The Story Of Us Part 18

"Dessert?" I interrupt.

"Yes," Finley says, pointing at me. "The winner gets dessert."

Jake tosses his napkin onto his plate and stands. "Well, then, let's go get me some dessert."

Finley rises too. "I'd love some dessert."

They run down the hallway, and their bedroom door slams a second later.

I stare after them. "That was so not obvious."

"Thanks for helping me clean up, man," Maverick hollers. Of course there's no answer.

I get up and gather the dishes. "I'll help. Seems we should practice anyway."

When we finish, Maverick leads me upstairs to our suite. It's right above Jake and Finley's downstairs one. I'm actually relieved they stuck us with kitchen duty tonight, because those two are cheerleader loud. It's quiet down there now, thankfully.

I lock the door out of habit. We haven't been interrupted all week, and I doubt we will be tonight, our first night as an engaged couple. The thought makes me warm inside.

Maverick stretches out onto the bed. He's already tossed off his shirt, and tight muscles beckon to me from on top of the duvet. Who am I to say no?

"Shirt off," he says, smirking, just as my knee hits the mattress.

"But I like this shirt," I tease.

"Eh."

"Eh? Seriously?" I examine it. Finley thought the same thing when I bought it.

Maverick grabs me around the waist and pulls me down on the bed. "No, not seriously. But get it off. I want what's underneath."

He slips the shirt over my head and flings it behind him. Hands smooth over my bra, and my nipples harden instantly.

"That's better." He grins, eyes trained on me as he dips down and pulls one between his teeth.

"I bet it'll be better without my bra in your way."

"Should we test that theory?"

"If you don't like it, I can always put the bra back on."

"That's crazy talk." He unhooks the back and has it off of me in seconds. "d.a.m.n, Jellysnack." He ma.s.sages them, thumbs rolling over my nipples and making them peak. "You're so f.u.c.king delicious."

I arch into him. "You'd better have another taste before you make those kinds of claims."

He waggles his brows and attaches his lips to one. His tongue circles the base and slowly swirls around to the tip. I suck in a breath at the sensation. He lingers there, licking in easy swaths and driving the pleasure down to my core.

He pulls upward and lets go. "Yep. f.u.c.king delicious."

"I'm glad you approve."

I trail my fingers down his back. Hard muscle under smooth skin greets my fingertips. I could touch this man for an eternity and never be bored.

"Have I ever told you how much I love your skin?" I ask.

"You're just marrying me for my skin, aren't you?"

"If you didn't have it, I probably wouldn't have agreed to marry you, no."

"In that case, I'm covered in it."

I laugh, and he kisses me. He moves to my throat, then down between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. When he reaches the waistband of my jeans, he undoes them and pulls them off. I'm giddy with antic.i.p.ation as he prowls over me. I wiggle beneath him, lifting my hips to rub myself against the bulge in the pants he hasn't removed yet.

"Why won't you say it back, Finley? What changed?" Jake's voice carries into our room.

I freeze.

"Nothing," my best friend insists. "I wasn't sure when I said it, and then after ... I'm just not ready for that."

"You're ready, you're not ready. What the h.e.l.l?"

Maverick notices my lack of movement and lifts off of me enough to study my face. I frown.

"I need time. I'm not like Ali; I don't fall easily," Finley says.

"How much f.u.c.king time do you need, Finley?" Jake yells.

"I don't know-more."

Jake lowers his voice. "Am I wasting my time with you? I tell you s.h.i.t, but you can't open up for even one G.o.dd.a.m.n question. Who are you?"

"You don't own me, Jake. I don't have to spill my heart and soul to you."

"I don't want to own you, Finley, but I do want to know you. And I want you to trust me." A moment of silence pa.s.ses. "Do you trust me?"

I don't hear Finley's answer. I doubt she gave a verbal one.

"That's great. Just. f.u.c.king. Fantastic," Jake says.

There's rummaging around the room, and then the door slams. Another door slams after that and the sound of an engine firing up makes Finley's answer clear.

I touch Maverick's arm. "I have to go."

Maverick nods.

I get dressed. At the door, I turn back to my fiance. He's so understanding, and after the nightmare that was Chris, it's still unbelievable that he's mine.

"Go," he says. "She needs you."

"I love you."

He grins. "I love you."

I close our door and knock on Finley's. She doesn't answer, so I let myself in. The lights are off, but I don't need them to see her crouched in the corner, arms around her knees. She's not sobbing; Finley doesn't cry. She just goes deathly quiet.

"You should be with Maverick," she says.

"Not tonight."

"Did you hear?"

"Yeah."

I sit down on the floor and gather her up in my arms. Too many times to count, she's done this with me. Now it's my turn to hold her. Words pa.s.s unspoken between us, me for once bearing some of the weight for my friend.

