The Story Of Us Part 3

"How's your leg?" he asks once we're outside.

"Better, actually. You peed on me for nothing."

He half-grins. "Not nothing. I got a date out of it."

I grin back. "Ah, magical pee, then. Just not healing pee."

Maverick laughs, and I think the sound might be even better than his smile. "So what brings you south of the border, Alieya?"

"A persistent best friend."

"The blonde?"

"That's the one. Finley. I don't know where I'd be without her."

"Not here?"

I laugh. "Definitely not here. Probably studying at home and watching Gilmore Girls reruns."

"That sounds like a small corner of h.e.l.l. I'm glad she got you out of there. Remind me to buy her a drink."

"What about you? Why are you here?"

Maverick shrugs. "Spring break, like everyone else."

"That's cliche."

He swings his attention to me, eyebrows high. "Let me guess. You and Finley picked this location and this time of year for its quiet evenings and off-tourist season beaches. Am I close?"

Touche.

I sigh out a small chuckle. "Finley is the party girl. I'm here to..." I trail off and glance at the group stumbling over each other across the street. Like Finley, they're all here to cut loose and drink. I return to the conversation. "I'm here for Finn."

He studies me before a grin breaks across his face. "Have you ever been snorkeling?"

"Um, no..."

"You do not want to miss the marine life around here. Tours go out all day. How does ten o'clock tomorrow sound?"

I scrunch my brow in confusion. "Are you asking me on a second date?"

"Sounds like it."

"We haven't finished the first date. It might not end well."

"Why won't it end well?"

"I ... I don't know. Maybe you eat with your mouth open, or you pick your nose in public."

"Wow, you have high standards."

"I'm just saying, you know, that we should have a first date before we plan a second."

"Are you always this uptight?"

"I'm not uptight," I say, though it's one of my traits that Finley hopes to change on this trip. She has a checklist.

"Great. So ten o'clock?"

He's got me cornered. "Eleven." Because I can't just go and agree with everything he suggests. I'm not desperate.

Maverick looks satisfied. Smug, even. And I have to admit, I like his persistence.

He nods to a brightly painted building to our left. "This is it. The Fish House."

"Jellyfish, right?"

"The best. You up for it?"

I bite my lip, thinking about Finley's checklist, me being uptight ranking way high at number two. "Oh, what the h.e.l.l," I say. "Let's do it."

Chapter 5.

Present Day 2:16 a.m.

St. Luke's Hospital towers in the distance. Lights blink from the roof, and "Emergency Entrance" glows in bright crimson letters, but otherwise the building is dark. I've driven past it a million times, but never before has it seemed unsettling. My Mav is in there somewhere- unresponsive.

I have to look away. I've been scared before, but not like this. The unknown waiting for me in there is throwing me over the edge. Once I hit bottom, I'll know only blackness.

"Is there someone you can call?" the officer asks.

I stare at him, only half-hearing what he said. My gaze lowers to his name tag, and I realize that he probably introduced himself.

James Arrent.

James Arrent's expression is solemn. There's no pity in his eyes, just concern and sympathy. It's obvious he's been through this before. Many times, possibly. I won't ask. It doesn't matter.

Yes, I should call someone. Maverick's parents. His brother. My mom.

But what will I tell them? I don't know anything yet, and I can't handle being bombarded with questions. They'll all come here. My mom will hover, suffocating me with worry. Mav's parents will do the same to him, his mother in hysterics. No, I can't deal with that.

So I shake my head and turn my attention to the window again. Thoughts that refuse to be contained circle through my mind.

They say seeing is believing, but what if I don't want to believe what I see?

Or what if the police got it wrong, and it's not Maverick in there? It's happened before, I'm sure. What if my Mav is still at the office and some other poor man is in that building, his wife still expecting him home? Maverick could walk through our door any minute, and I won't be there. G.o.d, what will he think?

I'm reaching. Mav's car is registered to him, and he was the only person in the car. His license has his home address on it. They'd have all of that information.

Though maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe I'm still asleep in our tiny apartment, Morocco on my lap, and I haven't woken up yet. It's a horrible, horrible nightmare, one my subconscious created because I fell asleep angry at him, and this is my heart reminding me of what I have.

