Page 147 of A Little Complicated

Pushing to my feet, I turn around, unlock the door, and open it before I lose my nerve. “Why did you break up with me?”

“What?”

“I want to know why you broke my heart before prom.”

The front lawn is surprisingly empty. Everyone is still at the back of the house playing Never Have I Ever. It only amplifies Maverick’s silence to my question. The gutted look on his face etches itself into my memory as I wait for him to say something. Anything.

When he doesn’t, my blood boils. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“I do, but—”

“Just answer the question, Mav.”

“Ophelia…” He sighs, squeezing the back of his neck. “I will, but it’s a long, complicated story, and after everything that happened tonight…”

“Fine.” I nod. “Goodnight, Maverick.”

I start to shut the door, but his palm slaps against it, preventing me from closing it as he stares at me with so much conviction, so much hurt, it nearly brings me to my knees.

“I didn’t wanna do it this way,” he murmurs.

“Do what?” I demand. “Tell me the answer to something I deserved to know months ago?”

His head jerks back a few inches, but he reaches for my arm. I shy away from his touch. He doesn’t get to do this. To try to make things better by touching me when we both know our physical response to each other has never been the issue. It’s this. Communicating. Actually talking instead of shoving our problems under the rug.

Helpless, Maverick runs his hands through his wavy hair and looks down at his dark biker boots. “You’re right. You deserve to know the truth.”

“Yeah. I do.” I fold my arms and wait, refusing to invite him inside no matter how much I want to. “Tell me why you broke up with me.”

His eyes snap to mine. “Tell me where you see your life in five years.”

My mouth dips at the corners, and I hesitate as a heady sense of whiplash washes over me. “What?”

“You’re the one always talking about the future,” he pushes, moving closer to me, and this time, I let him. “Tell me where you see yourself in five years.”

“Can we stay on topic, please? You and I—”

“Humor me, Lia,” he begs. “Tell me where you see yourself in five years.”

“Fine. Uh, graduated, obviously. Probably in a serious relationship. Hopefully still playing hockey. Why?”

He steps even closer and cages me in, leaning his elbow along the doorjamb behind me. “Ask me where I see myself in five years,” he demands.

“Mav—”

“Just ask me.”

I don’t know what stupid game he’s playing, but it’s getting on my nerves. With a huff, I ask, “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“I don’t.”

My brows knit. “What?”

“I don’t see myself in five years.”

“Why? Because you suck at thinking about your future?” I assume.

His expression falls. “Because I don’t have a future, Lia.”

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