44. Maisy
44
MAISY
I refuse to let him crawl inside his mind and hide from this. As much as I want to hold him, comfort him, and guide him safely through this rip in our reality, I can’t. He has to face the mirror, once and for all, and accept that he needs help. Despite my heart crumbling from the possibility I’m nothing but an infatuation of his after all, I push him harder.
“Tell me what you said to Logan that day, Jensen. Repeat the words to my face.”
His expression is wretched, the lines carved deep with pain. “I can’t.”
“Say it. Man up and own your shit. He asked you, ‘What’s up with you and Maisy?’ And your answer?”
“I can’t do this!” he yells.
“Say it!”
A guttural, wounded noise tears through his chest like he’s being clawed apart by the memory. “Fine! I said, ‘I don’t know, man. Your sister’s crazy. I think she’s obsessed with me.’”
“Obsessed . ” The word thrums in the silent air surrounding us. Air filled with the combined scents of Jensen’s cologne, stale makeup, and the perfume I got for my fourteenth birthday, which sits on the dresser behind me. I spread my arms and say, “Look around us. This isn’t normal.”
“I’m not normal!” he shouts, jamming fingers against his temple. “I’m fucked in the head! You know this, and you’re the only person who makes it all make sense.”
“That’s a lot of pressure to put on me, Jensen. You really need?—”
“Don’t say it.” He steps forward and points at my face in warning. “Don’t you dare fucking say it. The only thing I need is you.”
“That can’t be true. Look at this!” I gesture around the room again, trying not to look too closely at all of my childhood belongings. I don’t want to believe this is real.
“ This only happened because you were away from me. I needed you close. Things never would’ve gone this far if you hadn’t broken your promise.”
“Do not try to make this my fault.”
“You fucking left me!” His voice booms , hands clutching at his shirt, like he might rip it from his body.
When I step back, his face crumples with instant regret at whatever expression he sees on mine. Shoving all ten fingers in his hair, he drops his head and sucks in deep breaths, fighting to summon the calm.
My heart’s racing. Not from fear of him—he won’t hurt me—but from watching him crack and splinter, unsure if I should save him this time or not. Honestly, I don’t know if I can save him anymore.
After a long minute of his labored breathing, he rasps, “You left me, birdie. I had already lost so much . My parents. Logan. The chance to play college football. I picked myself up after every loss because I knew I still had you, my heart.” He shakes his head. “But losing you...I went off the rails, Maisy. Something inside me snapped and hasn’t been right since. I work so fucking hard every day to appear normal. It’s exhausting. So I created this place where I can come and let my fucked-up mind run free. Don’t fault me because I could only find peace in my memories of you.”
My voice strains when I say, “We were kids, J.”
“We were us . And then we weren’t.”
The defeat in his tired gaze cries out for my comforting embrace. We stand feet apart, lost in each other’s desperate eyes, unsure where to go from here. I know where he needs to go, but he won’t. Not without being forced. And my stomach lurches at the thought of issuing an ultimatum.
I scrub my hands down my face and sit on the bed next to the window, my shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You can tell me how to fix this. Maisy”—he falls to his knees and grips my thighs—“please. I’ll do anything to not scare you away.”
Tucking hair behind his ears, I push out a breath. “I’m scared for you, not me. And I worry I’m not healthy for you. You were doing fine before I came back into your life.”
Tears leak from the corners of his eyes. “No. It was all a lie. I faked it. I’m a mess without you holding me together.”
I cup his face in my hands, my nails grazing his beard. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, encased in dark circles and deep lines. I haven’t noticed the worsening changes because I’m with him every day, but I see them now.
“Jensen, baby, look at yourself. You’re shattering.”
His voice is raw and shaky, barely audible. “By your hand and at your feet. You’re hurting me, Maisy.”
“We aren’t supposed to hurt each other, remember? You said that to me once.”
At my reminder of the day on the porch, he buries his face in my lap and moans, a weary and mournful sound. “I’m so sorry, my beautiful birdie. I’m so sorry I couldn’t say the words you needed to hear. I was scared of saying the wrong things—scared I’d ruin what we had—and I ruined it anyway.”
“It’s time to stop being afraid of everything. The world won’t fall apart around you if you let some things go. But your life will fall apart if you keep holding on to everything. You’ll lose it all, Jensen.”
“What about you? Am I losing you again?” The groan he lets out is long, dragging miles of agony behind it. “God, this feels like it did before, but so much worse.”
An ache builds in my throat, but I suppress the encroaching sob, knowing I need to ease his worries with soothing lies and more strength than I feel. “No, J. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be around to keep an eye on you, but I need to figure some things out for myself. Alone. And you need to work on you—find your footing. And when your feet hit solid ground, you run to me , okay? As fast as you can.”
He looks up at me, all flooded eyes and devastating, beautiful wreckage. “I love you so much, birdie. More than I’ve loved anyone who’s ever walked the earth. Please don’t give up on me. Please.”
Leaning forward, I press my tear-soaked lips to his, trying to absorb a tiny fraction of his pain before I pull away. “Love yourself for a little while, okay? Can you do that for me?”
Sniffling, he nods and rests his head on my lap again. Neither of us move, our desire to hold on to each other unwavering, until he reminds me, “You have a plane to catch.”
“I’m finding it really hard to let go.” My words stumble over the sob that breaks free.
“You have to. I don’t want you to be here for what comes next.”
“Jensen—”
“Go, Maisy. I’ll be fine.”
He won’t be fine, but he needs me to be the strong one here, and I can’t fail him. With one more kiss to the top of his head, I drag myself away, each step toward the door a grueling trek in the wrong direction. I cast one last glance at him on his knees with his head bowed, arms hanging at his sides. The perfect silhouette of a broken man.
Every instinct tells me to stay, but staying won’t help him when it’s clear I’m the reason he reached this breaking point. For once, I admit to myself I’m incapable of fixing him. I never could. In the past, I offered him temporary relief, a distraction to keep him grounded until he needed me to come to his rescue again. How naive was I? And how much damage did I cause us both with my misplaced confidence? I now understand Jensen can only get better if he rescues himself.
The soft click of the door closing echoes like a cannon’s blast in my bones. Halfway down the stairs, I sink to my butt and wait. In less than thirty seconds, the roars and crashes begin. They continue for four minutes. Four excruciating minutes of listening and doing nothing as he causes maximum destruction to the room and himself. The ancient door fails to muffle the sounds of shattering glass and self-deprecating insults. Each sound cuts me deeper.
When he quiets down, I wipe my cheeks and send a text to Tatum.
Me
Jensen needs help. He’s in the room above the bar.
Don’t bring anyone but Jake. Please be gentle with him and don’t judge.
She immediately calls, but I decline to answer, shutting off my phone so I can have a minute to process everything I’ve witnessed—everything I thought I knew about us both. Maybe he’s not the only one who needs professional help. I’m shattering too.