Carter
No.
Maverick
I’m on my way.
The empty store is dark,with the windows dim. Idon’t bother turning on the lights. Catalina’s scent still lingers in the corners—brown sugar and vanilla.
I sit on the worn wooden floor, my back pressed against the bare white wall. My knuckles are still raw and bleeding, and my chest aches with a weight that feels impossible to carry. The wreckage inside me is shredded beyond recognition. I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel a tear hit the back of my hand.
The front door creaks open. Maverick doesn’t say anything at first. He finds me in the shadows, takes one look at me, and walks over without a word. He crouches beside me, gently laying his big hand on my shoulder.
“Fuck football,” he says quietly. “You’re my brother. That comes first. Always.”
My hands still fucking sting,but I need to move. If I sit here a second longer, I’ll crawl out of my skin.
Maverick’s leaned back in the corner of the store, eating a donut he grabbed from the corner shop next door. He’s been here all morning, watching me like I’m some bomb that hasn’t decided when to go off.
I stand suddenly, pushing up off the wall. My joints pop from sitting too long, but it doesn’t stop me. “I need to tear something apart,” I mutter.
Maverick blinks, his mouth full of a jelly donut. “Okay, well, I love that for you, but could we not start with me?”
I ignore him and head toward the back of the store, the space Catalina always said she wanted to turn into areading nook. Big windows, open floor plan, soft couches, maybe a fireplace. She’d light up every time she talked about it.
Fuck, I miss that light.
I take a crowbar from the storage closet and pry it under the old wooden shelving. It groans in protest.
Maverick appears beside me, licking powdered sugar off his thumb. “So, no small talk, huh? Just straight to property destruction?”
“We own the fucking place. Either help or get out of the way,” I say through clenched teeth.
He grins. “Damn, relax. Catalina would’ve had you smiling by now. Or threatening to spank her, one of the two.”
I glare at him.
He holds up his hands. “Relax, demolition daddy. I’m just saying.”
I grunt, driving the crowbar in harder—the shelves screech and snap, collapsing in a heap at my feet.
Maverick whistles low. “Shit. You’re gonna make her cry with this place when she sees what you did for her.”
I stop, my breath catching in my throat.
That’s the fucking point. If I can’t find her yet, if I can’t fix what’s broken, then I’ll build something.
“She fucking deserves it,” I say quietly. “Better than what she’s been given.”
Maverick walks over to the second set of shelves, grabs a hammer, and slaps it against his palm. “Then let’s build it for her, brother.”
I glance at him. He grins again, his stupid smirk plastered all over his face.
“You do the labor. I’ll do the aesthetics. Catalina gets the dream bookstore, and you don’t punch another wall.”
Together, we start tearing the place apart.
Wood cracks. Dust flies. Pieces fall away, layer by layer, until we see the bones of what could be.