I hold her tighter when I feel a sob push against her chest. I know this feeling, when you don't want to let it out, but it's too big, too powerful, and demands more from you than you can give. I rest my chin on the top of her head. Pat her back to let her know it's okay to cry. When she does, she wraps her arms around me too.

We stay like that all night. Me sitting with Finley as she mourns the first guy she ever loved.

Chapter 27.

Present Day 7:17 a.m.

It's funny that when you're young, you spend so much effort thinking about how slow time is. How you can't wait for your birthday, or for Christmas, or the weekend. How in five years you'll have your license and back then that equaled freedom.

Until eight hours ago I still thought about how slow time is. I've been looking forward to next year and the year after and the year after, when maybe Maverick would move up from being the green lawyer to one who only puts in eighty hours a week instead of one hundred.

Everyone tells you to enjoy the time you have, because it flies by so fast and soon you'll look back and wonder where it went. In an instant, they say, it'll be gone.

Those people haven't sat in this chair, in a hospital where the first twenty-four hours are critical. Here, time is all you have, and it's slower here than anywhere outside these walls. In here, time barely moves at all.

I don't know if that's good or not. All I know is that Maverick's twenty-four hours aren't up, and I've never wanted time to hurry the h.e.l.l up so bad in my life. Twenty-four hours and they'll consider his blood pressure stable. Twenty-four hours for him to wake from the concussion. Twenty-four hours to control his own heart rate.

Twenty-four hours stable and they'll move him out of the ICU.

I kiss his hand again, wondering if he can feel my lips on his skin. If he knows I haven't left his side. If he knows how much I love him.

I've told him over and over since I got here, but saying it now isn't the same. No, I should have told him before he left for work this morning. Should have swallowed my pride, my hurt, and told him. Because now may be too late.

I glance over at Finley. She's still asleep, and I'm not going to wake her.

I swing my attention back to my husband. Scoot my chair so I'm closer to his head. I lower the blanket I pulled over him earlier. Then I lean over the side of his bed and lay my cheek against his arm. He's warm now, and even in a hospital, in this bed with all the machines and medications and bandages, somehow he still smells like him. The faint scent of his aftershave comforts me.

"What do you think about Elliot James Tavare?" I ask. "For a boy. I like Jayden too. Or we could go more traditional. I've always liked Jonathan."

My eyes lift to Maverick's heart rate monitor. I want to see a change, something that tells me he hears me, but the lines remain steady.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"You once said you liked Astrid for a girl," I continue. "I know, I know. I didn't like the name when you suggested it. It sounded more like the name of a s.p.a.ce station soda than a person." I giggle, remembering how he'd rolled his eyes at that. "But how about Astrid Grace? I realize you think Grace is an old lady name, but one for you and one for me? The names are pretty together.

"I still think boy, though. I don't know why. A gut feeling, I guess."

There's still no response. I touch his face, the regrown whiskers scratching my fingertip. It used to annoy me, how when he kissed me, the stiff hair would poke my upper lip. I'd always ask him to shave. I don't care now, though. I want them to scratch me.

Crazy how all of those little irritations are no longer annoying. How I crave them, because they're his quirks, and they're more than what I have now.

It's been so long since I've had his arms around me. So long since we just lay in bed, holding each other and talking about silly stuff. So long since he kissed me and made the earth shake around us. Since we've been intimate.

I imagined our marriage would be like Cancun. Love, s.e.x, and smiles. And for awhile, it was. It was everything I'd hoped and more.

And then the last six months happened.

But now as I snuggle against his motionless body, I still remember all of those little touches. The pecks on the cheek. The smacks on the a.s.s. The playful way he'd grab me from behind and carry me to our bed. Once there, his touches ranged from desperate and rough to delicate and smooth. I love them all.

Regret kicks in, washing away the cornflower color of the hospital blanket. I should have memorized him more. Should have basked in his embrace, in his mouth against mine, in the loving stares he pinned on me. His smile. Oh, I never want to forget the way that simple motion stirred my stomach and made me feel like the most precious thing in his life.

How did I ever doubt that? When did his declarations of love, his kisses, his smile stop being enough? Why did I ever question his commitment to us?

I allow a tear to fall from my cheek and absorb into the hospital gown covering Maverick's chest. I can't stand how I feel right now. Maverick used to pull me against him and become my anchor. He'd take my despair, and when he tilted my head to look me in the eyes, the only thing left would be love.

I'm a boat, sailing aimlessly on the ocean.

"As soon as you wake up, you pick, okay? Because you were right; a name would be good."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I wipe the tears away when J.J. arrives. She's pushing the blood pressure cart, and I check the time. Only thirty minutes since last time.

"Is everything okay?" I ask.

"His lab work results indicated a slight increase in his red blood cell count." She undoes the cuff and wraps it around his upper arm. "It's just a precaution at this point."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Just a precaution.

Chapter 28.