Her hands are flying around all over the place as she talks. She gets so animated about things, and I used to love watching her tell stories with those hands waving around, but now it just hurts to see. Because when she does it, I know she’s passionate about what she’s talking about. That she’s put a lot of thought into it and she means every single word she says. Knowing that, while hearing her words, causes my heart to shatter. Not because I just found out she’s never been in love with me, but because she’s confirming something I never wanted to acknowledge.
Our relationship has always been a lie—a beautiful lie that neither of us realized we were even telling.
It fucking hurts. It hurts like hell to realize that you’ve given your all to something, committed to it. But your heart—that pesky little shit—has never followed suit.
Her finger traces over my hand that still cups her cheek. “It hurts me in so many ways to say all this. It feels like I’m chewing glass as I do so. But I have to. It’d be wrong for us to stay in this relationship just because we’re comfortable with the circumstances.”
“I don’t know anything but you, Selm. I’m not ready to give up on this.”
“I’m scared that if we stay together, we’ll grow to resent each other. You would resent me for chaining you down and I would resent you for fighting all my battles. I can’t let that happen to us. I love you so much, Maverick. A part of my heart will always belong to you. We are Selma and Maverick. Destiny. But I think it’s time we both realize that our destiny is to be friends—just friends. To be there for each other for the rest of time. We can’t do that if we’re busy living in this charade that we’re in a happy, loving relationship. You say you don’t want to give up on us, but I think we both gave up on us a long time ago without even noticing it. We both gave up the moment we stopped wanting the absolute best for each other.”
I can’t help but reach out to her, pulling her as close to me as possible.
I’m mourning a relationship I thought I’d have my whole life. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and after hearing her out, I understand where she’s coming from. Neither of us deserves to be in a relationship that lacks passion, a desperate need for the other person, but I never thought we would end. I thought the love I had for her had always been enough. I see now that you can love somebody with every single part of you—and I mean every fucking part of you—yet it doesn’t mean you’re in love with them. I wouldn’t have thought that to be true—before—but it is.
And it leaves us both in a shattered mess.
She strokes my back as I drag on this moment with her for as long as possible. I hope, with everything I have, that we can both get over this and actually stay friends. That we can stay Maverick and Selma without the title of boyfriend and girlfriend attached to it. But it’s fucking scary because there’s no guarantee that we’ll be able to pick up where we left off.
And a life without Selma is a life I don’t want.
“What if we tried harder?” I ask, a last desperate attempt to keep her.
Her fingers pause. “We can’t. I think you’ve already started to give the part of you away that I never really had. And that’s the part of you that matters. The part of you that doesn’t feel a responsibility. The part of you that falls hard and fast and wildly. I don’t have that part of you. I don’t think I ever have, but I think someone else does now. Or could, at least.”
I look up at her, emotion lodged deep in my throat. She’s talking about Veronica in a way I’ve never allowed myself to even think of. It’s weird to hear these things come from her mouth, because I would have refused to voice any of it for the rest of my life. It’s in this moment that I realize I may actually have some sort of feelings for Veronica. I never wanted to acknowledge them, and probably never would have if it weren’t for this newfound freedom.
With Selma in my arms, I feel guilty for having this revelation.
I hold onto her for another moment longer before I step back. “I don’t want to talk about Veronica. Nothing ever happened between the two of us. Just because I was with her tonight doesn’t mean anything.”
Selma’s fingers swipe underneath her eyes. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. A thousand different thoughts run through my head. Half of them belong to Selma, the other half to Veronica.
“I want to talk about her, Maverick. I know nothing happened between the two of you. God, I know that. And honestly, it makes me feel worse, because I know you would’ve stayed with me forever, even if you were falling for her. You’ve always felt such a duty to protect me. I hate it. I don’t want that kind of love, Maverick. And I don’t want that for you. I understand that nothing happened between the two of you, but I won’t continue to be the reason that nothing does. I know you love me, but I think you want her. Or could want her. The attraction between you two is obvious to anyone with eyeballs. Always has been.”
I shake my head at her. “You don’t understand. Nothing will or would ever happen with me and Veronica. The only reason we’re even friends is because she never wants a relationship ever again, and because I have—or had—a girlfriend. She looked at me as a safe person to be friends with.”
“Maybe something will happen, maybe something won’t. But, Mav, you owe it to yourself to have that option. I deserve it, too. Which is partially why I’m leaving you. I’m going to stay with Madison until midterms are over and then I’m going home. For the first time since we were children, I’m going to face my family for real. It might suck. I might completely break down, but it’s a breakdown I need to have. I need to learn to fight my own battles, to rescue myself, and you need to learn that love isn’t about putting someone else back together, making them whole while you give pieces of yourself away until you have nothing left of yourself. We both have things we need to work out with ourselves, and we need to do that apart from each other.”
She steps off the barstool. We both stand there, just staring at each other. For the first time, I feel the distance between us. It’s odd how spoken truths can change everything.
