Page 104 of Close Your Eyes and Count to 10

“I’m coming with you,” Hector said rising.

“No. Stay here, Hec.” He tried to be gentle with his tone. But he could not be dragging a quivering, out-of-shape Hector down into Enchantments. Tavo, even Alex would be an asset. But Hector’s skills kept him in the chair. Out in the field, he’d just get hurt. “I’m going live. Stay with me that way. If things go bad, get help.”

“How?” Hector said, sounding slightly panicked. “Who do you think is going to help us now, Mav?”

But Maverick was already out in the storm, heading to the hotel.

Outside, on the edge of the path, he hesitated.

The Range Rover stood off to the right of the campsite, gleaming in the rain. The keys were in his pocket, hard and cold. The duffel bags were in the back.

He glanced at the line of soldiers, still standing in the rain. They didn’t seem real, like a mirage or projected CGI.

“Hey,” he yelled, his voice faint in the storm. “Hey, we’re in serious trouble here. My girlfriend—someone’s taken her. Can we get a little help?”

Not one of them moved or even looked at him.

He looked back at the SUV.

Could he just start driving, smash through that line of soldiers with the big black vehicle? Get to the jet. Wait there until the storm cleared, then head…anywhere. If Tavo hadn’t taken the wrong Rover, Maverick and Angeline would already be gone. It had been their last chance to escape.

He glanced down the dark path, covered now with debris, that would lead him to Enchantments.

The day his mother died, Maverick had left her.

Don’t go, the hospice nurse had said.She doesn’t have much time.

His aunt had been there. Her best friend Pauline. They’d been quietly taking care of her and Mav for days. Reading to his mom from the paper, bringing him food even when he said he wasn’t hungry. Playing the podcasts she loved, talking to her about news events. She wasn’t alone. He remembered the light in that room, a kind of buttery yellow though the drapes. The sound of her monitors. The hospital smell—antiseptic and illness. The scent of sadness.

There was an interview scheduled, a big network morning show to promote the upcoming challenge. It mattered in the way things like that mattered, and he knew if his mother was conscious, she’d tell him to go. She wouldn’t want him sitting there crying,waiting for her to die. She would consider it a waste of time. After all, without her there would be no Extreme, there would be no Maverick Dillan. It was through the lens of her camera, her tireless efforts, that he had become everything that he was now.

He’d sat beside her a moment, held her hand, put it to his lips. He touched her wispy blond hair. She looked ancient, though she was just fifty.

Mom, he said silently.I’ll be right back. Just…stay awhile longer.

Live your life, Maverick.He thought that’s what she’d say if he asked her what he should do.Go.

And so, he’d left. The waiting Lincoln Town Car took him into the city. He sat in the greenroom, thinking about his mother, going through the motions. The interview—it had taken approximately four minutes—was a blur in his memory, bright lights, an impossibly made-up and coiffed interviewer, giant cameras like robots surrounding a faux living room set.

Lots of people saw it, posted about it, said all the things they always say when he was on television or in the paper for his challenges or his charity work. That he was a hero, a sellout, an angel; that he only did the good things he did for more money and more views; that he was hot, or a fat ass. His WeWatch followers jumped ten percent; a pop star tweeted that she was a fan. It was, by all accounts, a huge success and one of the things that took Extreme to the next level. Like a prize he found onRed World, something that shuttled him to the next layer of play.

And then in the car on the way back to the hospital, he felt the universe shift. To this day, he’d swear to it. The sun went behind the clouds, and the driver had the radio on, and his mom’s favorite Stevie Nicks song started playing. And he knew.

He didn’t cry.

Then, moments later, his aunt texted him.

She’s gone, Mav. It was peaceful. She loved you more than she loved anything in this world.

What she didn’t say:And you weren’t here.

Maverick didn’t cry, didn’t make a sound. Didn’t call a soul.

He just sat with it, listening to Stevie croon about her fear of change.

Back at the hospital, he sat in the room with his mom in that yellow light, the monitors finally quiet. One by one, the guys arrived. Alex, then Tavo, then Hector. They stood around him, a hand on his shoulder, a voice in his ear.

I’m sorry, man.

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