I just knew that I was drowning. Every day felt like I was holding my breath underwater, smiling through it all so no one would notice the panic tearing me apart from the inside out. I’d spent my whole life being maneuvered—by my parents, my grandfather, by expectations, by reputation, and now by Vivienne.
And then there was Maverick…
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe again. Even if it was just to have another panic attack, at least it was something. I couldfeelagain. The world wasn’t so numbing when he was around.
When he looked at me, it was unfiltered. It wasn’t strategic, and he wasn’t assessing my value. It was raw and messy.It was dangerous.
I should’ve been mad at him. I should’ve hated him. He’d used me to get to my family and used me as a punching bag instead of talking to me. But I’d spent my whole life being hurt by people who were supposed to love me. It was so on par for the course that it borderline made sense to me.
At least with him, the pain came with tenderness. It came with laughter and jokes, dirt bikes and seashells. It came with gentle kisses and soft touches. With Maverick, love was worth the pain. Was one awful moment in our past enough to outweigh all the good ones? Or was I just rewriting history because I couldn’tsurvive believing that I’d lost the only person who ever chose me without obligation?
Maybe that was what love was.A convoluted, endless cycle of being hurt and hurting someone. Maybe this was just how it was supposed to be. He hurt me, I hurt him, we move on. Except we never really moved on, did we? We just stacked new lives on top of old wounds and tried to pretend like the foundation wasn’t cracked.
I just wanted the good again. Was that too much to ask for? I wanted the version of us before we were manipulated and torn apart. Before prison and marriage contracts. Before I learned how to lie so well that I almost believed myself.
The existence of something between us was a delusion I needed more than I needed the breath in my lungs. My life without him was inevitable, and I didn’t want to think about that. But all of it hung on Maverick not leaving me on read.Which he did.My phone screen dimmed in front of me. No bubbles. No response. My message remained out there, ignored and exposed, just like I felt.
CHAPTER 57
maverick
Harley halted work on the house, asking Frank for a momentary pause on the project. A week. He asked for a week. He told Frank that it was impossible to repair the house while so many boxes were piled inside. He asked for time to work on it, but I wasn’t a moron. The timing was too convenient.
Harley wanted space from me. I couldn’t blame him. I never replied to his text. I typed up more than a dozen replies, ranging fromI still love youtoI can’t see you again and I’ll haveFrank finish the house.Every single one of them felt wrong the moment I looked at the words on the screen. They were too honest, too cruel, or too late. None of them worked.
So I said nothing, and the silence sat between us like a loaded gun just waiting to go off without intention. It ruined me. I spent four days throwing myself into every available project that Frank was willing to throw at me. Eventually, my grumpy mood pushed him to send me to the garage, which was the smarter choice. I didn’t have to deal with people, and a broken car didn’t give a fuck about my attitude.
Engines were easier than feelings. You could take an engine apart, figure out what was wrong, and put it back together again. It was simple and predictable. It worked when you were done.
It wasn’t like that with Harley. It never would be.
And the reality was that I wasn’t okay.
I was hung up on the fact that Harley loved me and what the hell I was supposed to do now. I couldn’t think straight when Harley was involved. One part of me wanted to run to him and ask if he meant it. If he really loved me.
The other part of me—the part trying real damn hard to protect me from repeating old habits—demanded distance from Harley. Loving Harley always ended in pain.I wouldn’t survive being hurt like that again.
In the end, impulsivity won out. I went running right back to Harley. Only time would tell if it’d be worth it or if I was an idiot.
After work, I drove through the growing storm to Harley’s house. I didn’t have a plan, and I didn’t know what to say. I just drove with the intention of finding him. Everything else I’d figure out on the fly.
The whole way there, my stomach twisted itself into knots. Every mile amped up my anxiety. I devoured the sour candy in my glove compartment with hopes it’d help, but it didn’t. The sharp taste barely cut through the mess in my chest, andmy thoughts raced faster than the road beneath me. My grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles going white as I tried to keep it together. But the shorter the distance between us, the closer I came to unraveling.
When he didn’t answer the front door, I should’ve taken it as a sign. But instead of doing the smart thing, I wandered around the side of the house. The curtains were all drawn, making it impossible to see inside or tell if he was there. I followed the path to the backyard and looked around. The back lawn offered a scenic view of the lake, with a sloping hill leading down to their private beach.
And there I saw him.
Despite the heavier rain, Harley was down by the water. My heart lurched in my throat. The lake was particularly active with violent waves, like it always got before a storm, and of course, he was in it. It didn’t matter that he was only up to his hips. It wasn’t safe, especially for someone who probably still couldn’t swim.
For a split second, my chest seized with a fear so intense it stole the air right out of my lungs.
Fuck.
Taking off at a jog, I hurried down to the beach, damn near tripping over my feet as I went. Harley never once looked up, but I tracked his every movement as he scooped something out of the water and started back toward the beach.
“What are you doing?” I yelled at him when I was close enough to be heard over the rush of wind and water. He strode across the sand, ignoring me as he dropped something onto the sand, and I followed his movement.
Seashells.The man was out in a fucking storm gathering seashells. Was he fucking nuts?