“Do you feel the need to save her?” Selma asks, breaking the silence. Her eyes stay on me until I finally answer.
“No. I feel the need for her to save herself.” This is something I finally have to admit—even to myself. It’s an odd feeling.
“Good.” She walks to the couch and picks up a duffle bag I hadn’t even noticed.
I go to take it from her, to offer to carry it, but she shakes her head. I guess this is the beginning of her fighting her own battles.
“I’ll always love you, Maverick, but I think the love we owe to each other is just the love of lifelong friendship. This isn’t the end of our story, but the start of something new. Something better.”
She walks up to me and I pull her into my body for what’s probably the last time.
It’s bittersweet. It’s sad. It’s a goodbye.
It’s an end.
“Goodbye, Selma. I’ll always love you, too.”
And with that, she walks out the door and I’m left alone in an empty house, with an even emptier heart.
21
Veronica
I didn’t go home last night. I slept in Tristan’s bed instead. I hadn’t expected it, but he showed up at Lenny’s and one thing led to another. Then, I went to my classes today in yesterday’s clothing.
I found myself at another bar tonight, too afraid to go home and face Maverick.
So, instead I found Donte.
I think his name is Donte.
Right now, he’s kissing me against the front door. He laughs as he presses his weight against me, making a soft thud against the surface.
“Shh,” I say against his lips. “You’ll wake up my roommates.”
He snickers before continuing his assault on my mouth. His hands find the narrow of my hips and he slowly lets them drop until they’re tucked into the waistband of my jeans.
“You’re so hot. I can’t wait to explore every inch of you.” His hands
drop lower and lower down my jeans until he’s cupping my ass.
I moan, leaning into him and shoving my tongue even deeper in his mouth. He lets out a growl low in his throat as he pushes me—harder—this time against the door. This time the sound is louder, but it doesn’t quite register through my alcohol-influenced mind.
Just as Donte’s hands start to explore my body further, the door swings open.
Unfortunately, that same door is the one we were just leaning against. Donte catches himself on the door frame, but I tumble right into a warm body.
“Shit,” I mutter as I try to push off the body I just fell into. Strong hands grip my elbows and spin me and I come face-to-face with Maverick. “Double shit,” I mumble.
His blue eyes are ice as they stare intently right over my head. They flick to me quickly, before looking back to the man in the doorway.
“Sorry to wake ya, man,” Donte says, extending his hand in what appears to be a fist bump. “We’ll be quiet when we go to her room, I think.”
Donte winks, and when I look back at Maverick, I notice a slight tick in his jaw as his nostrils flare. Donte looks down at his still outstretched hand, Maverick doing the same.
“She’s a stage-five clinger,” Maverick lazily drawls when he moves past us, then he slams the door in Donte’s face. The reverberation of the door being slammed makes the frames on the wall shake.
I stare in shock at the spot where, just seconds ago, Donte was standing. Now it’s just our ugly green door in my view. My gaze zeroes in on Maverick who’s staring right back at me. The look on his face breaks me out of my shock.
“What the hell, Maverick!” I yell, running a hand through my hair.
Maverick grabs me by the elbow and pulls me down the stairs to the basement. We pass the pool table and the old junky card table until we’re in my room. He closes the door behind us but doesn’t let go of my arm.
“Let go of me!” I protest, trying to pull my arm from his grip.
“Are you trying to wake up the whole house?” he accuses, his fingers slowly letting go of me, one by one.
Unfortunately, I can still feel the heat from them even after they’re gone.
“You just told him I’m clingy! I most definitely am not clingy!” I let out a breath of frustration at his cool demeanor. I swear this guy is never set off.
A small smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. “I had to get rid of him somehow.”
“No, you didn’t! We were right in the middle of…some unfinished business we needed to attend to,” I counter. The alcohol suddenly hits me and I feel the urge to sit down. I take the few steps to my bed and plop down on the white comforter.
“You mean sex?” he asks, but it comes out more like a statement.
“Yes, Maverick, sex. Not all of us are in committed relationships like you. We have to get off somehow.”
His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he runs a finger over his lip. He looks like he wants to say something, but he must decide against it because he lets out a long sigh. We both glare at each other.
I sit on my bed, my head starting to spin. He stands across from me, his body leaning against my dresser.
“You’re better than being used for sex,” he says matter-of-factly.
I don’t miss how condescending his tone sounds. It makes my blood boil. He has no place telling me this. I laugh maniacally. “You’re such an ass, Maverick. We were going to use each other for sex. I wanted to get off, so did he. I had zero expectations from him. I’d rather be used for sex than have someone want a relationship out of me.”
A crease forms between his dark eyebrows. “Why are you so hell bent on not wanting a relationship?”
He hesitantly walks across the room and takes a seat next to me, so close our arms are touching. It’s odd, the way the slight brush of his arm against mine has my senses on overdrive.
“I don’t do relationships. I do sex,” I say.
“Why won’t you do both?” His fingers brush over the ruffles of my comforter. It feels intimate—him, sitting on my bed, running his fingers over the covers I sleep in.
