I push away from the bar rail as I juggle the three bottles of beer between my fingers and my palm, shuffling past a few people as they try to grab the attention of the only two bartenders manning the bar. When Dean suggested grabbing a quick drink before we headed to the airport, I didn't think they would pick such a busy spot.
Located in the heart of the city, the bar is bustling with people, many of whom appear to be students as they catch up with friends, some dressed as if they just got off from work.
I sidestep a couple talking in the middle of the floor, dodging more that are laughing as I finally spot Dean, my supervisor and his husband—who also happens to be another physical therapist I work with—sitting in a booth. I had left them to grab drinks while they tried to find a spot to sit. I'm genuinely surprised they both found a space, considering there isn't much room to stand around.
I let out a sigh followed by a short gasping chuckle as I place the drinks in the middle of the table and slide into the booth opposite them.
Unlike Dean, his husband, Dr. Austin—or Billy, as he often corrects me—has dark afro hair that pairs well with his face's dark, sharp contours. He's also significantly taller than Dean, with broad shoulders and a muscular build.
"Is it always busy here?" I glance around the bar again as I yell over the raging music. The bar, named Pub on Charles, is adequately named as it's, in fact, just that, a pub on Charles Street. Though there are many on this street like it, it seems that something about this place sets it apart from the others.
The maple-coloured hardwood floors, the circular centre bar, the pool tables in the back, and the mini karaoke stage remind me of Vice, the student bar I often visited back in Cardill. It almost feels like home despite it being my first time here.
"Yeah, usually. It's super cheap, but it's also good beer. You can get an all-day domestic pitcher for $10," Dean explains, reaching for his bottle, his silver ring gleaning on his left hand.
My brows lift at the price as I also grab a bottle and raise it to my lips, tasting the bitterness of beer but also the subtle spicy notes of coriander. I'm not always the biggest fan of beer, but I wouldn't mind drinking this.
I hum as I lick my lips and place the bottle back on the wooden table between us.
"So, Bailey," Billy leans forward, his dark eyes quickly glancing at the watch on his wrist before they lift to meet mine and crease with amusement, "How do you like working at the facility so far?"
"And forget for a second that I'm your direct supervisor," Dean chimes.
We share a soft chuckle as I fold my lips into my mouth. "It's been great, such an amazing learning opportunity. It's hard to believe that for my first time interning with an NFL team, I get so much hands-on experience," I rave.
It has truly been fantastic working for the Wolves. Unlike my previous internship with Elijah, I've actually come to enjoy working with Dean and occasionally Billy. The way they can be completely professional, teaching me what I need to know and allowing me to take over once in a while, is something I hadn't expected until my residency.
Dean beams, "That's great to hear. I actually interned for the Warriors before I got my residency with the Wolves, and I haven't been able to part from them ever since." He refers to the Pittsburgh Warriors, the team Carsen plays for.
"Yeah, I can't imagine what residency would be like or where I would even want to go," I shake my head. There are still so many years left before I even have to consider it. I'll have to do rotations where I might not even be able to stay with the same team for a season.
"Well, when the time comes, I do hope you consider starting off with the Wolves." I try not to let my giddy smile be evident, but from my quivering lips and the expanding grins on both of their faces, I can tell I'm not doing that great of a job.
Billy glances down at his watch again, and I notice him get a little antsy, probably due to how close we're cutting it. He opens his mouth, presumably to suggest we head to the airport, but his gaze dances over my shoulder to the front door—as I'm sitting with my back to it—and gapes. His eyes bulge out of their sockets as his eyes follow someone walking into the bar.
I furrow my brows, "Is something wrong?" I turn around, trying to get a glimpse of whoever has rendered him speechless, when I, too, become silent. Striding into the bar like he owns the place is none other than Maverick himself. It's like the crowd naturally parts for him, which is why it was so easy to pick him out. Wearing an oversized shirt that swallows his figure and joggers, he stalls inside the door as his eyes sweep across the room, looking for someone in particular. As soon as his dark golden eyes meet mine, I turn back around, panic seizing every fibre in my body.
