I cried remembering the words of the teenage boy when he broke and destroyed the teenage girl's ability to believe in dreams.
I had to sit down when I remembered the loneliness the teenage girl felt long after the teenage boy had left.
I couldn't breathe when I felt that loneliness amplify as the now young woman experienced when she lost both her parents, wishing and praying that the young man she missed deeply would return and help her heal.
I smiled through the tears when I thought about the young man's family helping her heal instead--even as she continued to long for him.
I replayed the years the young woman spent building new dreams around her business. Opening her heart only a few times, but never letting another young man close enough to touch it.
I watched a slide show of years pass by as the young man and woman grew older. The woman now seeing him only at a distance, but feeling the void that the losses through the years created in her soul.
I looked at the woman's reflection in the oven built by her new dreams with tears streaking down her face as she recalled the last month of her life. A turmoil of emotions since the man had returned to her and revealed things she never knew.
By the time I had climbed into my Jeep to head home, I knew that if I wanted to move on with my life--truly move on--I had to do it knowing that I had tried. All of the pain I had relived during the hours spent baking still raged strong, but when I remembered how I felt in that man's arms, new hopes filled my heart.
I left feeling a sense of determination to move forward with a newfound strength that I found at the bottom of the barrel of my emotions.
I had nothing to lose but everything to gain.
With that in mind, I knew that the first thing I would do when the sun started to wake would be to go to him. Regardless of what happened after that, at least I would know that I tried, and gave it my all. I had let go of a lot of the pain I felt through the years in the course of a few days, and now it was all riding on what happened next. I would either be free of it all, or I would be using that residual pain to move on.
Either way, by tomorrow morning I would be facing Maverick again. I couldn't tell if I was excited as hell, or terrified down to my bones.
Or a little bit of both.
When I get back to the house, I feed Earl and go directly into the shower to wash the clinging emotional weight off my body. I have no idea what might happen when I finally sit down and talk to Maverick. He said he felt something that night we were together, but I also know that the only reason that night even happened was because we were both riding high on our emotions and maybe a little of the power of feelings long suppressed. A small part of me couldn't forget the fact that he didn't even recognize me when he first saw me, so a little nagging part in my mind wonders if he even realized it was me that night we were together or if I was just another way to use something--someone--to forget.
I know it's stupid, but I guess it's part of me trying to set myself up for every possible situation that I might face tomorrow. Using the darkness of tonight to cast out my fears and concerns to better prepare me for whatever might come. I don't want to go to him with my mind already set on failure, not when so much is riding on this.
Given what Quinn told me today, I know there is a lot about him and his life I don't know. It breaks my heart that as close as I've been to the Davis family, I had no clue it was as bad as it was for them. Their mama's departure was something that was wildly debated all over town, but I never knew the real reasons behind it. I knew Buford Davis was a hard man. With my own eyes I had witnessed him hit Maverick once, only once. Never did I even think it could have been so much worse than that--the reality, though, makes it so much worse than it had been and it had already been hard to stomach. I had heard him more times than I care to count emotionally throwing punches at everyone, but I never once saw the things she talked about.
It was the unknowns that worried me the most. I know Maverick is more complicated than I ever could have dreamed. Those unknowns are what kept us apart. All I can do now is hope that I know what to do once it all finally comes to light.
I step out of the shower, drying off before throwing on panties and an old faded T-shirt. I brushed my hair out before braiding it and finishing up my nighttime routine. I feel so much better after that long shower, almost as if the water cleansed my doubts and revitalized my confidence.
But my stomach is still in knots over the heaviness of this past week catching up with me--the fog that had settled over me the past few days has lessened my appetite so much that now I don't even feel the hunger pains I know I should have. I can't even remember the last meal I had. I might feel better about what's to come, but that doesn't mean my belly isn't a ball of nerves.
Walking out of my bedroom, I grab my Kindle off my dresser and head to my favorite chair in my library. Sleep isn't going to come easy tonight, so I might as well keep my mind occupied with a good book. Escape to the fantasy that always helped me forget about the things around me. I hadn't made two feet out of my bedroom before the sound of my doorbell is echoing through the house.
Earl barrels past my feet, weaving between my legs in his hurry to get to the front door. I swear, it's moments like this that have me convinced he has some sort of species confusion and thinks he's canine. I drop my Kindle to reach out and steady my swaying body against the wall. Instead of picking it back up, I leave it in place when the bell chimes again.
Earl turns his head, his beautiful eyes looking at me with impatience, and his long bushy tail swishing behind him as if to tell me to hurry so he can meet whatever new friend is waiting for him. Yes, because it's so hard to believe that whoever it is, is there for me.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm going as fast as I can, baby," I tell him, stepping around him and placing my hand on the knob, waiting for him to move so I can open the door. I end up having to push him to the side with my foot, his furry body making the slide easy against the hardwood, and I smile when he gives me a hiss of irritation for taking his spot away.
That smile dies when I look up and see the shadowed person standing on my front porch.
"Evenin', darlin'," he drawls, his accent thick and his voice a low rumble.
