Page 62 of Wicked Games

“Yeah. But I think I was old enough to know better,” he said gruffly. He was gripping the edge of the blanket so hard that his knuckles had turned white. “If he really wanted to borrow a fucking necklace, why wouldn’t he just ask our parents for the safe code? I should’ve known there was a reason he was being so weird about it.”

“Maverick, come on. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Well… I’ve always felt like it was.”

“I get it. But it’s not. I promise you that,” I said softly. “And listen, if you ever want to talk more about it… I’ll be here for you, okay? I might not know all the right things to say, but talking can still help.”

“You don’t have to say stuff like that,” he said in a clipped tone. “It’s not like we’re friends.”

“I’m not just saying it. I mean it,” I replied. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk about your feelings to someone who’s basically a stranger instead of close friends and family. So the offer is there. You can talk, and I’ll listen. Whenever you want.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

He went silent for another long moment. I waited for him to talk again, not wanting to interrupt his grief-stricken thought process.

“Anyway… to answer your original question, my car actually used to be Julian’s. He loved that thing,” he finally said. “When he was gone, I started using it because it felt like a way to be close to him again. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Whenever I drove it, I felt okay for a while. Like I could just pretend he was right there in the passenger seat, or at home waiting for me to bring it back to him. That probably sounds fucking stupid, but—”

I lifted my hand and cut him off. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all. Believe me.”

Maverick finally looked at me. His gaze had hardened. “When you crashed into it, the whole thing got written off. Permanently fucked. And I know this might make me sound like an unhinged freak, but when it happened, it actually felt like I was losing Julian all over again.”

“I get it. And I’m so sorry,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. My stomach was twisting into knots. “You really don’tsound unhinged at all. It makes total sense. That car must’ve felt like your last real connection to your brother.”

He nodded curtly. “Yeah, it did. And then some drugged-up dumbass car thief took it away forever.”

“I’m so sorry. Really. I wish I could take that whole night back,” I said, eyes filling with tears.

“You can’t.” Maverick let out a heavy sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You just can’t.”

I dabbed at my cheeks and sniffed back another wave of tears. “I know.”

He glanced at me again. “I’ve tried not to hate you, you know? I’ve tried to tell myself you had no idea what you took from me. That it was just a car. But I can’t get there. I look at you and I want you, because you’re so fucking beautiful, but then I remember who you are and what you did and I just…” He trailed off and shook his head. “It drives me fucking crazy, Carey.Youdrive me fucking crazy.”

“Maverick…” I squeezed my eyes shut, still trying to stem the flow of tears. “I’m not trying to excuse what I did that night. What I took from you. But can you just let me say something about it?”

“Sure,” he muttered.

I opened my eyes and dabbed at them with my sleeve. “I was at a party that night. It was the first time I ever met Hudson.”

Maverick cast a curious side-eyed glance at me. “Hudson Calloway?”

“Yes.” I paused and swallowed hard. “I was actually sober that night, but he drugged me and tried to… well, I’m sure you can guess.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he swallowed thickly and looked at me again. “He hurt you?” he said in a low voice.

“No. But he tried.”

Maverick’s hands clenched into fists. “I knew it. I fuckingknewit from the way you looked at him,” he said. “I could tell something happened between you two. Something fucking bad.”

“Yeah.” I wiped my cheeks again and went on. “Anyway, I managed to escape from him, and that’s when I stole the car. I was just trying to get the hell away from that place, but I really should’ve—”

Maverick bluntly cut me off. “Carey, stop.”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I know it doesn’t change what I took from you.”

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