I should’ve known what effect yelling like that would have on Maisie, and I shouldn’t have needed Hunter to rip me a new one because of it. Maisie told us she rarely relaxed when her ex-husband was home, and after hearing the ways he would lash out at her for the tiniest things, I get why she’d be on edge. Who wouldn’t be living with a psycho like that?
“What she said before she left was important,” Knox says, having opened his eyes as Hunter filled him in on what he missed. “She could have shut down, or she could have left, but she didn’t. She knows she’s safe with us, and she wantsusto know it too.”
That’s a big deal. We all know it, but does she? Is that why she said it?
My dreams ever since I walked into Nico’s Diner have been about her. My nightmare is that someone will hurt her and I won’t be able to save her in time. I’ve been living with pain and pleasure, need and frustration, lust and the desperate need to be fuckinggentle, so I’m almost always wound up too tight.
Tonight was the first time I’d pulled out my PlayStation 5 in weeks. I thought gaming would help me unwind. Instead, I’d just scared Maisie. She’d smiled at me in the kitchen, lips tight, eyes haunted, when I’d gone to find out the source of the plate crashing. Then Hunter yanked me out of the room and told me how badly I’d fucked up.
I wasn’t expecting her to walk into the living room wanting to play. She sat down beside me, and as I’d watched her scream “Die!” at the zombie on the TV screen, I’d fallen a little more in love with her than I already am.
Every quirk she reveals is another window to the real Maisie Lucas, the girl she was before her ex made a wreck of her life, and she’s so fucking special.
I push myself up from the couch. “I’m going to bed.”
Knox peels open one eyelid, surprised. “You’re not playing?”
I’m usually down here for a few hours. They occasionally like to watch, but only Hunter will want to play too. After my epic fuckup scaring Maisie, I’m no longer in the mood.
I shake my head. “Not tonight. Do you mind…?”
Hunter, holding the controller, waves his hand vaguely in my direction. “Go. I’ll put it away.”
I’m walking out when I pass Wyatt’s armchair.
He grasps my arm, halting me. “Don’t go up there beating yourself up about what happened, all right? I know you. She’s fine now, and she knows you weren’t trying to scare her.”
We’ve lived and worked together for years, too long not to see each other's flaws. Hunter would have shrugged this off. Knox would’ve gone for a long run and come back relaxed. Wyatt and I are a lot alike. It’s not as easy for us to shrug off mistakes the way Knox and Hunter would. I hurt Maisie tonight, and even though I hadn’t intended to, I can’t forget it.
“I won’t,” I lie.
He raises his brow. “If you need to talk?—”
“I’m good,” I cut in and head for the doorway, lifting my hand in a wave goodbye without looking back. “Night.”
As I head up the stairs, someone turns on the TV, volume low.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I hesitate outside Maisie’s room, considering knocking on her door to make sure she’s all right. I even lift my hand to do it, but I shake my head and continue to my room.
She’s asleep already. Let her rest.
Taking off my shirt, I throw it on the bed and go to wash up. After I use the bathroom, I wash my face and brush my teeth. Then I switch off the light on my way out, only to freeze in the doorway.
Maisie sits on the edge of my bed. Her strawberry-blonde hair looks soft and wavy as it hangs loose around her face. She’s wearing a t-shirt—one of mine—and her face is slightly pink, as if she washed up but came here instead of getting into her bed.
She gets to her feet. “Hey,” she says shyly.
I frown. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Her eyes flick to my chest, lingering long enough for me to know she likes what she sees. She clears her throat, her cheeks flushing a soft pink as she curls her toes. “Feel free to say no, but can I stay here with you tonight?”
My insides shrivel.
That motherfuckinggame.
All those zombies and blood and gore. What thefuckwas I thinking? Now I’ve given her more nightmares to go with the ones of her ex that had her up at two, unable to sleep.
Itching to punch myself in the face, I ask, “Because of the game?”
