Chapter 22

Carys

Waking due to the urgency of my bladder, it takes me a second to realize where I am.

Maverick’s room.

In Maverick’s arms.

And deliciously sore in all the right places, thanks to our multiple rounds of sex throughout the night.

Craning my neck while trying not to wake him, I see that it’s only five in the morning. A tiny bit of early morning light is coming through the sheer curtains, just enough to let me make out Maverick’s features. He’s beautiful, always, but especially when he’s sleeping. The night he fell asleep in the lobby while I was working, I indulged myself, watching him—his long eyelashes that should be illegal for a guy, his chiseled jaw that could cut glass, his high cheekbones.

Softly, I reach up and run a featherlight touch across his cheek and then follow that with a kiss to his jaw. He doesn’t budge. I don’t blame him. There’s no good reason to be awake right now, except for the fact that if I don’t get to the bathroom, I’m going to have a situation on my hands and some explaining to do.

As I slip out of bed and tiptoe my way across the room, I bump into the desk. A folder, that must’ve been precariously positioned, falls to the floor and papers scatter.

“Shit,” I whisper, glancing over to make sure Maverick is still out. Sighing in relief when I see he’s completely unaware of my clumsiness, I continue to the bathroom to take care of business.

When I’m done, I leave the door cracked and the light on, so I can see to clean up my mess.

Kneeling on the floor, I begin to collect the papers, shuffling them into a stack, until something catches my eye.

 

Blue Bayou — 123 St. Ann, New Orleans, LA

Owner — Carys Matthews

5200 SF

12 rooms

Approx. Value — 1.2m

Proposed Purchase Price — 899,999

 

My heart starts beating fast as my eyes scan the document in my hand, and then I scan it again, trying to make sense of what I’m reading. All of this is information on the Blue Bayou. I begin to flip through the rest of the papers, searching for anything that would tell me what this is all about. I know I shouldn’t. These are Maverick’s papers, but this is about me and I have a right to know.

There’s information on every property surrounding the hotel—printed papers from Kensington Properties, along with notes made by someone. I recognize the handwriting as Maverick’s from the note he left me. Going back to the papers regarding the Blue Bayou, I see where he’s written figures and numbers down...nothing more than chicken scratch to my uninformed eyes, but I’m guessing they mean something.

Another line catches my eye: ask Carys about taxes.

Taxes? What about them? What would he care about my taxes?

When I look over to the bed, where Maverick is still sleeping, my heart drops.

Was all of this a ruse?

Was it all orchestrated?

My throat tightens at the thought. All this time, I’ve felt like I’ve been gifted this man. Like he fell out of the bright blue sky, right into my hotel, just for me...just when I needed him. But now, I’m putting the pieces of the puzzle together. He was so interested in the Blue Bayou...and me...because it was his job. He was here to make an offer on my hotel? Buy it?

For what?

My thoughts go to a conversation we had at Lagniappe, when he was telling me about what he does for a living...buyer, seller, and disposer of dreams. What did he say? By proxy, but by proxy doesn’t equal innocent.

I trusted him.

Believed him.

Fell for him.

A fool.

I’m a naive, stupid fool.

Sucking up the building emotions, my eyes stinging with unshed tears, I stuff the papers back into the folder, climb to my feet, and search for my clothes. I have to get out of here. I need to leave before he wakes up and I’m forced to face him with the new knowledge of who he truly is.

I can’t.

I don’t want to.

I want him to leave.

I’ll pretend this was a fling and that I got what I came for...but he won’t. He won’t get the Bayou. That’s not happening. Not now. Not ever.

Throwing my t-shirt on and scrambling into my shorts, I grab my shoes and bolt for the door, allowing myself one look back. One look back at what I thought could potentially be my future, someone I could lean on and be with...grow with. Maverick felt like someone who could make me a better version of myself. But standing in the half-open door, I realize I let myself believe those things because I wanted them. So badly.

When the door is closed, I take off down the stairs and stop. I can’t look Jules in the face like this. I can’t let him see the devastation that I know is painted all over me, because the second the latch on the door clicked, my tears let loose. I stand there for a moment, frozen with indecision—take the stairs and face Jules or take the elevator and be reminded how happy I was a mere ten hours ago. How quickly things can change.

How quickly I allowed myself to fall for someone I barely knew.

I didn’t know him.

I only knew the Maverick I made up in my head—caring, considerate, strong, dependable, amazing. But now, armed with the truth, I know he’s none of those things. He’s just like his father—selfish, out for himself, manipulative...a liar...who was trying to steal my hotel right out from under me.

The sadness and hurt starts to morph into anger as I stomp down the stairs, ignoring the concerned look I receive when I reach the bottom.

