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“What about innocent kisses?” His lips skim the column of my throat. He nips at the edge of my jaw.
“What’s happening behind the fly of your pants doesn’t feel very innocent, Maverick.”
“We have privacy, though, and parts below the waist are highly aware of that. Plus, this feels like a defining moment in our relationship, and all of me is appropriately excited about you being my girlfriend outside this bubble.” He smooths his thumb across my bottom lip, backing up so I can see his face. “I know it’s still going to be complicated, but I’ll do everything I can to be worth that for you.”
I smile. “You already are.”
Thirty-Three
The Fears We Can’t Control
Clover
Afew days later, I wake up at three in the morning to the sound of Maverick’s deep groan. There’s nothing sensual about it, though. It’s followed by a panicked cry and thrashing.
I flick on the bedside lamp. His hair is damp with sweat, and there’s a furrow in his brow.
I give him a solid shake. “Maverick, wake up. Hey, hey. Wake up for me.”
He sucks in a breath, and his eyes pop open. Then he bolts upright in bed, his breaths coming fast and shallow.
I put a hand on his damp cheek. “Hey, look at me. It was a dream. Everybody’s safe.”
His gaze flits around the room. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” His voice is gritty and low. He covers my hand with his and drags the other one down his face. The sheets are twisted around his legs, and two of the pillows are on the floor. “This is getting ridiculous.”
“Was it the dream about the shed or about hockey?” I rub slow circles on his back, hoping to soothe him and bring him back from whatever edge he’s been on in his mind.
He shakes his head a couple of times and blinks rapidly, as if he’s trying to get rid of whatever threads of the dream are still clinging to him. “This time it was the closet. It’s like all my childhood memories are merging and fusing with the present. I keep making mistakes on the ice, missing stupid shots, or I’m frozen, or when I get a penalty, it’s not the box anymore. It’s the fucking shed, or a closet, and when I open the door, it’s you in there, and there’s all this blood.” He rubs his eyes. “But when I try to get you out, you disappear. And they lock me inside, and there’s all this screaming, but I can’t figure out where it’s coming from. So I keep calling for help and pounding on the door until my hands fucking shatter.”
“Oh, Mav, that’s awful.” I drag my fingernails down the back of his neck. The closet is new, and not something I know anything about. “Can you tell me about the closet? Where is that coming from?”
He taps restlessly on his thigh. “A couple of years after Lavender went missing, she got locked in one of our closets during a game of hide-and-seek. She was probably in there for, like, I don’t know, twenty minutes? Kody was the one who found her, and when we found them . . .” He shakes his head, gaze lifting to mine. “There was all this blood.”
“From what? What happened?”
His gaze shifts to the side, suddenly distant, as if he’s back in the past with the memory. “At first, I thought maybe they were dead. There was blood all over Lavender’s face and her hands and Kody’s neck. She’d been so terrified, she bit right through her bottom lip, bad enough that she needed stitches, and she’d done that thing with her nails. She got a lot worse after that for a couple of years. It probably triggered the memory of the carnival for her. I know it did for me. And the rest of my family. My dad lost it. He totally freaked out.” He rubs at his bottom lip. “And the worst part is that she ended up locked in there because of me.”
I want to ask more questions about his dad, but I need to keep the focus on him for now. “What do you mean, because of you?”
“I was the seeker. I was supposed to find her. She always hid in the same three places, though. So I assumed she was in one of those spots, and I didn’t go looking for her the way I should have.” He scrubs at his eyes with his palms. “Every time I think I’ve let one shitty memory go, another one pops up.”
There’s so much old trauma he’s holding on to, and it seems that now that the door to his past is open, more of those tough memories keep surfacing. I wish I could convince him to talk to someone, but I worry he’ll shut down on me like the last time I mentioned it.
“What can I do to help?”
“I need finals to be over. Once finals are over, it’ll be better. Then it’s just contract talks. It’ll be better then.”
He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into his lap. I rearrange myself so I’m straddling his thighs.
He glances at the clock on the nightstand. “I’m so sorry this keeps happening. I should probably sleep at my place until it stops. Or maybe the spare room. I don’t want you to be alone at night.”
I take his face in my hands. “Hey, look at me.”
His gaze moves away from the clock, his exhaustion and guilt obvious. “It’s no good if neither of us are sleeping through the night.”
I caress the edge of his jaw. “I can handle a few broken nights of sleep.”
“This has been nearly constant for the past week. I have an exam in six hours, and you have to proctor one.” His fingers drift up my arms, then down my back.
