They stepped inside, both of them dripping all over the place. “I’ll get some towels.” He rushed into the hall bathroom and grabbed two, then returned to find Alexa standing right where he’d left her by the door, her nose pressed to the cat’s head.
“You can put her down if you want,” he said as he offered Alexa a towel. He was trying like hell to do what she needed, even though what he really wanted to do was haul her into his arms and make sure she was okay with his hands and his mouth and his body.
Alexa placed Lucy on the floor and grasped the terry cloth, pressing it to her face, squeezing it around her hair, and wrapping it around her shoulders like she was cold. Or like she needed the fabric to hold her together.
Fuck.
“Alexa—”
“Please.” She gave a quick shake of her head, and those hazel eyes cut up to his.
Not knowing what she was asking for, Maverick just nodded as he gave his face and hair a quick swipe of the towel. “Do you want to, uh, sit? Or have something to drink? Or . . .” He shifted feet and dragged a hand through his wet hair.
“I’m soaked,” she said, looking down at herself. When she looked up again, she had a strange expression on her face, one that quickly shifted into amusement. Laughter spilled out of her, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t—” More laughter, this time with a slightly hysterical tinge to it.
Maverick frowned.
“Oh, my God,” she finally said. She cupped her hand to her forehead. “I don’t have . . . anything. I don’t have clothes or my purse or my keys or my schoolwork. I literally have nothing.” She peered up at him, her expression full of incredulity.
Anger lanced hot and fast through Maverick’s blood. “Anything you need, I will give you or help you get,” he said, meaning in the short term, but he wasn’t opposed to meaning it otherwise, too.
Alexa let go of the towel, dropping it to the floor, and pressed both of her hands to her mouth—and that was when he noticed. She wasn’t wearing that big-ass rock. Her ring finger was bare.
Chaos erupted inside his head.
He couldn’t help it. Maverick stepped closer and gently grabbed her left hand. For a long moment, he looked down at the pale indent where the ring had been, and something that felt dangerously like hope flared through him. Except he beat that shit back—hard—because he couldn’t afford to make assumptions here. He wouldn’t survive it. And that wasn’t what she needed right now anyway.
Finally, he looked up at her, the air between them heavy with so much. Unanswered questions. History. Desire.
Alexa’s grip tightened around his hand, her eyes shiny and bright as she looked into his. And then her whole face crumpled and she burst into tears.
Maverick finally gave in to what he’d been wanting to do and hauled her into his arms. “Fuck, Alexa,” he said, stroking her wet hair with one hand while holding her tight to him with the other. The rightness of her against him made his body fucking sing. “Whatever it is, I’ll help you figure it out.” He wasn’t even sure she heard him over her wracking sobs. Sobs for another man. Desire, his ass. On his part, maybe.
Don’t lose sight of what’s going on here, Maverick. She didn’t come to you. She didn’t call you. You picked her up.
Which was all true. The only good thing about how upset she was right now was that it forced him to keep his feet planted squarely in reality. A reality where she was crying over her troubles with another man.
Standing there holding her, her body tucked tight against his, her hands fisted in his T-shirt under his Ravens cut, he pushed everything else away and focused on her. A million years ago, they’d started off as friends—good friends.
That’s what he would be to her once again.
ALEXA HATED THAT she was crying, but there was so much noise inside her that she’d just needed to let it out. She wasn’t crying over Grant, exactly, but over the loss of the life she thought she was building. And, even more, over the humiliation and soul-deep disappointment she felt in herself for tolerating all the things in their relationship that had made her feel so bad for so long. She was just so fucking mad.
Old, long-ingrained thoughts tried to sneak in around the anger. Thoughts that made excuses and put blame on herself and tore herself down. Thoughts she’d learned the past five years, from Grant. Thoughts she’d made a very bad habit of taking to heart and making her own.
How had that happened? Why had she let it? How long had it been going on?