Resolve shone in her gaze as she stood up and followed suit. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that,” I replied, grabbing a towel. “And that ain’t a risk I’m willin’ to take.” I didn’t give her a chance to respond, but instead turned on my heel and headed for the room.
I know it was cowardly, I know it was wrong of me to do, but I couldn’t look her in the eye any longer. I felt so much guilt and shame and disappointment. And fear. So much damn fear it made me tremble. How did she not see how dangerous I was? The damage I could do? That man—that horrible, violent, angry man—was in my blood, coursing through my veins. And so long as that anger festered in my soul, I was a danger to her.
“So, what?” she asked, a deathly calm note in her words as she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel before stopping a few feet opposite of me and the dresser. “You wanna break up?”
The thought of her leavin’ terrified me. But I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to stop this feeling of dread choking me to death.
I slammed a fist down on the dresser, shaking the contents and making Cheyenne’s perfume bottle wobble atop it. A wave of helplessness pummeled into me. “You don’t understand, Chey. I don’t want to hurt you!”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. I expected anger or at least annoyance from her, confusion maybe, but not a wink of any of those emotions hung in her gaze as she slowly made her way toward me and pressed a gentle, yet firm hand to my chest. “Then make me understand. Let me in. Tell me what happened to you. Let it out… I promise I won’t run. You don’t have to fight this demon all alone.”
My bottom lip trembled as I bit back tears. I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t open up that cupboard I’d kept locked up for so long. No one else needed to see the pain and suffering and hurt. It was my burden to bear. I couldn’t put that on her.
I managed a weak shake of my head, my throat squeezing shut, cutting off the air to my lungs.
Her gaze dipped to my chest, her hand sliding up to rest over my heart. “Please, Mav. Don’t you see? It’s eating you up alive. Festering and growing here until it gets out of control. It won’t matter how patient or slow to anger or calm you try to be. If you don’t let it out, if you don’t purge it from your soul and address it, it’s always gonna have power over you.” Her gaze came back up to mine, and the love and hope and understanding in her eyes nearlyshattered my resolve. She reached up on tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my jaw before whispering, “You don’t have to talk to me. But talk to someone. Cash or Ryder. Better yet, Bad. Hell, maybe even a therapist. They could help.”
I exhaled a slow, shaky breath, fighting the tears swimming in my eyes. I hated how weak I felt. Hated how her words resonated so deep in me.Growing. Festering. It’s always gonna have power over you.
Her hand fell from my chest as she turned away, grabbing something quickly from the top drawer of the dresser. In silence, she padded to the door to our room, but she stopped in the doorway. “You know, you’re terrified of turnin’ out to be like your daddy. But you’re already far better than he ever was. It takes strength to be good, Maverick. It takes strength to see the ugly inside of you and want to be better. I’ve never seen such strength in someone until I met you.”
And with that, she walked out of the room.
The tears I’d fought so valiantly moments before finally fell, the loss brewing in me something I can’t even adequately describe. I heard the door to the guest room shut, and even though I knew she hadn’t left, her absence felt like a gaping hole in my chest.
I don’t remember getting dressed. Don’t remember even leaving the room. But in less than a minute, I’d pulled on a pair of pants and found myself heading toward the nursery.
She stood there, still wrapped in her towel, a hand clasped over her mouth looking around the room. I’d painted it, a soft, warmyellow with white trim that went nicely against the greyish stain I’d used for the furniture. The mural I’d begun painting on the main wall wasn’t done yet.
Shit. I forgot to lock it after working in there the other day.
“It’s uh…it’s not all finished, but I wanted to surprise you with this.”
Cheyenne pressed a hand to the smooth, gray wood of the crib, her tear-filled eyes meeting mine as she turned to face me. A soft, sad smile played on her lips. “You are so good and so kind and so strong, Maverick…I wish you could see you the way I do.”
The dam holding back my fears cracked then. I couldn’t keep them in any longer, I needed to tell her. Everything.
I moved to her, picking her up in my arms and taking her to the bed I’d kept in here. I didn’t speak as I pulled the t-shirt she’d taken from my room over her head, or as I drew back the covers and urged her to lie down. Curiosity lined the slight furrow of her brows, the questioning frown on her lips, but she did as I silently asked. Sliding into the bed beside her, I leaned back against the headboard, the fluffy pillows propping me upright. Cheyenne settled at my side, resting her chin on my chest.
And then I told her my story. Every dark, ugly, terrifying bit.
Chapter fifty-one
Save Me
Cheyenne
Oh my God…
Rage, sadness, anger, and disgust pulsed through me so thoroughly it made me sick. What Maverick had gone through—no,endured—what he’d endured was nothing short of horrifying. Every time he’d paused and I’d thought it was over, he’d tell me another story. Another instance of his dad being an absolute shit human being. He made my mother look like a fucking saint.
There was so much hurt and anger and fury beaten into Maverick it was no wonder he damn near bashed Nate’s face in…and I’d let it happen. I’d given the fucking go ahead.
Guilt ate at me. Had I known I’d have maybe rethought letting him fight Nate. He didn’t need any more bloodshed, more violence.
I glanced over at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Quarter to two. Maverick still slumbered beside me. I hadn’t slept at all. Every time I closed my eyes, images of him suffering at the hands of his father plagued me.
