Scared of Beautiful (26 page)

I stop at the convenience store at the end of my street and buy a new sim card before racing home. As I’m shoving my wallet back into my bag, I slam into a body. I look up and Bryce’s irritating face is staring back at me, with a sympathetic smirk plastered on his face. He quickly shoves a pack of Magnum XXL condoms into his pocket. It seems someone is a touch presumptuous about his own size. I meet his smirk with one of my own.

“Maia,” he breathes out.

His voice grates at my nerves.
Fucking ass
. “Bryce,” I say curtly.

“Hey, so sorry about your mother and your father being in prison, that’s rough.”

“And you care, because?” I retort sarcastically.

“Trying to be supportive, that’s all,” he says defensively, looking genuinely wounded. I don’t think he realizes how much of an ass he actually comes across as.

“I’m sure it’s the talk of the town,” I say shortly. “We know how much Manhattan loves a good scandal.”

Bryce looks down. “I’m genuinely sorry,” he says, and I almost feel sorry for being so hard on him. Almost. “On a brighter note, you must be happy that your boyfriend is back in town,” he says, smiling.

My heart seizes. There’s no way I’m about to elude to the sleazy asshole that is Bryce that Jackson and I are not together. In part because I’m not in the mood for his unwanted advances, but more so because I don’t want to admit it to myself, just yet.

“Yeah, it is great, isn’t it?” I say with an overly exaggerated smile.

“Say hi to Morgan,” I jibe, before walking towards my car.

My legs quiver unsteadily, and the minute I climb into my car I let out a huge sigh. “He’s back,” I say smiling. Then I realize that he’s not mine to welcome back anymore. And my heart sinks, all over again.

Jackson

Jade was not happy that I was going to Providence to win Maia back. I get it; she’s concerned. But the thing she should be more concerned about is me without her. Without Maia, I feel like I have no motivation, no purpose at all. In getting Maia back, I’m also saving myself.

When I arrive back at my dorm, I find Ben in exactly the same place I left him, tucked into his bed, even though it’s five in the evening. The room smells suspiciously like weed, and I notice there are a number of pipes and beer bottles strewn around it. A dredded, Rastafarian-looking dude is splayed across my bed as well. I nudge his leg with my knee and he wakes slowly, rubbing his eyes.

“Do you mind man?” I say as politely as I can manage.

“Hey man,” he says with a drawl. “Who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter, what matters is that you need to get the hell off my bed,” I say, losing patience.

“Sure man,” he raises his hands in surrender before ambling slowly out the door. Gotta love the compliant nature of stoners. I shake my head.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Ben moans from his bed.

“Visiting home,” I offer as the only explanation.

“You may wanna wash those sheets,” he instructs before pulling the covers over his head.

I stare down at the bed in disgust.

The thing about forever, I’ve realized, is that it’s really not promised. The scar from the bullet that I took in my arm sliced straight across my infinity tattoo, the universe’s way of making sure that I never forget it, either.

I shower, and then the first thing on my mind is finding Maia. It’s probably hopeless, but there are a few things that I need to say. If for nothing else, then closure. I check my email quickly and see a few messages from Shana with pictures of Daniella. Her innocent smile warms my heart. Every moment that passes since I came back here seems hell bent on reminding me of all the reasons that I can’t afford to fuck up the rest of my life. I feel like such a little bitch agonizing over what I should to wear to see Maia, and opt for what I wore the day I met her.
Jeans and a white tee
. I’m offering her myself, faults and all. That’s all I have to give her, anyway.
And I hope to fucking God that that’s enough
.

I say a quick prayer as I turn the key in the Mustang’s ignition. My baby gives me a good solid rev on the first try. The closer I get to her apartment, the tighter the nervous knots in my stomach become. I park, but sit in the car wringing my hands together for a good ten minutes, trying to build up the courage to move. I rehearsed what I was planning to say to Maia over and over again in my head on the plane. Nothing sounded right, everything sounded so fucked up or desperate. What do I say?
Sorry I left you, but I love you
. Lame excuse. My mother always said the best conversations come from the heart and soul. So here goes nothing.

Whatever I had planned to say flies straight from my mind when Maia opens her door. She stands in front of me with a scrub brush in hand and bloody-looking gloves on. Our eyes meet, and I can’t say anything. I notice the red rims around hers, as if she’s been crying or not sleeping or both.

“Hi,” she says in a small, quiet voice.

What the fuck happened, and why the fuck wasn’t I where I should have been when it did?
“Maia, what happened?” I say, distraught.

“Oh, this and that,” she says, her eyes welling up with tears.

I know the blood is not my fault, but maybe the tears are. “Should I go?” I ask weakly, trying hard not to spook her.

She shakes her head slowly, barely able to keep her composure, and moves aside for me to come in. I enter, and notice a large blood stain on the carpet in the hallway.

“Maia,” I say gently, cupping her face in my hands. “Whatever it is, whatever you need, I’ll make it okay, I promise.” She nods and collapses into my arms, sobbing. I hold her there for a long while. Letting her cry, holding her up. Supporting her.

