Chapter 7 Mav
SEVEN
MAV
“Is that a fucking joke?” I mutter, bewildered. Glancing around the coffee shop, I look for hidden cameras. “Are you serious, Aid?”
Aiden chuckles, leaning back in his seat.
We’re at Java House, grabbing a cup of coffee, and discussing some very important legal implications that I somehow overlooked. Entirely.
“You’re still married,” he repeats, amused. He should not be amused.
“That’s not possible.” I shake my head, keeping my expression calm.
But on the inside, my organs feel too close together, my blood too hot, my body, completely discombobulated.
What the hell is Aiden saying? I look around the coffee shop again, waiting for the punchline.
No one is paying attention to us. My neck snaps back to Aiden. “Mckenna signed the papers. She—”
He leans forward, moving my coffee mug to the side. “She did,” he agrees. “You didn’t.”
“I—what?” I mutter, squinting as if that will help me recall that hazy time of life better.
But those days were a fucking blur. I had just gotten out of rehab and I was so intent on doing the right thing, on making amends, that I tried to free Mckenna from me. From the destructive habits I brought into her world. I didn’t want to taint her anymore and so, I asked for a divorce.
I watched as she pressed the pen into the paper and scrawled her name in angry letters. I absorbed the tears that fell from her navy eyes. I clutched those papers to my chest and strode out of the brownstone without a backward glance.
And then…and then, I went to Costa Rica.
“You sent the papers to me,” Aiden continues, as if trying to jog my memory. “But you never signed them, Mav.” Aiden reaches into his bag and pulls out a manila folder. He removes the stack of papers and my breath catches in my throat.
Petition for divorce.
Dissolution of marriage.
Divorce agreement.
Nausea curls in my gut. I never want to see those dreaded pages again.
Needing something to do with my hand, I pick up my coffee mug and take a long sip.
It’s not hot enough to burn the roof of my mouth and right now, I wish it would.
I wish anything could pull me from the mental agony of recalling that day with Mckenna, of reliving the heartache I caused my beauty.
“So, you need to sign these and then, I can file them and make it official.” Aiden slides the stack of papers across the table. His eyes dart around the space. “I told you we should have met at my office, Mav. You really are a stubborn bastard.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
I drop my palm to the center of the stack and stare at the black ink that appears in the spaces between my fingers. “I’m not signing.”
“I—what?” Aiden sputters.
Shaking my head, I smack the stack. “I’m not signing.”
“Maverick.” Aiden frowns. “You asked for a divorce. You wanted—”
“I know what I asked for.” I cut him off, not wanting another fucking reminder. “But it was a mistake. Mckenna and I…” I blow out a sigh. “We’re not over, Aiden. We’re unfinished business.”
My lawyer stares at me for several seconds, as if trying to make sense of the words coming out of my mouth. “You have to tell her, Mav. If you don’t sign, she—”
“Of course I’m going to tell her,” I interject again. What kind of a man does he take me for?
“This changes—”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, my eyes reading the top page again.
Petition for divorce.
Dissolution of marriage.
Divorce agreement.
“And everything,” I breathe out, meeting Aiden’s eyes. “I’m not giving up on us this time, Aiden. I’ll tell Mckenna the truth and I’ll work my ass off to win her back. But I’m not signing shit.” I slide the stack back toward him. “Not now, and hopefully not ever.”
Aiden swears softly. “You’re the biggest pain in the ass, Mav. But fuck if I’m not rooting for you.” He tucks the pages back in the manila folder and slides it into his backpack. Then, he chuckles and stands from the table, shouldering his bag. “I’ll be in touch.”
I give him a two-fingered salute as he walks away, still shaking his head and laughing to himself.
Once Aiden’s gone, I polish off my coffee.
Mckenna and I are still married. We’re still…a version of us.
While I was already committed to winning her back, knowing she’s still my legal wife changes things. It makes me want to expedite the process so we can be together again.
But I need to tread carefully. I need to approach this the right way to prove to Mckenna that she can fully trust me. That I will fight for her, for us, always.
