“Everything,” I spit out. “What if it doesn’t work out? What if I fail? What if I waste my time?”
“Well, that last one doesn't count. It’s never going to be a waste of your time. The other stuff…” I feel her shrug rather than see it. “I don’t think you can fail. And not because I hold you on an indestructible pedestal—even though I totally do—but, because if it doesn’t work out the first, second, or third time, you’re still learning along the way, you’re still doing the things you want to be doing, and you’re growing as you get there, so I don’t think that’s a failure.”
I want to argue, but I know she’s right. I know this is about my future and writing, but in some weird way, I can’t help but think about how I’ve been doing this in my relationships. I had labeled myself a failure when it came to Nathan, but if anything, I learned more about myself and how to love deeper when Maverick came around.
Still, I can’t stop myself from asking, “And what if it doesn’t work out?”
She blows out a long breath. “Then it’s like you always say.” Her soft arms link around mine, and she drops her head to my shoulder. “If it’s not worked out then it’s not the end.”
40
chloe
I’m in my bathroom,giving myself a little swipe of mascara. Going home after losing out on that job felt like putting salt in the wound. I wasn’t expecting it to heal little pieces of said wound.
A knock sounds at my front door, and I catch my smile in the reflection of my mirror. I smooth the pieces of hair framing my face, set the mascara down, and practically sprint to meet the man I know is on the other side of the door.
“Hi!” I fling my arms around his neck, and for the first time, he must not have been expecting it because he’s slow to wrap his arms around me. I give him time to register that I’m here by melting into him, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck where his scent is most prominent. My eyes flutter closed as I take him in, and I was already feeling better, but being here, in this little spot against him, I’ve never fit better anywhere else.
“I know it was just one day, but I really missed you,” I whisper against his skin.
One of his hands finally presses to my back and I feel the weight of his head settle into me.
I pull back, just enough to hold his face between myhands, and even though it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours, he looks different. “Are you okay?” I ask, searching his eyes.
“Yeah. Just kind of cold out here.”
I step back, pushing my door open. “Sorry. Come in.”
Maverick takes his jacket off, looking around my freshly deep cleaned apartment. “It looks good in here.”
“Oh, when we got back this morning, I had a surge of energy and went on a cleaning spree. It took me like three hours, but when I was done, I felt like all the negative energy had cleared, and my mind was fully open.” I adjust a little seashell trinket dish on the coffee table before sitting down. “I was on such a roll, I sat down and got two thousand words written in my manuscript, and then I made an appointment with my advisor.” I wave my hands in front of me to the fast rhythm in which I'm throwing out all my new information. “She said there are other professors still holding interviews for TA positions for next year, but I told her I’m thinking of a new plan.” I pause just long enough to notice the rigid way Maverick is sitting. His blue eyes that usually glint like the top of crystal clear water appear muted, like the sun has set on them.
“Mav…” I hesitate. “What’s going on?”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he tries to swallow, and he looks down at his hands. I follow his gaze to his lap, my heart rate picking up, because it wasn’t even a thought that crossed my mind that he could have gotten into another fight. Aside from the usual callouses, his hands look just as perfect as they always do.
It takes everything in me not to ask again, and not because I don’t think something’s bothering him, but because I’ve learned he takes just a minute longer to put his thoughts to words. The longer we sit here in this defining silence, though, the more anxious I become.
“I’ve just been thinking.”
It’s such a simple sentence, and yet, the way he says it mixed with the way he won’t look at me has my intuition on high alert. My chest caves inward, and I swear the room tilts slightly.
“About?” I hear myself whisper even though my throat feels too tight to let the word out.
He drags his hand over his lips and leans forward, still not looking at me. This is a man hasn’t been able to keep his hands off me for days. His eyes haven’t left me in almost two months. He hangs on my every word, and the ones he gives back to me are always laced with flirtation or something soft and sweet.
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, trying to steady the tremble of my lips and force back the sting building behind my eyes. It’s a lost cause because when I look at him again I know without him having to say the words.
“Are you…” My voice cracks. He squeezes his eyes shut, turning his head away like the words physically hurthim.
“Oh my God,” I huff a sound of panic. “You’re breaking up with me.”
“Chlo…” He pushes from the couch to stand, and I follow on shaky legs.
“What—What happened?” I barely manage to ask.
“Nothing happened.” He doesn’t turn to look at me and I have to fight the urge to scream. I can’t tell which way is up and which way is down, but I know one thing for certain at this moment.
