46. Hayden
HAYDEN
I shove my phone into my pocket and grab my coat with more force than necessary.
Ford’s been locked in a video conference for the past hour, and Gabriel’s been pacing the hallway like a caged predator while he handles calls with our international clients across multiple time zones.
That leaves me alone in the makeshift office we’ve commandeered, and I’ve been fighting a losing battle with my concentration all damn day.
This is the life we chose for ourselves.
We knew from the beginning that if we were going to be truly successful and create the kind of meaningful change we envisioned, that if we were going to be more than just entitled trust fund babies counting money like modern-day Scrooge McDucks, our work would consume most of our existence.
Most of the time, I don’t just accept that reality—I genuinely love it.
My career fulfills me in ways that nothing else ever has.
Except…
Growing up without any real family taught me that helping people through my work would be what gave my life meaning.
I always understood that about myself. I’m incredibly fortunate to have found Ford and Gabriel when I did.
They became my chosen family, my brothers in every way that matters.
Being welcomed into Ford’s family circle—becoming Lydia’s honorary big brother and earning a place as Elaine’s surrogate son—gave me more than I ever dared hope for.
But ever since I allowed myself to give in to my ravenous hunger for Maeve, she’s invaded every corner of my mind.
It was already challenging enough to work alongside her when I wanted her but knew I shouldn’t have her.
I’ll admit it was immature and unprofessional of me to constantly interrupt her dates, but honestly, none of those men ever seemed to truly appreciate what they had in front of them.
It felt justified at the time—I told myself I was simply saving her from mediocre guys who couldn’t see her worth and would never deserve her anyway.
But it’s so much more complicated than that.
Of course it is. Now that I’ve had her, now that I know what it feels like to touch her and taste her and make her come apart in my arms, I can’t stop thinking about every detail.
Her curves, the way her body responds to mine, how she smells like vanilla and something uniquely her, the sounds she makes when I’m buried deep inside her…
God, I wish that’s all I thought about, but it’s not even close.
I think about her brilliant smile and those expressive green eyes that brighten when she’s passionate about something.
The way her red hair catches the light, and how she has this effortless sense of style that makes everything look elegant on her.
I’m captivated by her quick wit and how she’s never backed down from any of us, always ready with a clever comeback.
Her incredible competence and organization skills, and how she has these ambitious dreams she’s determined to make reality—just like Ford, Gabriel, and myself.
I can’t focus on the work that usually drives me, and yes, part of that is because all I want to do is fuck her again.
That’s definitely true. I want to tell everyone else to leave us the hell alone so I can spend every waking moment making her scream my name, with only Ford and Gabriel allowed to interrupt us—because I’ll need the recovery time, but when I get it, I want to watch them take their turns with her.
But I also keep catching myself wishing she was just here in the room with me while I worked.
Wishing I could glance over and see her with that little furrow between her brows when she’s concentrating, or have her interrupt my thoughts with one of her perfectly timed sarcastic comments.
I find myself hoping she might pop in to force-feed us whatever delicious creation she’s whipped up for lunch.
After trying to force myself to focus for another hour, I finally give up and step outside to clear my head.
When I reach the large back yard, a flash of red in my periphery draws my attention, and I glance over.
As if I’ve summoned her with my almost obsessive thoughts, Maeve is walking through the snow a short distance away.
She smiles when she sees me approaching, and…
fuck. I think I’d do just about anything to have her look at me like that more often.
Happiness suits her so damn well, and it’s genuinely new to see her smiling like this because of me rather than in spite of me.
Historically, I tend to make her scowl or roll her eyes. It’s what I’ve had to do to maintain professional boundaries and protect my own sanity. But it’s infinitely more rewarding to make her face light up like this. I just was never sure it would actually be possible.
That night in the living room when I was drinking—because of her—looking down at Maeve in the dim Christmas lighting, all I could think about were my rough edges.
