6. Maeve
Chapter 6
Maeve
T he wall changes color as morning breaks. I stare sleepily at the play of light, wishing we’d remembered to close the blinds last night. But at least I slept. I’m grateful for that.
I’ve had a hard time sleeping the past few months. It’s not hard to see why. Worry over my ankle, uncertainty about my future in dance, feeling disconnected from everyone I love, the emotional roller coaster that my relationship has become. It’s no wonder I’m a mess. I feel stuck. For the first time in my life, I have no idea what the next step is.
I think that’s why I let myself go a little, why I experimented with Callum’s stash for a few months. I just wanted to feel something good again. Needless to say, that backfired. Not only did the coke make me more anxious than ever, it annihilated my sleep schedule.
Stopping that was the first step, but I’ve been intentional about staying healthy in other ways, too, like paying attention to what I eat. Fresh air and sunshine. Staying home all day was driving me crazy, so I stopped working out in my room and started classes at that studio in Berkeley. It gives me some structure, makes me feel a little more in control.
Callum reaches for me, his hand sliding over my hip. “You awake?”
“Mm.” I keep my eyes closed, allowing him to kiss my neck, to do what we’ve done for years. There is no romance anymore, no thrill—just physical release. For him, at least. I wonder if he notices I never come anymore.
“I love you,” he whispers after, his eyes soft. For a split-second it’s the old Callum. The one I fell hard and fast for when I was just a kid, back when I found his cocky asshole act cute.
Back when I thought that the constant making up and breaking up was normal. Sure, it was dramatic, but I’m a strong-willed person and so is he—of course we loved hard, blazing like comets, crazy in love, us against the world.
Back when the fact that we outlasted every other couple I knew felt like proof we were the real deal. I didn’t care what my parents said (they were clueless) or what my brothers said (they were overprotective hypocrites) or what my best friends said (they didn’t know Callum like I did, didn’t see the tender side he saved just for me). All I knew was that this boy was the only one who could set me on fire and then save me in one fell swoop, and I was addicted to the way he made me feel.
And when the cracks started to show after college, cracks I couldn’t ignore or repair, I’d been half of a whole for so long that I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.
Callum’s phone vibrates across the nightstand with a call. He rolls over, stretching to answer it. There was a time when his body was so beautiful to me, when he gave me butterflies. I pull the comforter to my chin and turn over, pretending to go back to sleep, and he disappears into the bathroom, taking his phone.
How do you separate yourself from someone whose life is so intertwined with yours? It’s like unbraiding a tightly woven tapestry where every strand represents a memory, a moment. Sometimes I panic and try to hold onto the fading, fraying edges, remembering how beautiful it used to be.
But it’s useless.
Callum and I have been unraveling for a long time.
I wake with a start, disoriented. The room is bright, blinds still wide open, but I can tell I’ve been out for a while. My body must have needed the rest. There’s a bag of weed on my nightstand and a sprinkling of white, powdery residue on his. I look away from it, my stomach cramping with shame. I haven’t touched that stuff since the night we came home from our trip, but I hate that I ever touched it at all.
If Lucky and Tristan knew, they’d be so disappointed. My parents would be devastated.
And then there’s Jaime.
Once, months ago, I did a bump while Callum was having one of his parties. I figured if I had to put up with the chaos and the people and the bullshit, I might as well get high. Jaime, who was still new, came into the kitchen while I was making brownies from a mix.
I hated having a bodyguard, but I couldn’t make myself hate him. In fact, by that point, I’d developed a tiny crush … so I ignored him for the most part, talking to him only when it was absolutely necessary. There wasn’t anything else I could do. It wasn’t his fault for being good looking or mine for noticing.
Anyway, the party.
The music was loud, the house so full of strangers that I’d locked our bedroom door. The oven timer went off, so I leaned down to take the brownies out.
“Hey, Maeve. You got an extra lighter in here?”
I glanced up to see Jaime in the doorway, his arms braced against the frame. Straightening up, I set the brownies on the counter and faced him. “Probably.”
His dark eyes fell to my chest before he could catch himself, and when he raised them again, there was a charge between us that hadn’t been there before. I wasn’t wearing a bra under my little red tank top, and I could tell by the way he was looking at me that he wanted me. It was so unexpected. Desire swept through me, and my nipples hardened, drawing his gaze again.
The moment felt electric. Dangerous and delicious. Reaching into a drawer, I retrieved the lighter and walked over to him with a brazen smile. “Your lighter,” I said, dropping it into his hand.
