Chapter 28
INSIDE THE BUBBLE
Clover
The next morning, we don’t get out of bed until close to noon, having stayed up ridiculously late because of our mutual insatiability. When our stomachs start rumbling at each other, we make our way to the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, and get started on breakfast.
I find the fridge fully stocked. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?” I set a carton of eggs and a package of bacon on the counter.
“I wanted to make it easy for us.” He opens and closes cabinets, pulling out the things we need. Then he turns to look at me. “Not to put a damper on the morning, but would you be willing to fill me in on this ex of yours?”
We managed to avoid talking about Gabriel last night, but I knew this conversation was coming, especially after the shit he pulled on Christmas. “What do you want to know?”
Maverick grabs a package of shredded cheese from the fridge. “How you met. How long you were together. Why you married him. Why you want a divorce. I just want to get an idea of what that relationship looked like for you.”
I nod. It makes sense that he has questions.
“I met him at a conference during the final year of my PhD. He was a speaker, and I was enamored. He’s very charismatic and good at telling people what they want to hear.
He was married once before, when he was younger, but it didn’t last. I learned why after we were married.
He’s a manipulator, and he changed after the wedding.
I didn’t like who I was becoming when I was with him, or how little say I had in my own life choices, so we separated. ”
“What do you mean by that? How little say you had?” Maverick stops laying strips of bacon in the frying pan to focus on me for a moment.
“He made it so I was dependent on him. Right after we were married, we moved away from my family and friends. I stopped feeling like my own person.” I pause a moment, needing to breathe. I hate how lost I became. How hard it was when I realized he was all I had. I’d felt trapped.
Maverick rests his hip against the counter. “How old were you when you got married?”
“Almost twenty-seven. We were only married for six months before I left.” Gabriel had upgraded my phone, and in the process, erased all my contacts and started tracking me. He’d been adamant that he was trying to protect me. That had been the last straw.
“Did you date a lot before him?” Maverick cracks an egg in a measuring cup and dumps it in a bowl, then grabs another one.
“I had a few long-term boyfriends between high school and my PhD.” I start beating the eggs with a fork as he adds the second one.
“What do you consider long-term?” he asks.
“Over a year.” I give him a sidelong glance. “What’s the longest relationship you’ve had?”
He almost fumbles the next egg. “I had a few girlfriends in high school. Most of them didn’t last more than a few months, though. I did date one girl sophomore year for almost an entire semester.”
“What happened that you broke up?”
“She started to get attached, and I wasn’t emotionally available the way she wanted me to be. I needed my focus to be on hockey, so I broke it off. She ended up dating one of my teammates after that. I think they might still be together, actually.”
“That couldn’t have felt good for you.”
“I wasn’t going to be the boyfriend she wanted me to be. They were good together. They fit. She and I didn’t. We looked good in pictures, and that was it. I couldn’t see a future with her. I couldn’t see past the next day. Most of my relationships have been like that.”
“Because you’ve been afraid to get attached?”
“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?
“You’re not wearing that home, are you?”
He looks down and runs a hand over his chest. “Yeah, why?”
I point to his crotch. “I can see the outline of your peen, which means everyone else can too.”
“Who else is going to see it when I’m in the truck?”
“What if we have to stop for gas, or a bathroom break?”
“We’re like an hour drive from Chicago, and I filled up before I picked you up from the airport. I haven’t driven anywhere since, so I won’t need gas. And I can hold it for an hour, and I’m assuming you can too. Unless you’re planning to drink a liter of water before we hit the road.”
“It’ll be distracting.”
He arches a brow.
I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t want to leave this bubble!” I drop my head so he can’t see how close I am to the edge.