All the ways I’m fundamentally not cut out to be anyone’s partner, how any woman deserves so much better than what I can offer, especially someone like her.
Now, standing here in the bright winter sunlight with fresh air filling my lungs and the world covered in snow around us, watching Maeve smile at me with her gorgeous red hair shining like fire…
maybe I’m capable of feeling a little hope after all.
A little softness, a little optimism. At least when it comes to her.
“Are you here to make things up to me?” Maeve teases as I offer her my arm with old-fashioned courtesy.
“Of course. I’m a man of my word. Ask anyone I’ve ever done business with.”
“The thing is, you kept telling me how you’d make it up to me, but I don’t think that’s actually the right approach.”
“Oh? How come?”
“Well, I don’t know that I would have gotten as far as sex or even making out with any of the men I was on dates with. I didn’t get to talk to them long enough to properly gauge the situation. But I do know that I definitely missed out on some nice conversations getting to know someone new.”
“Oh no,” I say with deliberate deadpan delivery, even as I guide her toward the covered rose garden.
“I’d like to hear more about you. I’d like to spend a nice couple of hours actually getting to know you.”
“What brought this on?” I’m not trying to deflect—I’m genuinely curious about her motivation.
“I was thinking about how much more I’ve discovered about you, Ford, and Gabriel during this trip.
It feels like I’ve learned more about all three of you in the past week than I did in the entire two years I worked for you.
I was scrolling through our old text messages and I just thought…
wow, there’s so much depth to all of you that I never realized existed. ”
“What did you think of me before?” I ask, bracing myself for her honesty.
“I thought you were an asshole,” Maeve says with a laugh that somehow takes the sting out of her words. “A devastatingly attractive asshole who was brilliant at his job. Smart, capable, driven. But definitely an asshole.”
“I mean, you’re not wrong about that assessment. I can be a real bastard.”
“But that’s not all you are,” she insists with surprising conviction.
I want to argue with her about that. Her unwavering belief hits something soft inside me, a vulnerable place I’ve spent years protecting by being exactly what she described—rude, cold, deliberately off-putting. And I don’t want to be that version of myself with her anymore.
“All right,” I hear myself saying. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” she says, and she sounds like she genuinely means it. “Anything you’re comfortable sharing. I want to really know you.”
I take a deep breath, pursing my lips. “It’s been a long time since I’ve talked about any of this stuff,” I warn.
“That’s perfectly okay,” she assures me with such gentle sincerity that I actually believe her.
So I tell her about my childhood. About being shuffled from one foster home to another like an unwanted package.
About being mercilessly teased by other kids at school because it was painfully obvious how much poorer I was—never having the latest anything, never knowing the current trends, always being at least two steps behind everyone else.
How in the foster system, they pack your few belongings into garbage bags when you move, like you’re literally trash being transferred.
Maeve doesn’t interrupt me once. She doesn’t even ask probing questions or try to fill the silences.
She just lets me talk at my own pace, listening with the kind of focused attention that few people are capable of giving.
It’s surprisingly easy—far easier than I expected—to share the experiences that shaped me into who I am today.
I feel somewhat emotionally raw when I finish, but I also feel…
lighter somehow. It’s been years since I talked to anyone about what my childhood was actually like.
Ford and Gabriel already know all the details, and I’ve covered it extensively in therapy.
But it feels unexpectedly good to share this part of myself with someone new who clearly cares about the answer.
We’ve completed several circuits around the garden during my storytelling, so I guide her toward the gazebo nestled at the back of the property.
It’s positioned on a slight rise surrounded by mature trees, offering a perfect view of the covered swimming pool below.
During the summer, it’s where the adults would retreat for shade and lunch while supervising pool activities, staying close enough to keep an eye on things without getting splashed.
It offers a beautiful view even with the pool closed for winter, and after all that walking, it feels good to sit down together.
“What about you?” I ask, genuinely curious about her perspective.
“What do you mean?”