The earlier determination I had over moving forward fizzles out as the fear over the unknown bubbles back up. I stand there, struck immobile as he leans against the open screen door, one long arm braced against the frame. It takes me a second, but I finally click my brain back on.
"He--hey, Maverick."
"Mind if I come in?"
I jolt, feeling my cheeks heat with my lack of manners. "Uh, yeah."
I step back, losing my footing when I topple over Earl. My arms windmill as my eyes widen. I hear him hiss, but before my ass hits the ground, Maverick moves with a swift grace someone his size shouldn't be able to master.
"Whoa, there," he rumbles, holding my body up with his hands clamped firmly against my biceps.
My hands fist the fabric of his button-down shirt, the dark blue material at eye level stretched tight against his muscular build. I force myself not to think about how easy it would be to curl my hands into the slots between the buttons and pull it apart.
My body hums, being this close to him making it come alive.
And my stupid broken hooha suddenly rights itself and screams with ecstasy.
"Nice shirt," he whispers huskily.
I look up from the top button I had been studying, loving the hint of golden skin that is peaking out the top, and meet his stormy green gaze. Without his ever-present hat, I'm graced with a clear view of his face.
His very expressive face.
"Did Quinn get that for you?"
"Huh?" I ask, confused.
"The shirt, darlin'. Did she get that for you?"
I look down and groan. I take a second, remembering when I got it, and then answer him. "No, Maverick. I bought it for myself."
He's silent and I look up. His eyes still reading the print on my shirt. It
doesn't take much to realize just how well worn and loved this shirt is. Since the date is printed on it right next to the bold print announcing which rodeo event it was from, he's going to be able to tell a lot by how faded it is for something that's only a year old.
"How, Leighton?" he asks thickly.
"What is it you want to know, Maverick? That could be askin' a lot of different things."
"How did you get that and I didn't see you?"
"I didn't want you to see me. I knew that Quinn and Clay were heading to Vegas for the World Finals. You were at the top of the rankings to win again and I didn't want to miss it, so I went with them. Bought the shirt before I left." I swallow the lump in my throat, remembering the pride I felt for him as he rode. I was screaming his name before I realized what I was doing that night. I could have sworn, even with the roar the crowd was making, that he had heard me too, because right when he climbed off the dirt floor, he looked right toward the section I had been sitting in.
His expression darkens. "You were there?"
"It was the only one in Vegas I made it to. I flew home that night."
"Why didn't you come see me?"
"I saw you, Mav. You didn't want me around, something you had made clear, but that didn't mean that I didn't still crave seeing you . . . even if it was only for eight seconds in a crowded arena."
He drops his head, his chin hitting his chest, and I try to back up when his thick black hair tickles my face. The light from my living room makes his hair shine, and I feel my palms itch when I remember just how soft those strands feel when I'm running my hands through them. His fingers tighten around my arms when I make another move to back up.
"I wish you would have let me know you were there," he whispers.
"Would it have made a difference?" I ask honestly.
He looks up, his eyes bright but full of distress. "I'm not sure."
I make an attempt at a shrug, but his hold on my arms makes it hard. He stands taller, letting go, and I have to tip my head back to hold the connection between our gazes.
"What are you doing here, Maverick?"
"I know it's late, but I've got a lot I would like to speak to you about, if you don't mind." He takes in a gulp of air. "I know I said I'd let you be to figure out what you want to do, but damn if I can let you be, Leighton."
I sigh. "Do you want something to drink?"
"If you've got anything strong, I'll take that--if not, sweet tea."
I nod and turn to walk through the house to the kitchen. I can feel his eyes on me and I have instantly fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. With him here, in my home, I'm very aware of my lack of clothes. But the shirt is long and covers me completely.
Grabbing two shot glasses and the bottle of Jameson, I walk back into the living room and see he's standing by one of my picture-framed-filled bookcases. He doesn't turn to acknowledge that I've returned, but instead continues to study the photographs.
"I was going to come out to the ranch in the mornin'," I tell his back.
He turns, his eyes rounded with shock at my admittance. I give him a weak smile and shrug my shoulders.
"I wanted you to know that. I feel like it's important that you know I was coming to you. You kinda stole my chance to make the next move, I guess, but I was comin'. You were right when we spoke last. It's time."
His eyes close and he stands stock-still, breathing harshly, for a long while. "How come you aren't married?" he softly asks, breaking through the silence that had settled around us.
"I'm not sure that's very polite to ask a lady, Maverick." His topic change is confusing, but I'm thankful that he accepted what I told him for what it was--admitting to him that I was ready for whatever is about to come.
One thick shoulder comes up in a shrug, but he doesn't speak. I busy myself with opening the liquor and pouring two heavy shots. I knock one back before dropping the glass and refilling it. When I look back up, he's studying the frames again.
"Marriage doesn't really interest me anymore," I tell him honestly. "I'm happy with my life the way it is."
He turns and looks at me. "Are you? Happy, that is?"
What a loaded question that is. "I've got a very profitable business doing what I love. I have good friends and a roof over my head. I live a simple life, Maverick, but it's a busy one doing what I enjoy. It's fulfilling and I get to spend my days bringing people joy with my pies."