"What is he doing here? He should already be at the airport," Billy mutters under his breath.
"You mean like we should be," Dean scoffs, egging his husband on, but quickly eases his words with a gentle smile.
Ignoring their remarks, I sink lower into my seat, trying to disappear.
It's not like I'm ashamed. But the last time Maverick saw me, I cried, being vulnerable, letting him and a room full of people know how I truly felt about him.
I already checked with Dean that Maverick was okay, with no significant injuries that would make him sit out the season or be rushed into surgery. And the most considerable clarity I got was that there was no head injury. They did the tests and confirmed. He was going to be okay.
That's all I needed to know.
But now, in broad daylight, without the guise of being worried for his health, I'm embarrassed. I put myself on the line for all to see while I know nothing about his feelings. And now he was here, for what I don't know.
I smell him before I see him. Which is weird, but I recognize the woodsy and citric notes that fill my lungs, sending shivers down my spine. The delicious smell of him has the ability to will the most precious of memories. The ones that I'm trying to forget. Like how good it felt to be in his arms, lying in bed together, talking all night long.
I shouldn't be having these memories crashing and bombarding my mind when I should instead be suppressing them, forgetting them so I can move on as he has.
Maverick towers in height as his shadow casts over me. His presence is large and palpable. I can feel him before he's even said a word.
"Maverick," Dean exhales, glancing up. His smile wanes slightly when he studies him, "Shouldn't you be wearing a brace?"
Up until this point, I hadn't had the courage to look at him. But at those words, I can't help but whip my head in his direction, immediately meeting the golden swirls of his eyes. They peer into me, drilling down, wanting to wear and tear me down. He works his jaw as his jawline becomes more defined under his quickly growing stubble.
Following down the column of his neck, I study the collarbones that peek beneath his shirt. His bare collarbone, which should be covered by a brace. My gaze drops to his arms, where his hands are clenched into fists. His skin is flushed slightly, bronze against the white shirt, but it doesn't look like he's been injured. Though I know it's his shoulder he should be resting.
"Yeah," his rough gravelly voice sends shivers down my spine, "just giving it a break."
"A break from healing?" Dean questions, but Billy snorts under his breath. I completely ignore them, and it seems like Maverick has the same idea because his gaze doesn't waver from mine. His eyes darken, but his brows have a slight incline, almost like he's sad. There's a small crease, and I see sympathy swimming along his features before he tears his gaze away from me and glances toward Dean.
"I'm sorry to bother you guys, but I would like to speak to Bailey," he turns to me again and holds out a hand, "Can I talk to you?"
I swallow the knot in my throat as I study the expansiveness of his palm. The rough callouses that cover the tips of his thick fingers. The tanned skin that trails up his corded, taut arm as I guide my eyes up his torso back to his eyes.
He's pleading with me. This has nothing to do with how I reacted to his injury during the last game, I discern.
I nod, cautiously placing my hand in his as electric bolts shoot up my arm at his mere touch. With a slight tug from him, I slide out of my seat. I instantly feel warm against his body. I refrain from acknowledging how tense we get at the contact.
"Wait, shouldn't you be on your way to the airport?" Billy starts to stand when he checks the watch on his wrist.
We should all be on our way to the airport. My small carry-on is packed and ready with overnight clothes, my laptop and textbooks so I could still do research for my final paper.
Billy has always been a stickler about tardiness, which is why he's been consistently checking his watch. "Shit, we are late."
Maverick takes the opportunity to check the time on his watch and furrows his brows, "We still have a few hours."
Billy blanches, "You can never assume how much time it'll take. We have to go through security, baggage, hauling everyone through; that's a lot of work."
Dean chuckles, standing and placing a hand on Billy's shoulder, "Ignore my husband. He likes to be prepared."
