The Story Of Us Part 24

Forty-five minutes later, the front door opens, and Mav is pizza-less. "They were already closed." He hands me a bouquet of flowers. "Will these suffice?"

"Daisies?"

He grins. "They're your favorite."

I brush a fingertip over the petals. "I can't eat them, though."

"Well, I'll have to Google it, but I don't think daisies are poisonous. Sautee them up with a little bit of garlic."

"Will they call me when they're going to be late?"

"If you eat them, then no. If not, we'll have to add them to our plan and buy them a phone. After that, if they're not douchebag daisies, then they'll probably call."

"So you're a douchebag daisy?"

"Yes, I am." He picks up a grumpy-eyed Morocco and plops him onto the floor before crawling up on me. "I'm sorry."

"You say that every time."

"I'm sorry every time." He trails a thumb over my mouth. "I just get so focused that I forget to check the clock."

I run my fingers through his hair. "How long is this going to last, Mav?"

"This what?"

"All of it. The no calls, the late nights, the weekend hours. We're young, we're newlyweds, and we haven't made love in two weeks."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"You're so tired when you get home. I'm worried about you."

"How about this: as soon as this trial is over, I'll take a few vacation days. We can go somewhere if you want."

"I want to just stay here. Be together doing nothing."

"If that's what you want. Anything."

"Okay."

Mav c.o.c.ks his head. "Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

He kisses me, taking the flowers out of my hand. "I'm awake now. What do you want to do?"

I admire my new purchase in the full-length mirror in the bathroom. It arrived in the mail a few days ago. The skimpy black bra barely covers me, and the matching thong makes my b.u.t.t look more plump than flat. My favorite piece is the skin-tight, all-lace chemise that covers the bra and underwear. Maverick is going to love it.

I brush through my hair until I'm satisfied with the style. In ten minutes it won't matter how it looks, nor will I care.

Through the ajar door, I see Maverick lying on our bed. He has his gla.s.ses on, the light of his phone keeping him awake as he scrolls through his notifications.

I flip off the bathroom light and pad into our room. As soon as I do, his eyes flick up and run the length of my body.

He takes off his gla.s.ses. "That's hot as f.u.c.k."

"I don't get that phrase. How is f.u.c.k hot?"

Maverick chuckles. He gets out of bed and saunters to me. He grabs me around the waist, tosses me over his shoulder, and squeezes my b.u.t.t cheek. I yelp.

"You'll get it once I have you panting and moaning," he says.

He dumps me onto the bed, the desire in his gaze turning to red. It's a color I haven't seen in him for a while, but tonight it burns a blazing scarlet.

He makes love to me, the scarlet darkening, then becoming lighter, slipping into amber. The amber morphs into honey after we climax, and he smiles at me. A sweet kiss lands on my lips and we're cuddling, surrounded by his outpouring of cobalt that coc.o.o.ns me in tranquility.

"I love you, Mrs. Tavare," he murmurs.

I glide my fingers over his chest, enjoying how my gentle strokes on his skin makes my heart flutter.

"Will you love me in a few months when you've been worked into a coma?" I ask.

"Yes, I'll still love you."

"How about when we have kids and I'm too tired to do my hair or put on make-up and have gained forty pounds?"

"You'll be more beautiful than you are now, and, if it's possible, I'll love you even more."

"When I'm all gray and wrinkly and my b.o.o.bs hang down to my knees?"

Maverick chuckles. "Will I still be able to play with those b.o.o.bs?"

"They'll be like accordions. You'll have to scrunch them up into your hands."

"But I can play with them, right?"

"If you can reach them, then you can play with them."

"Yep. Even then you'll be mine."

"What if something horrible happens, Mav?" I ask, turning serious. I rise up on my elbows and peer into his eyes.

"Like what?"

"What if I go blind? Or have to have my arm amputated? Or am confined to a wheelchair?"

Maverick threads his fingers through my hair, gently combing through it. "You'll still be mine, Jellysnack."

