I have to help them.
I have to bring him back to life.
He can’t leave me.
The team does the same thing I was doing.
Push, push, breathe, breathe.
Nothing, nothing.
Every part of me dies when they pronounce him dead. My soul is ripped right out of me and thrown into the ocean.
Connor is dead.
Because of me.
19
Veronica
I do what I always do. I flee. At first, I walk around aimlessly for what seems like hours. While I walk around the campus, my head runs rampant with my past. Every memory Connor and I made the year we were together flashes through my mind.
The way he made me feel.
The way I felt when he died.
The way I haven’t felt since.
The way I feel again, because of Maverick.
Because of stupid, considerate, compassionate, Maverick.
I wasn’t supposed to feel like this again. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything. I shouldn’t be feeling anything. The moment that Connor lost his life in front of me—because of me—I lost any chance at feeling this way again. I don’t deserve it. I don’t want it.
All I do is destroy. I’m a toxic person. My love is poison. I’ve poisoned one person already, enough for him to lose his life over it. I won’t let it happen again.
The months that turned into years after Connor’s death were all awful.
Connor’s parents were devastated. Everyone looked at me differently. They either pitied me or blamed me for Connor’s death. My parents continuously tried to tell me it wasn’t my fault, but they weren’t there. They didn’t realize he wouldn’t have been in the water if it weren’t for my childish games.
I didn’t hold him under the water until his lungs gave out, but I might as well have.
I survived—barely—in that town for three years before I had to leave. After taking online college courses for an extended amount of time, I told my parents I was going to college thousands of miles away. Then I left, saying goodbye to no one other than them.
My feet now take me to Lenny’s of their own accord. I’d been too lost in my thoughts to even figure out where I was drifting to. I look around the dive bar, trying to clear my head.
When Maverick had asked me what happened to Connor, I panicked. I didn’t want to tell him what I’d done. I didn’t want him to look at me the same way the people in my whole hometown did. Like I was this disease. I didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes—the disgust. But at the same time, I almost want to divulge this secret to him.
I want to rip my heart open, let him look at every broken and dark piece of me. I want him to take a magnifying glass to every cut and bruise against my heart. The consequences of my actions written all over my soul. I want to know if he’d still want to be my friend once he’s seen it all.
He shouldn’t want to stay close to me after knowing.
I won’t let him stay close to me after knowing.
Lenny’s is considerably empty. There are the regulars lining the bar, some of them having hushed conversations with one another, but most are just staring into their half-empty drinks. For a brief moment, I wonder what each of their stories are.
Are they drunks?
Have they gone through a monumental loss like I have?
I realize I don’t really care. My grief still overwhelms me so much it’s hard for me to even fathom someone else’s life being as bad as mine.
My selfishness killed Connor. And yet, I can’t stop being selfish. I can’t imagine someone else feels the kind of pain I do when I look back at that night. Maybe it’s the fact that my pain is magnified by my guilt over it all.
Lenny nods at me from behind the counter as I walk past him to the back booth. I slide across the worn, red vinyl seat. A slow depressing song plays over the speakers as I look around. This very booth is where we sat when Lily convinced me to go out with the group for the first time. I sat in this same spot and watched Maverick and Selma have an intimate conversation, blind to the people around them.
In that instant, I hated them.
They had each other. They were alive.
I’d sat there glaring at them until Lily lightly elbowed me. The look she’d given me had been unreadable. In the moment, I had wondered if she thought I was jealous.
I was, but not for the reasons she probably thought.
Now, I scrape at the worn wood of the table. Every inch of it is covered in writing. I’m lost in my thoughts until I sense someone walk up to the table.
“Nothing for me tonight, Len,” I say, not bothering to look up. Len couldn’t give a shit if I looked him in the eye or not, so I don’t. It’s unnecessary.
“Well, that’s great,” a voice responds, but it’s not Lenny’s.
I lazily drag my eyes away from the table to the man standing a few feet away from me. I sigh and say, “What are you doing here, Maverick?”
His hands are tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. He ignores me, pulling down the hood of his sweatshirt and sliding in right next to me. His dark hair sticks up in various directions.
“You know there’s a whole open side over there, right?” I ask, looking to the other side of the booth while sliding to the very end of it—as close to the wall as I can get to get away from him.
He just grunts, obviously ignoring my comment. He angles his body so he’s facing me. “Why’d you come here of all places?” His blue eyes seem dull under the fluorescent lighting.
I don't answer him at first. I don't owe him any sort of explanation as to why I’m here. If I’m being honest, I don't even know why I’m here. After what happened in the library earlier, I just had to walk. And walking led me here.
“Veronica?” he pushes.
I bring my gaze to his, rolling my eyes. “I came here because I wanted to.”
Maverick nods. He runs a finger over his bottom lip in concentration. “But why did you want to?”
It’s now that I notice he’s holding my bag I left behind at the library. I snatch it from his hands quickly, shoving it into the corner of the booth.