At his words, Maverick physically relaxes next to me, and I can't help but look up at him with confusion. His height still shocks me, especially for someone who is as tall as me. But I don't know what Dean just said that could have caused him to relax. Dean turns to me, "We'll meet you at the airport."
I nod, unable to find the words. I haven't said anything since Maverick showed up, and it seems I've lost my voice. In not thinking before I reacted, I bared myself to him. I didn't want him to know how much he still affected me, yet, he now knows anyway.
Dean and Billy easily slip out of the bar, getting lost in the crowd that swallows them, while Maverick remains mute and pressed into my side. I feel his breath against my temple, and his chest expands into mine, but I still don't dare to meet his eye.
"I would like to talk, but not here," he mutters lowly into the shell of my ear. A shiver works its way down my spine.
I don't know what he would have to say, but he doesn't drag me out like I thought he would. Instead, he waits for me to respond.
He wants to know if I want to talk as well.
I finally lift my gaze to him. Studying the dilation of his pupils, the way his breath hitches the slightest when he meets my eye, and how the colour fills his skin.
"What more do we have to talk about?" I mutter low under my breath. I wonder what happened to me, the one that was confident and strong. While Maverick has the ability to lift me up, it seems he's also the only one who could render me speechless.
Finally letting go of my hand, he reaches up to cup my neck. Placing his palms under my jaw, his thumb caresses the soft skin of my cheek. He breathes in my exhale as he leans closer, his warm breath washing over my parted lips. "We have much to say, mostly how I've been an idiot."
My words stick in my throat as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. A tingling sensation rushes across my chest, down to the pit of my stomach, where butterflies take flight again. I feel weak in the knees as my legs tremble. I almost topple over, but he's why I'm still standing.
I try to gulp down the knot in my throat, unsure why I'm suddenly so shy around him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I want to talk," he says again.
"What's with the change of heart?" I force the words from my throat, "You didn't want to talk to me before."
He doesn't ease his hold on my neck, holding me, so I don't have a chance to look away. His eyes bleed sincerity when he gazes down at me. When I thought I saw resolved and hardness earlier, it really makes way for sympathy and sorrow.
His entire torso is pressed against mine, his legs folded between mine and with the crowded bar, we're constantly touching and bumping against each other. I'm warm all over from the heat searing from him. It's been so long since I've felt him this close to me, I'm relishing in his embrace, but I also need answers.
I shake the timidness from my mind, reminding myself of everything that's happened in the past.
For the longest time, I've been told that being vulnerable meant being weak. It's been ingrained in me, but considering it was my dad who told me, perhaps it's best I ignore it. But I've been vulnerable with Maverick numerous times. Pleading with him for months, even when I was bickering with him.
And he just ignored all of that.
"I talked to your brother," he exhales, his breath fanning across my dry lips in a heated brush.
My eyes bulge as they widen, my pupils surely dilating at the news. "What," I mutter, unable to comprehend.
I couldn't have heard him correctly. Could I have? Did Maverick actually talk to my brother?
"Yeah," a pained expression washes across his stark features, "I'm so sorry. He told me what happened, and I'm so sorry for putting that on you, for putting you in that situation."
My heart beats thunderously in my chest, threatening to jump out. Sharp bouts of electricity shoot up my spine at the revelation.
He talked to Sam. He went out of his way to talk to him. I don't care if it was to understand why or for my sake, but he actually spoke to him.
I'm struck by the sheer weight of what he did. I knew that with their history, there was no way they could be friends. I was asking a lot by even asking Maverick to consider speaking to him. But despite all that, he actually put his past aside to talk to him.
Butterflies dance as the knots twist and flutter at the utter excitement of what this could mean.
He's here. After all that, he's here now.
A timid smile starts to curve along the edges of my lips as elation courses through my veins, "You talked to Sam?" I ask rather than say because it's still unbelievable that he did.
