The week before final exams, I wake up to messages from Gabriel.
This isn’t uncommon. I can see the pattern emerging again, thanks to talks with Sophia. It’s what he did when things first started to go south in our relationship. He would try to take something away from me, I would fight against it, and he would do it anyway and then buy me something as a means to placate me. At first it worked. Then the things he took away became bigger, more important—essential even, to my well-being.
He continues to send gift baskets and call or message, asking when we can sit down and talk. He keeps bringing up the property in Pearl Bay, knowing it means something to me, but he doesn’t realize it’s about more than wanting to hold on to a little piece of lakefront property.
I continue to tell him there’s nothing to talk about, and he assures me there is.
I scroll through the messages, suddenly on alert. Because he’s in town. And apparently, he just happens to be passing by my house this morning. “Fuck.”
I roll out of bed and rush to throw on the clothes I laid out last night. Sending baskets was one thing, stopping by with barely any notice is another.
I fire off a text to Sophia, but it’s only six fifteen in the morning. She doesn’t usually show up at my door these days until closer to seven. I could run up to her place and hide there until he leaves. But who knows how long Gabriel would wait. I’m just prolonging the inevitable, and I don’t want to hide anymore. I want him to see that I’m just fine without him. That I’m actually better than I’ve ever been. That leaving him was the smartest decision I’ve made.
Even now, with all the complications, having Maverick in my life helps me see clearly, in a way I couldn’t before, all the ways Gabriel was trying to control me.
Maverick is everything Gabriel is not—altruistic, caring, a champion for strong, independent women who can take care of themselves, and like me, a little broken by the things we’ve been through. I see our parallels, the way he’s been changed by what his sister went through, and the ways I’ve been changed by marrying someone who wanted to keep me inside a box.
Still, I’m grappling with the stigma and my own feelings about the entire thing. But we have a connection—the kind that makes me wish even more that Gabriel would just sign the damn papers, and this semester would finally come to an end.
Eyes on the prize. I need to stay focused on my goal here. I’ve just shoved my feet into my shoes when a black BMW pulls into the driveway. And there he is.Gabriel. There’s noway I’m letting him into my house. Not when there’s a university hoodie hanging from the hook at my front door which my almost-no-longer student left here and still hasn’t taken back.
15
NOT-SO-FRIENDLY COMPETITION
Maverick
I’ve been avoiding Hackett Street for the most part, but today I’m on autopilot as I take my morning run. Instead of bypassing the street, I make a right onto it. I’m about to adjust course when I spot a black BMW parked in front of Clover’s place with an out-of-state license plate.
I slow to a stroll as I approach her driveway and notice a man standing in the middle of it. Another two steps and Clover appears. She’s dressed in a pair of black pants, a white blouse, and the mint-green cardigan she’s so fond of. Her hair still hangs loose around her shoulders.
In her signature move, she’s gripping both sides of her cardigan and lapping them over each other.
I wave uncertainly and stop at the end of the driveway, trying to figure out the dynamic and her posture. “Hey, Professor, how’s it going this morning? Everything okay?”
She startles and offers me a tight-lipped grin as I look between her and the man with his back to me. “Oh, hi, Maverick.” Her hand flutters up to her throat and then back down to clutch her cardigan. “Everything’s fine.”
I take a couple of steps toward her, in part because I’m not entirely sure I believe her and because I want to get a closer look at this guy. “I noticed your garbage isn’t out yet. You need a hand getting it to the curb?”
“It’s okay. I’m about to put it out.” Her smile is stiff, her expression remote. Indifferent.
“It’s no problem for me to do it, if you’re busy.” I take another step closer.
The man standing in front of her turns around.
I hold out a hand and try to keep my expression open and friendly. It’s the one I use when I’m at the gym, meeting a new group of women who’ve signed up for self-defense. Relaxed. Welcoming. “Hey, I’m Maverick, I live down the street.” I thumb over my shoulder.
“Nice to meet you, Maverick.” His smile mirrors mine, but his gaze is shrewd and assessing as he takes me in. “Gabriel Lockwood.” His grip is firm, and he returns his attention to Clover. “I’m so glad my wife has the kind of neighbors who look out for her. Makes me feel a little bit better about the neighborhood she’s living in.” He stresses the wordwife, and I doubt I imagine it when his grip tightens around mine for a moment.
I try to keep myself from reacting, but I’m pretty sure my eyebrows pop. Well, shit. When she said an ex sent her the basket, I figured she meant an ex-boyfriend, not that she was married, and apparently still is.
“Ex-wife,” she counters. “And you really don’t need to worry about the neighborhood. It’s not as though I’m living next to a methadone clinic.” She’s definitely throwingout a hostile vibe.
“There’s a lot of student housing around here, though. You should be on the other side of the university.” He tucks a hand in his pocket and gives her a mischievous grin. “And I haven’t signed the divorce papers yet, so I still have a chance at winning you back.”
He winks at her, and I barely resist the urge to punch him in his smug face.
She returns his smile with a saccharine one of her own. “On a cold day in hell.”
