Maverick (Satan’s Angels MC #11)

Chapter 1

Loreena

“Girl, you look amazing!” Sylvie whistles cheerfully as she deposits a great big bag full of library books onto the tiny kitchen table.

“I look the same as I always do.”

Sylvie changes her hair every few weeks. It’s bright blue today, with neon green streaks that probably are just clip-ins. Her hair arsenal has to look like those crazy shoe collections that people stockpile. Next to her, I’m about as plain as they come.

She tucks a strand behind her ear, then tackles the tote while I watch, arms crossed, leaning against the wall by the table. She makes a pile of books five high, then starts another.

“Nah. I think the yoga’s agreeing with you.” She doesn’t complain that she had to carry all the books from the library to her car, then to mine, and then climb up three flights of stairs because the elevator is out of order. “Or it’s the breathing exercises.”

“They don’t help. I tried to take the garbage out yesterday. It stank. Badly. I got four steps outside and had a panic attack.”

Her head snaps up, blue hair flapping all over like bird wings. “That’s progress! Four steps. Seriously.”

I’d dropped the bag and it split open all over the back sidewalk right in front of the door.

All I could do was bend at the waist and gasp and choke.

There’s nothing glamorous about a full-on panic attack.

I’d left the door propped open, anticipating the fact that the sky would fall and crush me, my vision would black out, and my lungs would close off.

The panic attack didn’t stop when I darted inside.

I basically had to drag myself up the three flights of stairs to my apartment.

Even there, with the door closed tightly, all I could do was curl up into a corner, draw my knees up, set my head down on them, and rock.

Rock, and rock, and rock. I rocked for hours, until I could finally draw in a shaky inhale.

After I’d calmed down, the first thing I did was phone Sean Amos, the building’s maintenance guy, to apologize for the mess. I know he thinks I’m weird, but when I explained that I was ill and couldn’t clean it up, he offered to do it for me. I wanted to pay him, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

Sylvie turns and fills the kettle, sensing that I’m going to need a massive mug of the peppermint, ginger, chamomile mix she gets me at a tea shop close to her place.

I inhale deeply, trying to ignore the sick metallic taste spreading across the back of my tongue. “That’s not progress. That’s nothing. Like my mom said, if I can’t get over this silly little sickness, then I can’t be anything. She was right.”

“Bro!” She slams the kettle clicker down a little too violently and whirls around. “That’s not true. You’re a freaking lawyer. You passed the LSAT and the Bar, and you have a job. You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“Not smart enough to figure this out,” I mumble under my breath. “Not smart enough that all the therapy in the world can help me. Not smart enough to keep my life from disintegrating.”

Sylvie crosses her arms, mirroring my pose. “Your family chose not to be in your life. They chose to think what they want to think instead of understanding that what you’re going through is very real. It’s not something you can just get over.”

“Clearly. Because I’ve tried everything.”

“You know what I think about your mom and sister. Your dad is just along for the ride.”

That’s true, but I don’t want to talk about my family. I want to keep on talking about me, me and my endless fucking shortcomings. “I’m not the kind of lawyer that I want to be.”

“But you are one. You did all of that yourself. Got your degree, passed all those tests, did all that school.”

“I have nothing but time.”

“Even if I had nothing but time, I still wouldn’t be able to do any of that. I could barely handle my nail tech course.” Sylvie flashes her hands at me.

She has spaceship nails today, complete with very detailed little UFOs beaming up different animals. All of them are hand painted, and how she did that on herself blows my mind.

“You’re the kind of smart that counts,” I say. “And you’re kind. That can make up for anything. You’re the one who started your own business. You go into people’s houses, and you don’t just do their nails. You give them hope.”

She shrugs, like all that she’s accomplished is no big deal. “Everyone says that hair and nail appointments are really just therapy sessions.”

“That’s what I mean! You take out my garbage for me every time you’re here.

You pick up my library books. The worst part is that you have to listen to me go on about work and my family and being stuck in here.

You’ve never once called me a freak or told me to get my shit together.

And you keep coming back. Twice a week, when you’re insanely busy.

You won’t let me pay you for any of it. That’s real friendship. That’s true kindness.”