Picking up my phone, I make a few phone calls, line up some meetings, and make a huge decision.
I’m finally ready to buy a house. Right here in Boston.
“Thanks for your help, mate.” I shake hands with my new contractor ten days later.
“See you in the morning, Mav.” He slips into the driver’s seat of his work truck and eases away from the curb.
Turning to look up at my new brownstone, I cross my arms over my chest and grin.
“What are you doing here?” my neighbor asks, appearing on her front porch.
My grin widens. “Good morning, Mckenna.”
She narrows her eyes, trying to read my jovial mood.
“I bought a house,” I explain, gesturing to the brownstone next door. Moving toward the gate in front of her place, I rest my elbow on top of the wrought iron. “We’re going to be neighbors.”
Her mouth drops open, surprise flaring in her eyes. “I…you…we…” She pauses, shaking her head. “Do you want to come in? I’m about to have breakfast.”
I chuckle. My girl misses me. “I’d love to.” I open the latch and slip inside the gate, taking the steps up to the front door.
Mckenna closes the door behind us and trails me to the kitchen.
“So, you bought the brownstone next to the one you already own?” she inquires, moving to drop more sliced bread into the toaster. “Butter, or jam?”
“Technically, the band owns this place. Jam, please. And, if it’s not too much trouble, can I have a tea?”
She automatically changes gears and sets a kettle on the stove. “Why would you buy the place next door?”
“To be closer to you,” I answer sincerely, perching on a barstool.
“Mav!”
“What? I told you I was serious about us.”
Disbelief causes Mckenna to laugh and I relish the sound.
She walks over to the island, a mug in each hand, and places one in front of me. A moment later, she returns with toast and jam. “I didn’t think you’d move in next door.”
“I’m full of surprises, beauty. You know that.”
She shakes her head, but I note the flicker of joy in her irises. Of hope.
I reach for her hand and wrap my fingers around hers. “I have to tell you something, Mckenna.”
Immediately, that flicker of joy is snuffed out and I mentally curse myself for being so careless with my words.
“It’s not bad. Well, I don’t think it is,” I tack on.
“What is it? Just, tell me.”
“We’re still married.”
“What?” She gasps, shaking her fingers from my hold and pressing her hand to her chest. “We’re—are you serious?”
I nod, dragging a hand through my hair. “I never signed the papers.”
Again, her mouth pops open and she stares at me, bewilderment crossing her expression. “It was your idea!”
“I know,” I snort. “I know. I…” I hang my head before meeting her eyes. “I wanted to do what was right, for you. I felt so damn guilty for everything I put you through and, well, I believed that removing myself from the picture was the best option.”
She wraps her hands around her mug and continues to stare at me, waiting for the full story.
“I never stopped loving you, beauty. You know that, right?”
Slowly, she nods. Her eyes never leave mine.
“I didn’t want to divorce you, Mckenna. Hell, I want to be the guy you can count on forever. After you signed the papers, I sent them to Aiden and fucked off to Costa Rica and…” I shrug. “I ignored his messages until we caught up last week and he informed me that we’re still married.”
“Did you sign?” she asks quietly.
I shake my head. “I will if you want me to but…I want this with you. Us. More than anything in the world, I want us to be a family.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth when you first found out? It’s been a week, Mav.”
“Ten days,” I clarify, pointing to the place next door. “I wanted to show you how serious I am about us.”
“You really bought the brownstone next door?”
“Renovations start tomorrow. I’d love your help with the design.”
“Seriously?” she asks skeptically.
“Yes. One day, Mckenna…one day, I hope it’s our place in Boston. I want you to love it.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her eyes watchful and assessing. Then, she whispers, “Thank you, Mav.”
“Don’t thank me, beauty. Just say you’ll come over this week for pizza and Cokes and help me choose kitchen cabinets and paint colors.”
“I’d like that,” she agrees. “I’m at the library every day but I can come by Friday night.”
“Then it’s a date.”
“Okay.” She smiles softly.
“Okay,” I repeat, taking a bite of my jam toast.
I’ve never been so happy to be a homeowner. Even if the deed is in Mckenna’s name.