Page 70 of Crazy Good
“Do you want me to do that?” A light on the walkway lights the side of his devastatingly handsome face. I see one dimple and white teeth and a hazel eye.
I shake my head. “Nah, but I do like that movie,” I say, sitting down on the stone bench. My feet already hurt and we’ve barely walked—the price of freaking beauty. I put a pair of roll up flats in my tiny purse because I do not want to go home with another blister or Band-Aid. As it is, I’ll be wearing UGG boots to work with my skirts for two weeks. I cross my legs and let one of my heels pop out of the shoe for relief.
Maverick looks up toward the hotel and checks his watch, his free hand fidgeting by his side. “Your feet hurt already?” It’s been the ongoing joke all weekend. I look around as small spotlights flick on, lighting the patio that we’re sitting in. I narrow my eyes at the onslaught of white light.
I look up at Maverick. I lie. “My feet are perfect. What did you want to show me? The timers on these lights have perfect timing.” He runs a hand through his hair as he stares at my face, my eyes. Looking for something, no doubt. When he doesn’t speak, I smile. He smirks.
Then he hands me a small jewelry box. My heart starts pounding. Not just pounding, but like rocking against my chest in a crazy rhythm that matches my stomach flipping. My mind goes blank, like absolutely black as I take the box from his palm. When I finally tear my gaze from the black box, I glance at him.
He chuckles. “Go ahead. Open it. You can see it now…in the light,” he says. I watch as he swallows, his neck working. He’s nervous which makes me nervous. With shaking hands I fumble a bit, but eventually flip open the lid.
It’s a necklace.
To be more specific, it’s a gold trident. The same symbol he wears on his uniform—the symbol that marks him a SEAL. It’s an eagle clutching a rifle and a trident. It’s beautiful. Its significance isn’t lost on me. This is Maverick giving me part of his world. It’s him asking me to be a part of it. It’s also him asking me to accept all of him—even this part, the one that takes as much as it gives.
“Flip it over,” he says, clearing his throat. On the wings on either side of the pendant are tiny, engraved coordinates.
“I know what these numbers mean.” I rub one wing. It’s the same longitude and latitude that reside on Mav’s chest. The exact moment he fell in love with me. My stomach flutters as I take in a deep breath. “But what are these?” I rub my thumb on the other side, where the unfamiliar coordinates are etched. I look up to Mav. Scared freaking shitless would be the words I use to describe him right now. His hands shake by his sides, and his eyes are a little glassy. His usual cocky confidence is nowhere to be found—It’s extinct like the dinosaurs. The man standing before me now is stripped of all of his defenses, transparent as glass.
“It’s the exact location you said yes,” he replies, his voice rising at the end. He gestures to the garden around us.
“Said yes to what?” I ask, looking around. Did I miss a question? Is a pack of rabid animals about to attack us? Why is he acting like this? He just gave me a beautiful necklace. Maverick should be happy, secure. Not whatever it is he’s feeling. After peering around the garden I turn my confused gaze to Maverick. He wipes his palms down the sides of his black pants. I glance down at the necklace one more time and back up to him.
Dropping to one knee he swallows once and says, “Will you marry me, Windsor Forbes? Make me the happiest man in the world. Marry me? Say yes. Please say yes.” He pulls out a second beautiful black box from his jacket pocket and opens it. A huge, and I do mean huge, glittering diamond shines up at me. Seconds pass as I try to formulate a response. When his hand wobbles, I throw myself into his arms and clutch him as tightly as I can while still keeping us from falling over. The happy tears come.
I pull back and look into his huge, shining eyes. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes. A million times yes.” He slips the enormous emerald-cut stone on the finger that it will ostensibly be on for the rest of time. He kisses it, looking at it with such reverence. Then he takes the box from my other hand and clasps the necklace around my neck. Both gleaming objects signaling his claim to me—more importantly they’re symbols of my acceptance of him.
I bring my hand up to inspect the ring more closely. “It’s so beautiful Mav. It’s so beautiful,” I say, voice shaking with raw emotion. “We’re engaged!” I exclaim. The word sounds odd, because I never dreamed Maverick would be proposing to me. But like everything he does, it’s perfect and unexpected in the best way.
“It’s not nearly beautiful enough to compare to you. You said yes,” he says. Of course I said yes. Our love is perfect. “We’re engaged,” he repeats. The excitement on his face is palpable. A kid on Christmas is less excited than Maverick in this moment. I don’t have answers about the future. All we have is right now, though. And right now is the best moment of my life. “I’ll make you happy, Win. I’ll be the husband you deserve. I’ll be a man worth your love. I swear it.”
