23. Maisy
23
MAISY
Two weeks after Tatum’s wedding, she flounces into my bedroom at Pam’s house. Wearing a strapless dress and a look of steely determination on her sunburned face, she plops down on the mattress next to me. I’ve been hiding here since I returned from New York and California. While I’m still recovering from my wounded pride after the bathroom incident with Jensen, I’m also deciding my future.
Do I stay in Walford or not? Do I give in to my longing for Jensen or not?
“I’m back,” she announces. “Now talk, missy.”
I sit up and cross my legs, looking her over from head to toe. “How was the honeymoon? You look like a tomato.”
“We forgot our sunscreen on the last day at the beach. Jake got a tan, and I got this.” She points to her blistered nose and shoulders covered in a coat of aloe vera gel. “No more avoiding the topic. Tell me everything.”
While on her honeymoon, she sent me dozens of text messages, prying for information about what happened with Jensen at the wedding. I ended up blocking her number so she’d focus on her husband instead of me. I’ve also been drowning in guilt for ruining my part on her special day.
“I’m sorry about not giving the speech, Tate,” I say, gathering my hair into a ponytail on top of my head and securing it with the scrunchie from my wrist.
She flaps a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. You hate public speaking, and no one even noticed. Jake’s speech was enough.”
“Still, you asked me to do something, and I didn’t come through for you.”
“You came through for me every day of every year since we met. Seriously, Maiz, I’m not upset at all. In fact”—she drags out the last word and waggles her flaky eyebrows—“I’m mega curious to know where you went with Jensen.”
A scowl hides my amusement. “Who explained it to you?”
“Graham,” she chirps, a pleased grin stretching her lips because she’s finally in on the mega joke.
Resigned that I’m not escaping this room without telling her the truth—and ready to unearth part of my history with Jensen because I’m feeling lost—I blow a forceful breath, puffing out my cheeks. “I don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning,” she says.
“Which one?”
My question leaves her speechless, so I make the choice and recount every interaction I’ve had with him since December, when I showed up at Bruno’s. I explain how he insists on inserting himself into my life at every opportunity. What I don’t share is how he knocks down my walls, one by one, until I’m left with nothing but the frightened girl who laid her heart on the line only to have it crushed. Many tears flow throughout my retelling of events, and several of them are mine.
Tatum asks, “Have you and Jensen ever…I mean, was there anything going on when you were younger?”
“No. We were just friends.” Without overthinking, I let the truth spill out of me, an admission long overdue and freeing to my soul. “We were close friends actually. I’d say he was my best friend until you came along.”
A few other kids were nice to me, and I hung out with classmates at school functions, but no one knew me like Jensen did. Jake was a close second on the friendship scale because our families spent time together before my parents divorced. But Jensen and I had an inexplicable connection. We have a connection, as he likes to remind me.
“What changed between then and now? No offense, but you don’t treat him like a friend.”
“I know,” I admit, averting my eyes to keep Tatum from seeing my deep regret.
Shunning Jensen, treating him with contempt and scorn, assaults my heart at every turn. We both deserve better, but I’m unsure how to do better. I need help—maybe some advice. But first, I’ll have to explain to Tatum what happened that day on the porch.
Maisy, 15⒈／⒉; Jensen, 19
Fifteen days ago, the last day I saw my brother alive, a boy ripped out half of my heart. A boy currently stepping onto the porch of my little blue house near the edge of town, wearing unlaced combat boots and a bandage over the newest tattoo on his left forearm.
Jensen doesn’t know I overheard him telling Logan I’m crazy . That I’m obsessed with him. He doesn’t know how much his words hurt me. I’ll never tell him, because doing so will make me look weak. And I am not weak.
“Hey,” he says, slipping his fingers into the front pockets of his fitted jeans. He jerks an elbow at the space next to me on the wooden bench. “Can I sit?”
Despite my racing heart, I shrug a lazy shoulder. “Sure.”
As he settles beside me, I inhale his cologne. It’s a manly scent that lingered in my house once he’d leave after hanging out with Logan.
“How are you holding up, birdie?” he asks.
In the past, the butterflies in my stomach would take flight when he called me by that name. Our secret nicknames used to make me feel special. Now those butterflies simply hover, struggling to flap their broken wings.
I stare at my mismatched sneakers, which complement the color-block dress I’m wearing. “You’re the first person to ask me that since the funeral.”
It’s been a week since we buried Logan, and everyone has forgotten I’m here. My family and classmates hardly noticed me when he was alive, but now I’m invisible.
Jensen rests his forearms on his thighs and links his fingers together. I like his hands. They’re big and strong, skilled at catching and protecting. Like Logan, he was a fantastic football player and had a college scholarship in the bag, but he gave up his dreams to care for Jake after their parents died.