I huff, maddened that he keeps asking questions. “I’m an adult who can do whatever the hell I want to, Maverick. I’m here because I want to be here. You don’t need to read into it.”
The sound of glasses clinking mixes with the melancholy playlist of the bar. Maverick opens his mouth to say something but instead, closes it. If I cared about him, or about anything, I’d wonder what he was about to ask. But I don’t. So instead, I look around the bar.
“What happened at the library?” His voice is quiet and hesitant. I wonder if he sat on the same side of the booth as me so I wouldn’t be able to escape him like I did in the library.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Maverick.” I look at him for a brief moment, my eyes pleading for him to drop it. We hold the moment for a little bit longer before I pull my eyes away from him.
Dollar bills cover every surface of the walls. Some have faces drawn on them where others have sayings or names printed on them. There are a few blank ones. I wonder why someone would go to the trouble of sticking their dollar to the wall without even signing it.
Did they feel insignificant? Like their name wasn’t even worth remembering?
Like me?
When I look away from the walls, I find Maverick staring at me. “Why are you here?” I ask for the second time tonight. This time I stare at him until he gives me an answer.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Selma sent me.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, instantly recognizing the lie. Selma is a nice girl—overly nice even—but she doesn’t care that much about my whereabouts. Plus, unless he told her about our little episode at the library, she would have zero reason to be worried about me.
“Mmm, and why is that?” I ask, turning my body to face his, but still pressing my back against the wall to keep a distance.
He
fidgets, alerting me to the fact that he’s noticeably uncomfortable, those long fingers tapping against his thigh doing nothing to dissuade my assumption.
It rips at my heart.
Connor used to do that.
“The way we left things in the library…I hated it. I sat at home waiting for you to get there, anxious and worried. I just needed to know if you were okay,” Maverick says.
“I’m never okay, Maverick.” I lean in closer and make sure to look him right in the eye when I say this.
I can tell it confuses him by the way his dark eyebrows furrow together. He looks down, and before I can retreat back into my safe space against the wall, his finger is almost pressed against my skin.
“What does this say?” he asks.
My body betrays me and lets out a shiver with his almost-touch. His narrow finger gestures to the words inked over my heart. I want to get as far away from him as possible, but I can’t move, and worse, my heartbeat quickens to a speed that I know he must feel.
When I don’t answer, he slowly brushes my long hair off my shoulder, allowing him a full view of the tattoo, his fingertip still hovering over the start of it. Finally, I get in the right mind to back away, but only by an inch.
We are still close—too close. I wish to be anywhere but in this dingy booth with him. Not even the sound of the broken speakers or the clanking of beer bottles can lower the loud rush of blood pumping through my veins.
My heart shouldn’t quicken for anyone anymore. It died right along with Connor. But here it is, doing just that for a boy who drives me insane most of the time.
A boy with a very serious long-term girlfriend.
“Destroy what destroys you,” he murmurs, but I barely hear him over the sound of the sad music.
His eyes find mine and they look sad. And for the first time in a long time, I feel bad for being the reason for someone’s sadness.
“What does that even mean, Veronica?” he asks.
My throat closes up with more memories of Connor.
The feeling of my hand wrapped in his.
His lips, his love.
His death.
I don’t want to be here, but Maverick sits on the outside of the booth and it would take effort to get out—effort I simply don’t have right now. I know my only way out and away from Maverick is to give him what he wants.
“It means what it says, no more and no less. Destroy what destroys you.”
“And what has destroyed you?” he asks, his words strained.
It's a small gesture, a platonic one even, but when his soothing hand rests against my shoulder, I start to panic.
Not because he’s touching me—but because I like it.
“Love, Maverick. Love destroyed me.”
He winces as soon as the nasty four-letter word leaves my mouth, as if what I just admitted really pained him. His hand comes off my shoulder and rests in his lap. He looks down at his fingers, causing his dark hair to fall over his forehead. He doesn't look back up at me when he says, “I don’t know what happened with Connor, but love doesn’t destroy.”
I sigh, not willing to give him any more of an explanation. I wait for him to look back up at me before I speak. “Love does destroy. It destroys more than anything else in the universe. You’re in a perfect world where you have this perfect relationship where love can heal all, but that isn’t the case for all of us. Love might complete you, but it destroyed me.” I grab my bag from the corner of the booth and turn to him, silently begging him to move.
He lets out a long exhale before he slides out, but he still stands in my way.
I manage to get out and stand, but it forces me to stand right in front of him—our bodies only a mere inch apart. His chest rises quickly and I wonder why my words have this kind of effect on him. I can smell the scent of his cologne, a perfect mix between earthy and sweet. The smell of mint drifts from his mouth, sending my senses into overdrive.
I look him in the eye, bracing myself for whatever cliché saying about love that’s about to leave his mouth. He surprises me by not uttering a word. He pins me with an unreadable gaze for a few moments before he pulls his hood up over his face and retreats out the bar.
I’m left staring at his back, wondering why I feel disappointed that, this time, he didn’t put up a fight.