"Yeah," he returns the smile, his features enraptured by pure bliss. His eyes which were dark previously, glow a golden hue. Flecks spot his irises as laugh lines and creases mar his skin.
I exhale, still stunned. I start shaking my head, trying to understand his sudden change of heart. Was this because of what happened yesterday?
"How? Why? What made you change your mind?" I ask every question I can think of. My heart fills with so much love for him, for doing this not just for us but for himself. Hoping he finally has clarity on what happened and why his mom reacted the way she did. Hoping he knows that my dad was to blame for all this.
A sudden thought occurs to me. I wonder if he will blame me for what my dad did. While it's not my fault, it was my family that caused him such turmoil for the better part of his life. First, in the form of my dad, who kept him away from his mom, then it was my brother. From the past, all signs point to him blaming me and my family—even if I've cut all ties with my parents.
But he's here; he didn't come to yell at me or blame me for everything. Based on his expression, it seems he here's to reconcile.
Does that mean he hasn't moved on? That the date he brought to Ethan's wedding months ago was his attempt to move on? Does this mean he wants to give us a try again?
My heart beats rapidly at the possibility, that he could love me back with equal vigour.
But my stomach plummets when his expression falls. His grip around me slackens when his brows pinch, almost as if he's in pain. He cringes, attempting to step back but keeping his hands on me, "He actually sought me out."
All the hope and desire I felt moments ago wane. My heart drops past my stomach to the floor, where it's getting trampled by random strangers.
I wanted him to talk to Sam, to learn the truth and finally get the answers. But why did I want him to approach Sam? Why did I yearn for him to think I was more important than his feud with Sam, that he would ignore his past to talk to him?
The smile falls from my face as panic seizes his when he notices my demeanour.
"Bailey." I close my eyes. Even now, I'm still Bailey to him. Nothing's changed, regardless of whatever truth he's learned. I'm not enough for him to look past his issues with Sam.
After everything I said and did, Maverick didn't seek him out; Sam did.
With a droning tone, I glance down to his chest, "So you learned the truth."
"Yeah," he responds.
"But, I wasn't enough," I voice lowly. I'm sure he's not going to understand the thought process that occurred in my mind, but it seems like he does because his grip around me tightens. His palm slides to the nape of my neck while the other curves around my hips to hold me to him.
I wrap my fingers around his wrist, hoping to remove them. I can't think clearly when he's holding me like this. The infiltration of memories from before, when he used to hold me like this, is overwhelming.
"I know you're not going to believe me, but I was going to talk to you, hopefully at the airport. I made that decision before I even talked to Sam," he presses his forehead against mine. His skin is so warm as his fingers dig into the sides of my neck.
I don't miss how he calls Sam by his first name instead of Nick, like he usually does. There's obviously been a change of heart, where he's accepting of what Sam said. I don't know what will happen between the two of them, but just from how Maverick addressed him, I can sense an understanding between them.
But I don't know how to process everything. My mind is a jumbled mess. Perhaps it's my mistakes from my past relationship or everything that was said between us, but I know I can't do this. I'm questioning my self-worth, which has never happened with Maverick before.
"I can't do this," I mutter, ripping his hand from my neck as I turn and shuffle through the crowd toward the exit.
I can't breathe, the air around me suffocating. I see the light peeking through the gaps in the front door, and I yearn for it as I chase after it. I just need to get out of here. Get away from feeling vulnerable and weak. Perhaps my father was right in that sense but also wrong. It's not about being vulnerable but about who you're vulnerable with.
Countless times, I have let my guard down around Maverick, yet he never deemed any of that worth squashing his rivalry with my brother. He was forced to make that decision when I wanted him to willingly choose it.
I never wanted to force him to, and for the first time in a long time, I'm angry at my brother for taking that choice away from us.