When he leans into my space, searching for my gaze with those chartreuse eyes that penetrate my hardened shell, my breath catches. “You didn’t answer my question.” His deep voice sends my pulse into a frenzy.
I stutter. “F-fine. I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not. You know you don’t have to pretend with me.” Warm, minty breath skims my face, and my heart responds to his proximity, going into overdrive. “Tell me your thoughts, birdie. It’s just us here.”
My eyes flick to his mouth. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to kiss him—if he would kiss me back. I have my answer the moment every sculpted muscle in his body tenses when he realizes what’s about to happen. But this might be my only chance at having the first kiss I’ve dreamed of. Now, it’ll also be a goodbye kiss.
Before he can stop me, I lean forward and press our mouths together. His lips remain stiff and unyielding, refusing my advance. He grips my arms to separate us, a move I expected but find disappointing nonetheless.
“Maisy, no,” he whispers, his voice shaky and pained. Like he’s embarrassed for me. Like it hurts him to pity me, the crazy girl who’s obsessed with him.
“Why not?” I focus on the fabric of his black shirt twisted between my fingers. Please don’t make me let go of you. If you do, this is the end of us.
“You’re Logan’s sister.” His lame excuse slaps me hard with the label I’ve come to despise. “And you’re fifteen.”
“I’ll be sixteen this summer.” My tone holds a mixture of unwelcome pleading and bold persuasiveness to convince him the details shouldn’t matter.
Jensen and I shouldn’t be bound by the rules. Our connection lives in the tendons and ligaments holding my body together, and I know he feels the same despite what he said to Logan.
“It’s still not okay.” He lets go of my arms, taking away the last bit of warmth my spirit possesses. The last bit of joy I’ve clung to in recent years. My only friend.
A tear lands on the apple of my cheek before I pry my fingers from his shirt—the physical act of releasing him the worst pain imaginable. Worse than losing my brother.
When Jensen reaches up to catch the tear, I shove his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
He rakes a hand through his hair and blows out a long, unsteady breath. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Yes, you do.”
The truth in my statement settles between us on the bench. I turn toward him and hold his gaze, calling upon all the bravery I can muster.
“I never ask you for anything, J. But I need something from you now. I need to know how you feel about me.” Please, I add in my head.
Again, he says nothing, frozen like a statue with a tortured expression etched on his face.
“I’m only asking for words. Nothing else. Just your words. Admit you feel the same as I do.” I hate the desperation in my voice, so I clear my throat and wait. The pressure building in my chest restricts my ability to draw breath.
After tense seconds, he bows his head, unable to look at me when he plunges a knife coated with lies into my heart. “You’re imagining things.”
A level of anger I’ve never felt rushes to the surface. I scoff and rise to my feet, fists squeezed tight to keep my heartbreak from splashing on the rotted boards beneath me. “I’m so disappointed in you. The great Jensen Holloway, Mr. Perfect who can do no wrong, turns out to be a liar and a coward.”
Turmoil rages in his eyes when they meet mine again. He extends a hand toward me as if he can’t resist seeking me out for comfort, only proving my point. When I quirk an eyebrow, he lowers the hand and rubs it along his thigh.
“Exactly,” I say. “And if you can’t be honest with yourself and me, we’re done.”
His voice trembles. “Birdie, what are you saying?”
I square my shoulders and raise my chin, refusing to be the vulnerable one who claims defeat. This loss belongs to him. “I’m saying this is your shot, Jensen. You won’t get another one.” Tell me you care about me, because you’re the only person alive who does.
The silence is deafening, louder than any shot fired at close range.
He fists his hair again and searches my face with frantic eyes, seeking the punchline to the joke. When it doesn’t come, and he remains speechless, I ignore the ache in my stomach. I also dismiss the urge to comfort him as he harshly tugs at the strands. Instead, I offer him one last chance.
“Ticktock, Jensen. It’s now or never.”
“Birdie, you’re not being fair. I—You—We can’t—” He swallows his failed words along with all hope for our future together.
I’m not the emotional girl who cries and begs to get what she wants. I’m made of tougher stuff. So I slip on the mask of indifference I inherited from my mother and sever ties with the only person alive who loves me. Even if he won’t admit it.
“Never it is.” Twirling on my heel, I plan to storm away, but he jumps to his feet and grabs my arm to stop me.
Fury hisses from his lips when he delivers a verbal punch. “Why the fuck are you being like this? You’re acting like a silly little girl!”
My free hand shoots up fast. I’m shocked by his quick reflexes when he captures my wrist before my palm connects with his face.
