Teasing: Chapter 26

Dreams do come true.

Unfortunately, so do nightmares.

—Emmie’s Secret Thoughts

“Why the hell didn’t you tell him?” Camden lectures me as we drive across town.

And my already-breaking heart wishes it knew how to protect itself from the answer.

“Because I can’t stand the idea of anyone else hating Vivi. You hate her enough for all of us already.” My voice cracks as I finally put words to the truth I’ve been battling since Camden came home. “Her and Dad.”

“I don’t hate them, Em.” He slams his hand against the steering wheel and stops at a red light, quickly looking at me. “I hate the childhood that was stolen from her. From me. From you . . . I hate the life that was stolen. I hate this disease and what it’s done to our family. But the only person I hate is Mom . . . and maybe sometimes myself,” he admits quietly.

“Don’t. You did everything you could, Cam.”

“If that were the truth, we wouldn’t be here, would we?” He pushes as the light turns green, and I have no answer.

You can’t convince someone they were enough.

You can try, but it won’t work.

They need to believe it for themselves.

We walk into the facility a few minutes later, and Dad’s case worker meets us. “Thank you for rushing over. Your father took a little tumble. He’s okay, but he’s confused and refusing to go get X-rays unless he sees you.”

“Me?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“No. Mr. Monroe.”

And there’s another hit for the day.

Let’s see how many more we can take.

I squeeze Camden’s hand as it hangs by his side, but he just pulls it away. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

He looks from me to the nurse, and I see my big brother in his eyes. Not the man he is now. The boy who, at eighteen, worked two jobs and played football to help us stay in the house and make ends meet. “No. Why don’t you call Maverick while I go talk to Dad?”

I glare at him. I’m not ready to talk to Mav, and I kind of hate that Cam’s on his side. “Want to trade?”

“Nope. Call him, Em. He deserves more than what you just gave him, and he’s never going to understand until you tell him everything.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head before he disappears down the hall with the nurse.

Completely alone.

I find a couch to curl up on and pull out my phone.

How much time have I spent alone?

Enough to last me a lifetime.

I think about calling Maverick for about a minute, but he deserves more than a phone call. Damn it. I hate this.

I open my phone and slide over to my photo albums instead, like I always do when I need to smile. If I don’t remember my life one day, I have a million pictures to show me how good it was.

So many pictures.

Good times.

Bad times.

Birthdays.

Graduations.

Football games.

Christmases.

Tiny events I never want to forget, mixed with the huge life events I want to commemorate. And mixed in with all of it is the past few months. Like a docuseries of my life. The last chunk could be titled Falling in Love. With Maverick. With Rosie. With their family. With my place in it.

Why didn’t I tell him the truth?

Why am I still protecting Vivi?

And why am I doing it at my own expense?

Hours later, I cross the yards and knock on Maverick’s door with my proverbial tail between my legs. Only this tail comes in the shape of a box of scrapbooks.

I think about putting the box down and texting Mav, but Jamie opens the door first, and I can tell he’s not thrilled by the lack of a smile on his face. “He’s on the back porch.”

“Thank you.” My heart nearly fails me as I step inside, and Jamie shuts the door.

“Don’t hurt him, Em,” he warns me, and I hate that he feels like he needs to protect Maverick from me.

“I won’t.”

I walk quietly through the house, knowing Rosie is probably asleep already and not wanting to wake her, then let myself out back, where Maverick is sitting on his teak sofa with a glass of bourbon in his hand and the firepit lit at his feet.

“Mav . . .”

He looks up at me, and I’m pretty sure I’ve already failed Jamie.

There’s no missing the hurt in his eyes.

And I’m the one that put it there.

“How’s your dad?” He moves over and makes room for me next to him.

Maybe I should put space between us, but I don’t want to.

I want him. I need to fix this. “He’s okay. He fell, but nothing is broken.”

“Nothing but us, right?” He laughs, and it’s a harsh, broken sound.

“We’re not broken, Maverick. If you’ll let me tell you a story, I think you’ll understand those scrapbooks more.” I put the box between us and take out the top one. My finger traces Vivi’s curly handwriting and the year she printed underneath it. I flip it open and show him the first page. “This was Vivi, Camden, and me a year ago. He flew us out for his first preseason game.”

“You and your sister look alike.”

“We did.” My heart hurts, remembering how many times we were told that, and longing for someone to tell us that again. “She was my best friend.”

I think about how many times she talked me off a ledge. How many nights she helped me study or listened to me cry. The way she taught me to drive or helped me fill out my college applications, while I cried that I couldn’t afford it and she promised she’d make it work. “She was always my first phone call. Some days, she still is.”

“What changed?” Mav asks as he flips through the next few pages, and I’d give anything to not have to say my next words. The ones lodged in my throat. The ones I refuse to believe some days.

I’d give everything for them not to be my truth.

“She died nearly five months ago.”