“I never doubted you would be. Of course I said yes. Was there even a question?” I ask through happy tears. He kisses me, sealing our deal. My ring catches my eye as I cup his jaw. Butterflies invade my stomach. He draws back and looks at me—at my face and my necklace, while running his hands down my arms.
The spotlights fade and the dim lights illuminate our secret garden. Maverick shakes his head, laughing. “There was never, not for one second in time, since the day I met you, a question.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Maverick
Six Months later
We didn’t get married in Vegas like you’d expect. I wanted to juxtapose the person I once was with the person who I’d become, so I proposed in Sin City. Windsor deserves the huge wedding she’s always dreamed of. I’m the lucky fucker who gets to give her exactly that. And pretty much whatever else she wants.
I’d do about anything to see her smile. All she does these days is smile. Even with the pressure of wedding planning, she laughed and smiled her way through the big decisions like they were easy. When I asked her about it, she said that as long as I was standing at the end of the aisle when the wedding march started playing, the rest were just measly details that didn’t matter. That statement is pretty much why I love her. It’s also why I haven’t so much as looked at a drop of alcohol since the bad time in my life.
I’ve been seeing a therapist, at Windsor’s insistence, and it’s helped me understand why I drank to begin with. He said I wasn’t addicted, per se. I craved the numbness and I’d take it anyway I could get it. Distancing myself from Windsor after Stone died was another thing I used to numb my emotions. If I didn’t feel love or happiness, my sadness and grief diminished as well. I shut out everything. Healing was easy with Windsor by my side, feeding me every single good thing I never knew I needed. For the first time in my life, I’m living a full life in every respect. I’ve got the fucking world by the ass. I just had to lose myself completely to get a better grip. Something the doc told me was normal. I’m okay with the normal label when it comes to that.
The Monica monster signed the divorce papers, freeing me from that abhorrent woman for the rest of time. Morganna probably threatened her life or something else Morganna-like, but whatever she did worked. I’ve never appreciated the sanctity of marriage until right now. When marrying the woman of my dreams for all the right reasons. Not because I have to, not because I think it’s right, but becauseit isright. Nothing is more right. I’m like a firecracker with a short fuse. I’m so excited to marry Windsor—to make her officially mine.
This day, our wedding day, couldn’t come soon enough. I would have whisked her to a courthouse to seal the deal the second she said yes, but I used restraint. I’m standing at the front of the huge fucking church, the same church where I spoke at Stone’s funeral, and I’m hit with conflicting emotions. Good, bad, sappy and everything in between. The rows and rows of wedding guests are all dressed in bright, cheery colors, wearing smiles and happy tears. White and pink flowers are everywhere, stuck in arrangements, hanging from the ceiling, down by my feet, in every nook and cranny that is large enough to fit a flower. It’s pretty. It’s what she wanted.
My parents are here today, in the front row, beaming at me like I finally did something right. I guess I did do something right to have such a great woman in my life. If that’s what it takes to get them back in my life, I’m okay with it. We’ve been talking, patching things up over the past months at Windsor’s suggestion. Stone would be proud, I think. It’s something he always hoped for me. You always have to start somewhere in any type of relationship. Sometimes in a noisy bar with a wet shoe, sometimes at a wedding. I smile when I catch my mom’s eye. She wipes a tear and I hope she’s proud of me. I hope she thinks I’m doing something honorable and right. I hate that I want that approval, but I do. I always will. My father wraps his arm around her and whispers something in her ear. He nods my way. I tilt my head in his direction. Mending burned bridges takes time.
Steve claps me on the back and whispers, “you fuckin’ got this man. You locked that shit up.” I smile and nod, hoping Windsor’s Grandma in the front row didn’t hear his foul mouth. We are in a church, after all. Steve’s my best man. I can’t help but get a little emotional when I think about who should be standing behind me today, but I know he’s here. Wafting in the rafters, with a towel wrapped around his fucking neck, smiling like an idiot. God, do I miss Stone. Every day. Every second.
Windsor sent Gretchen with a pair of cufflinks and a letter this morning while she was getting ready, a process that takes entirely too long in my opinion. The cufflinks were polished gray stones. I got a little choked up when I read the letter. The simple gift is the single most thoughtful present I’ve ever received.
I rub one of the stones whenthemusic starts playing. The entire congregation stands and looks toward the doors, backlit with streaming sunlight. Goose prances down the aisle and stops halfway, and turns to look back at the door. Laughing, I call him. Obediently he trots over to me, while small bursts of laughter ring out. I untie the rings from the little pillow strapped to his neck and hand Windsor’s to Steve. Morganna struts down the aisle by herself, a huge grin plastered on her face. Her pink dress swishes as she walks. Steve clears his throat from behind me. I turn to give him a mini-glare. He laughs. I hand Morganna my ring and she takes her place on the other side, followed by Gretchen who sweeps Goose up into her arms.