George. Of course.

Jules probably went home an hour ago.

“Carys?” George asks in a gentle, caring tone, making the lump in my throat grow. My throat constricts as I force down a sob. I can’t, not here, not in front of George.

I can’t respond with words, only a shake of my head, as I walk past him, straight out the back door, and run across the courtyard to the safety of my apartment. Opening the blue door, I walk in and look around my space...a space I once shared with my mother and grandparents...home. When the lock slides into place, I finally feel free to let go. As I slide down into a puddle on my kitchen floor, hot frustrated tears, accompanied by loud, therapeutic sobs fill the otherwise quiet space.

Sometimes, you have no choice but to cry. My grandfather once told me that tears are not a sign of weakness, only a sign that we care.

I do care.

I care a whole fucking lot.

After a while, I feel all cried out so I peel myself off the floor and drag myself to my bedroom. I feel drained, exhausted. Standing in the middle of my room, I feel lost. Even though I’m home and in my own space, everything feels off. My world feels out of balance and I can’t think of what to do next. Logically, I should shower and get to work, but I know I can’t do that. I can’t face George or Mary, or God forbid, Maverick.

He’s leaving soon, I already knew that. He has to go back to Dallas. But now, I also realize what the holdup was—why he kept asking for more time. Foolishly, I thought it was me. I thought he wanted to spend more time with me, allow us a few more days to solidify our relationship before we plunged into the unknown territory of a possible long-distance relationship.

“So fucking stupid, Carys,” I cry to no one but myself. “So incredibly, fucking stupid.” Falling onto my bed, I stare at the ceiling for a long time, letting the words I read on the document play in my head—trying to make sense of them, trying to think of a good reason Maverick would have that information, other than wanting to buy the Blue Bayou.

I can’t think of anything.

A knock on my front door makes me jump. Practically falling off my bed, I crouch down beside it, like it’s going to hide me from the outside world, protect me from whatever is on the other side of my front door. I’m in the back of my apartment, no one can see me, but I still feel exposed.

I’m not ready to face anyone. I need a while longer to wrap my mind and heart around this.

Seconds later, there are three more knocks.

Eventually, the knocking stops, whoever was at the door giving up, and my heartbeat gradually goes back to normal. Thankfully, the rush of adrenaline cleared my head a little.

A shower.

I need one.

I need to wash and get rid of the sex—me, Maverick, us. I need to wash it away, flush it down the drain, along with my feelings and hopes and dreams. Because right now, I’m surrounded by a cacophony of smells, reminding me of last night and killing me softly each time I take a breath.

My thoughts are overly dramatic for a relationship that is barely two weeks old. I know this.

I shouldn’t feel this strongly.

I shouldn’t want him this badly.

I shouldn’t hate him this much.

Shedding my clothes and stepping into the steamy shower, I let it all out once more until my chest physically aches, my throat hurts and my eyes burn. I feel like punching the wall, but think twice, thankfully.

If I’ve learned anything over the last year and a half, it’s that we can’t change circumstances. We can’t make the world treat us kindly. We take what we’re dealt with and we move on with life.

After dressing and putting my wet hair into a ponytail, I take inventory. My eyes look dull, nothing like they looked when I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror in Maverick’s room. But that’s also how life is too, right? Everything can change on a dime.

One second, I was a carefree college student, and in the next breath, I was without a mother and had a hotel dropped in my lap. I didn’t know what I was doing. Those first few months, it was all I could do to pay the utilities on time and make sure George and Mary had a paycheck. I couldn’t remember what day it was or when I’d eaten last. It took a while for me to pull myself out of the dark hole I fell in the day of the car crash. But I did it. And I know I’m not winning any awards for hotel management, but I’m learning and working to make this place better.

Bracing myself on the kitchen counter, I take deep breaths, working hard to suppress the urge to scream. Because I feel like I’m back to that day, the day my whole world shifted and I felt like I was floating in the universe, alone.

“Carys.”

Maverick’s voice on the other side of the door makes me swallow my breath.

Walking toward the door, I place my hand on the wood, wishing I could open it and pretend like I don’t know. I wish I could go back to being ignorant, when I thought he was here for me.

“Carys,” he says again, my name sounding rushed. He knocks. Once. Twice.

Then, my phone rings from the kitchen counter.

I know he hears it too, because when it stops, he knocks again. “Carys.” This time, my name sounds like a plea. He’s worried. Something has triggered him. Maybe I left the papers in the wrong order? Maybe he already knows that I know?

Slowly, I unlock the deadbolt and then the bottom lock. Leaning against the door, I rest my head on wood as I look down at my hand on the brass knob and feel the weight of the moment.

I want to go back.

I want to go back to Maverick’s room.

