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Mav’s hazel eyes convey compassion. “There are things that could’ve happened to you that are hard to get over, a relevant example: you being homeless. But I’m not turning my back on you. I’d never blame you for that.”
“What if I made specific choices that you disagree with?” I hedge.
His exhale washes over my face. “It’s not my place to judge, but if you tell me you murdered someone or kicked puppies, I’m gonna reevaluate.”
“So kicking children is fine?” My chest loosens incrementally.
“Tons of justifiable situations to kick them.” Mav kisses the tip of my nose. “Seriously, the things you’ve done pale in comparison to the stories I’ve made up in my head.”
“You didn’t.” I cringe. Mav has a knack for finding the worst of the worst-case scenarios.
“Angel, my mind goes to dark places, and finding out you didn’t have a home, my mind went wild. You were kidnapped and forced into sex slavery, beaten and abused. Thankfully, you escaped.”
“Wow, you outdid yourself with dramatic tales worthy of a Broadway show. I’m okay.” I ghost my lips over his. “Would you rather know or not?” I give him the choice because damn, he goes dark.
“There’s no pressure to talk to me. Only tell me what you’re comfortable with.” Mav rests his forehead on mine.
“I was a cliché case of big dreams and no plans. I severely underestimated the cost of living and my ability to find a job that can pay New York City rent. I was too old for the youth shelters but fresh meat with the adults. The Q Solutions probably saved my life, literally and figuratively.” My body involuntarily shudders.
“Dance troops are cutthroat and political, and that’s being nice.” I’m not sure I’ll ever fully explain it. “It took close to a year and a half before I made enough money to survive. I’ve never been shy about showing off my body, so stripping isn’t a big deal. Didn’t see camboy as my career choice, but here we are. I’m not stopping, Mav.” I whisper the last words. I’ve said it before, but I’ve dated guys who assumed they could dictate what I do.
Mav’s silence rings like a freight train in my ears.
“Did anyone ever hurt you?” he asks.
“Nothing permanent. I’m not sure it’s possible to live on the streets and make it out without some injuries. The usual mugging type stuff.” I downplay my experience so Mav’s imagination doesn’t conjure worse things.
“This is the wrong thing to say, but”—his hands grip me tighter, fearing I might get away—“I wish you could’ve asked me for help. I’m glad you found your way out, but it scares me thinking about the what-ifs.”
“I was a stubborn asshole and wanted to do it on my own. My parents weren’t an option, and going to you would have been admitting defeat. Please don’t blame yourself. I wouldn’t have accepted your help then, and I’d have ghosted you again.” The ragged truth leaves my mouth.
“But you let Emmet help you.” There’s pain in his voice.
“We were equals of sorts. But he had to take care of himself, his sister, and his mom. When I bought the brownstone, things had turned around for him, or he’d have been my roommate. I wasn’t leaving him behind. But life got busy, and we lost touch. He’s the guy I’d turn to if I needed to hide a body. Keep that in mind.” I smirk.
“Are you threatening me?” He tickles me but falls off the couch to get away from my fingers. He’s the ticklish one. “Okay, okay, you win.” He scoots away, not sure if I’ll come after him. “Do you audition?”
I freeze as memories assault me. “No. I don’t want to play the games necessary. With cam work, everything is open and honest. No backroom deals or holy attitudes while doing dirty work.”
Mav tilts his head sideways. “Was that a hard decision? If I could change anything for you, it would be that—a safe place to dance in a show.”
“You’re not in charge of fixing things for me.” I crawl toward him, remembering the times he fought classmates who bullied me for being gay. “What would you change for yourself if you could?” I ask, changing the subject.
Mav reclines on the couch and takes me with him. “I care way too much what my parents think. The only time I’ve stood up to them was when I was traded to the Enforcers. They thought I should refuse and find another team. One”—he holds a finger—“that’s not possible, and two”—“he holds up another finger—“I’m not turning down my dream because they’re uncomfortable with the team members’ sexual preferences.”
“That had to be hard.” I place my hand over his heart for comfort.
“It wasn’t nearly as excruciating as I pictured. In my mind, they disowned me, and I was an orphan. It worked out much better than I predicted.”
I kiss his neck and murmur, “Hockey players are sooo dramatic.”
“We are a crazy bunch.” His stomach rumbles. “Let’s go out to eat. What’s good around here?”
Chapter 18
Maverick Maher
I chase Sky up the snowy stairs to his brownstone and press myself to him as he enters the code. Our breaths come out in white puffs, mingling together. His fingers fumble when I tug him against my erection.