“Because I just can’t, Maverick. Now off you go!” I get up, grabbing his arm and pulling to get him off my bed. To get him out of my personal space. I’m reminded just how many tequila shots I took by the way I stumble, causing me to land right against Maverick.
Our bodies are flush. We’re eye-to-eye, my chest against his chest.
If he were to look down, he would see that goosebumps are starting to form on my skin. The way I feel right now pisses me off because I don’t want to feel this way. I’m close enough to see, when he looks down, that his eyelashes fan over his sharp cheekbones. I can see that scar, the imperfection that runs down his mouth. The one I can’t wait to paint.
His hands are steady as they sit on the small of my waist. They’re warm, searing completely through my sweatshirt. “Tell me about Connor.”
It feels like a punch to my stomach. I’m not ready for him—for anyone—to look at me the way I see myself. But maybe I need to be.
Because once he knows the truth, he won’t look at me the way he seems to be looking at me right now. The way he’s never looked at me before. The way a man with a girlfriend shouldn’t be looking at another woman. The way a girl like me doesn’t even deserved to be looked at.
Am I imagining this?
“I’m afraid,” is all I say. It’s vulnerable, probably the first time I’ve allowed myself to be in a long time.
“I’ll still be here afterward.” His hands tighten on my waist and I can’t help it.
I shouldn’t.
Dear god, I know I shouldn’t.
He has a girlfriend and I actually respect that. Or I thought I did, but this can be added to my list of Shitty Things Veronica Does in the Name of Being Selfish, because I lean even closer to him. Our foreheads touch. His breath hits my face every time he breathes out. I wish he would say something—do something—to stop whatever’s about to happen, but it’s clear he’s as lost in this as I am.
My legs shake underneath me. I would love to blame it on the alcohol, but it isn’t that. I want to collapse on top of him, crawl inside his body and live in his warmth forever. I’m nervous to look him in the eye, but I do it anyway. Those baby blues are pinned right on me, willing me to say something. Staring into his eyes is like staring into the ocean, and for once, I don’t hate it. The way his eyes roam over my face—slowly and with purpose—makes me feel more intoxicated than the liquor I’d downed earlier.
I think over his words to me. I want them to be true. I want him to still look at me like this after I tell him the truth. But I know he won’t. And I know it’s for the best that he won’t, but I hold onto the moment for a little while longer.
I pull away from him then—wanting to completely escape his warmth, this feeling—but his hands still rest on the narrow of my waist and it doesn’t appear he’s willing to move them. I make it so we have no point of contact except his arms on my waist and my thighs touching his as I stand between his legs.
“Connor and I were a love story that was never supposed to happen. We were so different, but somehow it worked. Growing up, I was a brat.”
My heart pounds in my chest.
I haven’t told this story in years. I barely even spoke of it after it happened. But here I am, wanting to pour out my soul to Maverick.
“I was a spoiled, entitled, rich bitch. I wasn’t abnormally mean to others or anything like that, but I was too wrapped up in my own head to care about anyone else. I had a lot of insecurities. Connor called me out on all of it, from the beginning. We were two very different people that came from very different backgrounds, but we met in the middle. Our version of the middle, anyway. It sounds cliché and I want to throw up even saying it, but he made me a better person. Not even just that, but he made me want to be a better person. Which was something I never wanted to be until him.”
Until now, I’ve managed to keep eye contact
with Maverick, but as we get to the nitty gritty, I’m scared to maintain it. I want to look away when I dump all my baggage at his feet, but I also want to witness his reaction. I want to read every single line of his face to find what might run through his head.
“We were basically a year into our relationship when he died, and it was my fault.” I take a shaky breath in. I know Maverick has to feel me trembling beneath his hands. I’m terrified to show him how terrible of a person I actually am, for him to know completely what I did.
“Connor and I had gotten into an argument. I was being young and stupid and petty—basically my typical self, back then. I was convinced he was looking at one of our friends. In my mind, he obviously wanted her and not me. I was so insecure. But more than that, I loved to fight. Fighting with Connor was my favorite thing to do. I was so fucked up in the head that I felt like he showed me more love when we were fighting.
“So, even though deep down I knew Connor loved me with everything a seventeen-year-old could give, I dragged out our fight. I’m from a small town on the coast. We were always in the ocean. Our fight happened right in the middle of the crashing waves. I was being a stubborn brat and went into the water and he followed me in. It was deep, and it was night, and we both should’ve paid attention to the tide. But we were too wrapped up in our teenage relationship angst. He said something that pissed me off, so I lashed back out at him.
“He was so upset with me that he swam away from me, deeper into the ocean. The rest is a blur. I lost him in the water, and by the time I found him and pulled him to shore, he was pronounced dead.” I know tears are rolling down my face, but I let them. If I’m going to let Maverick dive into the fucked up abyss that is my mind, he’s going to get the emotion that comes with the trauma as well.
The Consequence of Loving Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Aftershock Series Book 1) Page 11
