Page 97 of Teasing

Good times.

Bad times.

Birthdays.

Graduations.

Football games.

Christmases.

Tiny events I never want to forget, mixed with the huge life events I want to commemorate. And mixed in with all of it is the past few months. Like a docuseries of my life. The last chunk could be titledFalling in Love. With Maverick. With Rosie. With their family. With my place in it.

Why didn’t I tell him the truth?

Why am I still protecting Vivi?

And why am I doing it at my own expense?

Hours later, I cross the yards and knock on Maverick’s door with my proverbial tail between my legs. Only this tail comes in the shape of a box of scrapbooks.

I think about putting the box down and texting Mav, but Jamie opens the door first, and I can tell he’s not thrilled by the lack of a smile on his face. “He’s on the back porch.”

“Thank you.” My heart nearly fails me as I step inside, and Jamie shuts the door.

“Don’t hurt him, Em,” he warns me, and I hate that he feels like he needs to protect Maverick from me.

“I won’t.”

I walk quietly through the house, knowing Rosie is probably asleep already and not wanting to wake her, then let myself out back, where Maverick is sitting on his teak sofa with a glass of bourbon in his hand and the firepit lit at his feet.

“Mav . . .”

He looks up at me, and I’m pretty sure I’ve already failed Jamie.

There’s no missing the hurt in his eyes.

And I’m the one that put it there.

“How’s your dad?” He moves over and makes room for me next to him.

Maybe I should put space between us, but I don’t want to.

I want him. I need to fix this. “He’s okay. He fell, but nothing is broken.”

“Nothing but us, right?” He laughs, and it’s a harsh, broken sound.

“We’re not broken, Maverick. If you’ll let me tell you a story, I think you’ll understand those scrapbooks more.” I put the box between us and take out the top one. My finger traces Vivi’s curly handwriting and the year she printed underneath it. I flip it open and show him the first page. “This was Vivi, Camden, and me a year ago. He flew us out for his first preseason game.”

“You and your sister look alike.”

“We did.” My heart hurts, remembering how many times we were told that, and longing for someone to tell us that again. “She was my best friend.”

I think about how many times she talked me off a ledge. How many nights she helped me study or listened to me cry.The way she taught me to drive or helped me fill out my college applications, while I cried that I couldn’t afford it and she promised she’d make it work. “She was always my first phone call. Some days, she still is.”

“What changed?” Mav asks as he flips through the next few pages, and I’d give anything to not have to say my next words. The ones lodged in my throat. The ones I refuse to believe some days.

I’d give everything for them not to be my truth.

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