39. Maeve
Maeve
I wake up and have no idea where I am.
For one disorienting moment, I lie perfectly still beneath unfamiliar blankets, staring at a ceiling I don't recognize while my mind struggles to catch up with the rest of me.
The room is quiet.
Morning light filters through the narrow gap between the curtains, casting a thin line across the wooden floor. The air smells different here. Clean and faintly like pine instead of the expensive candles the housekeeper lit every morning because Ronan preferred the house to smell a certain way.
My heart begins to race. Then I see the pillow on the floor. The folded blanket beside it. And I remember.
Running through the darkness with my hand wrapped around his.
A laugh catches in my throat.
Taibhse. Keaton. I finally met him.
The thought shouldn't make me smile as much as it does.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling again, allowing the memories from last night to move through me more slowly this time.
He came for me.
I don't know how long it will take before I can think those words without something inside my chest pulling tight.
He came for me. No one told him to.
Apparently, judging by the way his team had shown up and the expression on Badger's face, everyone had specifically told him not to. And he'd done it anyway.
My smile grows. Completely insane. All of them.
I still have questions about the names. A lot of questions.
Movement sounds somewhere beyond the bedroom, followed by the low murmur of a man's voice.
His voice. I smile again.
I have never heard Taibhse speak before last night, and now there's something strangely comforting about hearing Keaton's voice carrying faintly through the house.
It makes him real.
I push the blankets away and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet touch the floor, and I look down at myself.
Black leggings.
My old band T-shirt. I run my hand over the faded design. The shirt is at least ten years old. Probably closer to twelve. The fabric has become so thin over the years that I should have thrown it away long before Ronan decided to do it for me.
Except I loved it.
I still love it. I stand and make it halfway toward the door before stopping. Keaton is talking to someone. What if someone came over? My eyes drop to my clothes again. Maybe I should change.
The thought comes so naturally that I already have one hand on the hem of my shirt before I realize what I'm doing.
I look toward the box sitting near the wall. My dress from last night is in there. I could—No.
My hand slowly falls away.
The memory of Keaton's face when I opened that box comes back to me. He'd watched me pull out every piece of clothing as though seeing me happy about an old sweatshirt was somehow the most important thing happening in the world. He'd saved these clothes. Washed them. Folded them. Kept them.
I don't think Keaton cares what I'm wearing. The realization feels bigger than it should. I look down at the shirt again.
No. That's not quite right.
I think he cares very much. I think he cares whether I want to wear it.
My throat tightens unexpectedly.
God.
How low had the bar become that someone allowing me to wear my own clothes felt like an act of kindness?
I push the thought away before it can ruin the first morning I've woken up without wondering what mood my husband is in.
My husband. The word stops me. I stand in the middle of the bedroom for a long moment. I don't know what happens now.
Last night had been about getting away.
There hadn't been time to think about anything beyond that. One moment I'd been standing in the garage, and the next I'd been running through the darkness with my hand in Keaton's.
Then there had been the safe house. The box. His team.
Keaton sleeping on the floor beside my bed.
But today...Today, I have to think.
I don't want to. Not yet. I leave the bedroom before the thoughts can follow me any further.
The house is warmer than the bedroom, and I follow the sound of Keaton's voice down the hallway.
As I get closer, I realize there isn't anyone else here. He's on the phone. I slow my steps. Not because I'm trying to listen.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
"No, Callum."
A pause.
I stop.
Keaton's voice carries clearly from the kitchen. "I'm aware of what I did." Another pause. "No. That's not what I said."
His voice is calm, but I hear something beneath it now that I know him. I think. I'm still learning.
My stomach tightens. I take another step. Then another.
His next words stop me completely.
"I’ll take her back to Ronan myself."
The world goes quiet. Not actually.
I can still hear the refrigerator running in the kitchen. A bird is singing somewhere outside. The wooden floor creaks beneath my bare feet when I shift my weight.
But inside me...Nothing.
He is taking me back.
Of course he is. What had I thought was going to happen? That I would live in this little house forever? That Keaton and I would drink coffee and argue about statistics while Bullet threatened to kill Wheels in the kitchen?
My eyes burn. No. I will not cry.
I've cried enough in front of this man.
I take the final few steps into the kitchen.
Keaton is standing at the counter with his back to me.
He's wearing the same black clothes from last night, minus the tactical vest and mask. His hair is a mess.
"You're taking me back?"
Keaton spins around so quickly that his hip slams into the counter.
His eyes find mine.
Whatever Callum is saying disappears when Keaton pulls the phone from his ear and ends the call.
No goodbye. Nothing. He just hangs up on him.
"Maeve."
"You said you're taking me back."
"No."
I blink. "I heard you."
"I know."
"Then why are you saying no?"
"Because that's not what I said." I stare at him. Keaton takes one step toward me, then stops. "I said I would take you back if you chose to go."
Something in my throat locks up. "Why would you give me that choice?"
