Chapter Twelve
I Don’t Know How To Do This
Zora
The moment the door clicks shut behind him, I sink against it, flowers trembling in one hand, the teddy bear clutched to my chest in the other.
For a long time, I don’t move.I just stand there, staring at the wildflowers, at the bow tied around the bear’s neck, as if the sight alone might steady me.But it doesn’t.It only unravels me further.
Because this isn’t the Maverick Hall I’d braced myself for.This isn’t the furious storm who’d cornered me yesterday.This is a man trying—awkwardly, painfully—to come to me soft, to show up for a little girl who doesn’t even know his name.
And God help me, it cracks me open.This is not the Maverick of old.
I set the flowers in a vase, place the teddy bear on Ivy’s bed where she’ll see it later, and then collapse onto the couch, my head in my hands.
Memories crash over me like waves.The first time Maverick kissed me behind the bleachers, all heat and recklessness, his hands trembling as if he couldn’t believe I was real.The way he used to grin at me when life was tearing him apart, that reckless smile that said “keep swinging, we’ll survive this too.”The nights we stayed up until dawn, whispering dreams into the dark like they might keep us alive.Sweetness.Fire.The kind of love that burned too hot, too wild, but made me feel more alive than anything else ever had.
But tangled with those memories came others.The fights he picked when his rage got the better of him.The nights he disappeared into booze and fights.The way I never knew if he’d come back bruised or broken or not at all.
That’s what I’d been running from when I found out about Ivy.That’s what had driven me to shut the door on him six years ago.But tonight, with the flowers blooming on the counter and the teddy bear waiting upstairs, all I could feel was the truth I’d buried so deep.
I still love him.
Not the chaos.Not the anger.But him.Always him.
A knock startles me from the spiral.I wipe at my face, forcing myself to my feet.Ethan stands on the porch, holding a takeout bag and a bottle of wine, his smile warm and steady.“Thought you and Ivy might like dinner company.”
I hesitate before stepping aside.“Come in.”
He sets the food on the counter, pulling out cartons and plates with his usual easy competence.“Is Ivy around?”
“She’s upstairs getting ready for bed.”
“Good.I brought those noodles she likes.”He smiles again, soft and sure.“I figured we could all eat together this weekend.Maybe take her to the park.Just us.A family.”
The word stabs through me.Family.
It should sound safe.Comforting.Everything I’ve told myself I wanted.But instead, guilt surges, choking me.Because even as Ethan talks about parks and noodles and family, all I can think about is Maverick on my doorstep, flowers in one hand, a teddy bear in the other, begging me for a chance.
