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“You’re telling me.” I laugh, tipping my head back. The sun beams down, overheating me under my sweater.
Maisie made good on her promise to buy me some new tops to wear when it’s too hot, but I can’t bring myself to take them out of the bag.
“You know,” I continue, dropping my gaze back down. “I’m kind of at the point where I just want him to dosomething. Say or do something reminding me why I’m not welcome here. Because the looks are somehow worse. When he looks at me, it’s like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be feeling. The hatred I get, the anger too. But whatever’s going on in that guy’s head right now, I don’t know how to handle that.”
“You ever think to ask him?”
Shrugging, I grab my drink and backpack, slinging it over my shoulder as I push off the bench. “No, because I don’t think I want to hear what he has to say.” Sighing, I give her a quick squeeze. “Anyway, I gotta get to psych.”
“See ya.” She waves before laying her head back down on the table. I won’t be surprised if I find her there asleep after my two-hour lecture.
Since she and Nash started hooking up, I’ve seen less and less of her, and I’m trying to be okay with that. But there’s also a small part of me struggling with the changes too.
As I turn the corner, I slam into what feels like a brick wall, and my drink falls to the ground, the lid toppling off. Coffee seeps into my trainers, and I hiss under my breath, stepping back as a hand closes around my wrist, halting me.
The touch is firm, but gentle, and I don’t need to look up to know exactly who I walked into or who the hand belongs to. My skin heats under his grip, goose bumps raising where he holds me. “Jesus, Bumblebee. You need to be careful with where you’re walking. You could have hurt yourself, or someone else.”
My head snaps up, and a gasp escapes me at his closeness. Maverick leans down, his face inches from mine. His eyes darken when I bring my lower lip between my teeth, chewing on the skin to stop myself from doing something stupid.
After a moment of tense silence, I expect him to leave, but he stands there staring at me like he has something to say, but no words come out.
I let my lip free, my tongue sweeping over the sting before I speak. “What do you want, Maverick?”
“From you? Absolutely nothing,” he says, his eyes zeroing in on my lips.
“Why do you have to be a dick?” I blurt, regretting it when his eyes lock on mine, the gray appearing almost black as he narrows them at me.
“What am I meant to do, Beatrice? Welcome you back with open arms? Thank you for fucking up my life?”
“I clearly didn’t do that!” I snap, stepping backward and pulling my wrist from his hold.
Maybe it’s the waiting, and the constant wondering of what’s going through his head, but I can’t stop the words from falling past my lips.
“You’re here, aren’t you? Quarterback of the football team, surrounded by friends. Nash says your grades are stellar and you’re well-loved by the student body and the faculty. So please, tell me just how I fucked up your life?”
Dropping down, I gather up the strewn coffee cup and straw, clenching them to my chest as I rise. Maverick says nothing, and the longer I stand there waiting, the angrier I become, and my mouth just can’t stop spewing words.
“You know, I’ve spent two years living with guilt over what I did to you,” I tell him, taking another step back as heat rolls off his body. His eyes never leave mine, his expression blank as he stares at me. It should be a warning. Maverick doesn’t do blank. His expression normally tells you a million things, something he’s never been good at hiding, but even knowing that isn’t enough to stop the flow of words.
“You have no idea how much shame I live with. But coming here, watching you? You are living your life. And you can’t imagine how much I envy you for that. So don’t you dare tell me I ruined it for you. I will regret the choice I made that day for the rest of my life. But I won’t stand here and take your shit. You want me gone? Do better, ’cause I’m so over all of this. I am sorry for what I did to you, and I truly hate that I hurt you with the decisions I made back then. But I don’t owe you anything now, least of all my life. Just let me live, Maverick.”
I spin on my heel, blinking against the wave of emotions threatening to suffocate me as I stalk away. He says nothing as I leave, making no move to follow me.
If anything, that makes it worse.
Something inside me wants him to shout, belittle and berate me. Because that’s what I’m used to. That tells me he still feelssomethingwhere I’m concerned. But he gives me nothing, and a tear spills over my lashes when I find myself heading toward my dorm.
When I get there, I’m overcome with emotion. Pressing my back to the door, I slide to the floor, my eyes zeroing in on a white envelope to the side of me I know wasn’t here before I left.
Swiping away the tears that have fallen with the sleeve of my sweater, I pull in a shuddering breath, slipping my finger beneath the seal and pulling it apart.
Tipping it upside down, a dead lily falls to the floor, a white piece of paper following it. With trembling hands, I lift the paper, flipping it over until the handwritten note is all I see.
My heart races, my hands growing clammy as the words sink in before the panic overwhelms me, stealing every one of my senses as I lose myself to the darkness of it.
Hey beautiful,
Did you miss me?