He holds both of my arms against his chest to keep me in place. “We don’t do that, birdie. We don’t hurt each other.”
“You struck first!”
Heavy regret forces his eyelids to close. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Let go of me!” I tug against his hold, but he doesn’t relent.
“What happens when I do?” An eerie calm smooths his features, but fear swirls in his eyes as he awaits my answer.
Taking a play from his playbook, I glare at him with pursed lips and say nothing. We stare at one another for mere seconds that stretch like an excruciating lifetime.
“Maisy.”
A thick, heavy pause hangs between us. A guillotine with a sharp blade, ready to drop and sever the threads binding us. I can tell he senses the looming devastation. Panic is written all over his face.
A tremor creeps into his whisper. “What happens when I let go?”
My tone remains unaffected despite the pain clawing through me. “Nothing will happen. Ever. Because I don’t need you anymore.”
The blade drops, swift and violent. He releases my wrists, eyes wide and lips parted on a gasp of disbelief. Jensen knows me better than anyone does, and he knows my decision is final.
I escape into my house and slam the door. Chest heaving and hope shattered, I fight back the tears threatening to fall. When he roars, “ Fuck! ” from the other side, followed by a crashing sound, I almost change my mind. Almost. But I’m nothing if not stubborn. Jensen chose never ? Well, he can have all of mine.
I will never shed another tear.
I will never give a boy the power to hurt me.
I will never allow myself to be vulnerable again.
I will never speak to Jensen Holloway for as long as I live.
One day, I’ll leave this town and never come back.
Sniffling, I wipe my cheeks and attempt a laugh. “It all seems silly now, doesn’t it? Teenage drama at its finest.”
“You loved him,” Tatum whispers with a blend of wonder and pity in her eyes.
“I thought he loved me,” I say, correcting her. “When I needed him most, he let me down. That’s not love.”
“But you also loved him or else you wouldn’t have been so hurt that you held a grudge for this long.”
I thought I loved Jensen, but that day made me question everything, including what love is supposed to look like. Couples hold hands and exchange sweet words, but I’ve never experienced either of those. If I had, they would’ve been meaningless. For me, love is a feeling—innate, immeasurable, and invisible to the human eye. However, since the fallout with Jensen, I no longer trust my feelings.
“I don’t know what to do now. He wants to talk, but I know he’ll try to convince me to stay in Walford. I’m not staying here, Tate. I’ve said all along my plan is to deal with Vera and leave.”
Irritation hardens her features. “Where will you go, Maiz?”
Frowning, I ask, “What do you mean? I can go anywhere.”
She sits up, mirroring my position, and grasps my hands in hers. “Just hear me out. I’m in Walford. Miguel and Graham are talking about buying a place here. Marcus and Judge will visit when they can. Don’t use being apart from our family as an excuse to leave. No matter where you live, we won’t all be together like before. So tell me the truth. What is it about this town that makes you hate it so much? And don’t say it’s your mother. Your mother isn’t Walford.”
I think long and hard about my answer. In the past, I claimed it was the people here failing to notice me, my parents’ lack of interest, and my brother’s shadow looming over me, snuffing me out. I’ve made so many excuses about why I despise this town, burying the real reason at the bottom of the pile.
In truth, I couldn’t face the man who broke my heart, day in and day out, after I offered my soul to him and he didn’t reciprocate. I stay away because, to me, Walford represents Jensen.
My flooded eyes give Tatum the answer to her question, and she squeezes my hands. “Do you want to be with him?”
“I miss him,” I whisper, my bottom lip quivering.
“Answer the question.”
A shaky inhale fills my lungs with much-needed air. “Yes, but I’m scared.”
“No buts. He obviously wants to be with you. I’ve seen how he watches you and looks at you. Not like you’re the center of his world, but like you created it. He’s pretty intense,” she teases, and we both snort laughs at how true that statement is.
Then the humor melts away, and I’m left with the truth I’ve denied for years. “I do want him, Tate. I’ve always wanted him.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Nothing. In recent months, Jensen has demolished all of my excuses and blown my reservations out of the water. He proved all of my assumptions wrong. His actions and support speak louder than any words he could ever say to me, the same as when we were young. Time and time again, he shows me how he feels.
In that same period, I’ve relinquished all but one of my nevers. The only one remaining—the final vow I’m clinging to with fierce determination—is my promise to never give a man the power to hurt me. Through my uncompromising stance, I’m hurting myself.
My head tells me to take the advice I gave Jensen the night I stayed at his house. To leave the past in the past and grab hold of what’s standing right in front of me. Him . My heart, however, fears history will repeat itself, considering my track record with being loved leaves a lot to be desired.
But how does that saying go? Without risk, there’s no reward.