The corner of his lips tugged up, like he couldn’t help but respond to whatever this was. But then he looked at me, really looked, and his smile faded. “Your eyes look wild right now.”
“What d’you mean?” I asked, turning to shut off the oven.
When I turned back around, he was gone. The euphoria that I’d been feeling seconds before evaporated. Taking my phone from my pocket, I opened the camera and turned it to selfie mode so I could use it as a mirror.
My pupils were huge, so huge I barely resembled myself.
It was the first time Jaime had ever expressed anything other than pure professionalism toward me. In less than a minute, he showed me what both attraction and disapproval looked like on him, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about either one.
For a while, I bounced back and forth between hiding it from him and not caring. After all, he wasn’t my man or my dad or anybody who got to have an opinion. He was a member of Callum’s crew, and he got paid to watch me. Who was he to judge? He and those boys got into way worse shit than a little coke. Deep down, though, I knew he was right to not like me like that. I didn’t like myself like that, so he was only reaffirming what I already knew.
The night on Grand Cayman was the last straw. Jaime seemed so disgusted and over my shit—I couldn’t do it anymore. I knew that if my brothers or Bria saw me high like that, they’d act the same way.
Ignoring the weed on my nightstand, I climb out of bed and pad toward the bathroom. It’s Saturday. No class today. No plans. I take a long shower, deep conditioning my hair and shaving my legs. I briefly consider finishing solo what Callum started this morning, but then decide I just don’t care enough.
The house is blessedly empty when I venture out. Making myself a cup of coffee, I wander around for a while, checking my socials, soaking in the view outside the living room window. I peek at Jaime’s place through the French doors, wondering what he’s up to.
We’re talking more now that he’s driving me to those classes in downtown Berkeley, and while it’s mostly just small talk, it’s an improvement over the mutually apathetic silence of before. Something changed when we were traveling, between us but also in me . I feel like I hit my own personal rock bottom and realized that I didn’t want to go out like that. I didn’t want to drown.
So, I woke up.
Setting down my coffee cup, I cross the patio before I can change my mind and knock on Jaime’s door.
“Just a second,” he calls from inside. Tucking my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, I stand back and wait. A moment later he opens the door, a folded newspaper in his hand.
“Hey, Maeve. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s good.” I smooth my tank top, my peaceful feelings shifting into nervousness. It’s so weird. I’ve spent months around Jaime trying to squeeze my attraction to him into something harmless and meaningless. It wasn’t like I could do anything about it—I’m in a long-term relationship. With his boss.
Lately, though, it feels like the little crush I’ve been trying to ignore is solidifying into something inconveniently real. I can’t remember the last time I had butterflies around someone. Not like this.
“I’m making myself an omelet and was wondering if you’d like one,” I say.
His soft, brown eyes crinkle at the edges as his smile turns real. “I already had breakfast. But thanks.”
“Oh, okay.” I step back from the door, pausing. “Do you want some coffee, then?”
Shrugging, he steps out of the guest house. “Sure.”
Heart thrumming, I head back to the house, ultra-aware of him right behind me. It’s probably not good, but I can’t bring myself to care. In fact, it’s kind of the opposite. Now that we’re sort of friends, I don’t want to go back to how things were.
In the kitchen, I pour Jaime a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?”
“Black is fine.”
I make a face. “You like it like that?”
“I didn’t say I like it like that,” he says, sliding into a seat at the counter with his newspaper. “I just said it was fine.”
“How do you like it?” Well, that sounded a little sultry. Get it together, Maeve.
“With sugar?—”
“I have sugar,” I interrupt, reaching for the jar I keep on the counter. He cocks his head, lips pressed together. “What?”
“It’s not …” He shrugs. “I like Cuban coffee. Cafecito.”
“Oh. Are you Cuban?”
“You don’t have to be Cuban to like Cuban coffee,” he says, his eyes twinkling.
Scoffing, I fold my arms. “Obviously.”
“I’m just messing with you,” he says. “Cuban dad, Puerto Rican mom. One hundred percent Brooklyn.”
That’s no surprise. I knew he was from New York the first time he spoke to me. “Well, tell me how you make this coffee, then.”
“With an espresso machine,” he says.
“Do you have one?”
“Yeah, a little one.” He pulls the coffee I gave him closer. “You whip the sugar with a few drops of the espresso until it’s foamy, and then you pour in the rest of the coffee.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” His eyes hold mine over the top of his cup as he takes a sip of the basic, black, not-Cuban coffee I just gave him.
My stomach flutters. “Hm.” I turn, putting the sugar back. “I’ll have to try it sometime.”