"Wait," I hear Maverick running after me as I finally throw open the door and bask in the warmth searing my face. I inhale that breath of fresh air, relishing in the relief I get when air fills my overworked lungs, soothing away the sting from hyperventilating.
"Please," his pleading gives me pause before I decide to walk away.
I palm my face, startled that I feel wetness on them. "Leave me alone, Maverick."
I hear his rushed footsteps against the pavement, "I can't."
"Why?"
"You know why," he sounds resigned. He doesn't reach for me, doesn't try to touch me or stop me, even though I hear him right behind me.
I turn around, and he immediately stops. There isn't even a second of panic that he might crash into me, almost like he knew I would stop for him. He takes a step closer, and I bathe in his warmth which feels tenfold hotter than the sun's heat. He presses his chest into mine as I feel his heart pound behind his ribcage. I feel every brush of his skin against the swells of my breasts every time he exhales.
We may as well have been naked for how closely I can feel and sense him.
"Fight with me, argue with me all you want, but please, please don't walk away from me. Not again," Maverick mutters softly. I stare at his protruding collarbone, which looks enticing enough to lick. His chin brushes against my temples, something he's always done to try and get me to look at him.
Giving in, I tilt my head back, meeting his gaze. Immediately his pupils dilate, and the tips of his lips which were curved down in a pout, straighten. "I'm tired of you walking away from me. As much as I admire the view of your ass, nothing beats that pretty face." A blush consumes me. My pulse beats in my temples, and blood pooling in my ears. "That's the fifth time you've blushed for me."
My eyes widen, sinking deeper into his, "You've kept count?" My voice is light and airy from shock.
"I'm aware of everything you do. Every breath you take, every time you lift your hand to bite your nails, every blush, every mole, every time you furrow your brows, ready to argue with me. I look forward to every time you open your mouth to argue and bicker."
"But you, you said—" he cuts me off before I have a chance to respond, reminding me once again that he knew me all along.
"I'm sorry," he exhales into my mouth, "I'm sorry for what I said. You have to understand that half—no, most of my life has been dictated by lies and half-truths. I hated my dad for no reason because of them. I trusted my mother, who has been selfish and undeserving of my trust my whole life. For someone who's never gotten the truth, I was tired of all the lies. I don't want to get more lies from someone I care so much about because I do care about you. More than I care to admit."
I gulp, my throat feeling sticky and thick. My eyes sting from the impending tears. I knew all of this about him. Which is why I pleaded with him. I didn't want to lie to him. I didn't want to keep him in the dark because as much as he knows me, I know him just as well.
My hands itch to touch him, to place them on his hips and tug him toward me. But instead, I clench them into fists at my side.
I lick my dry lips, "I understand that I kept something from you, but it was never my intention to lie to you. If anything, I was advocating for you to find out. But it wasn't my story to tell, and I couldn't betray my brother's confidence again, especially after he finally trusted me enough to share what happened. But you wouldn't believe that. You didn't trust me." I choke on a sob, and I hate that. He cared for me when I was strong, when I stood my ground and fought back with resilience. But instead, these past few months, the fight with my dad, learning what happened to Sam, and the heartache from Maverick pushing me away has torn through me, leaving behind a shell of a person I'm starting to hate.
I hate who I am. I promised myself I would never become dependent on another boy. Yet, here I was, tearing myself apart because of one.
"I know you won't believe me, but yesterday, I felt everything you felt for me, everything I felt was truly reciprocated. I thought, despite everything that's happened in the past, without even listening to Sam's side of the story, that I didn't care about it. I was willing to have Nick in my life if I meant I could have you. Because my hatred for Nick wasn't worth giving up what I could have with you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to figure that out."
He reaches for me, taking hold of my jaw again, cradling it between his grasp. "I tried to move on, but you were embedded so deep into my skin, my pores, my veins that I saw you everywhere. I wasn't happy because you weren't by my side. And I wish, I wish I could have said all this before I talked to Sam, just so you believe me. That I'm choosing you despite everything that happened with your brother. But short of calling up my friends, there's nothing I can do. I don't blame your brother, though. I rather come to you knowing the whole truth than you getting half of me that'll always wonder what if."
