I shake my head and get up from my seat. I can’t hear this. I dumped many hours and a lot of money in my psychiatrist’s office because of this man. “No, Nash. You don’t get to say things like that to me. You cheated on me for a very long time,” I tell him through shaky breaths. I start to walk away, but he grabs my wrist and follows me. I have to get away. The tears come and I know I won’t be able to stop them.
I enter the elevator and slam my finger on the number five at least ten times. “Come on, Winnie. I’m sorry. I am. I know now that Stacey is the kind of girl you date. You are the type of woman you marry. I should have married you. I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid,” he says. His blue eyes are pleading. That look used to get him whatever he wanted from me. I want to hug him. I want to smack him. My heart wants to forgive him. I feel like I might choke on my own shallow breaths.
“Why then? Why did you cheat?” I ask the question that tortures me the most. I hear the elevator ping and the door open. I get off, tears still pouring down my face. Nash follows me down the hall. I spin on him. “Why, Nash? You owe me the fucking truth!” I scream.
The wave of depression I fought through slams me. Every horrible thought about myself floats around me, taunting me. How his cheating was my fault. How I was a horrible person. How I couldn’t keep one man. How I was destined to end up just like my miserable mother. It took a long time to realize I was normal and Nash was the fucked up one. It still didn’t make the black hole that swallowed me whole any smaller.
He blows out a long breath and I know he’s about to say something horrible, but I don’t care. I need to hear it. I need to bury this in the ground so I can get over it, instead of burying it inside.
He takes my hands in his. “I was bored, Winnie. It was always the same with you. You were too predictable. Life got boring. You never took any risks,” he says.
There they are. The words I needed to hear, yet they are tearing me into two. I look down the hallway to the right, where my room is and see him—Maverick sitting on the floor in front of my door. He just looks at me, searching my face for something. Nash is oblivious that anyone else is present. I pray Maverick didn’t just hear Nash’s words, like maybe he’ll think that’s the person I really am.
“Take a risk, Winnie. Come back to me,” Nash whispers. I turn and look at the man who ruined my life, even though I can barely see him through my flooded eyes.
I decide to do something he’d never expect from me, because I know…I just know I have back up. Even if I ran away from him, even if I abandoned him and thought the very worst of him, I know Maverick cares.
So, I rear my hand back and smack Johnny Nash’s freaking face so hard that my palm burns like a million bees just stung me. I’ve never felt a better feeling. That was what I needed while I was lying in bed, pondering the worth of my life. I don’t need Nash. I don’t need anyone. I want someone, and it’s not the man who cheated and lied to me.
Like I suspected, Maverick is by my side quicker than seems humanly possible. He has Johnny by his collar, pinned up against the wall. His feet dangle off the ground like a little child. The sight actually calms me. Nothing about Maverick is calm. He is a ball of fury, anger probably directed at both Nash and I. His breathing is harsh and the muscles in his tattooed forearms bunch. It looks like he’s trying to stop himself from killing Johnny on the spot. A button pops off Johnny’s freshly pressed shirt. Maverick wears a stretched out black t-shirt and jeans. The difference between them is great. A stranger looking on would think good and bad. Except they’d pin the wrong guy as bad, I’m sure of it.
“What the fuck, Winnie? Who the hell is this guy?” Nash asks, his face turning a bright shade of red.
Maverick doesn’t speak. He just looks at me, like he wants to know what I’ll say just as much as the Nashhole. It breaks my heart even further. His hazel eyes are glistening. He is enraged to the point that every emotion is blistering to the surface. And I’m the one who did this to him.
Without looking away from Maverick’s gaze I say, “He’s a risk worth taking.” I speak just loud enough for both of them to hear.
Maverick lets Nash’s feet touch the floor. He closes his eyes, trying to reign in whatever it is that affects him so greatly. One deep breath later, he’s back.
“Meet Nashhole, Maverick,” I say, when he looks at me grinning the mean spirited, scary as hell smile.
Nashhole clears his throat. “You’re here to kill me? Aren’t you?” Maverick, who has yet to release him, turns that same look on him.
“No, even though I think it would be therapeutic for me at the moment,” Maverick says.
Johnny whimpers a little. “Winnie…” he whines.
“Don’t say her fucking name one more time,” Maverick growls. Speaking directly to me for the first time, he says, “What do you want me to do with him, Win?”
The instinct to protect the foul human that once held my heart in his hands appears, but I shove it back down and remind it how insane I was for a long time. The Nashhole looks at me with a crazed look in his eyes. He thinks I’ll order his death or something. The prick obviously never knew me—not even one bit. The whole thing is so sad.
“Hit him for me,” I command. There’s no inflection in my tone and it scares me.
Maverick punches once. Once is all it takes, and it looks like he held back. Actually I’m sure he did. Bones crunch and blood trickles down from his nose and lips. Johnny slinks to the floor holding his face in his hands. I’ve never seen him that low. He was on a pedestal so high, for so long, that it’s like I’m looking at someone else. The sight flips my stomach and shatters my heart, but then I glance at Maverick and he’s staring at me, looking for my approval. He doesn’t give a shit about anything else, just how I feel. If only the simple, bloody one treated me the same way.
I walk over to my hotel door. I hear Maverick actually helping the Nashhole up, uttering heated words under his breath. Threatening I’m sure. Johnny scurries down the hall like a beaten dog. I don’t turn around, but I know he’s there. My skin prickles with awareness, like it always does when he’s close.
“Thank you,” I whisper softly. “I’m so sorry.” I don’t say exactly what I’m sorry for because it’s supposed to encompass so many things, including the things I’m not supposed to know about. I slide my key into the door and walk through. I hold it open for him. He doesn’t stop looking at me, my face—trying to read what’s in my head. “Come in,” I say, though it sounds more like a question.
He hesitates a few more seconds, but must come to a conclusion with his case study because he strides in. He stops in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, his back facing me. The sun hits at the perfect angle, silhouetting him —like an avenging angel or something equally as impressive.
“What did I do, Win? You just left. You were supposed to come to my house. If it was too much, too soon, you should have told me. I’d never pressure you to do anything you didn’t want to do. That’s it, right? That has to be it.”
He has no clue why I left. Even more guilt comes up, twisting my stomach into knots. All weekend he thought I ran because I was scared of sex…or of furthering our relationship. I shake my head, even though he can’t see it.
“I don’t know if I can handle your past. Seeing you with all of the women reminded me of the person you are,” I say quietly.
“Was. The person I was,” he says a little more loudly. He turns and faces me. He freezes me to the spot with his accusatory glare. “I can’t change my past, Windsor. Trust me, I would if I could, because it obviously is an issue for you. I move forward.” He points at the door behind me. “You can’t change your past either. You move forward. You trust again.”
