17. Maisy
17
MAISY
Pam Wakefield should be classified as a national treasure or one of the world’s wonders. She’s like the mother figure or favorite aunt to our band of misfits, and she loves each of us without judgment, which some of us never experienced until Tatum pulled us all into her orbit.
In high school, I spent a lot of time with Pam—especially while Tatum was at Jake and Jensen’s house—to avoid being at home. Aside from Jensen, she’s the only person who knows how unseen I felt around my family.
When Marcus and I enter her kitchen, she says, “Marcus, would you mind putting her bags in Tatum’s room?” Then she pulls me into a hug. “I guess we should call it your room now.”
Damn this woman for making me cry. “Thank you,” I say.
“You’re going to be just fine, sweet girl. Stay here as long as you need,” she says, swaying us side to side. “How about some tea to make you feel better?”
I laugh through my snotty tears, grateful she knows me well enough to lighten the mood. “God, please no.”
Chuckling, she opens the refrigerator. “I ran to the store and bought you some of those flavored waters you like. Raspberry or peach?” You’re a peach, Pam Wakefield.
“Raspberry sounds good.”
Marcus returns as she hands me the can of sparkling water. We settle on the couch, and of course, he takes a seat right next to her. Like I said, we all adore her.
“How are you?” she asks him.
He answers through the severe frown on his mouth. “Pissed.”
Pam clucks her tongue. “Language.”
His large frame sinks further into the cushions, and he scrubs his tired face. “Sorry. All these years, I worried about keeping Tatum safe and out of trouble, and it turns out Maisy’s the one who almost gave me a heart attack.”
“It’s not like I planned it,” I argue.
“I know.” He sighs. “I’m not blaming you. Of course I’m not. But how am I supposed to keep everyone safe if we’re not together?”
My eyes light up at the opportunity to turn all this frowning upside down. “Oh my god. Marcus Ames, do you miss us?” He glowers at me when I give him a bratty smirk. “You do. You love us and miss us. Who knew could you be so soft and mushy inside?”
“You need a break, Marcus,” Pam says while rubbing his shoulder. “Take a vacation with that nice girlfriend of yours and reset. You’ve more than earned it.”
He quirks the scarred eyebrow and asks, “And who’s gonna babysit Judge?”
Judge can’t be trusted when left to his own devices. One time, Marcus left him behind for a pop-up show Tatum put on in San Francisco, thinking he didn’t need the extra security. In a single day, Judge stenciled and painted a fleur-de-lis pattern on the dining room wall.
“He’s welcome to stay with me,” Pam says.
“I’ll think about it. A hiking trip sounds good right about now.”
I scrunch my nose at the thought of hiking. Marcus’s idea of relaxing while burning calories does not appeal to me. I’m more of a nap on the beach with an audiobook kind of girl.
“I better get going,” he says, sticking out a hand toward me. “Give me your keys. Judge and I will return your rental car. You’ve had it long enough.”
It’s true. Paying for a rental car this long hasn’t been kind to my bank account. Now that I’m in Walford, I can borrow cars when I need to drive somewhere. Pam has an old truck she’ll let me use. I hand over my keys, and we walk him out.
He gives her a hug before turning to me with his typical stern expression and pointed finger. “Never again.”
“Never again,” I promise. “You’ll be the first person I call at any sign of trouble.”
With another sigh, he tugs me against his broad chest. I’ve been against a lot of men’s chests recently. So much hugging. “Be good, baby girl,” he says with a kiss to the top of my head. “Mega good.”
I shove him away, smiling at his retreating back as he walks down the driveway.
Back inside, Pam joins me on the couch again, and we sit in comfortable silence for several minutes as the events of the past few days play through my mind. Marzan, the mugging, Jensen, my friends’ reactions and concern. I’ve never felt such a wide range of emotions in such a short span of time. At the moment, I’m mostly feeling anger. And as I’ve discovered, I cry when I’m angry.
Pam grasps one of my hands between hers. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I swipe under my eyes and face her, opening myself up to her sympathetic gaze. “Is it weird that I’m not too messed up over the mugging?”
Her features soften even more. “Yet.”
“Maybe never. The incident isn’t what I’m losing sleep over.”
“Then tell me what is.” A full sob racks my body, and she folds me into her embrace. “Let it out, sweet girl. Let it all out.”
“I didn’t last twenty-four hours on my own,” I cry. “The world didn’t even bother to chew before spitting me back out. My boss groped me. A stranger attacked me. I just want to be cherished for once in my life. To be treated like a human being with feelings and not like some useless object.”
