Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(75)

I watch the empty balcony as we drive away. “Why do I feel like I’ve been taking Ridge’s handouts since the day I met him?” I look away from the balcony, feeling the anger building in my chest, but I don’t even know who I’m mad at. Love, maybe? I think I’m mad at love.

“I don’t know why you feel the way you do,” Warren says, “but you need to stop. You’ve never asked any of us for a single thing.”

I nod, trying to agree with him.

Maybe Warren is right. Ridge is just as guilty in this as I am. He’s the one in the relationship. He should have asked me to leave as soon as he knew he was developing feelings for me. He also should have given me more than five minutes to move out. He made me feel like more of a liability than someone he’s supposed to care about.

“You’re right, Warren. And you know what? If Ridge is paying, I want you to take me to a really nice hotel. One with room service and a minibar full of tiny bottles of Pine-Sol.”

Warren laughs. “That’s my girl.”





Ridge

It’s been seventy-two hours.

Three days.

Enough time for me to come up with even more things I need to say to Maggie. Enough time for Warren to let me know that Sydney is finally in her own apartment. He wouldn’t tell me which one, but that’s probably for the best.

Seventy-two hours has also been enough time for me to realize that I miss having Sydney in my life almost as much as I miss Maggie. And it’s enough time to know that I’m not going another day without talking to Maggie. I need to know that she’s okay. I’ve done nothing but pace this apartment since the moment I lost her.

Since the moment I lost both of them.

I pick up my phone and palm it for several minutes, too scared to text her. I’m afraid of what her response will be. When I finally do type out a text, I close my eyes and hit send.

Me: Are you ready to talk about it?

I stare at my phone, waiting for her to respond. I want to know if she’s okay. I want to be able to tell her my side. The fact that she’s more than likely thinking the worst is killing me, and it feels as if I haven’t been able to breathe since she found out about Sydney and me.

Maggie: I’ll never be ready, but it needs to be done. I’m home all night.

As ready as I am to see her, I’m also scared to death. I don’t want to see her heartbroken.

Me: I’ll be there in an hour.

I grab my things and head straight out the door—straight back to the half of my heart that needs the most mending.

? ? ?

I have a key to her place. I’ve had a key to her place for three years, but I haven’t had to ring her doorbell in all that time.

I’m ringing her doorbell right now, and it doesn’t feel right. It feels as though I’m asking permission to break through an invisible barrier that shouldn’t even be here in the first place. I take a step away from the door and wait.

After several painfully long seconds, she opens the door and makes brief eye contact with me as she steps aside to let me in. I pictured her on the drive over with her hair a mess, makeup smudged underneath her eyes from all the crying, and sporting three-day-old pajamas. The typical heartbroken attire for a girl who just lost all trust in the man she loves.

I think I would rather she looked the way I pictured her than how she actually looks. She’s dressed in her typical jeans, and her hair is neatly pulled back. There isn’t a smudge of makeup on her face or a tear in her eyes. She gives me a faint smile as she closes the front door.

I watch her closely, because I’m not sure what to do. Of course, my first instinct is to pull her to me and kiss her, but my first instinct probably isn’t the best. Instead, I wait until she goes into her living room. I follow her, wishing more than anything that she would turn toward me and throw her arms around me.

She does turn to face me before she takes a seat, but she doesn’t throw her arms around me.

“Well?” she signs. “How do we do this?” Her expression is hesitant and pained, but at least she’s confronting it. I know this is hard for her.

“How about we quit acting like we’re not allowed to be ourselves?” I sign. “This has been the hardest three days of my life, and I can’t go another second without touching you.”

I don’t give her a chance to respond before my arms are wrapped around her and I’m pulling her against me. She doesn’t resist. Her arms wrap tightly around me, and as soon as my cheek is pressed against the top of her head, I feel her begin to cry.

This is the Maggie I need. The vulnerable Maggie. The Maggie who still loves me, despite what I’ve put her through.

I hug her and pull her to the couch, keeping her secured against me as I sit with her now on my lap. We continue to hold each other, neither of us knowing how to begin the conversation. I press a long kiss into her hair.

What I wouldn’t give to just be able to whisper all my apologies into her ear. I want her as close to me as possible while I tell her how sorry I am, but I can’t do that and sign everything I need to say at the same time. I hate these moments in life where I’d give anything to be able to communicate the same way so many others take for granted.

She slowly lifts her face, and I reluctantly let her pull back. She keeps her palms pressed against my chest and looks me directly in the eyes.