I bite my lip. The words are swimming around in my head, urging me to say them. It's Maverick, my Maverick, and I already know the answer. Still, I need to hear him say it. "What if I die or you die? What will happen then?"

"Nothing. No matter what happens, you'll always be mine."

Chapter 37.

Present day 10:18 a.m.

Laney hasn't heard anything yet, but she promises to let me know as soon as she does. So again, I find myself in the same waiting room I was in when I got here. I sit on the sofa while Finley gets us coffee from the cart.

There's a child playing at a table in the corner. He has dark hair and is probably no older than five. An indigo Matchbox car in one hand, he maneuvers the vehicle around the blocks he's set up. He makes soft engine noises, circling the toy on its second lap through the obstacle course.

"Hazelnut c.r.a.p included," Finley says, handing me the cup and sitting beside me. "What are you looking at?"

I bob my head once in the boy's direction.

"Oh." Finley takes a sip of coffee. "Carefree."

The boy stops and does a small rebuild, adding a double ramp at the end of the final lap. He revs up his engine and takes off. He clips the corner of a tower, and it topples, but he keeps going. The car swerves to miss the tumbling blocks and rams into a smaller tower. It backs up a little before it zooms across the table to the first ramp. He hits the ramp, and the car flies up into the air, flips four times, and crashes back onto the table before ga.s.sing up the second ramp. The second jump is more spectacular than the first, and the little car crosses the finish line with a shout of glee.

"Jeffery." The boy looks up at the sound of his name.

"Come on over here," a lady to my right says. She has bags under her eyes and she's biting her nails. "Just sit with me, all right?"

He climbs up on the chair, and the woman wraps her arms around him. "Is Monkey okay?" he asks.

"We don't know yet, honey. They'll come tell us soon."

He nods and leans back against the lady's chest, the indigo Matchbox car clutched in his little hand. "I'm sorry I took his car without asking."

The woman smiles. "I'm sure he'd like that you're holding onto it for him."

"I'll give it back as soon as we see him. I promise."

"Keep it safe, okay?"

"I will, Mama."

"Mrs. Logan?" A doctor claims the woman's attention. She stands, picking Jeffery up and carrying him to the side of the room.

I lower my gaze to the coffee between my hands, not wanting to feel like an intruder in a private conversation.

A wail fills the waiting room, and my head snaps up. The woman is shaking her head and clinging to her son. "No, no, no, no."

Jeffery frowns. "Mama? Where's Monkey?"

She lowers him to the floor and touches his face. She says something I can't hear.

"Is Monkey in Heaven?" The boy opens his hand. "He forgot his car."

His mother folds his fingers back around the toy. Jeffery throws his arms around his mother's neck, and she picks him up again. She wipes the tears from her cheeks.

"This way." The doctor holds his arm out behind her, guiding her out of the room.

Mother and son follow him down the corridor. Jeffery looks over his mother's shoulder. Dark eyes meet mine for only a moment. Then he opens his hand to the Matchbox car, showing it to me.

"Ali?"

"Yeah."

"You all right?"

"I'm..." I swallow, watching as they disappear around a corner. "I'm fine."

Chapter 38.

Chicago, Illinois Six months ago It's noon when I wake up. My body aches, my stomach cramps, and I'm still tired. I'm also hungry, which is strange, considering how I feel. I shuffle into the kitchen and open the fridge. We have lettuce, ketchup, last night's leftovers, and eggs. I grab the eggs.

I fry them up and pair them with a slice of b.u.t.tered toast. After pouring a gla.s.s of orange juice, I sit down at the table. Then my phone rings. It's Maverick.

"Good morning," I answer.

"Morning? It's afternoon. Did you just get up?"

"Yeah, I'm not feeling well."

"Again?"

"I can't seem to shake this flu."

"Maybe you should go to the doctor."

I grimace. "It's not that bad. Besides, I have cla.s.s all afternoon."

I can tell by Maverick's silence that he doesn't like my answer. "We'll talk about it later," he says. "I just wanted to let you know I'll be late tonight. We got a new case that needs immediate attention."