CHAPTER 07
maverick
The smile on his face was easy. Carefree. Simple.
For the first time in his life, I had a feeling that Harley was actually happy.
Like the real kind of happy that wasn’t forced or practiced.
He was covered in dirt and sand with scrapes on his elbows and forearms from tumbling off the bike.
There was a smudge of mud on his cheek, and his wind-blown hair had him looking a little bit feral.
I liked him like this, and seeing him like this felt like being privy to something special—something he refused to give to the world.
It had me feeling a kind of way that I couldn’t quite explain.
Not that I was trying real hard. I was too busy watching Harley practically splash through the lake, wet and beaming.
We’d taken dirt tracks through the forest—not my best idea after he hit a branch and damn near killed himself—and followed them to my favorite spot by the beach.
There were a lot of commercialized, touristy beach spots meant for swimming and family pictures.
The spot I went to was ignored because its jagged rocks, low cliff peaks, and quick drops in water depth made it unsafe.
I didn’t mind. I found peace here. And clearly, so did Harley from the way he grinned as he walked toward me.
“You act like you’ve never been in water,” I commented. He shook his head, sending water flying everywhere, and I made a face when I got hit with droplets.
“I haven’t,” he said. The words were so casual, as if he meant it. I scrutinized him, unable to tell if he was serious or not.
“You’re fucking with me.”
“I’m not.”
“We live on a lake!” I exclaimed. Everything in Wilde Bay was water-themed, and we even had entire festivals dedicated to the goddamn lake. “We’re in a lake town!”
“I know! I don’t know how to swim.”
“Okay, well, maybe you shouldn’t go in the water again,” I said quickly and ushered him closer.
I didn’t need one of the hidden drops to catch him off guard.
Sure, I knew how to swim, and I was fairly certain I could save him, but I didn’t want to tempt fate.
“Get your ass over here—sit! No more water for you. Jesus fuck. I can’t have your dumbass drowning. I’d go to jail.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Harley dismissed with a roll of his eyes.
He dropped down next to me and let out a content sigh.
More sand clung to him, sticking to the water that soaked his clothes.
He was a mess—a really attractive mess. “My mother… she has rules about everything. And swimming isn’t graceful or useful or something about how we don’t tromp through the water like an elephant. ”
I snorted because that was a dumb thing to say.
“My brother has rules,” I offered up. And then I found myself saying something I hadn’t told anyone aloud. “All his rules come down to how much he can control me… he’s always had control over me.”
And I hated it. Even admitting it made my stomach turn.
“Fuck the rules,” Harley whispered in solidarity beside me.
“Fuck the rules,” I agreed as I stared at him.
Despite his words, I could see the way the euphoria of his excursion began to ebb away with the lack of distractions.
It was replaced by the anxiety he struggled so hard to hide.
In his quiet state, he began picking sand particles off his clothes, as if he could magically clean himself up.
I took a wild stab at what thoughts were taking over his mind.
“This is the dirtiest you’ve ever been in your life, isn’t it? ”
With all his mother’s rules about image and presentation, the perfect facade was crumbling under the weight of his choices, and he was visibly fighting to maintain it.
“Intentionally, yes.”
”You’re going to have a panic attack later, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Absolutely.” Lips pressed together tight, he nodded severely. “Yup.”
“Good to know.” I racked my brain for how to help stave it off. I couldn’t exactly kiss him again. That grounding technique wouldn’t work again. “Can I help at all?”
“No,” he said. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t, but I knew when not to push either. I remained silent while he stared out at the lake and just waited for him to need something from me.
After dropping the bikes off at my home, I drove Harley home and was grateful that my car was at least clean.
I knew the brand new, fancy thing he drove.
My crappy third-or fourth-hand-me-down car was pathetic compared to his.
The fact that Aidan gave it to me was surprising, but I wasn’t about to argue against the little bit of freedom he allotted me.
Most days, I had to get under the hood just to keep it running, and I couldn’t drive much because gas money was hard to come by, but it was mine.
The income gap between Harley and me was never bigger than it was when I parked in front of his house. Fuck, his driveway was bigger than my entire home.
Correction: driveways. They had two, one going in either direction around the house. Who needed two driveways? And that wasn’t including the turnaround.
The house itself was practically a mansion—no, it was a mansion.
There was no other way to describe it. Houses didn’t exist in this size.
There were more windows than I could count, fancy shutters, and a wraparound porch.
The lawn was pristine, and the grass was probably cut so evenly that they all measured the same.
Everyone knew about the vacation area of town. Hell, I’d wandered here a few times over, but I’d never seen the Lowell’s mansion. It was off a winding side road, setting it apart from everything else in Wilde Bay.
“The backyard leads down to our docks,” Harley commented as he joined me in staring. Of course, they had private docks. And of course, it was plural, because one dock wasn’t enough.
“How many boats do you have?” I asked.
“Three,” he said. “Pontoon, speedboat, and rowboat.”
“Who needs three boats?” I muttered.
“That’s fair.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and just stood there, making no move to go inside.
“Where’s your room?”
“Corner room around the side, second floor. Do you want to come inside and see?”
“I don’t…” How did I explain that I didn’t belong in a house that nice? I was already uncomfortable just looking at it.
“I get it,” he said before I could come up with some lie that didn’t make me sound like an asshole. “It’s a lot, I know.”
A lot wasn’t the right word for it, but I didn’t say that. His lifestyle was unfathomable. I was over here thinking about how to make a few measly groceries stretch for the next week and a half while he was up here living like a king. It wasn’t fair.
I tried to push that thought aside. His circumstances weren’t his fault any more than mine were mine. We just were what we were.
The front door opened, and an older man stepped onto the porch. He didn’t say a word as he just stood there, staring at the two of us with his hands folded behind his back. I glanced between him and Harley, not finding a shred of similarity between the two of them.
“Do you have a butler?” I whispered, leaning in slightly. That was the only explanation I could think of, unless Harley was adopted.
“Yes.”
“An actual butler?”
“Yes.”
“That waits on you and stuff?” Was that what a butler did? I only knew of one butler, so my understanding of the profession was limited.
“Well,” Harley began slowly, “it’s a little more complicated than that, but yes, he does help take care of the estate and our family.”
“Is his name Alfred?” I couldn’t help it.
“No, it’s Clifford,” he replied quickly. After a moment, he added, “I don’t have a bat cave either.”
I laughed, and my shoulder bumped into his. He let out a sound—a barely audible chuckle—but his gaze never left Clifford, and I didn’t miss how his butler intently stared at us.
“I have to go,” Harley told me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Maverick.”
“Night, princess,” I whispered just loud enough for Harley to hear. I watched him walk up the front steps and right past Clifford like a puppy with its tail between its legs. Poor guy. I almost felt bad for the day we’d had, considering the amount of trouble he’d probably get in.