Page 14 of Tainted Tempos

I stare at the handsome rockstar. Blue eyes I want to fall into. Soft lips I can still taste. A protective and caring nature I don’t deserve.

I look at Maverick Tate, and I want to cry. Because he’s my husband, and I’m too broken to appreciate him, even in a fake capacity. Even in the make-believe world we created.

“Mckenna,” he says. His eyes narrow, and I note the flash of annoyance. I don’t blame him. I’m annoyed with myself too. I’m frustrated with my inability to pull myself together. To persevere. To confide and trust in Mav the way I want to. “Did you hear me?”

I nod. I’ve heard everything he’s said to me over the past few days. Even when I can’t respond, I’m aware of his presence. Even though I’m going through the motions, I know it’s him here with me.

Mav sighs. “Look, I know this isn’t what you want. Or what you expected. But can we at least try to make the most of our days here? There are some awesome hikes, the views are incredible, and we can do fun day trips. The fresh air and sunshine could be good.” He glances around the hotel room I’ve barely left.

I lick my dry lips. They feel cracked. I open my mouth. The words don’t come.

Maverick tips his head back and rubs his eyes. “You wanna go to the beach?” He tries again.

I clear my throat, search for the correct response, and force the words out. “I’ll change into a bathing suit.”

Gratitude washes over his expression, and I feel gross. My husband is thankful that I responded to his question.

Mav clears his throat, and I jump.

“The closet.” He points to the massive closet filled with a brand-new wardrobe I won’t work through on this trip.

Still, I force myself to stand, walk toward the closet, and pluck out an emerald-green bikini.

Emerald green. Like the dress I wore when I married Mav. It’s a color I love wearing as it complements my hair and complexion. But right now, it causes my stomach to pinch.

I run my fingers over the fabric. It’s a designer I recognize from back when I bought expensive clothes.

Tears prick my eyes as I study the bathing suits. Mav is giving me back aspects of my old life, a current wardrobe, a luxury holiday, a leisure week with no deadlines or demands, and I can’t appreciate any of it. Can’t appreciate him.

Branson stole so much from me that night. He stole my confidence. My ability to trust myself. My capacity to understand my reality.

He broke parts of my mind and shattered pieces of my soul.

My fingers tremble as I slip into the bathing suit. When I see my reflection in the mirror, I frown.

I recognize the woman staring back at me, but I don’t want to. Pale skin, sunken eyes, empty. Lonely. Withdrawn.

My 1L year I wore this look.

Haunted.

“You ready?” Mav asks.

Again, I jump at the sound of his voice.

Pain blazes in his eyes, but he blinks it away. He keeps his arms at his side and doesn’t reach for me. Over the past few days, I’ve noticed how hesitant Mav is in my presence. Like he doesn’t want to cross some arbitrary line I drew in the sand, even though neither of us knows where the line is or what it looks like.

He’s walking on eggshells around me.

And I don’t know if I can tell him to stop.

I draw in a deep breath. “Ready.” I follow him out of the beautiful hotel suite.

We move to the beach and settle on plush white cushions in a swanky cabana. Immediately, a server appears and sets up abucket of ice with a bottle of fancy champagne. She pops it and pours us two glasses.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Tate.” She beams.

A kick reverberates behind my breastbone.

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