Bitter Sweet Heart (Lies, Hearts & Truths #2)(82)
“Because I was afraid to care about someone and potentially hurt them.” He settles a finger under my chin. “I didn’t want to see past tomorrow.” He presses his lips to mine. “And I didn’t want to break someone’s heart, or my own.”
“Has that changed?” I ask softly.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
We spend our time at the cabin in a bubble of bliss. We have sex, sex, and more sex. We shower together, sleep together, nap together. But we also cook meals side by side, working in domestic comfort. Maverick is considerate, patient, and fun. His soul is old, and he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, but at the same time, he has the most infectious laugh and a beautiful smile I can’t get enough of.
When we’re not naked, we talk, or cuddle on the couch and read the Psychology Today magazines Sophia always passes on to me when she’s done with them, discussing the articles. We play Scrabble, and Maverick wins four out of every five games because he cares more about points than he does the words themselves. We bring in wood whenever the fire gets low, build a giant snow penis after a snowfall, and Maverick tries to teach me how to shoot a hockey puck. I keep missing the makeshift net, and the pucks disappear into the snow, some of them so deep in the banks that I won’t be able to find them until spring. One of my not-so-terrible shots lodges the puck in the shaft of our snow peen and nearly takes it out.
Being with Maverick makes me wish I could turn back time for me, or fast forward it for him, so the gap between where he is in his life and I am in mine wouldn’t seem quite so vast outside the walls of the cabin.
As the end of the holidays inches closer, it becomes harder to ignore the reality we have to face when we return to Chicago. I’ve told Gabriel he’s to contact me only through my lawyer, and I blocked his number, but I can’t avoid dealing with him altogether if I want this divorce to be finalized.
This afternoon, Maverick is stretched out on the couch, me between his legs, my back against his chest. I’m reading an article on addictive personalities. He keeps kissing my neck, which is distracting, but also welcome affection. It also means I’ve been on the same page for a solid ten minutes.
I tip my head, giving him access to more skin.
His phone buzzes on the coffee table. It’s been doing that all day, and he’s been checking it periodically, but not responding.
“You should answer,” I tell him. “Your friends are probably worried about you.”
“It’s just my sister, digging for information. I already told her I was with a friend and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.” He drags the tip of his nose along the column of my neck and bites my earlobe. “I guess we should talk about what this is going to look like when we’re back in Chicago, huh?” He wraps his arms around me. “And don’t answer that with a question.”
I grin and turn toward him, kissing the bottom of his chin. He has a scar from when he split it open as a child in a hockey accident. “I was going to ask if there’s a way you want this to look.”
“If I had it my way, we’d keep doing exactly what we’re doing. But I’m aware that’s not possible. I guess I want to know where you stand. Does this end here?”
I’m silent for a long moment.
Maverick picks my hand up and brings it to his lips. “It’s okay if it does. I’ll understand. I don’t want to make things harder for you, and I know this puts you in a difficult position.”
“Are you trying to give me an easy out, or yourself?” I ask.
I feel his lips turn up against my knuckle. “Both, probably. I don’t want to fuck up your career, and I get that this could be a stain you can’t wash away. We always knew it was temporary. Maybe it’s better to end on a high note than to wait until the bottom falls out.”
I can’t tell if he’s saying this because he’s gotten what he wanted or because he’s honestly trying to protect me. Or himself. “Why are you being so logical?”
“Because I care about you. I don’t want to do damage, if it’s avoidable.” He presses his lips to mine. “Let’s enjoy the time we have left here. We don’t have to make any decisions right now.”
That night, I barely sleep at all, in part because my brain won’t shut off, but also because we spend half the night alternating between making out and slow, unhurried sex.
In the morning, we make breakfast, both of us quiet and introspective. I want to stay longer, but I have courses I need to prepare for and so does Maverick. And he has hockey practice early tomorrow, so staying another night isn’t possible, or reasonable.
But still, I drag my feet, packing slowly, wishing I could pause the world. I stand at the end of the bed, my suitcase open. I packed sexy things, even though I was supposedly on the fence about spending New Year’s with Maverick. Every item I drop back in the suitcase now has a memory associated with it—mostly of him peeling me out of my clothes and us picking them up off the floor later.
I swallow past the lump in my throat, fighting the prickle behind my eyes. I promised myself I wouldn’t get emotional, not in front of Maverick.
“You want me to bring anything out to the truck?”
I turn to find him standing in the doorway, forearm propped against the jamb. He’s wearing a long-sleeve white Henley and gray sweatpants. What is it with men and gray fucking sweatpants?