“I need you to breathe with me, Harley,” Maverick said. “Come on… deep breath in…”
Inhale…
I shook my head violently. I was trying.Why couldn’t he see that?
Exhale…
“Stop fighting me, please,” he continued softly. Fingers threaded through my hair and anchored there, firm and unmoving. I desperately clung to the touch. “Come on, Harley. Deep breath in…”
Inhale…
“… and deep breath out, nice and slow…”
Exhale…
“That’s good. Keep going… deep breath in…”
I did my best to follow his lead, stumbling through the breathing exercises while my lungs seized with panic.
How long we sat there was beyond me. I lost sight of things over and over while Maverick’s voice was steady in my ears with quiet instruction. Eventually, the lightheadedness subsided as breathing came easier. Panic ebbed away, replaced with the familiar edge of anxiety.
I became all too aware of how he touched me, one hand in my hair and the other lightly on my knee. It was far too intimate for our history and sent conflicting feelings rushing through my body.
I shouldn’t have found him comforting, and he certainly shouldn’t have wanted to comfort me.Not with the way we left things. Not after all the things he’d said.
“Why are you helping me?” I asked a little pathetically, my voice small.
“Because everyone needs someone sometimes,” Maverick whispered, “and it sure as hell seems like you need someone right now, Harley.”
If only he knew how true those words were.
CHAPTER 53
maverick
Iput him to bed. As weirdly domestic as it was, I put Harley to bed, tucking him in and everything. He didn’t fight me, thankfully, but he was barely able to stand on his own two feet. His exhaustion was bone deep, and I knew it had very little to do with today’s events.
Some awful part of me couldn’t help but wonder if this was partly my fault—if my cruelty had added to his life being this… messy, sad thing.
The honest answer was yes. Some part of what I’d done to him was responsible for how his life had turned out. I knew I didn’t deserve all the blame. His family took that trophy.But I’d helped.
The guilt of that turned me stupid. I should’ve just done my job and walked away for the day, but I couldn’t. Instead, I stayed after hours and off the clock. I knew Harley enough to know the mess in the house was crippling his anxiety.A part of me hated that I still knew that kind of thing about him.
While he slept, I made it my business to clear out the kitchen and the living room. I dragged out box after box, tossing their contents into the dumpster and breaking them down to be bundled. I was sweating, tired, and hungry, but I kept going until both rooms were unburied. It wasn’t much, but at least it gave him somewhere to go that wasn’t wall-to-wall boxes.
Late in the evening, while I took a short break, a message from Frank popped up on my phone.
FRANK: Is the job going okay?
I reread the message a second time as I contemplated how to reply. He’d probably kill me if he knew I was still here—professional ethic and all.
Yeah, it’s good.
FRANK: I looked over the inspection and estimate report.
Well, that wasn’t a good sign.He never went out of his way to message me about the reports I put together. Had I forgotten something? Or messed something up?
Does it look okay?
