Part 13 (1/2)

”Yeah.”

Chapter 20.

Cancun, Mexico 27 Months Ago ”You're quiet,” Maverick says.

We've ordered our food, and I haven't said anything since. Maverick is leaving in the morning, and that's it. He'll go back to law school and I'll go back my dreaded computer science cla.s.ses, and the six days we shared here will be no more than a memory.

”Sorry,” I say. ”I guess I'm tired.”

He studies me for a moment, and unbidden my gaze floats up to his. Once there, I can't look away. He has me hypnotized, and I'm scared he'll see right through me. I hate that Finley has this kind of superpower over me, and I hate that Maverick seems to have it too. Am I that transparent?

”I don't want to hear bulls.h.i.+t, Alieya,” he murmurs, his voice low and heavy and rubbing me the wrong way. If I'm so d.a.m.n obvious, then this shouldn't be difficult to figure out.

”What do you want me to say?” I ask, biting back the sting in my throat. I've worked myself up in the last few days. The inevitable isn't something we talked about, and the nagging feeling in my gut has only grown. I don't want what we have to end.

Maverick reaches for my hands and rubs his thumbs over the backs of them. ”The truth.”

Should I? Probably not. Every instinct I have screams at me to lie. Make something up, you idiot! they yell. Remember Chris? Remember what he said, what he did to you?

They're right. That kind of trust isn't built in a week. This truth is ingrained in me, so I have no idea why I open my mouth. ”You're leaving tomorrow; me, the next day.”

Maverick smirks. ”Are you saying you're going to miss me?”

I don't know why he's grinning, but the small action makes the tension roll off of me.

”Maybe.”

”Just maybe? I'm not going to tell you my secret for just 'maybe.'”

”A secret?” I repeat. ”Is this some CIA thing regarding Finley's and my arrest?”

”More like your plea bargain.”

Just like that, I'm smiling. Smiling, even though I'm anxious as h.e.l.l what I'm about to admit and what he's going to say.

”All right. Yes, I'm going to miss you.”

He sits back, smug, and crosses his arms. ”Good. Because I'm going to miss you. In fact, I'm going to miss you so much that I've been doing some checking. J. Vernon University has a top-rated art program and it's only four and a half hours from Chicago. Application deadline is next month.”

I blink. Stare at him as his words soak in. ”Are you...You want me to transfer schools?”

Maverick leans forward onto his elbows. ”You have a gift, one you love. Don't let fear hold you back from learning how to use it.”

My mind starts to spin. What he's suggesting, it won't work. I told him before why I have to stick with computer science. I wish it could be different. I wish I could drop everything at home and move and pursue art like Pica.s.so, but it's not possible.

I shake my head. ”I can't afford to leave. I get in-state tuition where I am. I live at home to save money. I can't do those things in Illinois. Plus my mom, I can't just spring this on her. She depends on me.”

I find it's easier to come up with reasons why I can't. They're at the forefront of my brain.

”Listen. You can get a scholars.h.i.+p. They offer on-campus jobs, and we can figure out housing. You have all summer to work on a new plan for your home responsibilities. Nothing is impossible.”

He's adamant, has an answer for everything, and I'm again speechless. I'd be leaving my mother, my sister, Finley, and living on my own hundreds of miles away. I don't even own a reliable car. What if I need help?

”It'll get you out of that town,” Maverick says. ”Away from Chris.”

”He doesn't bother me anymore.”

”Maybe not, but he's still there, and I don't want you anywhere near him.”

”Are you getting all protective of me?” I tease.

Maverick doesn't smile. ”Yeah, I am.”

That wasn't the answer I expected. His face is serious, eyes hard, and lips pulled tight.

”Alieya, you said the other night that I left a mark on you. You've left one on me too, and I'm not ready to let you go.”

I wasn't expecting that either. Hoped for it, sure, but I never believed he'd say it. And now that he has, I don't have an answer. What he's asking is so big. That he's not ready to say goodbye is even bigger.

”I'm not ready either,” I whisper.

”Then let's do this. You can come a little early for interviews and stay with me until cla.s.ses start.”

”You make it sound easy.”

”It won't be, but I don't care. I want you in my life.”

”Okay,” I hear myself say.

Maverick smiles, and all I can see is bright, bright yellow.

Chapter 21.

Present Day 6:03 a.m.

I can't bring myself to draw Maverick. Not his face, anyway. So I settle on his hand. There's an IV sticking out of his vein, and I concentrate on that.

The first twenty-four hours are critical, they said. I have to be here when Mav wakes, and if I retreat further into the gray, I won't be.

And so I draw. Lines flow from my fingertips, curving and changing directions as I allow myself to get consumed. I glance up often, keeping focused only on the image I'm depicting.

I breathe, slow inhales and exhales, studying every angle, every crinkle in the blanket his hand rests on. Each little detail. Those are what make art come alive and reach down into a person's soul.