Page 72 of Run to Me

I thought I loved Jensen, but that day made me question everything, including what love is supposed to look like. Couples hold hands and exchange sweet words, but I’ve never experienced either of those. If I had, they would’ve been meaningless. For me, love is a feeling—innate, immeasurable, and invisible to the human eye. However, since the fallout with Jensen, I no longer trust my feelings.

“I don’t know what to do now. He wants to talk, but I know he’ll try to convince me to stay in Walford. I’m not staying here, Tate. I’ve said all along my plan is to deal with Vera and leave.”

Irritation hardens her features. “Where will you go, Maiz?”

Frowning, I ask, “What do you mean? I can go anywhere.”

She sits up, mirroring my position, and grasps my hands in hers. “Just hear me out. I’m in Walford. Miguel and Graham are talking about buying a place here. Marcus and Judge will visit when they can. Don’t use being apart from our family as an excuse to leave. No matter where you live, we won’t all be together like before. So tell me the truth. What is it about this town that makes you hate it so much? And don’t say it’s your mother. Your mother isn’t Walford.”

I think long and hard about my answer. In the past, I claimed it was the people here failing to notice me, my parents’ lack of interest, and my brother’s shadow looming over me, snuffing me out. I’ve made so many excuses about why I despise this town, burying the real reason at the bottom of the pile.

In truth, I couldn’t face the man who broke my heart, day in and day out, after I offered my soul to him and he didn’t reciprocate. I stay away because, to me, Walford represents Jensen.

My flooded eyes give Tatum the answer to her question, and she squeezes my hands. “Do you want to be with him?”

“I miss him,” I whisper, my bottom lip quivering.

“Answer the question.”

A shaky inhale fills my lungs with much-needed air. “Yes, but I’m scared.”

“No buts. He obviously wants to be with you. I’ve seen how he watches you and looks at you. Not like you’re the center of his world, but like you created it. He’s pretty intense,” she teases, and we both snort laughs at how true that statement is.

Then the humor melts away, and I’m left with the truth I’ve denied for years. “I do want him, Tate. I’ve always wanted him.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Nothing. In recent months, Jensen has demolished all of my excuses and blown my reservations out of the water. He proved all of my assumptions wrong. His actions and support speak louder than any words he could ever say to me, the same as when we were young. Time and time again, he shows me how he feels.

In that same period, I’ve relinquished all but one of my nevers. The only one remaining—the final vow I’m clinging to with fierce determination—is my promise to never give a man the power to hurt me. Through my uncompromising stance, I’m hurting myself.

My head tells me to take the advice I gave Jensen the night I stayed at his house. To leave the past in the past and grab hold of what’s standing right in front of me. Him. My heart, however, fears history will repeat itself, considering my track record with being loved leaves a lot to be desired.

But how does that saying go? Without risk, there’s no reward.

24

JENSEN

My Jeep rolls to a slow stop when I spot a familiar pickup truck—Pam’s truck—parked in front of my house. Turning into the driveway, my headlights sweep across the porch and illuminate the small form sitting on the steps.

The pounding in my chest increases as I shut off the engine, cloaking the porch in darkness. Is Maisy’s appearance a good sign or a bad sign? She could’ve decided I’m not worth her time. Or she could be ready to talk and work things out. Either way, I gather my courage and climb out of my Jeep to face her.

As I approach, she stands to greet me with a solemn expression on her face, revealing nothing. “You’re here,” I say, stating the obvious.

“I am.” She wraps her arms around her middle, as if she’s cold despite the balmy air, and avoids my gaze.

I clear my throat and swallow my nerves. “Let’s go inside.”

She follows as I open the door and flip on a few lights, keeping the kitchen and living room moderately dim. Light enough for us to see each other, but dark enough to hide our fears.

“Need anything?” I ask, opening the refrigerator.

Shaking her head, she sits on the couch and folds her hands in her lap, clutching her phone. I snag two water bottles in case she becomes thirsty. Steadying the tremor in my hand, I place them on stone coasters on the coffee table.

I’m not sure what to do next. Do I sit or stand or kneel at her feet? Apprehension fills the air, along with a tension so thick it could raze cities or add to the earth’s population, depending on how this night goes.

I rest my hands on my hips and breathe in and out, slow and steady. “Maisy⁠—”