Page 31 of The Vagabond

“Then drink it and go.”

I leaned against the counter, casual as hell. “You always this warm with customers?”

“Just the ones I don’t like.”

That lands but I don’t react. Just sipped again, my eyes never leaving her.

She was trembling, subtly. Hands shaking as she grabbed a rag, wiped the same spot twice.

“So, you work here now?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.”

We stared each other down.

The silence grew, heavy and deliberate. The barista at the register glanced between us, like he was debating calling someone for help. But Maxine didn’t break. Not with me standing five feet away, holding her heat between my palms and watching her unravel one heartbeat at a time.

Eventually, she exhaled hard. Loud. A sigh of deep resignation.

“What do you want, North? Why are you here?”

“Coffee. That’s why I’m here.”

“And yet, you’re taking up so much of my oxygen. Breathe quieter. Or better yet, don’t breathe at all.”

The insult landed like a slap. To be honest, I didn’t know she had it in her. But now I know better. I gave her a small nod, acknowledging her words. Sipped slow. Then left the cup half-full on the counter with a hefty tip and walked out.

Because I already got what I came for.

Her. In my head again. Where she’s always been. And exactly where she fucking belongs.

THE PRESENT…AGAIN

And still — here we are.

In the soft, trembling now,

Where the weight of the past hums in our bones

And the threat of the future sharpens the air.

If the world wants to break us again,

It’ll have to come through both of us,

And this time,

We’ll bleed together.

14

SAXON

Iwatch her walk in like a ghost slipping into a dream — that damned cardigan sliding off one shoulder, keys jangling carelessly in her hand, hair wind-tossed and wild, lashes heavy with exhaustion she’ll never admit.

Maxine Andrade is a loner, but not the kind people romanticize. She doesn’t walk through life like a delicate tragedy; she drifts like she’s underwater, breathless, unreachable — a girl who keeps everyone at arm’s length, not to be cruel, but because letting them close feels like handing over a knife and turning her back.

And family? What’s left of it barely fits the word.

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