46. Maisy
46
MAISY
“Thanks for hanging out with me again,” I say to Ainsley.
I never got on the plane to Jamaica. I didn’t even drive to the airport. As soon as I left Bruno’s, I pulled to the side of the road, emailed the production team saying I had a family emergency, and booked a room at the Walford Inn.
Ainsley found me hiding at the bed-and-breakfast when she made her rounds cleaning rooms yesterday. After her shift ended, she sat with me for a little while. We didn’t talk much. I assumed she knew about Jensen because she didn’t ask why I was crying. She also didn’t try to console me, and I appreciate someone who’s willing to be present without feeling the need to make a fuss.
Tying the laces on her sneakers, she says, “It’s no trouble. I know you don’t want to be alone. Besides, this is way nicer than my place.”
If a stale, outdated room at a bed-and-breakfast is an upgrade compared to where she lives…yikes. The carpet’s geometrical pattern clashes with the floral bedding, and the mismatched furnishings are littered with nicks and scratches.
“I’m not trying to drag you into this or use you for information.”
“Maisy, it’s fine. I knew something was off at the festival, maybe before then. I wish I would’ve said something sooner.”
“And I should’ve looked closer,” I admit.
I’ve spent two days recycling what ifs and should haves . None of them make the situation better.
“Don’t blame yourself. Whatever’s going on, he has to face it head-on. He doesn’t have to do it alone, but he has to make the choice to get help.”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I say, “You’re wise for someone so young.”
She barks a laugh, though it’s a humorless sound. “I haven’t felt young in a long time.” Swapping her plain white T-shirt for the Bruno’s shirt that she pulls out of a huge duffel bag, she says, “I need to get some things done before my shift. Will you be here again tonight?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know either way.”
“Just text me,” she says, then the enigmatic girl is gone.
An hour later, a light knock on the door startles me. I shouldn’t be surprised by Tatum’s face when I check the peephole. If anyone is intent on finding me, it’s her. I open the door, and she drops a box on the floor. From the loud thump, it sounds too heavy for a woman who’s six months pregnant to be carrying around.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the unlabeled banker box with its lid taped shut.
“That’s something for you to look through when you’re ready.” She slides her gaze from the box to me, and sympathy glistens in her eyes. “You’re not in Jamaica.”
“Nope. How did you find me?” I shut the door and reclaim my dented spot on the bed, pulling the T-shirt I stole from Jensen over my bare knees. I’ve given up on wearing pants at this point.
After I checked into the hotel room, I turned off location sharing on my phone so I could be alone with my thoughts. I’m still unsure if I’m ready to talk to anyone who has a history with me or Jensen, hence my willingness to have Ainsley as company. The pain is too fresh, too confusing, to face it with anyone from our past.
Tatum rolls her eyes. They’re puffy and red at the edges, and I’m sure mine look the same. “Did you really think Marcus only uses one tracking app? Mr. Diligent? The minute your flight was supposed to land, he knew where you were and told me. I thought you’d want some space for a couple of days, so I left you alone.” She toes off her shoes and lies on the bed, facing me. “Talk to me, Maiz.”
My throat swells before I can explain myself. “I couldn’t leave him. I walked away but wanted to stay close in case...”
“In case he needs you,” she says, finishing my thought as she rubs my arm. “We all think you’re making the right decision by staying away.”
“This doesn’t feel right, Tate. I feel like I’m being torn in two.” Avoiding her gaze because I don’t want to see the truth in her eyes, no matter how she answers, I ask, “How is he?”
Thankfully, she doesn’t mince her words. “He’s not good. The guys have been taking shifts at his house, but he hasn’t spoken since Jake and I found him after you texted me.”
She tells me about the condition of the room and how Jensen reacted to their probing for an explanation. When she describes his angry outburst, I shut my eyes and push the vision of it happening from my mind. Jensen would’ve been horrified about scaring Tatum, and I don’t want to imagine the terror on her face, much less his once he realized what he’d done. They don’t understand that his outbursts are caused by frustration, and he’s angry with himself, not them. He would never hurt anyone.
“We’re hoping Javi can get Jensen to talk, but he won’t be back until tomorrow,” she says.
“Where is Javi?”
“He’s leading a hike for troubled teens. Once he gets within cell range, he’ll have a thousand messages waiting for him.”
“Why does everyone think he can help?”
Javi has been with Jensen all these years. Did he miss the signs too? Had he never gone upstairs at Bruno’s, a place where he spends so much of his time? I have many unanswered questions, especially for those who were with Jensen every day while I was gone. Someone had to notice his behaviors. I’m not looking to point blame at anyone, but he needed help long before now.
Tatum holds my hand as if she’s about to deliver terrible news. “Trevor told us that Jensen went through something similar after Logan died, and Javi helped him through it.”
I recall Jensen saying he “went off the rails” and snapped, but I’m certain his problems had little to do with Logan and more to do with me. Thinking back on my conversation with Javi at the pool party, he’s aware of what triggered him. I’m sure of it, and Javi’s poor attitude toward me is making sense.
Shoving all the curiosity about Jensen’s past aside for now, I ask my best friend the question that’s been plaguing me for the past forty-eight hours. “Is this love, Tate? The hurt I’m feeling right now. The guilt because he’s suffering, and I can help him simply by going to him, but know I shouldn’t. Is this really love?”
“When you care about someone, you want to help them. When you love someone, you want them to help themselves. Sometimes that means taking a step back, even though it hurts.” Her voice trembles with understanding.
I have no doubt I love Jensen. I’m in love with him. Madly in love, if I’m measuring on some scale. My feelings for him are sound, certain, and undeniable to my heart. The question is…
“What about his love for me? Do you think it’s real?”
I first asked myself this question when Jensen and I began our relationship. Back then, I considered I might be an infatuation of his, and I’ve spent the past two days thinking my concerns were valid.
Tatum’s thoughtful, choosing her words carefully before she speaks. “I think Jensen loves you so much it consumes him.”
“An obsession.” My greatest fear coming true.
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but I can’t tell if she doubts her opinions or Jensen’s authentic feelings for me. “I think, once he gets some help and sorts out everything troubling his mind, his love for you will be the only thing that doesn’t change.”
I pray she’s right and I’m not abandoned by the person who claims to love me the longest, the hardest, the most.
When I have no response, she adds, “Jake and I locked up the room. No one else has been up there. We aren’t sure if clearing it out will hurt or help him, so we’re leaving it alone for now. Did you want to go back and salvage anything?”
My answer comes without hesitation. “No.”
The only thing worth saving is him.