25. Mckenna
TWENTY-FIVE
MCKENNA
I’m seething with anger. Hurt. Confusion. It doesn’t recede for the rest of the evening.
Not when I smile and pose for photographs with Mav’s fingertips pressed into the small of my back. Not when Derek passes me a flute of champagne and offers a comforting shrug. Not even when Allegra hauls me off to the bathroom and asks if I’m okay.
Wonders if my reaction is connected to Branson.
Wants to know if I’m scared. Or mad. Or hurt.
Begs me to give her some insight into my headspace.
But I say nothing.
Instead, I stick to the contract. I perform my role well. I smile and make small talk and rise to the occasion.
When we return to the hotel, I try to ignore Maverick. My head is cloudy and my body on high alert. It’s strange, almost an out-of-body experience, and I can’t figure out why my thoughts are scattered. Why is my body running hot and cold?
As much as I’d like to pretend I’m alone, I’m hyperaware of every move Maverick makes. I catch each frustrated inhale and aggravated exhale. So much so that I need to escape his presence.I need to be alone with my spinning thoughts.
Why did Carrington’s simple touch make me feel so gross?
Why did seeing Mav infuse me with relief? With knowing that I am safe?
Why did his scene on the balcony tear my heart out?
Because it was the type of spectacle Mom and Dad used to make—at least, back when they still cared.
I shut myself in the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. I want to zap the chill from my body. I want to cling to normal, so I go through an entire spa ritual of moisturizing, blowing out my hair, and polishing my toenails.
See, I’m fine. I’m good.
When I finally emerge from the bathroom, the suite is silent. Good. I hope Mav is out with his bandmates for the night and doesn’t return until I’m passed out and snoring. I can use the distance.
I hope I drool all over the pillows and sleep like a starfish in the center, so he’s forced to take the couch. Or the floor. I can use the space.
The thought calms me and I move toward the bed, arranging the pillows how I like. Dread gathers in my stomach, confusing me further. But my head is heavy and my body tired. So damn tired.
For the first time, I wish I asked Kimberly to check for other hotels when she mentioned The Bowery only had suites with one king bed available. Back then, I brushed off the thought of sharing a bed with Mav. Instead, I wanted to stay in this location. Now, I regret it.
Tonight, I want to be alone. I want to understand what transpired between Carrington and me. Why Maverick reacted the way he did. Why his callous words cut so deeply. Why I feel so strange—apart and confused and exhausted.
Sighing, I drop to the edge of the bed and lower my head into my hands. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes, and I blink them back.My head spins.
Why did he react that way? Was he genuinely jealous that Christian Carrington gave me his card and chatted me up? Or does Mav see me as a possession? As part of a contract that is solely to enhance his shitty reputation?
What does his behavior tonight say about the past few weeks? The cookies and the nights out and the sightseeing… Was any of it real?
Why am I so bothered—nearly in tears—over Maverick Tate?
The silence of the space expands around me, reminding me how alone I am. Isolated. I check my phone and wince at the blank screen. No messages. No calls. Not from Mav, not from my friends, and certainly not from my parents.
It’s days before Christmas, and neither of my parents reached out to invite me to spend the holiday with them. Even though Mom is staying in Boston—I confirmed it with her hairdresser since we still frequent the same salon. She’s staying local and still hasn’t replied to my last text asking if she’d like to celebrate the holiday together.
Maverick is going to Jameson’s, and while yesterday, I hoped he would ask me to join, tonight I know better.
I’ll be alone at Christmas.
The tears pinch my eyes again, and I sigh, frustrated and emotional.
“Tonight needs to end,” I decide, talking to myself.
Slipping under the covers, I turn off the light and will myself to sleep. Tomorrow has to be better than this, right?
“So proud of you, buddy. You’re truly an inspiration to all of us. Keep kicking cancer’s ass,” Mav chuckles. “Don’t tell your mom I swore. Be good and talk to you soon.”
His voice, low and steady, pulls me from sleep.
Huh?
I shift in the bed, dragging one eye open.
The room is dark, with only the moonlight illuminating Maverick’s frame. He’s hunched over in an armchair, his phone in hand. He scrolls through it, his eyes moving as he reads whatever is on the screen.
Then, he speaks again.“Hi there, Jamie. It’s me, Maverick Tate. I recently heard you’re getting a new heart. Girl, I am so psyched for you! I can’t imagine how tough and tiring it’s been, but you’ve been so brave. When you’re feeling up to it, you need to come to one of The Burnt Clovers’ concerts and sit in the front row, okay? I can’t wait to meet you one day. Good luck with your surgery, and I hope you have a Merry Christmas. See you.”
I snap my eyes shut, not wanting Mav to know I’m awake. I focus on keeping my breathing even while he continues to leave voice notes to a list of fans going through difficult and sensitive times in their lives.
The longer I listen to him speak, the more I realize this isn’t a publicity stunt Kimberly put him up to. He reads up on each fan, their situation, and their diagnosis, and leaves appropriate and heartfelt messages. He doesn’t rush through them or repeat the same words to every person. Nope, each message is thoughtful and personalized and…
Dammit. Maverick Tate is a good guy.
The man I’ve seen this past month is that guy.
But then tonight…those words.