Maverick takes my hand in his and holds it tightly, giving me his strength and a little hope.

“I was supposed to see Dad that day but woke up with a headache.” I shake my head, remembering that morning. It wasn’t even that bad, but I was tired, and my head hurt, and she offered . . . “So Vivi went instead. She decided to take him out for lunch and even FaceTimed with Camden because Dad was having such a great day. Then . . .” My words get stuck in my throat on a sob.

“Fuck . . . Em.” He moves the box between us off the couch and pulls me against him.

“Don’t,” I warn him. “If I don’t get this out now, I might not ever get it out.” I reach over to the table and pull out one of the scrapbooks from the bottom of the pile and tug out the newspaper article I stuffed in there months ago. A picture of her crumpled convertible is on the front page. “We don’t know why Dad was driving . . . but he was, and he hit a tree. Vivi was thrown from the car. They told us she died on impact.”

“Jesus, Emmie.” He pulls me onto his lap and cradles my face in his hands. “I’m so fucking sorry. That’s awful. I can’t— I mean, I know what Ryker’s accident felt like, and we still had Ryker after that. I can’t even fucking fathom the pain you all must have been in.”

“That makes it sound like we’ve all dealt with it and moved on. We haven’t. Most days, Dad doesn’t remember, which is a blessing. But on bad days . . . On bad days, he does. On bad days, he knows exactly what happened, and it’s a pain I can’t even imagine. It’s like he’s reliving killing his own daughter, and he begs them to let him die.”

The pressure in my chest grows until I feel like it’s going to rip open and expose every corner of my soul.

“Camden blames himself for not being here. For not taking care of her. I think he blames me too. Not that I blame him. I’ll always know if I’d have gone that day instead of her that she’d still be alive.” I rest my head against Maverick’s shoulder, unable to bring myself to look into his eyes. “It’s something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.”

This man doesn’t try to tell me it’s okay—because he knows it isn’t.

He doesn’t try to convince me it isn’t my fault, because we both know that deep down. But there will always be a piece of me that will know I could have gone that day and things could have been different.

Saying those things would have been the easy out.

But Maverick never takes the easy way.

He presses his lips to my head and holds them there. “I love you, Em. I’m so sorry you had to go through this, but I’m so goddamned glad it wasn’t you. And I’m betting she was too.”

I know he’s right but it doesn’t make it any easier and makes my next words that much harder.

“Vivi started the Kroydon Kronicles. She was in school, working on a degree in journalism, and we needed money. Camden hadn’t been drafted yet, and the Philly Press offered her more money than she used to make in a week for her first article. And so, the Kroydon Kronicles was born.” I turn to face him. “You’ve got to understand. She wasn’t a bad person. She did what she had to do for us.”

He frames my face with his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me, Em?”

“Because most days, I don’t want to admit to myself that she’s gone. The idea of admitting it to you hurt too much, Mav.”

His thumb brushes away a stray tear.

“She and Camden were all I ever had, and things with Cam have been strained since she died. She was the glue that held us together,” I admit, laying it all out there for him. No turning back now. “We’re not like you guys. It’s just us. Until he came home, I felt so alone. The first time Rosie hugged me had been the first time I’d been hugged in months.”

I don’t look into his eyes because I can’t bear to see the pity I fear is going to be staring back at me.

“You’re never going to be alone again, Em. I will never let you feel alone. You are my world, baby. You and Rosie. We’re your family. And Camden and Ryker and Jamie. We all love you.” He lifts my chin until I give him my eyes. “I will love you every day for the rest of this life, and then, I’ll find you in the next and love you again.”

“Maverick,” I cry. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I swear if I forget everything in my life, I’ll never forget you and the way I love you.” I turn my face into his hand and close my eyes.

Mav pulls me forward and presses his lips to mine. “I’m yours, Em. Today. Tomorrow. Fifty years from now. I’m not going to let you forget anything. I’m going to give you a life so full, it’ll fill every scrapbook you can find. You’re going to fill it with pictures of our family and the adventures we take. You like to say life is too short . . . well, we’re going to fill every day of it. I promise you.”

“Can you please forgive me?” I beg, wanting so badly to cling to the beautiful picture he just painted.

“There’s nothing to forgive. We’re just navigating life, and sometimes, that’s fun and great and easy, and sometimes, it fucking sucks and hurts like a bitch. But we’re going to do it together, right?”

“No leaving?” I whisper against his lips.

“You’re never getting rid of me, baby.” A ridiculously loud snore comes from the sleeping puppy under the couch. “Sounds like Butters is playing for keeps too.”

“How do you say forever in Italian?” I ask quietly.

“Per sempre,” he tells me as I cling to him.

“Per sempre,” I echo back. “Ti amo per sempre.”

“Is it this hot when I talk to you in Italian, baby? Because that was hot.”

“Hotter,” I laugh and seal my lips to his, so unbelievably grateful for this man.

For this life.