“No way. You pay me for nails, and that’s all the payment I need. We are friends. We’ve known each other for two years.”

“You can know a person for a lifetime and still not be able to tell them everything. I told you about what happened to me on my third fill. It’s because I can talk to you. You would never judge anyone.”

“I judge plenty, but not you and not that. You didn’t choose for any of that to happen. None of it was your fault.”

I grab for the chair closest to me, drag it out, and flop down into it. “I know, but I- I can’t stop thinking that how I choose to react to it is.”

“Don’t lose hope. You’ve done incredible things with your life where most people would have just folded and broken.”

“How is this not being broken?”

“You’re making a difference in the world.

” As soon as the kettle clicks off, Sylvie grabs the tin of tea from the back of my counter and puts two big scoops into a teapot, then sets it down on the table beside the books.

She makes everything look so efficient, including setting a mug in front of me and one in front of the chair across from mine, as well as the silver tea strainer.

“It doesn’t matter that it’s just from these walls,” she says as she sits.

“You donate tons of money to all those rescues. You haven’t lost the desire to try, even when things don’t work the way you want them to.

You gave Pumpkin and Sprite a home. Neither of them would be here if you hadn’t donated the money for their care. ”

I know that’s true, but anyone can donate money if they have it.

Pumpkin and Sprite are both in the living room, nestled on their favorite blanket on the couch.

It happens to be my favorite too, so we all share.

I paid for their vet care, and it did save their lives a few years ago, when they were two sick little kittens, but ever since, they’ve been the one bright spot in even my worst days.

“You’re the best cat mom in the world. Plus, you’ve changed Maverick’s life. You’ve been writing to him for four years.”

I duck my head, sucking in a breath. Maverick isn’t a secret, but I haven’t said anything about his upcoming release.

“You were the one who encouraged him to get his GED and get involved with the programs in prison. I know they’re just letters, but you’re a voice of goodness that he wouldn’t have had otherwise.

” Sylvie holds up her hand when I try to protest, flashing two cows, a donkey, and a chicken getting beamed up from her nails.

“Don’t tell me it’s just one person. The world can be hella changed by a single individual. ”

“Don’t I know it.” I clutch my hands in my lap and breathe shallowly through my nose.

“Honey. Hey. Talk to me.”

My head snaps up, but only because I can’t stand for Sylvie to sound distressed.

“You were glowing when I got here. Something’s changed. You never did say what it was, and I know it’s not the yoga.”

“Maverick is being released next week.” It’s a hard admission. My face is hot. I’ve had no interest in men since it happened. Even if I wanted to share my life with someone, it’s nearly impossible to even consider romance when you can’t go outside.

People want someone they can grow with. Do life with. Travel, explore, share experiences with. They want someone for photos and for memories. That someone can never be me.

“Oh my god! That’s incredible.”

“Well, he’s served his time.” I reach for the teapot and pour the hot liquid over the tea strainer. “He didn’t get out early or anything.”

“No, I guess not, but because of you, he’s a different man. He has you in his life, so maybe he has a chance.” I pour for Sylvie too, which leaves her free to study my face. “Wait. Why do you have that look?”

“I don’t know that having me in his life is the right thing.

” My eyes sting with unshed tears. I set the teapot down and make eye contact with the stack of books in the middle of the table.

“We made good pen pals, and getting involved with the prison’s program was one of the best things I’ve ever done, but this isn’t…

that. It’s real life.” I need to be fully honest, but putting the words out there make them real.

“He doesn’t know that I live this way. What if he finds out and he’s so disgusted that it negates everything I’ve ever written to him?

Having him judge me and shun me would be…

” I clutch my hands under the table, palms damp, heart throbbing painfully.

“I just… I don’t know if I could stand that. ”

Sylvie doesn’t seem the least bit appalled, as though holding back details of my personal life is perfectly reasonable. “You could just set up one of those mailing addresses that’s not real so you could keep writing to him and he could respond, but he wouldn’t know where you live.”

I had thought of that, but Maverick’s in jail for a very specific crime. “Unfortunately, there’s this thing called the internet. I’m not afraid that he’ll find me. That’s the last thing I’m worried about. I mean, I am, but not because I’m afraid of him.”

“I know, honey.”