. God, I need them again.
He points to a line on the screen. “That adverb. It could be spun, I think.”
I cut it, staring at him.
