Sobs erupted out of her and tears cascaded down her face, onto her cheeks.
Everything inside of me clenched up.
I hadn’t told her any of this shit, and I damn sure didn’t think my mother would have said it.
What would have been the purpose?
I still battled those goddamn demons. It used to be that every other week, a shroud of darkness would cover me, take over me, blurring my good sense; but then I’d met Amaris. Things had changed. I thought I was managing, but now I could see the truth…
I was… still broken. Shattered.
I was a quarter, not even half a man. The terrified look on Amaris’s face revealed that much.
And this was why I hadn’t wanted to tell her. This was why I’d kept it a secret; because I wanted to be her everything. I didn’t want her to have to fix me. She’d already put her career on the line to love. And for what? For this shit?
I’d wondered about my mother’s purpose, but suddenly, the answer hit me.
She wanted Amaris to see me this way. She wanted Amaris to see me weak and broken. She didn’t want me, and she didn’t want anyone else to.
The First Lady knew. That’s what she’d said, and now, so did my Angel.
Amaris took a feeble step towards me. “Mav, come here,” she requested. Her voice was low and tempered. Like she was in an asylum, speaking to a crazed patient needing a tranquilizer.
My chest heaved and I backed away from her.
She choked. “Maverick – ”
“No,” I muttered. I shook my head, trying to stop the world from spinning, but it only went faster. I stumbled but caught the back of a chair. “No,” I said again. “I… need to leave…”
I pushed past Amaris, knocking her to the side, and trotted down the steps to the car.
“Maverick!” Amaris screamed after me, but I’d already ignited the car and was reversing it out of the driveway.
25
Amaris
“Oh my God, oh my God…” I half-muttered, half-prayed the words over and over, watching helplessly as Maverick’s car peeled out of sight, leaving nothing but the smell of burning rubber. “We have to go after him!”
I swung around to look at his mother, who was stumbling onto the porch next to me, rubbing her neck. Her eyes were still red, from where the blood had rushed to their surfaces, and her teeth were gritted in rage.
“Let him go!” she screamed after the car. After him. “Let him go on and be like his father was!”
I inhaled sharply at her callous response to the fact that her son, my man, was in danger, and for a second. I considered putting my hands around her neck like he had.
“This is what he wants!” she continued to shriek, but even though the venom was spitting from her lips, tears of remorse were sliding onto her face.
“This is not what he wants!” I shouted at her. “And if you’d ever taken the time to understand him, you’d know that much!”
“Bullshit,” his mother spat. “That boy has never loved me,” she carried on. “It was always about his dad: dad this, and dad that! And then, when his father killed himself, he blamed me!”
“He told you that?”
“He… never said it,” she admitted, reluctantly, “but I know that he did. I tried to make it up to him by being present. I tried to fill the gap, but Maverick always struggled with his mood.” She sucked on her teeth and straightened her shoulders, as if she was trying to erase the emotion. “His father wanted to die, and so does he,” she reiterated. “There’s nothing either of us can do to make him stay. Trust me, I know.”
I gasped and swung my eyes back to the vehicle that was only a little more than a blip on the radar.
This woman was wrong about Maverick. I mean, she was right about the mood thing. For years, I’d been trying to get through to him, but it was very obvious that the therapist thing wasn’t gonna work with us. If we’d been in my office, I’d have explored his low mood, referred him to a doctor for an assessment, and employed cognitive behavioral techniques to help change his min.
But we weren’t in my office, and anytime I tried to broach the topic of mental wellness with Maverick, he’d yank away.
Like he did today.
My chest constricted.
His mother’s behavior had been way off the charts. The way she’d referenced her deceased husband, and the way she belittled Maverick, there was no excuse for her actions and I doubted an apology would do any good. In fact, I wondered why on earth maverick had wanted me to meet her.
I turned, stomped past her, and marched into the house. “Where are your keys,” I called over my shoulder.
His mother was coming behind me. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” she spat. “It’s no use. Let him go. Let him calm down. Give him space.”
“I’m not doing any of those things,” I shouted. I stopped walking and scrubbed my hand over her face; then I slowly turned around to face her. “Maverick needs help,” I said.
“And you think you can help him?” came the blunt response.
My mouth snapped closed. I used to think that I could. I might have been more secure in the thought, if he was my real client and not my…
I blinked away the doubt. “I am going after him,” I repeated. “Give me your keys.”
His mother huffed but nodded to her staff who quickly returned with the keys to a luxury vehicle.
I didn’t waste a moment. I hopped into the car and threw it into reverse. I roared through the streets, barely any better than Maverick had been. I was still half-muttering, half-praying.
Maybe he was going to a bar to unwind and collect himself. Maybe he was going to his favorite park to slow his thoughts and recalibrate. Maybe…
A thick plume of rising black smoke and flames stopped the maybes on the spot.
“Jesus, no!” I screamed and stepped on the gas.