Please, let me wake up soon.

I'll never be mad at him again.

These past six months aren't his fault. The long hours he's working aren't to blame either. He's doing what he's doing for our family. I was the one who shut him out and refused to let him back in. I was the one who went black and white. I was the one who ignored his advances. Life won't always be like this.

But if I don't wake up, and this is real...

Officer Arrent rolls off the interstate and stops at the traffic light. He turns right, then left into the hospital parking lot. A few cars are parked by the ER entrance, but most of the parking lot is empty.

He pulls over and parks along the curb. He says nothing, nor does he cut the engine. I focus on the entrance, the doors beckoning to me and cautioning me at the same time. Inside, I'll get answers, but I don't know if I want to hear them.

This cannot be happening. I want to vomit again.

"Are you sure there's no one you can call?" Officer Arrent asks.

I swallow. Peer down to the purse I'm clutching. Once I get it unzipped, I rummage around and find my phone at the bottom. Finley's is the last number in my call log. I hit the green b.u.t.ton and hold the phone up to my ear.

"Ali?" she answers, and at the sound of her voice I let out a sob. "Oh G.o.d, Ali. What happened?"

"It's Maverick. He's at the hospital. St. Luke's." I don't ask her to come. I don't have to.

"I'm on my way."

Instead of replying, I nod. Then I put my phone back into my purse and reach for the door handle. I push it open. Officer Arrent meets me on the sidewalk. He offers his arm for support, but I don't take it.

I find myself at the receptionist's desk. The scent of sanitized sickness and soap and latex hits my senses.

"Can I help you?" the lady behind the counter asks.

"My husband, Maverick Tavare. He was brought in." I chew on my thumbnail as her fingers click over the computer keyboard.

Then she looks at me, and I know: this isn't a dream.

Chapter 6.

Cancun, Mexico 27 Months Ago The beach party is in full swing by the time Maverick and I arrive. A Selena Gomez song blares from the speakers farther down on the beach. The throng of spring-breakers runs from the sandy dance floor up to the bar. I have no idea how to find Finley amongst all these people.

Maverick touches my arm to get my attention and c.o.c.ks his head toward the bar hut. I go with him to the counter, where he orders margaritas for both of us. I scan the area for Finley. By the time Maverick hands me my drink, I still haven't spotted her.

"Can't you call her?" he asks.

"I tried on the way over." I dig my phone out of my purse. "I'll try again."

It goes to voicemail.

Figures.

We're in a strange place far away from home. So of course I can't find my reckless best friend. I don't even know why we have our check-in rule. Finn came up with it when we turned sixteen. "Safer," she'd explained.

At seventeen, though, she talked about it but never heeded it. The rule changed to Alieya-calls-Finn-and-Finn-doesn't-answer-until-the-next-morning-after-Alieya's-been-up-all-night-worrying. If I didn't call, she raised h.e.l.l.

"It's fine," I tell Maverick. "She'll turn up."

"You don't look fine," he says.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because your knee is bouncing, and you're still looking for her."

Guys shouldn't be this observant.

He slides off the barstool. "Come on. Let's take a walk."

I do a final scan of the area just in case. She's not there. I'm not her babysitter, I remind myself, and turn back to him.

Maverick weaves through the crowd ahead of me, and before we're even out of the hut, I've lost him. He didn't hold my hand. In fact, he hasn't touched me with more than a tap since he peed on me earlier. I twist to look for him when someone grabs my arm from behind. When I turn, Maverick's spice-colored irises shine brighter under the string of lights lining the hut. His smile, too, has widened.

He threads our fingers together. Warmth shoots through me at his touch, reminding me of my more sensitive skin against his naked chest today. I hate that my brain takes me there. We've known of each other for what, eight hours?

"Keep up, slowpoke," Maverick says.

I follow him out, and he doesn't let go of my hand until we're clear of the crowd. When his hand leaves mine, his warmth isn't the only thing I miss.

"So what about you? Did you come here alone?" I ask.

"No. I came with a few friends."

"Do you not like them?"

Maverick laughs. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you're out here with me and not them."

"I know them, and I'll have to return home with them. I don't know you."