The Story Of Us Part 16

"The faster the better. Here, let me get those." He takes both bags, and we turn toward Jake and Finley. Both of Finley's legs are wrapped around Jake's waist. He's got a hand so far up her skirt that I can see her panties.

"We'd better get them out of here before they're arrested for indecent exposure," Maverick says.

"Yep. I'll get mine, you get yours."

Once we get the lovebirds peeled off of each other, we find the rest of our luggage and load it into the vehicles. We're going to the same place-a rental house Maverick and Jake share with one other law student-but the guys drove separately.

"See you tomorrow." Finn winks at me and slides into the car. "Have fun!"

"You too," I say, but she already has the door shut. "Do you think it's safe for them to drive alone?" I ask as Finley's head dips down out of sight.

Maverick laughs. "Not at all." He opens the car door for me. "Are you hungry? We could stop somewhere first."

"Nah, I'm good. I'm looking forward to-what did you say on the phone?-make up for lost time?-Yeah, I want to do that."

"G.o.d, I was hoping you'd say that."

My core tingles at the desire in his gaze. Scarlet filters into my periphery, and the memory of our last night in Cancun has me wet already. I haven't forgotten what he feels like between my legs.

When we arrive at his house, I only bring in my one small bag of toiletries. The rest can wait for tomorrow. It's not like I'll be needing clothing tonight anyway.

Maverick pulls me through the house to his upstairs bedroom. He locks the door behind us and immediately has me on his bed.

For the rest of the night, I'm soaked with the pa.s.sion of scarlet.

Chapter 23.

Present Day 6:28 a.m.

Finley's curled up on a chair in the corner. She has her neck pillow and a blanket from my apartment. It didn't take long before her breaths evened out.

"Just one sleep cycle," she said. "You should sleep too."

"I can't. I'm okay."

Now Mav and I are alone again.

"I love you," I whisper, my fingers gliding over the hair poking up from the bandages around his head. "Do you remember when you first told me? It was a couple of days after I first arrived in Illinois. You caught me completely off guard that night. You said your study group would go to at least midnight, probably longer, so my plans were to set up a painting studio in your room.

"I had to move your furniture against the walls, because I like a lot of s.p.a.ce. Then I threw on my painting clothes, jacked up the music, and began. I had this crazy idea in my head, something I saw from the train-a blur of scenery that gets more focused the wider out you go. Remember that one? I finished it months later and you called it my magnum opus." I snicker, because Maverick loved it, and professors used the word "masterpiece," but I detested it. The colors didn't blend right, and the gradual loss of focus was too abrupt. I told Maverick all that, yet he still insisted it was my best work. At his insistence, it now hangs in our living room.

I trail my fingertip down the side of his face as I continue. "Anyway. I was so zoned out and the music was so loud that I didn't hear you come in. When you grabbed me around the waist, I screamed and dumped my palette. You scared the s.h.i.t out of me, Mav." I half-sob, half-laugh. "But then..."

I pause. "Then you kissed me and told me you loved me. We made love on the floor with the splattered paint, and you said it again-you loved me. You said it over and over like you were trying to convince me. But I didn't need convincing; I already knew. I covered your mouth and told you to shut up. You said you'd never shut up."

I kiss his cheek. "I love you, Maverick. I love you."

When you're in the hospital by the bedside of someone you love, you make a lot of promises. Promises you want to keep. Promises to G.o.d, promises to your loved one, to yourself.

I make them now. I promise to never be upset if he has to work late. I promise I'll bake him a chocolate cake on his birthday every year, one with the fudge icing I don't like. I'll clean Morocco's litter box every day and take out the garbage instead of smashing it down repeatedly until he takes it out. I promise to always squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom instead of the middle. I'll stop getting after him for leaving his socks on the living floor. I'll stop forgetting his nice shirts in the dryer, and I'll even iron them. I promise to never leave the car on an empty tank of gas.

I keep a hold of his hand, kissing it just to feel his skin against my lips. I touch his cheek, careful to avoid accidentally hitting the bandages.

I whisper "I love you" over and over.

It's another promise I make, to tell him more often. To never hold the words back again.

I wonder if he's thinking the same thing. I wonder if he blames himself because he had to work late on our anniversary. If he thinks I'm still mad at him. I wonder if he knows I'm here now and that I regret what I said.

Because I do. All the things I said, and all the things I left unsaid.

So I tell him. Just in case I don't get another chance.

Chapter 24.

Chicago, IL 23 months ago We have two days left before Jake and Maverick move Finley and me into our new dorm room at J. Vernon. I dread leaving him again, but he promised we'd see each other every week.

"Have you added to your portfolio?" he asks. It's midday, and we're lying on his bed. His fingers trace lazy circles over my bare back.

"Yeah, a few. Most were garbage though."

"I want to see them."

"The garbage ones?"

"The portfolio ones, but I'd love to see the garbage ones too."

I roll away from him and off the bed, picking up my shirt to cover myself as I cross the room. I have to pa.s.s a window and don't want to flash the neighbor. "The garbage ones are where they belong: in the garbage." I unzip the largest suitcase and get my binder. Then I drop the shirt back on the floor and snuggle up beside him. "They're in here."

Maverick opens it and stares at the first painting. It's a field of wildflowers in every color. Lilac, daisy, fuchsia, candy red, and marigold, all among an array of greens. Off to the side is a worn-down cabin.

He says nothing as he turns the page. The next one's simple, an empty rocking chair on the front porch of a farmhouse. The idea came when Mom and I drove up to a mountain town for a flea market day. The last painting is of a campfire in the middle of the woods. Contrasting shades of reds and oranges and yellows highlight the focal point and cast haunting glows onto nearby trees. It's become one of my favorites.