26
Maverick
~Four Years, Two Months~
When my eyes cracked open, I had no idea where I was. Everything was veiled in a dense fog, and my head was spinning like fuck. I lifted my arm to grab my temple, but it wouldn’t move. Suddenly, bright lights obstructed my vision, and slowly, a steady beep registered in my brain.
I tried to sit up.
No use.
“Oh my God, Maverick!”
The voice sounded familiar. In fact, its quality caused my heart rate to decrease. I tried to grab a breath, but that shit hurt too.
What the fuck?
I could barely see anything, so when a body eased on top of me, feathering kisses on my stiff face, I had no idea who it was.
“Nurse, doctor!” The voice was frantic. “He’s awake. He opened his eyes! He’s trying to move!”
The face was back on me.
I blinked, trying to erase the cloud.
Amaris…
I lurched forward in the bed, but pain instantly forced me backwards.
“Baby, don’t move. Please…” Now she was crying. And then she was kissing me. “Oh my God, Maverick…”
The tapping of heels against the floor tiles burst forth, and Amaris moved backwards. I tried to reach out for her, but it was no use. Maybe my mouth worked:
“Baby…” It sounded garbled, but when she advanced, it was evidence that she understood me.
“I’m here, Maverick. I’m not going anywhere.”
This promise allowed me to relax a little. Whatever the… doctors needed to do, they could do it. As long as my Angel didn’t leave my side, they could do whatever they wanted.
A month later, I was draping my arm over Amaris’s tiny shoulder and she was doing all she could to crane me into the waiting wheelchair. By now, I’d heard what had happened, and there was no doubt in my mind that Amaris was fully aware as well, yet I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her about it. I could barely look her in the eye.
She started to wheel me to the hospital room exit, and one of the doctors who’d been working with me over the past few months
slowed us. His hand rested on my shoulder, but when he spoke he looked at Amaris.
“So we’ve given him enough fluoxetine to last the rest of the week, but of course, he’ll need his prescription filled the moment you get a chance.”
“I’ll make sure he has it,” she answered, tone clipped.
Finally, the doctor looked at me. “As I mentioned yesterday, we’re so glad you’re feeling better, Mr. Dangerfield, and you’re also very lucky to have this woman at your beck and call. That’s what it’s been: she’s been here from the very beginning – day and night. She’s a good woman.”
“There’s no woman better,” I muttered.
Amaris smiled, but it wavered, and then she was pushing me ahead.
Something inside of me tightened, alongside my muscles.
When we arrived at her car, she locked the wheels of the wheelchair and started to lift me in, but I fanned her away.
“I can do it, baby,” I muttered. I pressed my hands onto the arms and raised up. It felt like I hadn’t used the muscles in my body in years, everything was so stiff. The smaller bandages, like the ones around my fingers, Achilles, and head had been removed, but I was still on crutches. It was definitely an upgrade, considering I’d broken my leg in two places, and I wasn’t complaining. I just didn’t want Amaris’s assistance.
I pulled myself to my feet and grunted, and Amaris rubbed her brow, watching me struggle into the car.
Her mouth was pulled into a tight slit across her face and she huffed.
Double-the time later, I was in the front seat. The chair was pushed all the way back, so I could get a good stretch on my fucked-up leg, and Amaris took great care to fasten the seatbelt over my tender chest.
She eased back and started for the driver’s seat, but I took her hand. “Mary…”
She hadn’t really spoken to me for the last couple of weeks, other than to reassure me of her presence whenever I got anxious. Initially, that declaration had been enough for me, but now, I wanted more from her.
She drew in a sharp breath and fixed her eyes on me. They were tender. I could see the love radiating in them. I could also see intense pain. It made the green flecks in her irises twinkle.
I was looking into her eyes, but then I was forced to look away. The shame was substantial. I was wearing embarrassment like a uniform I’d been forced into.
Dejected, I let her hand slide out of mine and shook my head. “Never mind,” I muttered.
When we got to my house, my housekeeper and staff came running out to collect me, but I didn’t want their help. I barely wanted Amaris’s, but I needed it. The only person I wanted touching me was her.
“When are you going to learn that you can’t do it alone?” she muttered under her breath, adjusting the crutches under my arms.
I wasn’t supposed to hear it, but I did. Still, I didn’t respond.
I hobbled to my room with Amaris’s guidance. She undressed me carefully, sliding my sweatpants over my thighs and leaving me in the t-shirt I was wearing.
My cock stirred, and even though now was not the time to be aroused, I couldn’t help myself.
Amaris rolled her eyes at it and marched into my bathroom without saying a word.
The water started running and steam fanned into the master suite.
My mouth pinched. “You’re upset with me,” I said.
She finished what she was doing, and when she came out, she was holding a plush, terry towel. She dropped it next to me on the bed.
I gazed at her, trying to ignore the way my eyes and the rest of my body – including my cock – were burning.
She closed her eyes and inhaled. “I’m not upset, Maverick.” She paused. “I’m pissed. As hell.”
My jaw jerked.