I am so racked with guilt now, I can barely think straight. After peeling off the gloves, we sit on the sofa until she’s ready to talk. She tells me about her mother being in the hospital, her father in jail, and how everything went down. She tells me how supportive Blake has been, and I want to fucking punch him for trying to take my place, yet I also want to thank him for being there for her. My rage towards her father builds the more she talks, and with every passing word, my urge to kill him becomes stronger. For the sake of my own criminal record, I hope they lock him up for a very long time.

The guilt over my absence remains, eating away at me as we sit together. “How did you end up arrested?” she asks me, concerned.

I take a deep breath and tell her the entire truth. I tell her about Emmanuel, his threats, the robbery, the shooting. She doesn’t ask about the rest of my time in Atlanta, so I don’t mention it. And I feel like an asshole for it, but at this point I can’t afford to hurt her again. Not now.

“Do the doctors think your mother will recover?” I ask her softly.

“They don’t know,” she says, fiddling with the stitching on the couch. “I was so worried about you, about us, I forgot about everything else, Jackson, and look what happened.”

I take her hands and hold them resolutely. “You can’t blame yourself for someone else’s behavior, not your father’s, not mine, or anyone else’s. I would trade everything I own to take this away. If I had known…” my voice tapers off weakly.

“You couldn’t have known. No one could. I don’t blame you,” she says quietly.

“I do,” I say, looking at our hands. “Maia, nothing in my entire life has ever been worth fighting for, until I met you. I fucking need you so much that it hurts sometimes. Every day I grapple with the thought that I am really not good enough for you. But I don’t know how to be without you. There is no one on this earth that deserves you more, because there is no one that will ever love you more. I have to fight for us. Please tell me that I don’t have to let you go. I don’t know how to.” My voice comes out loud, desperate. “Nothing has to change if we don’t let it, Maia.” The last part is almost muted.

Her eyes stay locked with mine. She doesn’t say it. Neither do I.
Things have already changed
.

“Jackson,” she says quietly. “I want to go back to that first day at the Bean, the first day we kissed, and prevent everything else that’s happened since. It was perfect then. We were perfect. I’ve run away from everything difficult for so long, but nothing’s really perfect is it?” She gives me a sad smile.

“I can’t promise you perfect. I love you too much to lie to you or make false promises,” I say quietly. “I can promise you that I will fucking try, though.”

“Give me time,” Maia replies simply. “Can you just be here for me now without asking me to go back to us just yet? I made a promise, too. I promised myself that I would focus on my mother right now.”

“Whatever you need,” I say.

“Can I ask one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“I really don’t want to be alone,” she continues. “Please stay with me tonight. I just…”

I smile. “
Phew
, I thought you were going to ask me for stain removal tips. I got nothing there.”

Maia throws her head back with laughter and whacks me in the shoulder. I cringe as she connects with my bullet wound, but manage to bite the inside of my cheek. Hearing her laugh is the sweetest melody. I haven’t heard it in so long, and there is no way I’m going to fuck this up again. Maia falls asleep with her head resting in my lap, looking too peaceful to move. I’m happy to spend the night sleeping upright. As long as I’m here with her.

Maia

Waking up, face planted in Jackson’s crotch was a touch awkward, I must say.

“This is not the friend zone,” I say pointing at the bulge in his jeans.

“What!” he laughs. “It’s the first thing in the morning. I have no control over that. That and the fact that you’ve been sleeping in that position for the last hour. How much self-control do you think I have?”

I throw a couch cushion at his head and walk over to the bathroom to grab a shower. Before I walk in, Jackson stops me. “Do you want me to come with you today? To the hospital, I mean,” he asks tentatively.

“I’d like that,” I reply smiling. Only briefly do I consider the awkwardness that will ensue when Blake and Jackson run into each other there.

With all the issues that I’ve had over the past few weeks, I find myself standing in the shower thinking only about the bulge in Jackson’s pants. I asked for time, but does sex really qualify a relationship? I’m pretty sure that shower sex, being so reckless in nature, counts even less.
Screw it? Screw it!

“Jackson!” I shout.

“Yo!” he calls back from the kitchen.

“I’m wet!” I yell back.
Wow, if that’s not a double entendre
. I clasp my hand over my mouth. Thankfully as the words fly out of my mouth, the kettle begins to whistle loudly, drowning out my Freudian slip.

“What was that?” Jackson asks from just outside the bathroom door.

“I need a towel, in the hallway cupboard to your left,” I say.

“Should I leave it at the door?” he asks.

I roll my eyes.
Fucking hell
, he really is taking this gentleman thing very seriously. “I, um, I have shampoo in my eyes. You may need to bring it in. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, anyway,” I say, the intended seduction in my voice overshadowed by the tremble.

Jackson walks into the bathroom with his eyes averted. I want him to want me.
I need it
. I know he’s doing everything in his power to keep looking away. Problem is, he’s doing too good a job.

“Can you hand it to me?” I say leaning around the glass of the walk-in shower. As he hands the towel to me, I let my fingers linger on his, almost holding them in mine. His eyes meet mine and any willpower that he was clutching onto falls away. I see it by the way his eyes cloud over with lust. In less than a second his jeans, t-shirt and boxer shorts are all off, and I give his resplendent body a once over.

“Liar,” he says as he walks into the shower.

“How so?” I ask innocently.

“How’d you manage to get shampoo in your eyes when you aren’t actually washing your hair?” he teases. I smile coyly as his hands grab my waist and pull me into him.