Page 83 of We Were Together

But, most importantly, she distracts me. And that, I just can’t have.

It’s been three months since I found her on the bathroom floor, and though her bruises have faded and her broken bones have healed, it’s just one more image that will forever serve as a reminder for what a life tied to me entails.

So, when she told me at the hospital about “the dream” she had about me asking her to move in, I let it ride. I was gifted a redo—a chance to correct possibly the single most selfish act I’d ever committed—and I took it. Now, all that remains is navigating my way out of this tentative arrangement Tommy looped me into with the Bratva. My hope is my explanation will be better received with the two million in cash I’m bringing along as a peace offering.

Tommy’s dead, Jonsie’s safe and on her way to college across the country, and Daph’s moving into the dorms in a couple weeks. The status quo between me and Mav has been reinstated. All that remains is tying up this last loose end.

I stuff the remaining money stacks into the two duffle bags before sweeping them from the kitchen island. I’m almost to the door when one of the perimeter alarms me and the boys set up sounds on my phone. Quickly retrieving it from my pocket, I click in to find something’s triggered the sensor on the southwest corner of the property. As I’m pulling up the feed, a thud sounds above me.

I freeze.

That came from Jonsie’s room.

Dropping the bag to the floor, I pull my piece from the back of my waistband and swiftly make my way up the stairs. Once in the second-floor hallway, my movements slow as I creep toward her door. The house is silent, and for a moment I wonder if I’m possibly hallucinating. She’s only been gone a few hours, but I miss her so much already.

But then, I hear it—the sharp intake of breath followed by a loud thump—and I know I’m not alone in the house. I push through the door, gun drawn, only to falter at the sight before me.

Maverick Bishop.

Or, at least, some vaguely recognizable version of the man he once was.

He’s a fucking mess. A crumpled heap slumped against the wall, bloody fist resting in his lap. A quick glance at the hole in the sheetrock above him and the pieces of what’s happening here start to click together.

My phone lights up with Rico’s name, and I swipe to answer.

“Nick, the alarm sounded at the house. I’m on my way.”

“Nah,” I answer quickly, eyes never leaving Mav. “False alarm. All good here.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Meet’s still on. I’ll see you in an hour.” Quickly ending the call, I drop low into a crouch so I’m eye level with the broken man before me. The one I created.

Mav stares off into the corner of the room, his chest stuttering with staggered breaths. Slipping his eyes closed, he manages to steady himself enough to speak. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.” I nod, swallowing before I reluctantly continue. “She left this morning, man. Our parents are taking her. She’s safe.”

After Maverick and I disposed of Tommy a few months back, we came to the mutual understanding that it was far too dangerous for him to continue his relationship with my sister. Mav caught me off guard a few times that day. The first when he dropped the bomb that he was in love with Jones. The second when he proved it by agreeing to let her go to keep her safe. Baby J was never going to walk away from him. So, Maverick did what needed to be done—he made her hate him.

He shattered her heart into so many pieces, my sister ran clear across the country to escape him. Which is where she is now—on her way to California with my parents to get settled into her new apartment before she starts USC next month. It’s the best thing for her, especially while I work to clean up this mess. A mess that I need Mav’s assistance with. So, I’m gonna need him to pull his shit together.

“She’s gonna be fine.”

Mav’s head swivels toward me, his eyes slowly opening, allowing several tears to stream down his tortured face. He shifts, retrieving something from behind him before settling back in place. “I’m not, Nick. Not without her.”

Only then do I glance down, my eyes zeroing in on the gun he’s clutching in his lap.

“Mav…” I shift forward, my hand slowly reaching for the weapon.

He jerks away, the action causing me to lift my hands in surrender. “Mav.” I say his name again. This time with more force.

He looks to me, his red-rimmed eyes bloodshot and heavy with delirium. Mav’s typically slicked-back hair is completely disheveled, falling into his face and partially obscuring his vision.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I attempt to reassure him. “You did the right thing. This feeling? It will pass.”

His head drops forward, a low distorted sob choking free. “I need her, Nicky. I—I can’t fucking breathe.” Mav’s hands shoot up, his free hand gripping a fist full of hair as the one still holding the gun massages his temple with the muzzle. I warily track the movement with a heightened state of unease, my body laced with tension. “I felt it,” he whispers. “When she left. These last few months apart have been hell, but this is different. It’s like the further away she gets, the darker everything dims.” His eyelids lift, the tears flowing more freely now. “Being with her? It’s like seeing the sun for the first time. I don’t want to go back in the dark.”

I drop back onto my ass, a defeated sigh escaping me as I bury any previous sentiments of compassion toward his plight.

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