Her hands fisted. “To be clear, I’m not at all mad that you completely lost your shit, jumped in your car, hurtled down the street like a fucking speed-demon, totaled the vehicle and almost yourself – which was exactly what you were trying to do…” her breath hitched and she continued, “was in a bloody coma for eight weeks, and had me – and your mother! – worried as hell, wondering if you were gonna make it…”
She let the weight of her words settle on me, on top of all the other shit already piled there. “I’m…pissed because, even after all this time, you still didn’t feel safe enough with me to talk to me about what you were going through.”
I swallowed.
“Four years, Maverick!”
“Mary – ”
Her hand flew up. “Four. Fucking. Years, okay?! I asked you – Maverick, are you eating? Maverick are you sleeping? Maverick have you been to see the therapist? Your excuse? That you didn’t want me to worry about you. Your bullshit justification was that you didn’t need therapy, that I was all you needed. Clearly, I wasn’t!” She was shouting, and each word delivered a stinging blow to my conscience.
“And I knew better,” she whispered. “I know the signs of depression and what they look like in men. I knew you were going through shit, and I didn’t follow my natural instinct and make sure you got help.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Your damn-right, it’s not,” she spat. “I don’t take clients’ shit home. But I took you home… Against my better judgement, I relaxed my morals and my ethical standards because I loved you and actually believed that after five years, we could have been something other than therapist and client.”
Her words were breaking me more than the accident or even I ever could.
She walked over to the black bag she’d packed for me and started rummaging through it. Finally, she ripped out a small canister of pills and threw them at my chest.
They slammed into me and I winced.
“One every day,” she snarled, “alongside your psychiatry and psychology appointments.”
Silence.
“And I fucking dare you to challenge that, Maverick Dangerfield. I dare you to miss one pill or one appointment.”
“I’ll…do everything,” I mumbled. I dragged my hand over my eye, up to my hairline. “I’ll do it all. Just promise me that you won’t leave.”
“This isn’t about me!”
“No, it’s not,” I agreed through an exhausted sigh. “My mother took me over the fucking edge,” I said, “but before that, do you know how I was managing my depression? I was using you.”
She sucked her teeth.
“Fucking… hear me out, Amaris,” I begged, dropping my head. “Cognitive behavioral therapy: it’s when you change your thoughts about shit, with the view to change your behavior, right?” I pulled my eyes up to hers. “I used you to change my thoughts. Whenever I felt low, all I needed to do was think about you – the dates, the kisses, the sexting… I had shit to look forward to, outside of work. I changed my thoughts and somehow it changed my behavior. You were my therapist and you became my therapy. I told you that! Yes, it sounded romantic as fuck, and I meant it to be that way, but I also meant it in the most literal sense.”
We stared at one another.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your father?” she asked.
“Because I was embarrassed.”
Her mouth tightened. “Why… didn’t you tell me about you?”
“Because… I was more embarrassed about that than I was about my old-man.” I sighed. “Do not leave me, Mary,” I whispered. “Fuck five years,” I said.
Her mouth quivered.
I said it again. “Fuck it. How can I blame you for not wanting me after all this bullshit? I don’t blame you. I blame myself for being a coward. I blame myself for thinking I was too goddamn manly to get help.” I shook my head. “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave me, but I’d be a fool to sit here and not say that I can’t bear the thought of not having you. No, I’m not going to suicide myself,” I added quickly, using the terms I’d learned during my lengthy hospital stay. “I’m not… but if I don’t have you in my life – even if it’s just as a friend, I’ll be a dead man walking.”
Amaris rolled her eyes away from me, forcing tears to splash onto her cheeks.
My heart sank to the soles of my feet. If I ever thought about suicide again, this was the way I’d do it: by hurting the only woman I’d ever loved so deeply.
I reached out to her.
She swiped tears across her face and, to my delight, walked into my arms. I had to reach up to kiss her, and she reached down to meet me in the middle. We shared a gentle peck, as if she was afraid that a more passionate display would break me in half.
Or maybe she doesn’t want to offer me more than this…
“Stay with me tonight,” I begged her. “I have people here to take care of me, but I want you.”
“I’ll stay the night, Maverick,” she agreed tersely, “I’ll stay a few nights, but when the weekend is over, I’m leaving. We need time,” she whispered. “I need time. I need to think over some things and reevaluate what I want. You need the same.”
The weekend? I barely knew what day of the week it was.
My body tensed, but I resisted the urge to argue with her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Amaris lifted herself from the bed and started for the bathroom. “Your bath is ready,” she said over her shoulder.
“Aren’t you going to help me?”
“No. You’re strong enough,” she said, and then she disappeared into the bathroom.
27
Maverick
~Four Years, Six Months~
“Amaris, answer the phone,” I snapped after the beep of her voicemail message. I’d called two times.
This was the third.
“Four months have passed. Are you really doing this?” I groused.
Of course she was really doing this.
And I didn’t blame her.
I deserved her coldest shoulder after the way all that shit had gone down, like lava flowing over the sides of a dormant volcano. That’s exactly what I was.
Five Years Page 20