I roll over, pressing my ear into the pillow while his voice travels like a hum through my limbs.
Why did he have to ruin things tonight? By being nasty. And hurtful. By kissing me for the sake of paparazzi and a photo op instead of kissing me…for me. For us.
Gah! There is no us.
The version of Maverick I witnessed tonight is the one I despised from day one. Egotistical, self-centered, and needy for attention.
The kind of man who would break my heart instantly just because he could. The type of man I know better than to date. Or worse, fall in love with.
“I know you’re awake.” His words rouse me.
I open my eyes and stare at him.
“I can hear you thinking.” His words are accusatory, but his tone is soft. Deceptive.
I sit up, resting my back against the pillows. I cross my arms over my chest. “Do they know you’re full of shit?” I lie, just to throw something back in his face, as I tip my chin toward his phone.
His teeth snap together, and his expression hardens. “I’m not… This is—” He sighs. “I’m sorry, okay? I was way out of line tonight.”
“Yeah. You were,” I agree.
Maverick places his phone down and runs his hands through his hair. “Mckenna, I didn’t handle it right. Seeing you with Christian Carrington, I…”
“Got jealous?” I supply. My heart rate ticks up. Is it terrible that I want him to be jealous? That I want him to feel something real for me, the way I’ve started to harbor real feelings toward him?
“He’s not what he seems; he’s not a good guy.”
I lift an eyebrow, recalling his ugly words. “And you are?”
Mav’s jaw tightens as he watches me. “Compared to Carrington? I’m a fucking saint.”
I shudder, that strange tug in my stomach happening again. Something is off about Carrington. I know what I felt next to the bar and hearing Mav confirm it fills me with a strange sense of security. Like I can still trust my gut feelings. I can still trust myself. Right?
“He’s a fucking predator, Mckenna,” Maverick growls.
My eyes snap up and slam into his. The urge to cry gathers behind my face but the tears don’t come. “I know,” I whisper.
Mav frowns and moves closer, dropping to the side of the bed. His fingers twist the material of the comforter. A muscle jumps underneath his left eye. “What do you mean you know?” His voice is cold. Controlled. “Did he?—”
“I could feel it,” I cut him off, rushing through the words. As soon as I say them, I know they’re right. “I felt it,” I repeat.
Maverick frowns, shaking his head. “Felt what, baby?”
“Nauseous. Scared. Confused.” I lick my dry lips. “I feel the same way around Branson but I can’t… I don’t remember…” I trail off.
“Remember what, Mckenna?” Mav’s voice is gentle. His touch is warm as he brushes the back of my hand with his fingers.
“I was so relieved when I saw you walking toward me at the bar,” I confess. “But then, when you said Carrington could get me as a two-for-one?—”
“That wasn’t directed at you,” Mav interrupts me, his tone hard. “It was an insult to him. He’s going to get slapped with sexual harassment charges this year. He thinks he’s above it but…fuck, Mckenna, I’d never mean that about you. I was just…furious. And jealous. Fucking possessive. Confused.” He meets my eyes again. “I care about you. You’re my…friend. I never want to see you hurt.”
I work a swallow and nod. Mav cares about me. We’re friends . Why does that hurt? It’s what he promised me from the start and yet… I want more.
Mav’s eyes darken as understanding dawns. “What happened with Branson, Mckenna?”
I slip my hand in his and lace our fingers together. “I don’t know, Mav. I really don’t. But tonight, I knew that when I saw you, I was safe. That’s why your accusation on the balcony hurt.”
Mav reaches for me and wraps me in his arms, crushing me to his chest. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mckenna. Truly. I know I was out of line and there’s no excuse. But I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?” He pulls back to meet my eyes.
“Yeah, Mav. I know that.” And I do. He’d never purposely hurt me. But my heart? Oh, Maverick Tate has the ability to shatter my heart if I give it to him.
He holds me close for a long moment. “You can talk to me about anything, Mckenna.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. But I won’t. Not right now. I don’t know what to say. “I’m tired, Maverick.”
He kisses the top of my head. Then, he shifts back and tucks me in. “Sleep, babe.” He offers me a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Those two pools of blue are guarded—and worried. “Hey, what are you doing for Christmas?”
My chest tightens at the reminder. Ordering Chinese takeout? Watching The Holiday alone? Absolutely nothing.
I won’t admit that. “I’m going to try to see my mom,” I fib, partly because I hope it turns out to be true. And partly because I need some time alone to sort through all the complicated things swirling in my head. Besides, being together on Christmas would blur more lines. Mav is my friend and I need to remember that.
He nods, cupping my cheek with his large palm. His thumb brushes a line down the center of my chin. “Good. That’s good, Mckenna.”
“Yeah.” I force a smile.
“I really am sorry about tonight,” he adds, his voice soft.
I hear the sincerity in his words, and a part of me, a much larger part than a few months ago, believes him. I want to give in.To confide that I don’t have Christmas plans with Mom. To admit that something transpired with Bran and it’s all starting to come back in waves. Choppy, uneven, relentless waves that have the potential to drown me.
But I don’t know how. I’m too scared.
“I know, Mav,” I murmur, accepting his apology.
How can I not when I know he means it?
How can I not when I’m starting to fall for him?