His brows pull together. "Because it's yours."
The answer comes so easily. As though it should be obvious. As though I should understand. I don't.
I wrap my arms around myself. "Who were you talking to?"
"Callum Rizzoli."
Callum? I know Callum. Everyone knows Callum. The connection doesn't make sense,
I stare at him. He adjusts his glasses. It is such a normal movement that it feels completely absurd in the middle of this conversation.
"Callum hired me to investigate Ronan."
My thoughts stumble. "What?"
"Technically, he hired Grayline."
"Your team."
"Yes."
I try to put the pieces together. "Why?"
"Because Ronan is involved in things Callum wanted to know more about."
"What things?"
"We don't know all of them yet."
"That's not reassuring."
"I know."
He says it so seriously that a small, broken laugh nearly escapes me. Nearly.
My eyes are burning too much now.
Keaton notices. His entire expression changes. "I wasn't telling him I was taking you back."
"You just said you would."
"If you want me to."
I shake my head. I don't understand why that makes the tears fall. One slips down my cheek before I can stop it.
Keaton's hands curl into fists at his sides.
"You would take me back there?"
His jaw tightens. "Yes."
Another tear falls. I see the anger then. Even behind the thick frames of his glasses, I see it. It flashes through his eyes so quickly that I almost step backward.
But it isn't directed at me. I know that somehow.
His voice is carefully controlled when he speaks again. "If that's what you wanted, I would take you back."
"Why?"
"Because Rachel said I have to trust you."
I blink. "What?"
He pushes his glasses higher on his nose. "Apparently, there is a significant difference between removing you from a situation and deciding what happens to you afterward."
Despite the tears running down my cheeks, I stare at him. "Rachel told you that?"
"Repeatedly."
"And you didn't agree?"
"No." The answer is immediate. Something in my chest twists.
Keaton looks toward the window for a second before his gaze returns to mine. "I still don't." My breath catches. "But I told her I would defer to her expertise."
"Her expertise?"
"She understands people better than I do."
A watery laugh slips out of me. Keaton doesn't smile. His eyes remain fixed on my face. "I don't want to take you back."
The words are quiet now.
All the humor leaves me. "Then why would you?"
"Because I won't do to you what he did."
My lips part.
Keaton's jaw works once before he continues.
"I won't decide where you're allowed to go.
I won't decide who you're allowed to talk to.
I won't tell you that you can't leave because I think I know what's better for you.
" His fingers twitch at his side. Once. Twice.
"I don't understand why anyone would choose to go back to someone who made them afraid in their own home.
I don't understand why you would want to be anywhere near him.
" His voice becomes rougher. "But I don't have to understand your choice to respect that it's yours. "
I can't stop crying now. I hate it. I wipe at my cheeks, but more tears replace the ones I remove.
"What if I went back and changed my mind?"
His expression shifts. "Then you leave."
"What if he doesn't let me?"
"He won't get that option."
The certainty in his voice makes my heart pound harder.
"But what if I can't call you?"
"I'll be listening."
My eyes close. The bathroom. The microphone. The only room where I'd ever believed I could speak to him.
When I open my eyes again, Keaton has moved closer, but there's still space between us. Always space. Always enough room for me to choose.
"Maeve?" I look at him. "Can I touch you?"
The question breaks something inside me. I nod through the sob caught in my throat. Keaton closes the distance between us.
His hands rise slowly, giving me enough time to change my mind before his palms settle against my cheeks.
The touch is exactly the way I remember it from last night. Warm. Careful.
His fingers curve gently into my hair as his thumbs brush beneath my eyes, catching tears he doesn't seem to know what to do with.
His gaze holds mine. "If you go back, I won't like it." A laugh breaks through my tears. His expression stays serious. "I'll probably become extremely unpleasant to be around."
"More unpleasant?"
His eyes narrow slightly. I almost smile. Almost.
"But I'll take you," he continues. "And I'll make sure the microphone in that bathroom is always live."
My throat closes. "Always?"
"Always." His thumbs move gently over my cheeks.
"If you whisper my name today, I'll hear you.
" A tear slides beneath one of his thumbs.
"If you whisper it next week, I'll hear you.
" His eyes never leave mine. "Next month.
Next year. It doesn't matter." My breath shudders.
"If you want out again, Maeve, you say my name.
" His hands tighten slightly against my face.
Not enough to hurt. Just enough for me to feel the promise in them. "And I'll come get you."
Something inside me gives way. Maybe it's fear. Maybe it's loneliness. Maybe it's every moment over the last few months when I wished someone would see what was happening and tell me I wasn't imagining it.
I don't know. I don't think. I just move.
My hands catch the front of Keaton's shirt as I rise onto my toes and press my mouth to his.
For one heartbeat, he doesn't move.
Neither does the rest of the world.
Then I feel the sharp intake of his breath against my lips.
And I realize—I just kissed Taibhse.