"What do you think?"

Maverick closes the book and faces me. "I think you are the most talented woman I've ever met."

"I have nothing to compare that to," I tease. "For all I know, I could be the only woman you've ever met."

"I've met thousands."

"Thousands? Wow, you're popular."

"Or just decent at networking." He kisses my forehead. "I'm glad you're pursuing this. Talent like yours needs to be harnessed and then set free."

"I'm minoring in computer science," I say. "I don't feel safe without a backup plan."

"As long as it's a backup, Jellysnack. Art should be your priority."

I take my portfolio from him and get up again. "You're adamant about that." I tuck the portfolio back into my suitcase.

"Because I believe in you, and I want you to believe in you."

I walk toward his dresser where my bra landed earlier. After I retrieve it, I scan the photos he has displayed. One is of us in Cancun, another is of him and his brother playing football, and the third is of someone I don't know.

"Who's this?" I ask, picking it up.

Maverick pulls his pants on and walks to the closet on other side of the room. "Zach, my brother."

"Your brother?" I turn to him. "I thought your brother's name was Gavin?"

"Gavin's my younger brother."

"You have two?" I ask, confused because he's only ever talked about the one.

Maverick grabs a shirt and puts it on before he comes to me. He takes the frame and studies the face that's similar to his own. Then he sits on the loveseat. He doesn't motion for me, but I join him anyway.

"Zach was two years older than me. In high school, we were known as the Tavare duo on the football field. Sports was the only thing we had in common. Zach kept to himself a lot. More like Mom than the rest of us. Dad put a lot of pressure on him to excel in school and go into law, but that's not what Zach wanted. He had this killer voice, and no one in the family except me knew about the band he'd put together. I found out when I caught him sneaking out of the house one night. I groveled, and he allowed me to go to their gig. I was only fifteen, so he had to beg the owner to let me in. It was on the edge of a bad neighborhood, but the concert was amazing and the venue was packed full of people. So they asked my brother to perform the next week.

"Sat.u.r.day came, and Zach wouldn't let me go. Said it was too dangerous, and he couldn't babysit me and perform. Always the big brother. That night the police came to our door and told us Zach had been shot in a drive-by shooting. Gang related, they said. Zach was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dad fought so hard to keep the case open, but there's not much you can do when no one can identify the gunman. For three years, all of the leads came up as dead ends."

Maverick finally looks at me, his eyes hardened. "That's why I went into law. Justice wasn't served for Zach, and I want to make d.a.m.n sure it's served for other sons-of-b.i.t.c.hes who think they can take someone's life."

I blink at Maverick's vulnerability. Zach's death isn't a scar; the wound is still bleeding.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

Maverick leans forward until his forehead touches mine. "If you want to know why I'm so adamant about you following your dreams, this is why. Maybe if Zach was allowed to pursue his, he'd still be alive."

Chapter 25.

Present Day 6:50 a.m.

The sun's coming up. I love this time of day. At home, I love being up before Maverick, having time to myself to drink a cup of coffee and watch the sun rise over the horizon. I do it for the colors. Each dawn they're a little different, like a new painting is being created every twenty-four hours.

In the summer, they're pastels. Sometimes they're all the same color but different shades. Sometimes there's more tangerine, and other times there's more marmalade. Sometimes clouds darken the skies and the pewter morphs into silver. A drop of pure white, a smidge of obsidian on the palette, and the color is new.

Winter sunrises put a lump in my throat. I'll never live somewhere it doesn't snow, because then I'd miss the most beautiful sunrises of them all. Ice blue that reflects off of a fresh blanket of snow and glistens like diamonds. Lavenders that create a mystical ambiance.

Today I approach the window, not to peer out and be mesmerized by the colors, but to close the blinds and block the light from Maverick. Even though he's unconscious, bright light could worsen his pain.

I sit back down at Maverick's bedside. There's been no change, and the nurse seems to think that's a good thing. But to me, good would be him waking up.

I take his hand and kiss it. Finley's still asleep and J.J. will be in any minute to take more of Maverick's blood. Our alone time is growing short.

The solitaire on my finger gleams even under the dimmed lights. I asked Mav once how long he had it before he gave it to me.

"Two months," he said. "I was just waiting for the right time."

Getting engaged after less than a year of dating is another one of our crazy ideas. Spontaneous and shocking to our families, but not to us. It had become who we are together. Jumping in headfirst, not caring what everyone else would think or what our future would hold. We loved each other, and for us, that was enough.

Until it wasn't enough.

"The other day, um, I drove to your office. I didn't feel well when I woke up, and then I scrolled through my Facebook feed. Everyone's posts were about proposals, weddings, and babies. And then..." I pause, squeezing my eyes closed. "Someone posted a picture and tagged Chris. His twin girls are three now, with blue eyes and curls in their red hair. The grief hit me, and I needed to see you. I stayed in the car, though, because I didn't want to bother you. I realized you were probably busy."

I suck in a breath and let it out slow. "By the time you got home that night, the sleeping pills had taken effect. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry." My voice sinks to a whisper. "I'm still in this, Maverick. I'm still fighting for us.

"I need you. I need to fall asleep with you every night. I need to wake up with you every morning. And I need you for all the moments in between."

Maverick's eyes twitch, and I jump to my feet. "Mav?"

I peer at him, my face inches from his. "Blink again if you can hear me."

Nothing.

"Mav?"

Nothing.

J.J. walks in, and I lean back a little.

"He moved. He, uh, his eyes moved," I say. "Is that good? Is he waking up?"

"Just now?" she asks.

"Yes. A minute ago."