Page 17 of Tainted Tempos

I shake my head, feeling like I can’t trust my own thoughts. Everything is a jumbled mess.

As much as I know things between Maverick and me are a disaster, I don’t want Dad to have a bad impression of Mav. Not when Mav’s tried to help me, to show up for me, to care for me.

If anything, I’m ruining his life.

The following day, I realize how much Mav is sacrificing for me.

A document appears in my inbox, outlining the terms of Maverick’s and my marriage. As well as our eventual divorce.

Divorce.The word sounds as bitter as it tastes.

I stare at the email Aiden sent over and a rush of emotion swells behind my eyes. Even though our marriage is a mess, reading this email proves that I don’t want to divorce my husband.

Maverick is the only man I’ve ever fully trusted. The only man I’ve ever loved.

The only man who showed up for me, protected me, cared for me. Even before our fake relationship, when I was flipping him an attitude, he tried to look out for me. To wait up for me. To ask if I was in trouble and needed help.

And then, afterwards. There was Warren Willoughby and Snowport by the Seaport. There was Christmas and a fort and a brooch like my grandmother’s.

There were late-night movies and easy conversations. Genuine laughter and whispered confessions.

With Mav, there’s always been a layer of unshakeable trust.

We may be unconventional—a Goody-Two-shoes and a rockstar—but the times we’ve shared together infused me with hope.

I may not deserve my husband, but I’d like to be worthy of him.

I may not have intended to wake up married in Vegas, but staring at the email before me and wanting to sob proves that I don’t want to dissolve our union either.

Isn’t it strange how sometimes, one instance can clarify the most complicated of situations? One singular item can untangle the messiest of emotions. Right now, this email does that. It demonstrates that regardless of how messed up my mind is, how complicated my marriage is, I still want Maverick Tate. I want my husband.

My eyes scan the email, and I suck in a breath. I imagine Mav approved the agreement, but the financial entitlements extended to me still blow my mind.

Disbelief keeps me pinned in place as I reread the document several times and mentally calculate the figures presented—over three million dollars. To divorce my fake husband after six months of marriage and pretend it’s amicable.

Even Dad couldn’t produce results like these.

I snort and shake my head. Even now, Mav’s trying to do right by me. Even when I don’t deserve it.

Mixed feelings course through me, but what else is new?

I’m processing a trauma I mentally blocked out.

I’m newly married, yet soon to be divorced.

I groan and drop my face into my hands as my mind whirls. Splinters. Wanders.

“What? It’s not enough zeros for you?” Mav’s voice cuts through the air.

I spin in my seat. My mouth drops open as I see him standing behind me.

Anguish lines his face, and his mouth twists. He reads the document over my shoulder and scoffs. “Want to make it three months instead of six?” He tosses the words out casually, but they land like bullets, ripping through my skin and tearing up my insides.

He’s got it all wrong. I know I’ve been distant; I know my silence has been unfair.

But I don’t want more zeroes. I want more time.

I open my mouth, but the words don’t come.