Page 82 of Bitter Beats

I shake my head. “Branson.”

Mav’s jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. “And?”

“The assignment we were paired up for—the clinic—it starts the end of January.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No!” I blurt out.

Mav frowns.

“Not now,” I amend. “It’s a snow day, remember?”

Mav watches me closely as I pull on my winter coat. I sense the wheels turning in his mind, but he doesn’t press me on Bran, and I’m relieved.I have too many details from that night clouding my mind, and still, there’s not enough.

Mav places a hat with a massive pompom on my head. A grin cuts his handsome face, and he pulls the cap down over my ears. “You look adorable.”

I snort, but a blush works over my cheeks.

How are compliments so easy for him to give? Does he genuinely mean the nice things he says? Or is he so accustomed to being charismatic that they roll off his tongue without a second thought?

“Ready?” His hand curls around the door handle.

“Let’s do it,” I agree.

Mav pulls open the front door, and an icy blast rushes in, hitting us full-on.

“Shit, it’s cold!” He laughs.

I tuck my chin and push against the draft until I stand in the front yard. Right now, it’s a winter wonderland.

“Enjoy this snow. In a few days, we’ll be in Vegas, and you’ll be wearing flip-flops,” he says, reminding me of our New Year’sEve plans.The Burnt Cloversare playing a show, and, as the supportive girlfriend I am, I’m making an appearance.

Since I didn’t take time off following Christmas, Kimberly noted I’m not contractually obligated to attend. But after Mav’s Christmas surprise, I don’t want to let him down.Besides, I’ll get to spend time with Allegra, Ivy, and Nova. There’s no way I want to miss that reunion.

“True. So, are you up for making a snowman?” I ask, surprising myself. I’m not really a “play in the snow” girl. I was seven or eight years old the last time I made a snowman. Still, the excitement that radiates off Mav is infectious, and I grin. Itisfun to be playful and spontaneous sometimes.

Mav doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts rolling a snowball.

I do the same, concentrating on my task. So much so I’m unprepared for the puff of snow that breaks apart in my face, coating my lips and chin in powder. The cold catches me off guard and stings my cheeks.

“Maverick Tate!” I whip my head toward him.

He shrugs and points at me, that boyish grin making an appearance.

I throw a snowball at his face and howl when it hits him in the mouth, wiping that grin right off.

Mav scrubs a gloved hand across the lower portion of his face. “Oh, Mckenna…” His voice holds a note of warning. “It’s on.”

“What?” I ask, moving into a crouching position. I lob another snowball in his direction. “You think you can take me on?”

“I think I’ll destroy you,” he taunts.

I toss my head back and laugh, but it’s cut short as a snowball narrowly misses my ear.

“Oh, it’s on,” I confirm.

Mav and I launch snowballs at each other, our gloves soaking through as we pack snow in our palms before flinging them through the air. We move around the yard, crouching by the stairs and ducking under the windowsill. Our laughter rings out in the quiet morning as we focus on our fierce competition with a side of fun.

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