“Careful.” Jaime opens his newspaper, laying it flat. He’s the only person I know, besides my father, that reads a real, non-digital, newspaper. “You’ll never want anything else.”
Maybe I’m crazy, but his words dance on the edge of implication, sending a soft thrill through me. “Maybe, maybe not. I’ve been drinking coffee since I was fourteen and I’ve always liked it the same way.”
“It’s good to try new things.” His eyes flicker to mine before returning to the paper, making my chest tighten. “How are you feeling?”
He asks me that a lot lately. “I’m okay," I say, taking the eggs out of the fridge. “I guess Callum’s out?”
“He left a couple of hours ago. Had stuff to do at the club.”
What else is new? I plop a pat of butter onto the frying pan, letting it sizzle over the surface before adding my eggs. “I’d like to go shopping in the city today, if that’s okay. I need a few things.” The idea just popped into my head, but as soon as I thought it, I knew it was what I wanted. I can’t remember the last time I did something purely for fun out here, and I need new clothes.
“The city as in San Francisco?”
“The City is always San Francisco. Oakland’s The Town.”
“Noted.” A tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “And you can’t find what you need over here?”
“Not really. One of my favorite stores on earth is in this cute little SF neighborhood,” I explain, thinking of my early days in the Bay Area. I’d drive all over the place, exploring and discovering, effervescent with the newness of it all. “I used to go all the time, but it’s been a while.”
“What time do you want to go?” he asks.
“As soon as I’m done eating,” I reply, sprinkling cheddar and spinach into my eggs.
Less than an hour later, we’re speeding down the road, music and sunlight filling the space between us. I think of my dad as we approach the Bay Bridge. I always do. When I was little, he and I would always hold our breath while crossing Boston’s bridges. At least, I’d try to. Usually, I ended up cheating and taking secret breaths. I’m pretty sure Dad cheated, too.
“What?” asks Jaime. He’s turned down the music.
He must have seen my goofy smile. My cheeks warm, and I look out the window as we speed across the bridge. “Memories.” I shake my head. “It’s silly.”
Yerba Buena appears ahead, and for a second, I feel like I can tell Jaime anything. I don’t know why. He’s not the most expressive man in the world—for the first few months of his detail he barely spoke to me at all. It took getting drunk around each other a few times for us to loosen up a little, and it’s taken us this long to actually have whole conversations. He seems cautious, because of Callum, I assume. It’s not caution for me, though. I just don’t trust too many people out here.
“Come on,” he says. He seems almost playful, and it does crazy things to my heart. “Spill.”
I take a deep breath. “When I was a kid, my dad and I would hold our breath whenever we crossed a bridge. It was a contest.”
“Who usually won?”
“I don’t know.” Nostalgia, longing, and regret temper the sweetness of the memory. I miss my dad. “I’m pretty sure we both cheated.”
Jaime smiles, glancing at me with soft eyes before refocusing on the road. After a moment, he turns the music back up. R&B. I was surprised when he first put it on. I don’t know what I thought a guy like him would be into. But I like it.
Jaime follows me from store to store, waiting while I try on clothes and then buy them. By the time we head back to the car, it’s late afternoon, and the air has a considerable bite.
Shivering, I practically leap inside the Audi once it’s unlocked, cranking the heat up.
“All that shopping, and you didn’t buy anything warm.” Jaime eyes my tank top and jeans as he settles in beside me. “You know it’s always cold over here.”
“Okay, grandpa,” I tease, buckling my seat belt.
He reaches into the back seat and tosses me a plush cream hoodie. “Is that how you see me?”
“Not really.” It’s a Knicks hoodie. I hold it up, reading the front. “ It will always be New York or nowhere .” It smells like him, and my heart gives an awkward lurch. “My best friend is from the Bronx.”
“Bronx is chill, but not as good as Brooklyn,” he says, starting the car. “Put that on so you don’t freeze.”
I huff softly as I do, amused. Jaime’s in rare form today. Easygoing. We both are, I guess. Was I the one holding things up before with my attitude?
“If it’s New York or nowhere, then why are you out here?” I ask.
“Work.” Giving me a brief sideeye, he maneuvers out of the tight parking spot. “Why are you? Aren’t you from Boston?”
My heart sinks a little, and I sigh. “Callum. We were tired of doing the long-distance thing.”
We emerge onto the street. City lights have started coming on, illuminating the murky dusk. Speaking of Callum, I wonder if Jaime’s heard from him at all. My phone has been remarkably silent.
“Did he call you, by the way?” I blurt.