Back to bed.

Back to being with him.

I want to go back to yesterday when everything felt possible.

“Carys,” he whispers. “Open the door, please.”

When I’m standing face to face with him, the door no longer a barrier, I see the confusion on his beautiful face. His forehead furrows and his eyes look concerned. “Hey.”

I swallow, searching for words that fail me.

“What’s wrong?” The look of concern begins to morph into something I can’t quite name—fear, uncertainty.

“I know why you’re here.”

Maverick cocks his head and runs a hand over his scruff and then through his hair. It’s then when I take in his appearance—button up shirt from yesterday, jeans, bare feet. “Could you enlighten me? Did something happen?”

“I found your papers. The ones about the Blue B—” He goes to interrupt me, but I stop him, raising my hand into the air.

“Please let me—” He starts again, but this time I raise my voice, talking over him, “I know you’re here for him! Your father sent you here to scope out the Blue Bayou.” I don’t want excuses. I know what I saw. “You want to buy my hotel.”

I huff out a laugh as Maverick pretends to look confused again, but I know that’s a front too. He’s not confused. He knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“Don’t do that!” I roar, pushing him out of the doorway and back out into the courtyard. I don’t want him in my apartment. I don’t want him in my space. I don’t want him in my hotel. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I might be naive, but I’m not stupid. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. You won’t fool me twice.”

I breathe heavily, my chest rising and falling as try to get control of my emotions.

“Carys,” Maverick starts, walking toward me with his hands up in surrender.

“Don’t! Don’t touch me.” Now the tears decide to make a return. “I trusted you. I thought you...” I stop, searching his face, but then I turn away, looking for an escape. I can’t look at him. I’ll cave. I’ll listen to him and let him convince me his lies are the truth. “I thought you were someone you’re not.”

“I am, Carys. I’m exactly who you think I am...I’m here for you,” Maverick pleads. “I’m not sure exactly what you saw or read, but you have to believe me.”

“No! I don’t have to believe you. I did that and look at us...look at me. I was doing just fine before you came. I’ll be even better after you leave! Go! Go back to your father and tell him that I’m never selling this hotel, not to him or anyone else!”

Maverick’s face falls and his hands fall limp at his sides.

I feel my features harden, something resembling hate rolling off me in waves.

“Carys.”

“Leave.”

My jaw is set tight, so tight it physically hurts. My shoulders squared. I want him to know I’m not weak. I’m not going to let him or anyone else push me over. I may be young and inexperienced, but I have a backbone...actually, I might have just found it, but now that I have, I’m using it. If I can’t stand up for myself, who will?

Definitely not Maverick.

He reaches for me again and begins to explain himself and his motives, but I turn my back to him, tuning him out. I don’t want to hear anything else. Nothing he can say will make this better.

I walk back into my apartment and slam the door, but I don’t leave from the spot until I’m sure he’s gone. Maybe it’s the last piece of me that longs for him. Maybe it’s the part of me that still wants him even though my heart feels broken. Maybe it’s the part of me that wants to believe him...

No.

Some part of me knew from the beginning that Maverick was too good to be true. It’s ridiculous to think a dreamboat of a man can walk into my hotel at just the perfect time with blue eyes and a smile that rivals the New Orleans sunshine...and that he would fill in all the cracks of my heart, making me believe in fate and destiny. He made me feel like I was always meant to meet him, like my heart and his had waited their whole lives to be in the same place at the same time.

When Mary mentioned my grandparents’ whirlwind romance, it made me think maybe history was repeating itself. I’d never been a girl who sat around planning her future or her wedding. I didn’t think about the guy I was going to marry. I didn’t dream about babies.

That’s not me.

But Maverick made me want all of that—marriage, babies, a family.

The tightness in my chest is back and it’s radiating up into my throat, causing me to press my lips together to keep the deep ache from spilling over.

Pushing off the door, I walk back to my bedroom, pull the curtains, turn off the lights, and crawl under the blankets, hiding from the world. From the protection of my cave, I pull my phone inside and send Jules a text message.

Me: I’m sick. Can you cover for me?

A few minutes go by before my phone dings with a response.

Jules: Did you catch the herpes from Dreamboat?

That should be funny. I should laugh. So, I fake it and send him a laughing face emoji.

Me: No, worse. I can’t leave the bathroom.

Two seconds later, the emoji with the medical mask followed by the green puke face shows up on my screen.

Jules: Say no more. Do you need soup? Is Dreamboat sick?

I pause with my thumb hovering over the screen before I finally reply.

Me: He’s leaving.

Clicking out of our message, I call Mary. A text message will never work with her, but with my voice as hoarse as it is from crying, she’ll believe a phone call.