“So, you’ve been keeping tabs on my social media?” There’s a playfulness in Eloise’s voice I didn’t know still existed. I glance sidelong at her and catch the smirk on her lips.
“Well, I have. Not like Mavie has social media.” My sister is trying to cover her slip. Aside from everything else that happens in life, her and I are thick as thieves.
It’s just her and I, but something about Eloise here with us fits, too. I shake that image away, not allowing it to take root in my thoughts.
They both continue on, and my mind wanders to the what-ifs despite trying to stop it. The possibility of more with Eloise. The thought that had I not given her up, where could we be today.
Chapter Nine
Eloise
I know something bad happened to Betsy by the look in her eyes, but another attempt from Maverick to get it out of her is useless.
She doesn’t want to talk about it, which concerns me. Being fifteen is one of the hardest periods in a girl’s life and sounds like she’s without a mother to confide in.
“Seriously, it’s fine.” She tells him as we walk inside. “Can I please just go to my room?” She looks at me, the look in her eyes begs for an escape.
I refuse to step on his toes, but I think of something to ease the tension.
“Maybe after some sleep, you guys can talk about it in the morning?”
“Right,” Betsy says. The look is pleading. Her skin is blotchy, and dark mascara streaks her cheeks. Please, Maverick, don’t make her admit what happened yet.
She doesn't appear to be hurt physically, and I pray it’s not something else, but hounding her won’t get her talking, that's for sure. Maverick is persistent, always needing to help someone he cares about.
“You told me you would be at Sarah’s. How did you end up over on the other side of town? You want me to trust you. We have to be honest with each other above all else.”
“I know.” She uses the sleeve of her well-loved hoodie to wipe her eyes. “I didn’t know her plan when I went over, I swear.”
I believe her. That look is hard to argue with, but I’m not so sure Maverick’s as convinced as I am.
“You should have said no to going or come right back home.”
Had she done that, she may have caught her brother in a compromising position, but again, I’m not about to add my input.
“I was trying to give you some privacy. You never have women over.” Maverick rubs his eyes, and I glance away. Oh wow, that was interesting news. “I thought Sarah wanted to hang out.”
“Go to your room. We will talk about this more later.”
She nods, then turns to go upstairs. Maverick sits on the couch, his head lowered in his hands. His hair is a mess from the desperate way his hands have traveled through it.
I step over to the couch and sit next to him. My hands land on his back and his forearm. I squeeze; just enough to let him know I’m here.
“Someone hurt her. I don’t know how bad, but she’s hiding it. Afraid to tell me, but I saw the pain in her eyes. And fuck Eloise, it’s eatin’ me up inside.” His accent is thick, which only happens when he’s worried. My heart twists for him.
“She’ll talk when she’s ready. Give her time.”
He nods and rubs his eyes. He’s so worn out. My hand slides to the back of his neck to massage it. Just a comforting touch, which I hope lets him take a deep breath and give himself a few moments to re-center.
He lets out a deep groan. “God, that feels good.”
The sound of his voice makes me shiver, so I deepen the pressure. He groans again, and I shift on the couch. His voice has lowered to a whisper, and the sound lights my body on fire. I need more—to hear it again and again.
I hear footsteps down the hall and the sound of the refrigerator door opening, water pouring into a cup, and the refrigerator shutting again.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m just going to go back to my room,” Betsy says from the kitchen as she peeks in.
I see now that she wants to talk to her brother without me around. She’s checking to see if I left. I understand. She doesn’t know me well enough to confide while I’m around.
“No, you’re good,” I promise. “I was just heading out to go check on my father.”
Maverick meets me by the door, and I lower my voice when I come in close. His arm wraps around my waist.
“Take it easy on her with the sneaking off. I think she learned it was a mistake already.”
“Thank you.” He rubs his thumb over my cheek. I give him a soft smile. We’ll figure this out, I think. “Have good dreams tonight,” Maverick says with a wink.
He used to always tell me that. As I turn from his house and make my way to Dad’s truck, I think of those nights we spent together. When we would sneak away after sunset. When the moon hung high on cloudless summer nights, he’d bring a blanket out to lie by the lake.
We would stay under that night sky and talk about our dreams, our hopes, and the moments we would share one day.
I told him so many things under that star-speckled night sky. My dreams of traveling the world taking photos. Ever since I saw my grandfather’s photos in an old National Geographic, it was my dream.
With a swipe of my hand, I clear a fallen tear from my cheek. If Betsy was keeping him here, Maverick knew he couldn’t follow me, but if he asked me to stay, he knew I would.
Maverick knew how much I loved him. Enough to give up those hopes and dreams I had to stay in Montana and help him. I would have. If he had said I love you that night, I would have tossed it all away and stayed in Montana with him.
But that’s because those dreams always included him beside me. He would have been a songwriter. And he could do that anywhere in the world. That was his dream.
Our dreams we’re always in sync. So, if I needed to shift mine, then I would have made new ones. I slam my hand on the steering wheel of Dad’s truck.
To know Maverick loved me when we were younger makes me see our past in a new light. But he also lied to me—kept secrets he should have shared. And I’m not sure what to think of that, or this sensation forming in my chest. So, I rub it away and drive back to Dad’s house.
“These are perfect, Eloise.” Mallory cups her hands over her mouth as she looks at the photographs we hung the day before. Her approval resounds through the living room.
“Thank you.” I nibble the skin on the edge of my thumb. “Are you sure about this one?”
I point to the photo of the ranch, blanketed in the warmth of a late setting sun. I think I could have gotten a better angle, and I was struggling with the lighting. It’s been too long since I’ve taken photos and I’m rusty.
“That’s one of my favorites.” She walks over to the photograph of herself. “This one’s good, right?”
I’m certain that it will be my father’s favorite. I caught her brushing her horse, and I swear I’ve never seen a more serene look on someone’s face in all my life. The breeze lifts her hair—her dress fluttering in the wind.
“Yeah, that one’s perfect.”