She wipes the tears from my cheeks. “So many people cherish you, and I’m proud to be one of them. Whatever you’re looking for, whatever you think is missing from your life, look no further than the friends you have. They would do anything for you because they value you and want to support you. Let them.”
“I’ve relied on them for too long.”
“People rely on each other, Maisy. You spent half your life fending for yourself, feeling like you had no one to depend on, yet you still became one of the most reliable people I know. So don’t be afraid to embrace the help your friends offer. You deserve it.”
“Do I?”
“You’re more deserving than most. Not out of pity, but out of respect and gratitude for being such a good friend to everyone else.”
I sniffle and wipe my nose on my black cardigan sleeve before noticing the box of tissues on the end table. “Thanks,” I say, wiping my sleeve on my shorts, spreading the snot around. “You always make me feel better.”
She squeezes my knee. “Any time. Now please go talk to the man outside before he wears a hole in the pavement.”
I follow her gaze to the windows in the breakfast nook. Through the open blinds, we watch Jensen pace back and forth in the driveway with one hand in his pocket and the other stuffed in his wavy locks.
“Ugh,” I groan, sinking back into the couch. I’ve been here for thirty minutes, and he already found me.
“Embrace it,” she says as a reminder. “He’s worried about you. We all are.”
When I step onto the porch, Jensen’s no longer pacing. With hands planted on the hood of his Jeep and his back to me, he hangs his head low. Rain clouds fill the sky above, threatening to wash away my defenses as I approach on bare feet. I’m already exposed in a tank top and denim shorts—no makeup and my hair in a bun—so I wrap my cardigan tighter around my body as a shield.
“How did you know I was here?”
My voice startles him. He spins around, and his stiff posture relaxes as he looks me over, like seeing me in Walford brings him peace. Slouching against the Jeep, he crosses his arms and regains his composure.
“Small town. News travels fast.”
I stop several feet away from him, a safe distance. “What are you doing here, Jensen?”
“I had to see you. Make sure you’re okay.”
“You saw me two days ago.”
With a tired sigh, he says, “Maisy. Just let me care.”
“Why do you care?”
His penetrating gaze detects all the cracks of my surface, touching every raw thought and feeling I’ve ever had about him, no matter how deep I buried them. “You know the answer to that,” he says.
I step closer, cursing my body for gravitating toward his without my conscious consent. “I don’t know. You never said.”
He winces, but I won’t apologize for the low blow. Then a solemn expression takes over his handsome face, and he speaks a truth with a pointed tip just as sharp as mine. “Because you won’t give me a chance to say it.”
“I gave you a chance.”
“And I blew it, I know. Thirteen years of the silent treatment serves as a pretty good reminder.”
For some reason, I’m not inclined to flex my claws and tear at him like I usually do. I’m too busy fighting this moment of vulnerability, one I swore to never allow myself to feel again. The desire to speak the words I’ve wanted to say to him is stronger than my fear of opening up, so I set them free.
“You hurt me, Jensen.”
His knuckles graze my jaw and trail lightly over my scabbed flesh. I’m standing between his parted legs, and we’re both relaxed in our proximity and this moment of temporary truce.
“And we both suffered because of my mistakes. We’ve paid the price for too long,” he says in a strained yet tender voice. “Come home to me.”
“I’m here.” I gesture toward all of Walford, pretending not to understand his meaning. “I’ll be here until I deal with Vera.”
He swipes his thumbs along my cheeks and imprisons my gaze, our noses almost touching. “Birdie. To me .”
Tired of going in circles with him, I say, “Give me some time. I just got here, and there’s a lot to do.”
His arms drop to his sides, and he nods, resigned. “Okay. You know where to find me.”
We continue staring, our lost, lonely eyes crying out for each other. We haven’t moved, and I grip his shirt tighter as though I might float away if I let go. Fragility sits on my tongue with a confession he’s eager to receive.
“Tell me your thoughts.” The command is gentle, much like his hands now resting on my waist.
He knows me too well, and the eyes holding mine hostage mirror my emotions. Pain. Fear. Need. Helplessness.
“I was scared,” I admit. My lip quivers as I search his soul for safety. “Scared because I had no control over anything except my will to hold on to that stupid bag. And the director of the music video groped me. I’m so pissed that he ruined that project for me. I really wanted to succeed.”
Jensen draws me against his warm body, shielding me from the disgusting world and all its savagery. I bury my nose in his familiar scent and let the tears flow freely.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Steady hands stroke my back, and I melt into him further.
Despite all the time apart, he’s my greatest source of comfort. The one place where I’m free to breathe because Jensen will never stifle my air or my voice.