“He’s sent a couple of texts,” he replies. “Why?”
“Just wondering.” I run my fingers over the face of my phone. For someone who runs the streets as much as Callum, he sure loves to check up on me. As if I’m ever doing anything wrong.
“He always knows where we are,” Jaime says. “He tracks your phone.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Rolling my eyes, I drop my phone into my purse. Lucky and Bria track each other’s phones, but it was a mutual decision to do so. It makes sense, seeing what they went through a couple years ago. But Callum never asked me if he could track me, nor do I ever know where he is.
Jaime pauses at a light. “Does that bother you?”
“He should’ve asked me,” I say. “But I should’ve known, too. I doubt he’d let me ride around all day with another guy if he didn’t have access to our location and activities. Even if it is just you.”
He chuffs softly, shaking his head.
“What?” I ask, staring at his profile. He has a nice nose, though it is a little crooked. He has a nice everything, if I’m being honest.
“You’re different than I thought.”
“So are you,” I admit, picking at the giant hole in my jeans. He’s not as untouchable. Not as hard.
“Hey, you hungry?” he asks suddenly.
I look up. Mel’s Drive-In glows across the street, bright and inviting. “Starving.”
“What do you want? I’ll run in and get it.” He pulls over, parking illegally on the curb.
“Can’t we just eat here?” I ask, not wanting to go home yet. Besides, I love diners. “Food’s never as good when you get it to go.”
Jaime chews his lip, debating, and then pulls back onto the busy street. “All right. I'll have to find better parking.”
Mel’s is bustling but not packed. We’re seated in a cozy booth near a jukebox where our server, a blonde with Bambi brown eyes and a nametag that reads ‘Sami,’ leaves two menus and promises Jaime she’ll be right back with our drinks. She barely even looked at me. It might be annoying if it wasn’t so entertaining.
“What’s that look for?” Jaime asks once she’s walked away.
I peek up from my menu. “I have a look?”
“Yeah, like you got jokes. Private jokes.”
That’s the second time he’s noticed my expression today. “You’re very observant, aren’t you?”
“Being observant is my job.” His eyes hold mine in a challenge, of what I’m not sure.
“Ah. Well, I think Sami likes you,” I say, answering his question.
His brow furrows. “Who?”
“Sami.” I sit back in the booth. “Our server. ”
Rolling his eyes, he points to his menu. “I’m getting a cheeseburger and fries. What do you want?”
“Did you really not notice? She was totally giving you signals.” I don’t know why, but I have the urge to bug him about this. Maybe because he’s always so unflappable.
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
I raise my eyebrows. “But I thought being observant was your job.”
Settling into the corner, he rests his arm along the back of the booth. “You’re my job.”
My stomach flutters, but I cover the effect his words have on me by giving him the sauciest smile I can muster. “That’s right. Don’t you forget it, bodyguard.”
Now he’s the one who looks surprised. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but Sami pops up again. Setting our drinks down, she whips a pen and pad from her apron and gives Jaime a coy, lip-bitey smile. “Are you guys ready to order?” she asks sweetly.
“Cheeseburger, medium well, with fries.” Jaime gives her a brief, polite smile I recognize all too well. It’s the one he always used to give me.
“Great,” she purrs, turning her attention to me. “And how about you?”
“I’ll have the patty melt, please. With twisty fries.” My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since this morning. “And a chocolate milkshake, too. Thanks.”
“Sure.” She nods, collecting our menus before sneaking another peek at Jaime. “Can I get you anything else?”
“We’re good,” he says, eyeing me. “Thanks.”
Sami flits off as I hide my smirk behind a sip of San Pellegrino.
“Milkshake, huh? You weren’t lying when you said you were starving,” he says. “For some reason I thought you didn’t like this kind of food.”
“I don’t like fast food. I love diner food.” That, and I’m about two days away from my period. All I want is red meat and sugar. “I haven’t been to one in a while.”
“I like you better like this,” he says, jamming a straw into his drink.
“Like what?”
“Not coked up and high out of your mind. ”
My face warms, a little wave of shame cresting deep inside. I look down, running a fingertip over the green Formica tabletop. “Yeah, me too.”
“So, is this the real Maeve?” he continues.
I don’t bother asking him what he means by that, because I know. We both know, and he’s too smart for me to pretend otherwise. “Yeah, nice to meet you. I guess my battery’s been on low for a while.”
“I get it,” he says, sipping his soda.
“I doubt that,” I say. Jaime might be about this life, but he’s always got his shit together. “But let’s make a deal. I’ll be the real me as long as you’re the real you.”