11. Evie Wilder
Chapter eleven
Evie Wilder
“The movers are officially headed to Atlanta,” Maverick says as he walks back into my apartment. The door has been propped open for the last two hours while the moving company Drew hired came in and out. They just took the last of everything down while I got Beckham situated in his car seat. There’s not a car to match the seat–I haven’t had a need for one where we are in the city–but I know I’ll need it for the Uber to the airport.
“Oh, I thought they would come back one last time. I had a tip for them. Maybe I can catch them before they go.”
Maverick stops me from walking out the door. “I took care of it.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “I told you to stop doing this. Yesterday was bad enough.”
“What was so bad about yesterday?” he asks, but the faint smirk he’s wearing lets me know he knows exactly what I’m talking about. The man gets a kick out of overstepping boundaries. Except the boundaries he steps over are ones that no one else would have a problem with.
“You bought every meal we had, insisted on carrying every box I packed over to the door, and took all the trash to the chute.”
“Again I ask: what’s so bad about that?”
I let out a frustrated growl. Judging by the twitch of his lips, it’s not very intimidating. “You’re–”
He cuts me off. “ Doing more than enough already , I know. Did it ever occur to you that I like doing these things?”
My mouth opens. Then shuts. I…don’t know what to say to that. This whole time I’ve assumed he’s felt obligated. Like he has a duty to help me because of our past, or his friendship with Drew. Not once did I think that he was doing all of this because he liked it.
“I like knowing that you’re taken care of, Wilder.”
Warmth rises from my chest, up my neck, into my face. He’s got to stop saying things like that. It sounds too romantic, when I know that’s not what he means. My hormones, however, think he’s in love with me and are begging me to cuddle up to the giant lumberjack of a man. Thankfully I have a brain with enough reason in it to save myself from that embarrassment.
“Then you should rest easy, because I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for months.” Longer than that, if you count all the time Ezra was gone for brand shoots. During which he was cheating, unbeknownst to me.
Maverick doesn’t say anything for a moment. The silence is just long enough for me to hear the unspoken question. How has doing everything yourself been going? If I were being honest, I’d have to answer with not great .
“I really am grateful for all that you’re doing and have done,” I break the silence first. “It’s just hard for me to be so dependent on someone else.”
Ezra made sure I knew the pain of being too intertwined with someone. His friends were my friends. My job centered around him often since he’s one of the best in the industry right now. When he was home he wanted all my attention. I couldn’t work on anything that didn’t have his face attached to it. I couldn’t have plans with anyone if he wasn’t going. And I definitely couldn’t talk to my family and friends back home for an extended period of time. He’d get incredibly jealous.
At first I thought it was romantic how much he wanted me, but looking back I could see he just wanted to control me. He used me when he was home, then betrayed me while he was gone. My whole world crumbled when I found out he wasn’t faithful and hadn’t been for quite some time. I won’t get lost in someone like that again. Ever. And every time I let someone step too close, I risk doing just that.
“Just because I’m helping, doesn’t mean you’re dependent on me.”
I stifle a sigh. He doesn’t get it, but that’s okay. How could he? He has a successful business he built himself. There’s never been a time where he was utterly dependent on someone else. I look down at Beckham in his car seat, where he’s staring at the toy I tied to the bar. I feel as dependent on Maverick as Beckham is on me. It won’t be like this for long though. I’ll get to Georgia and start hunting for a job right away and find someone to care for Beckham. Then I’ll save up for a place to stay and give money to Maverick to pay him back for all of this .
“We should probably get going soon,” I change the subject. “Traffic is probably awful, like always.”
He pulls out his phone. “I’ll get an Uber. Do you want a minute alone in here before we leave?”
I look around the apartment. All the furniture belongs to the building, so it doesn’t look empty, but it’s not full either. Not that it was when I lived here. I was surviving. I didn’t have the time or energy to turn the place into a home. There were no flowers on the counter or books on the coffee table. I didn’t put pictures on the walls or magnets on the fridge. It was just a place to live.
