Chapter Twenty-four
Maverick
Present Day
I hold the letter in my hands like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. I’ve memorized the size, shape, and weight of the envelope. I promised Morganna we’d open the letter together and it’s the least I can do. It was like a never-ending nightmare when I woke up in the hospital.
First, I see Monica’s face. And if that wasn’t enough to throw me into an absolute fucking fit of rage, they told me Stone died. My brother—the only person who was there for me for as long as I can remember is gone forever. Denial would be the easiest way to cope, but even that doesn’t fill the jagged hole in my heart.
Tiny pieces of the mission float back to me as the days pass and I’m finally at the point when anytime I close my eyes, I see my best friend sacrificing himself for me, bits of his body coating me as I lie on a dirty floor wishing I’d made the move first. It would have been easier to wallow in my pretend denial had my darling wife been absent.
After I threatened Monica, she left the hospital and promised to finally sign the divorce papers. Morganna gave them to her at least seventeen times in the past five years. It took seeing me shot up, in a hospital bed, looking her in the eye and telling her that I never loved her—that I will never love her, for her to see the light.
Monica never truly wanted me, she wanted my career…my community. I married her at a courthouse when she got pregnant five years ago on a trip back to my hometown with Stone. It was my pathetic attempt to win my family over by doing the right, moral thing. Of course her convenient miscarriage came two weeks after the wedding. She’d manipulated me into giving her exactly what she wanted.
When I found out she lied about being pregnant, I left her. It was also the very last time I did anything because society deemed it “right” or “moral”. She’s refused to divorce me ever since.
I pay her monthly. Partly to keep her mouth shut, and also because somewhere inside me I’m a good person. I loved the idea of having a baby. I wasn’t fond of Monica, but the idea of a baby is one I eventually liked. The day I walked away from Monica, I distanced myself that much further from my parents. To them, my loser status reached new, unfathomable depths. Little did they know…little did they know.
Morganna blasts into my bedroom, wearing huge sunglasses and sweatpants that hang off her body. She’s unrecognizable. She hasn’t answered a phone call from anyone except the guys or me since it happened. I can’t even think the words without feeling ill. Morg looking like hell is a reminder I don’t want. I pick a spot on the wall and focus on it.
Taking a deep breath I say, “You look like shit. He’d hate it. You know he’d hate it.” My voice is hoarse from rarely using it…and because emotion clogs everything.
She kicks off her shoes, pulls the covers back on the other side of my bed, and gets in, sunglasses on.
I roll to my side and truly look at her. “Hey,” I say, clearing my voice. I lift her glasses to rest on the top of her head. “You actually have to go in public tomorrow, Morg.”
The funeral. I shiver. Her sad eyes, rimmed with permanently wet, black lashes meet mine. What I find there crushes me. Dealing with my grief is one thing—I can internalize it—but Morganna’s is quite another. It takes me a full three seconds to swallow.
“I can’t do it. I really can’t,” she sobs. “It’s not real, Mav. It’s not real. I woke up this morning and I forgot for one tiny second. And then it hit me all at once. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe without him…my heart,” she whispers bringing both hands up to her chest.
I know exactly what she’s feeling. It’s a full-blown panic attack; except the misery is so overwhelming that it takes my breath away. I hug her close to my body and listen to her sobs, feeling her cry against my chest. I try to find the spot on the wall again, but I’m not quick enough. A solitary tear slips out and runs down my face.
“Have you talked to her?” she asks, looking up to my face. I shake my head. Windsor. The thought of her pains me. The thought of kissing her reminds me of death. Monica told me she was at the hospital. Driving away Windsor by letting her assume I’m married is the only good thing Monica has ever done. Because I don’t think I can look at her without facing harsh reality. How much heartache can one person deal with before it drives them mad?
I’ll soon find out. Morganna’s assistant fields both of our phone calls. I haven’t even asked him if Windsor’s called or texted. Attachments kill people. I’m living, breathing proof. I may take breaths and my heart may beat, but I’m not alive anymore. The good part of me died in a dusty room far from home.
“He’d want you to,” Morg whispers, trying to ply me with my own words. “You can’t blame yourself.”
A random stranger would be able to recognize the guilt that sits on my shoulders. I shake my head. I would have died for Stone in a heartbeat. He did what I would have if I were thinking clearly. I’m not sure which is worse. The guilt I carry or actually being dead. The latter seems preferable at the moment.
“He’d still be alive if I didn’t fall for Windsor. That’s a fact. I’m a fuck-up.”
“You are not a fuck-up. She loves you, Maverick. You need people who love you around. She deleted the photo because she didn’t want you to concern yourself with it. Johnny was trying to talk to her all night. You know what she said when she finally did talk to him?”
I haven’t heard this story yet. Honestly, I fucking forgot about it. It’s funny how something so insignificant becomes such a powerful catalyst. I nod, urging her to continue, though I’ve already made up my mind about Windsor.
“She told him she’s so in love with you that she can’t see straight. And then she thanked him for cheating on her because she’d never have met you otherwise.” Morganna lays her head on my chest. I try to swallow, but it gets stuck in my throat. “I broke confidentiality and told her about that bitch, Monica. She was still angry you lied, but I bet you’d have a shot with her. You need her, Mav. Trust me, love like that only comes around once.”
I kill her husband and she tries to salvage my relationship. It makes me sick.
I sigh. It’s painful, and reminds me that I have to keep breathing. “I’ll always love Windsor. She’s the only one for me, but I can’t be with her. We have each other. We’ll get through this, Morg. We’ll get through it.” Because I have to be strong for you, I think. Stone would want that.
