Chapter 8
eight
MAVERICK
This is the worst time to be hungover. Or am I still drunk?
Probably somewhere in the middle, if I’m honest with myself.
I swipe my card against the reader on the vending machine and hit the buttons for the probably expired bag of chips.
I add them to the pile of other snacks already in my arms and follow the signs towards Declan’s room.
A blur of lilac flies past me, and it takes a minute to realize it’s Willa.
“Willa!” I yell, immediately panicking and thinking the worst.
“He’s awake,” she calls over her shoulder, not stopping.
I release a breath and follow her at a normal pace. Between the stress and the booze, I’m working myself into an early grave. Eva will have to marry off my corpse, if that’s what she still wants from me. I snort thinking about it as I push open the hospital room door.
“You’re awake,” I say as I spot Declan, giving him what I think is a reassuring smile.
He doesn’t look great, but he’s alive and holding on to his wife like his life depends on it.
They’re both staring at Ben. Willa looks shocked, while Declan seems confused.
I turn my smile to Ben. I’m about to greet him when my eyes connect with ones I know better than my own.
They’re the eyes that still haunt my dreams every night.
I drop the snacks in my arms and suck in a sharp breath.
“Ezra.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispers, a hesitant smile gracing his face.
He looks nothing like I remember. His hair is long and tied back in a bun with a beard that almost matches the length.
It’s clear he’s been working out in the years since I’ve seen him with the way his muscles fill out his clothes.
A jagged scar I don’t remember cuts sharply across his forehead.
My mouth is hanging open and refuses to shut.
Hell, I can’t get any part of my body to move, and I’m not really sure I’m even breathing.
Ezra keeps his eyes trained on me. The eyes I used to be able to read so easily are giving me nothing.
He’s waiting for me to react, but before I can form a coherent thought, Willa leaps from the bed.
“What the fuck?” she screeches. “What. The. Fuck?” Her lilac hair is a mess from the number of times she ran her hands through it waiting for Declan to wake up, but her blue eyes are fiery with rage and confusion.
“Willa . . .” Ezra starts, holding up his hands like he’s trying to calm a wild animal.
“Don’t you ‘Willa’ me! Your eyes were brown! They were fucking brown!”
“Can someone explain what the hell is going on?” Declan asks, his green eyes darting from Willa to Ezra to me and then back again.
“Ezra,” I whisper, his name the only word my mouth seems to be able to form right now. I feel the tears streaking steadily down my cheeks, but I don’t have the strength to stop them or wipe them away.
Turning his back to Willa and Declan, Ezra approaches me slowly. When I don’t move, he gently places his hands on my cheeks, wiping my tears with his thumbs.
“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here, and I’m so sorry.”
I reach out slowly, touching his chest, his face, his arms, trying to figure out if he’s real.
Ezra takes a shaky breath, closing his eyes as if my touch is everything he’s ever wanted.
He lets me explore; his hands never leaving my face.
I want to lean into him, see if he feels the same, if he smells the same.
But then my brain snaps back online, and I push him away.
He staggers for a moment, a look of shock and hurt crossing his face.
“You’ve been here this whole time?” I shout. “Right under my fucking nose? Just letting me suffer in the black pit that’s been my life since you went missing?” I take a deep breath, trying to control the volume of my voice before a nurse comes in here to see what’s going on.
“Maverick . . .” Ezra starts, the hurt still clear on his face.
“No,” I say. “Fuck you, Ben.”