I can admit I miss him terribly. I miss his friendship, his laughter, his encouragement. The solace he provides taunts me even now, chipping away at my grudge. I’m losing sight of why I hold on to it. Opening up to him used to be the easiest thing in the world. So I release some of my worries, knowing he’ll catch them and handle them with care.
“I’m tired of fighting, Jensen. I’ve never asked for much or caused trouble or hurt anyone. But no matter how hard I try to earn something for myself and to be noticed, I fail.”
“Your career with Tate was good, wasn’t it?”
I sigh into his chest, resting my weary head on his heart. “The best, and I’ll be forever grateful to her for believing in me. But she gifted me that opportunity. I didn’t earn it.”
“You gave her the gift. Your hands create works of art, and she was lucky to have you on her team for so long. Lucky someone didn’t steal you away.”
His deep belief in me drags another confession from my lips. Another fear. “If her career is over, what if mine is too? What if I’ve reached the end of the line, and I never get to leave my mark? I’ll be nothing.”
After what happened on the video shoot and how I reacted, I may never find work again. The reminder of how the entertainment business operates hits me with full force. I may have famous friends, but even their influence is limited if I’m labeled as difficult.
He tips my chin up with a fingertip to meet his gaze. “You never give up. That’s not who you are. As for leaving your mark, you succeeded. It’s engraved so deeply in my heart, you scarred me for life. Never say you’re nothing while standing in front of a man who believes you’re his everything.”
Unable to bear the sincerity in his gaze, I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper my ongoing plea. “Don’t.”
“Stop,” he counters, cradling my head in his hands. “Stop denying us. You say you’re tired of fighting? Stop fighting this, Maisy. Let. Me. In.”
When I lift a hand to wipe my tears, he beats me to it, brushing them away with his thumbs. “I don’t know how to let you in, J. I don’t know where to start.”
“You start by being as stubborn about wanting me as you are about pushing me away. You start by saying yes. Then trust me to make you happy.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re basically asking me to be clingy.”
“So? Cling to me. Seep into my pores. You already consume me entirely. There’s not much more I can offer you, but all I have is yours for the taking. I want you in my life again, birdie. Desperately. I want to breathe you and feel you every day—in every way imaginable. And more than anything, I want you to admit you want me too.”
A low, frustrated growl escapes me. “You ask too much of me, Jensen.”
“You don’t ask enough of me.”
And therein lies the crux of my resistance. I asked him for something once , and he denied me. In retaliation, I condemned us both to a lifetime apart. Why? So I could have all the power and control. I could have the upper hand for once…and keep it.
I’m afraid to ask him for anything, because the tiniest possibility of his rejection slicing me to pieces again isn’t worth taking the risk. Or wasn’t. Now I’m not sure. He’s trying so hard to reach me and penetrate my defenses. What harm can come from allowing him five minutes to state his case?
I twist the fabric of his shirt in my fingers, a familiar visual that blasts my memory back to thirteen years ago. To the day . When today’s date registers in my brain, my eyes snap to his face. I’m met with a remorseful gaze, proving he’s also aware of this anniversary. Neither of us can forget the day I walked away from our friendship. Perhaps we’ll remember this moment as well—right here and now—when I take one step toward reclaiming what we had.
“Fine. You win.”
Hope blooms on his face, eyes flaring with surprise. “Explain.”
“Once I’m settled, I’ll listen to what you have to say. But don’t push me,” I warn. “I’ll come to you when I’m ready.”
He lets out a sharp exhale and pulls my face closer, coaxing a shiver from me when his breath dances across my lips. “You won’t regret this, I swear. I’ll show you how perfect we are.”
“If you kiss me right now, I’ll rescind my offer,” I say, slamming the brakes on the tension in our atmosphere. If we crash into each other, the impact will be messy.
“You’re desperate for me to kiss you right now—practically begging—but I won’t risk my only chance.”
I scoff. “I’ll never beg.”
Ghosting a thumb along my bottom lip, his low voice drips with dark promises. “We’ll see about that.”
My body reacts to his challenge. Heart pounding, stomach fluttering, brain on the fritz. Unfortunately, the electric charge sparking between us fizzles out when he checks his watch.
“Damn, I have to get to work.” He releases me and climbs into his Jeep with a satisfied grin on his face, tossing out a parting declaration. “You belong with me, Maisy Rae Donovan. I’ll work my ass off to prove it to you.”
As he backs out of the driveway, the grey skies open, dousing my heated flesh with cool rainwater. I remain in place, paralyzed by my willingness to grant this man access to my heart when, once upon a time, he was so careless with it.