Morganna sniffles. “Don’t make this more tragic than it has to be.” Her wise words rattle around in my mind, but eventually peter out. I refuse to take things I don’t deserve. I won’t destroy another life. “We do have each other. But don’t think I’ll sleep with you.” She smiles against me. I kiss the top of her head. My heart aches more than I thought possible.
Several silent, morbid seconds pass. We’re both thinking of him.
“Come with me tomorrow. I need you,” she admits. “No one knows what this feels like except you. You’re the only one who understands. I miss him, God. I miss him.”
I miss you too, Bro. If there was ever a time I believed in a God or a place after death, it’s now. Because someone like Stone doesn’t just stop. It’s impossible.
“I need you too, Morg. I’ll be with you all day tomorrow. I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” I tell her, hugging her close. Stone’s sweatshirt still smells like him. He’s here in bed with us. Smiling, I shake my head at the fucked up thought.
“I invited her. She’ll be there,” Morganna says. I’m still amazed how quickly Phillipe organized the funeral. Morg didn’t have any part of it. She couldn’t. Phillipe knew without asking exactly what needed to happen. I told Morg she needed to pay him more. She agreed.
I clear my throat. “Everyone will be there,” I counter. Avoidance.
She changes the subject. “Read me the letter, Maverick. Read it to me,” Morganna whispers.
We’ve put it off long enough. I know if I hesitate another second, I won’t do it. Sliding my fingers under the flap, I open the envelope and pull out the two letters. I glance at Morganna, shake my head sadly, and open the perfect fold. Using more bravery than I’ve ever possessed, I read.
Morganna, Morg, my fuzzy kitten wrapped in canon ball metal:
Do you remember the time we went to Belgium? We spent a night drinking honey beer and talking to an old guy that kept showing us phone pictures of his half-naked, overweight girlfriend? I spoke French all night and you smoked stogies like a fucking Mafia lord. God, you are so fuckin’ hot. What about the time I tried to teach you to surf on a long board? The sight of you riding that huge wave makes me smile. Remember what you did to me on our wedding night? You freak.
The smile you have on your face right now (I know you’re smiling after that last question) is the reason I fell in love with you. If you’re reading this letter you’re gonna have to use that same perfect, fucking smile to trap another badass mofo’. I know you will and you need to know that I want you to move on.
Because you saved me, Morg and if you never saved another bad seed it would be worse than my lost life. And because you saved me, I could save Maverick. You know what that means to me.
I want you to understand you are the reason I live and breathe. My world gravitates around you. That hot fucking sun rises and sets because you live on this planet. It’s your face I see every time I close my eyes. It’s like you’re tattooed on the back of my eyelids. (Fuck, why didn’t I think of that sooner?) Don’t think anything different happened when I closed my eyes for the final time. I saw your face. In fact, when I get to the pearly gates, I expect to see your beautiful head residing on God’s body. That’s the only sight I want to see for eternity. If I don’t get it, I want my fucking money back. I love you, Morganna Sterns. I love every single piece of your perfect body and twisty-fuck mind. I love all of you.
Take care of Maverick. Take care of each other. You are the great love of my life. I’m sorry my life took away your love. It was the only thing capable of taking it—that’s something, right?
I’m sorry for a lot of things if you’re reading this. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a rock-n-roll son, or a devious daughter with your beautiful face. I’ll never get to see you hold our baby, or listen to you sing sweet lullabies with that hot southern drawl. I’m just sorry I went and got myself killed. I died doing what I love. I can say without a doubt that I died with pride filling my body. But my heart? That’s always only yours. Just yours. Nothing holds me like you do.
Wear the tight blue dress to the funeral. Don’t let them play bad music either. Pour Some Sugar on Me has to be included in the play list. I won’t be satisfied unless my mother is mortified. Keep your head up and tits out. Live on, baby. This isn’t goodbye—It’s see you later.
Forever, crazy, endless love,
Stone
Morganna is crying, somewhere in between happy and completely destroyed. Before I lose my nerve, I unfold the second letter and pull Morganna into the crook of my arm.
Mavvy, Brother, Thomas twin:
We are seven years old standing on the roof of my parent’s house. We have my mother’s best bath towels wrapped around our fucking necks. Side by side, our arms wrapped around each other’s backs. We counted to three and jumped from a second story roof. That should have been the first sign we were fucking crazy. We thought we could fly that day. I broke my right arm and you broke your left arm. We didn’t let go of each other even when we hit the damn ground. We never let go. Our parents were so pissed. How many planes have we jumped out of since then (successfully)? At least 500? We never leave each other behind. You’re reading this, so I must have left you. It’s obviously against my will because I’d never leave you without a fight.
Life is short, man. It’s too fucking short. Let go of all the hate. Reach out to your parents. They won’t turn you away…I know it. How? I talk to them, bro. They care about you. Give them a chance to know the real you. The man who is strong, wise, and capable of anything he sets his mind to. The man who was my friend before I even knew what a friend was. You are the man who gave my life purpose with one sentence, “Let’s be Navy SEALs.” Thank you, Mav. Thank you.
Don’t turn to the bottle, dude. I know that’s exactly what you’ll want to do. It may even be the first thing you think about after you finish reading this. I’m not at the bottom of a bottle. You are so much better than that. You never really needed me to keep you in line. You wanted to be in line. Give yourself more credit. And if you can’t, I’m gonna sick Morganna on you. (Hear that, Morg?) I guess I can finally admit that I’ve always been jealous of you. You’re a better fucking shot, your vagina dick is tighter, and those fucking dimples? You bitch. It feels so fucking weird saying goodbye to you. It’s like saying goodbye to myself.
You’re good, Mavvy. You’re good. I love you, brother. You’re the left to my right. Take care of Morganna. Don’t let her swim in the shark tank for too long. And for God’s sake—get the fucking girl. Tighten your fuckin’ towel, Bro.
If you fly, I fly
Stone