Page 88 of Highball Rush
I picked myself up so I could look her in the eyes. “You’ll never have to, you hear me? I’m yours. And we’re going to fix everything so you can stay.”
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she smiled, nodding. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
I leaned in and kissed her, soft this time. We were going to fix things. I wasn’t sure how, but I was a Bodine. We were nothing if not stubborn bastards. I was going to find a way, for her, and for us. She was mine now, and no one was ever going to take her away from me.
27
MAYA
Iwoke slowly, coming awake with a deep, cleansing breath. It felt like I was floating—enjoying the lake on a lazy summer day. But I wasn’t surrounded by warm water. Instead, I drifted in relaxed bliss on Gibson’s sheets. I was tucked up next to him, my back to his front, his arm around my waist. His chest moved against me with his soft breathing, and his skin was warm against mine.
Still feeling a little loopy and sex-drunk, I nestled into him. He tightened his arm around me, a contented moan rumbling in his throat.
This man loved me.
He’d said it, his voice husky in my ear. I hoped the memory of those words never faded. I wanted to be a hundred years old and still able to recall his deep voice, whispering the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.
I loved him right back. I didn’t care what other people were going to think. Whether it seemed too fast to fall in love. I didn’t believe in those kinds of rules anyway. Quincy and Henna had taught me that. They’d always told me that I needed to find my own path—live my life on my terms. Hell, they’d eloped after knowing each other for a weekend, and they were one of the happiest couples I’d ever known.
Gibson Bodine was mine, and I was his. And that was all there was to it.
The problem of my father, and my real identity, had taken on new meaning overnight. The danger hadn’t gone anywhere. I couldn’t stay here if he was free. He’d find out the truth about who I was, sooner rather than later.
Convincing Bootleg I was Maya Davis had been a temporary plan. I was convinced Fanny Sue knew who I was. And if one person did, others would too. It was only a matter of time before people looked closely enough to see me. Saw past my scar and my altered nose. Past my tattoos and dyed hair. They’d see the girl they’d lost. They’d see Callie.
And going back to my life as Maya wasn’t an option. I’d liked a lot of things about that life. It had felt exciting, but still safe. Working with musicians—songwriting, helping them find their power or their peace or their confidence again—was fulfilling. I was good at what I did, and the people I worked with appreciated me. There was value in that.
But proud as I was for having built a life for myself, given where I’d come from, this was what I really wanted. Home. Family. The man I loved sleeping beside me, his arm tucked around my body. I wanted Gibson and I wanted him forever.
And it scared the shit out of me to think the Kendalls could take it all away. That the people who should have loved me could hurt me all over again.
Gibson had said we’d fix things so I could stay, and I’d felt his sincerity. Heard the determination in his voice. I’d have to trust that we’d find a way.
“Morning, love,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. He nuzzled his face in my hair and kissed my head. “How do you feel?”
“Amazing.” I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. I was pleasantly sore between my legs, my body still sated. “How about you?”
He curled in around me, hugging me with his whole body. “So fucking good.”
We relaxed in bed for a little while. But life didn’t stop because we’d fallen in love. Cash needed food and attention. Gibson had work to do, so I brought Cash inside and made us coffee and breakfast while he showered. He rough-housed with Cash a little, crouching down to pet his tummy, then kissed me goodbye in the kitchen before heading over to his workshop.
It was so easy to imagine this being our normal. Our forever. Sharing coffee in the morning. Kissing him goodbye. Hearing the muffled sounds of his tools in the building next door.
Living a life with him.
Oliver called shortly after I’d showered and dressed. He’d been talking with Saraya Lin, an artist I’d worked with before. She was writing songs for a new album, but running into trouble. It didn’t sound like a full-blown emergency requiring a Maya-intervention. So after I took Cash outside, I got her on a Skype call.
I propped up my phone on the table in front of the couch and borrowed Gibson’s guitar so I could strum out the melodies she was working with. Cash wedged himself behind my back for a snuggly nap.
Saraya was off to a good start, but she’d hit a creative wall. With probing questions, I coaxed the truth out of her. She’d lost her favorite grandma a few months back and she was still recovering from the loss. But instead of reaching into her grief and using it to fuel her creativity, she’d been trying to push it away. To separate her emotions from her songwriting. Her usual sound wasn’t heavy or mournful. She was known for her upbeat, vibrant music, and she didn’t know how these dark emotions fit.
I encouraged her to try writing a fresh song and let her love of her late grandma be the inspiration. She didn’t have to delve into the darkness of her loss to find inspiration and meaning. She could draw on the good things. On love and happy memories.
Hours later, with my phone about to run out of battery, and Cash constantly licking my face, we had a song. A soft, beautiful, heartfelt song that made Saraya sound like the musical angel she was. It still needed work, but I knew she could handle it. And if she kept that up—allowing her true emotions to meld with her creativity—she’d be just fine.
Gibson came inside smelling of wood stain. He smiled and went into the kitchen to wash his hands, then got down on the floor to snuggle Cash. It was so cute, it made my ovaries ache. He got up again and came back with two glasses of water.