“No, I’m ready to go,” I answer.
I put on the backpack I use as a diaper bag, and grab Beckham’s carrier as well as the base to put in the car. Maverick slings his duffle bag over his shoulder then starts to pull the two suitcases I packed. It will take a while for the movers to get to Atlanta with our stuff, so I packed plenty for Beckham and I.
Drew is going to be setting up Archie’s old bassinet in my room at Maverick’s today after he gets off work. Thankfully, Maverick said he had some furniture put up in the apartment in case anyone needed to come stay. So at least I don’t have to worry about purchasing that–or having Drew and Maverick buy it for me.
We walk to the elevator, leaving my apartment behind with no ceremony or last glance back. I’d be happy to forget the entire place, except for the last two months with Beckham. Even though it was difficult, I don’t want a single moment to slip from my memory of his sweet face.
“Are you hungry? I can walk down to one of the cafés while we wait for the Uber,” Maverick says as we step on the elevator.
“No, I’m okay. I had plenty this morning. ”
He brought over a huge spread of food for us and told the movers to help themselves as well. They appreciated it so much that I couldn’t object to how much he must have spent. I don’t even want to think about the total cost of everything he’s done for me. I’m sure I’d feel nauseous.
“Okay, let me know if you change your mind.”
We finish the elevator ride in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. After the past few days, I’m emotionally exhausted. It’s nice to not be expected to carry on a conversation.
I smile at Lou when we step off the elevator. I already had my heartfelt goodbye with him earlier this morning. He told me he enjoyed me living in the building, and that he was happy I had found someone to take care of me and Beckham. I didn’t have the heart to tell him Maverick is just a friend.
“Oh, the app says they’re here. That was quicker than I thought.” Maverick turns to me. “I’ll put our bags in the back, then I can hold the carrier while you put the base in?”
My eyebrows raise in surprise at how he’s thought this out. Though I guess it shouldn’t surprise me. It’s Maverick. He’s one of the most–if not the most–thoughtful men I know.
“That sounds good,” I say and we head out the door to the silver SUV awaiting us.
It’s quick and painless to get set up, which is a rarity in my world. If I was on my own, I would have been panicking about taking too long on the busy street. My hands would be shaking so hard that I’d worry the base isn’t secure enough. Instead, I’m able to trust that Beckham is safe as well as our stuff while I buckle in the seat base. It’s disconcerting .
I take the carrier from Maverick and make sure it clicks in before shutting the door. I take extra precaution when going around the SUV, because everything is going so well I feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong. And that something might be getting hit by a car. It’s not un likely in New York.
I make it into the car without being maimed though, and Maverick gets in the front passenger seat to give me room back here. He looks over his shoulder once he’s buckled. His eyes trail over me, then Beckham before he turns back around.
A fluttering feeling takes over my stomach. He was checking on us. An unbidden smile tugs at my lips. In spite of all my fears of being dependent on him, it is nice to have someone looking out for me and Beckham.
I use the drive to surreptitiously study Maverick’s profile. He’s wearing a hat today, one with a Thrasher’s logo that also matches the hoodie he’s got on. His beard is short enough that I can still make out the sharp edge that is his jawline. His eyes are taking in our surroundings like he’ll be quizzed on them later. He’s always been observant in that way. As if he feels me staring, he glances back at me once more, a faint smile on his lips when I don’t look away. He’d know if I pretended I wasn’t looking at him, so there’s no point.
“Are you enjoying the sights?” I ask him, to make it out like that was my intention of looking at him.
“I am.” He smirks. “Are you?”
Heat creeps up my neck. We’ve always teased each other like this, so it makes sense that Maverick would pick the habit back up. But it feels different now.
“I’ve seen it all before,” I say. His grin grows at my double meaning .
He turns back to face the front. “Maybe you’ll see something new this time.”
I think I already am. And I have no idea how to feel about it.