"That doesn't answer my question, Leighton."
"Are you happy?" I ask, trying to flip his probing back around on him.
"Not in the slightest."
"Oh." His blunt, abrupt answer catches me off guard, and I shift my feet and motion down to the coffee table and full shots. "Uh, you asked for something strong."
Out of the corner of my eye I see him move before his arm stretches through my line of sight. He bypasses the full glasses and wraps his long fingers around the bottle of Jameson. The top is tossed down on the coffee table before I hear him take a swallow from the bottle. I don't look up; instead, I take both of the glasses before drinking them down as I turn to the kitchen.
Looks like we're drinking from the bottle tonight.
When I walk back in the room, he's still standing where I left him, sipping from the bottle.
"I've missed you," he says gruffly. "Not a day went by that I didn't think about you. I always thought that you would be married with two point five kids by now. You used to always talk about how much you couldn't wait to be a mama. I avoided asking my family, though. I didn't think I could handle it if they told me you were. Made no damn sense to my mind, but I knew if I heard you were married it would have been painful as hell."
"Maverick--"
"I don't think you're happy, Leigh. I really don't. I think you're far from it, and that hits me harder than a punch to the gut. For a woman who always talked about how much she couldn't wait to be just like her own mama, a rancher's wife with a huge family, it's a cryin' shame. But the selfish part of me, the one that lived with a life of what-ifs and regrets, that part of me is damn glad you aren't."
I swallow the thick lump in my throat. "Please, Mav." God, I need him to shut up.
"No, just . . . fuck!" His sudden outburst makes me jump a foot. I watch him take the bottle and swallow deeply. He takes a few more pulls before I get his eyes again. "I fucked up. I know it. You know it. Everyone fuckin' knows it. I need you to understand why I'm standin' here about to beg you to look past all of that and give me a chance to find out what it feels like to find happiness. To give us both that chance, Leighton."
The silence stretches out around us. His normally strong and proud mask slips, showing me the pure desperation he feels while he waits for my next move. Finally, I nod and hold my hand out, pointing at the bottle so he knows what I want. The heaviness of today on top of the emotional roller coaster of this past week is taking a toll on me, but I made the decision today to be strong, and by God, that is what I'm going to be.
17
LEIGHTON
"Yours" by Russell Dickerson
When Maverick sits down on my couch, Earl doesn't waste a second before jumping up into his lap. Maverick startles for a beat before hesitantly petting my big beast. Earl's purrs fill the silence around us and I curl my legs under me and lean back in the chair next to the couch, watching Maverick's hand as he strokes Earl slowly.
I take another big gulp, only to sputter through it when the burn goes down wrong.
"You all right, darlin'?"
I cough a few times. My eyes watering profusely. The alcohol starting to warm my body. "I'm fine."
He nods. "This might take awhile. You should probably pace yourself."
I roll my eyes and take another large swallow, this time managing not to choke on it, and look back at Maverick pointedly.
He smirks. "Or not."
"It's late. Instead of lecturing me on my drinking habits, why don't we get this over with so I can once and for all try to make sense with the confusion running through my
mind."
I feel bad when his shoulders slump slightly and he sighs. That came out snappier than I intended, and I instantly wish I could force the words back in. It doesn't do us any good for me to start this on the defensive. I made the decision to see what happens next, with an open mind, and getting frustrated with him will get us nowhere. Earl lifts his body up, his large paws against Maverick's chest, and sniffs his chin before giving him a rub of his whiskers. Leave it to my furry baby to know when someone needs a little comforting.
Traitor.
"You know, when Clay called me about the old man dyin', I was in a bad place. I was in such a bad place that every mornin' when I woke up and looked in the mirror, I started seein' Buford lookin' back at me. I would be just as drunk and angry as I was when I passed out the night before. I hated that so much--becomin' him, I mean. I hated it so much that I would spend the day keepin' myself drunk in order to forget that image. I couldn't break the cycle. I was so damn lost, angry because of it, unable to get over the hump to see a way out. All it took was one call from Clay and I felt somethin' I hadn't felt in a long damn time. Hope. Stupid as it sounds. I know I could have come back without that call, but it was like a rope danglin' down to where I had been sitting at rock bottom." He's so lost in his thoughts, just petting Earl and looking off into the distance, not focusing on anything. I give him the time he needs, knowing that there's more to come.
"I used that to help drive me. Motivate me to put down the bottle and see, for the first time, that I hadn't lost everything. Instead, I was given a new chance to right everything I thought I had lost. So there I was, finally sobering up, but even with all that ridin' me, I was still nowhere near leavin' that bad place I had been stuck in. The second I got into Texas, it was as if the hope had disappeared. A feeling of dread over returnin' to Pine Oak had joined the drive. I couldn't stop thinkin' about everything that happened before I left. What I did to you was a big part of it. By the time I got here I was feeling so sorry for myself that I used that and my anger with Buford to turn me back into that person I hate. Him."
I pause, remembering the snarling hellion that had flown at me outside the church the day of Buford's funeral. "You were grieving, Maverick. You were justified in your emotions."