20
Maverick
I walk through the front door to find Selma waiting for me.
“Where did you go?” She sits on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, her phone laid out in front of her. The look on her face is sad, almost defeated. I want to wipe it off her face.
“I was at Lenny’s.” My keys make a chiming sound when they fall into the bowl on the table by the door. I take off my coat slowly, hanging it on the hook. The beat of my heart starts to pick up when it seems like we’re about to have a conversation I’m not ready for.
I won’t lie to Selma. We know each other too well for lies.
“And what was at Lenny’s?” She turns her body in the chair, completely facing me. Her short hair is wet, sending droplets of water down her bare shoulders.
I track the movement with my eyes. My mind skips to all the times my lips have traveled that same pathway.
She speaks again, catching my attention. “Or who was at Lenny’s?” Those green eyes analyze me while she waits patiently for an answer.
It isn’t lost on me that she’s never had to question me before. Not like this at least.
And now, she’s waiting for an answer I’m afraid to give. An answer I know will put a wedge between us, even though it was never my intention to do so. “Veronica.”
She nods, as if she already knew. Her small hand runs through the short-wet strands of her hair, tousling it all. She bites her bottom lip, something she does when she’s working through a thought. Her mouth opens to say something, but I speak before she can.
“Selm, it’s not like that.” I step closer to her, but I know her body language like I know my own, and when she moves deeper into the chair, I can tell she doesn’t want me close to her. I feel it in my heart. It aches and squeezes and sends a pit straight to my stomach.
She never backs away from me. Usually she walks straight into my embrace. Something is different between the two of us. I start to realize my innocent friendship with Veronica has added up to something different in her eyes—something worse, something that doesn’t seem so innocent.
We’re both silent, our eyes staring at the other’s in the middle of our empty house. The home we built together after we both moved out of the dorms after freshman year. We’ve made so many memories here. Memories that haunt. Memories that are now being tainted by the conversation about to unfold. The only light in the room comes from the dim lights above the stove. My gaze takes in every inch of her, as I try to predict what exactly she’s thinking.
“I didn’t say it was like anything, Maverick.” Her phone vibrates loudly against the granite countertop, but neither of us look at it.
My hand reaches up to rub my chin, feeling the stubble I’ve been too lazy to shave over the last few days. I know I need to do something instead of just standing here like a dumbass. I try to think of the next thing I should say. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have to justify myself to Selma and it feels weird. It isn’t us. It isn’t something I’ve ever had to do.
“My dad called tonight.” Those green eyes drift over my face, gauging my reaction. Her head is tilted, waiting for my response.
“I’ll talk to him.” The words automatically tumble out of my mouth, before I even know what their conversation consisted of this time.
She lets out a long sigh, one that sounds like I’ve let her down. “That’s the thing, Maverick. I’ve been thinking about this a lot in the last few weeks. Since we were kids, you’ve been my rock, my home, and I think we’ve both gotten used to it. I think we’ve gotten comfortable with it. Too comfortable.”
“What’s wrong with being comfortable with that, Selm? I want to be the
re for you when you need me.”
She adjusts in her chair and continues her last thought like I hadn’t even said anything. “We’ve gotten so comfortable we haven’t even realized that we no longer have a relationship outside of you saving me and me needing saving.” A tear runs down her cheek.
I step closer to her again and this time she lets me. I don’t touch her, but I cage my arms around her. My body just needs to be close to hers. To feel her proximity.
“What are you even saying, Selm?”
Another tear escapes. I think of all the times I’ve seen her tears fall, but this is the first time they’ve ever fallen because of me. Until now, my job has always been to simply wipe them away.
“I’m saying that our relationship is a lie,” she states. “We aren’t a couple. We’re just two best friends that are co-existing, neither one having the courage to mess up what we’ve always known.”
My mouth opens to argue otherwise, to change her mind, but she holds up a hand and says, “Please just let me get this out. I’ve thought a lot about it recently and I need to tell you every sad thought.”
I nod, lowering my head to look at our bodies that are inches apart.
“When I told you my dad called, your first reaction was to fix it for me instead of asking what he said. If you had asked, I would’ve told you that he and I had a long conversation about our father-daughter relationship. He wants me to come home to visit and talk it out.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask. I’ll stay out of it. I love you.” The hand that’s been resting on the counter between us lifts up and cups her cheek.
She lets me do it, she even leans against it, like she’s allowing herself the small comfort. Our eyes are locked as she continues to dump her thoughts on me. “I love you, too, but I think we’ve been lying to ourselves. I think we’re in love with the roles we let the other play. You love being the savior, the rescuer. I love being rescued. But that doesn’t mean we’re in love. I’ve thought about it all so much. I don’t know if I’ve ever actually been in love with you, Maverick, and it’s devastating. We’ve been together for years. I should be able to say with absolute certainty that I’m in love with you, or that I was at some point, but I can’t.”
The Consequence of Loving Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Aftershock Series Book 1) Page 10