The conviction in his voice gets me to waver in my resolve. So what if he did make this decision after talking to Sam? All I wanted was for him to find out the truth about his mom, about why Sam hated him when he did nothing to warrant it. I just wanted him to know, yet I'm complaining about the timing?
Maverick could have easily taken that information and walked away. He didn't have to come back and be willing to accept Sam into his life. But by being here, he's accepting me, baggage and all.
I don't think I could love him any more than I do at this moment.
He mistakes my silent inner turmoil for reluctance. His voice drips with despair, "You have to believe me, please."
"I do believe you," I whisper. I place my hands over his, covering his knuckles and feeling the grooves of his veins.
His eyes light up to a warm light gold, the amber more prevalent, showing all the dark flecks and imperfections in his eyes. That single dimple—bless my heart—makes an appearance as his smile spreads wide across his face. It's been a while since I've seen him smile, truly smile. It's always been strained.
And my heart skips when I note that it's directed at me.
"Please say you'll have me back," he exhales, leaning in closer until I feel the brush of his lips against mine, and a gasp escapes me at the closeness, "All of me, my baggage and my flaws, my imperfections, take back my sharp but often unreliable mouth, my quick to judgement mind. But most importantly, take back my heart that still beats your name every second of the day. That loves you wholly, with no respite. Take me back."
A shiver runs down my spine, my skin breaks out into goosebumps, and my stomach curdles. I couldn't have heard him right. I would love to take him back, but what he said, that must be something I conjured in my mind.
"You love me?"
His smirk is slightly taunting as his eyes flip between mine before dropping to my lips, "Wholeheartedly, at least that's what my speech implied," I let out a teary chuckle, "I'll get down on my knees for you if you want. I'm ready to be vulnerable with you, show you that while I'll never let anyone control me, I'll gladly cede control to you."
I shake my head, not needing him to do that. I trust his words.
I study his features with intent. The slant of his brows, the curve of his lips, the point of his nose and the indent of his dimple. The roundness of his cheeks, the way his thick hair sweeps across his forehead.
His arms drift down to circle around my hips as I place my hands on his shoulder. Being mindful of what could be a tender limb, I trace over his muscles, his arms, noticing how they tense under my touch and how he shudders.
His grip tightens slightly, pulling my attention away from how taut his arms are and how soft his shirt is. His nose nudges mine, "Say something, please."
"When you were injured," I inhale, there's a tightening in my chest, "I felt the physical blow of it. I felt like I had been tackled and hurt on the ground. When you brought that girl to Ethan's wedding, my chest felt like it split into different fragments, and one of them had punctured my lungs, explaining why I couldn't breathe. Last year, after we parted ways, I went home and cried so much Ryan thought I was still crying over Chase. Because the pain of losing you was too much to bear." I slide my hands back up his arms to wind around his neck. His eyes glisten as he listens to every word that comes from my mouth. "I hated you a year ago, but I saw the different facets that are you. I learned what kind of man you really are, and slowly but surely, you wound your way into me, into every crevice, every molecule and vessel. Everywhere I turned, I thought about you, what you were thinking, what you were doing. Despite everything telling me to be against you, I still fell in love with you."
His eyes flash a vibrant golden, his gaze sliding over my face as if wondering if what I said was true before he comes crashing. He literally collides with me. His lips, his chest, his thighs, every inch of him press into me.
His lips are warm and soft against mine, but his movements convey a different story by being rough and fervent. It's like he can't get enough of me.
I inhale his smooth masculine scent as he tips my head to the side and presses closer. My palms explore the breadth of his shoulders. I can feel his need in his tight grip on me.
Desire ripples off of him in waves as lust swirls through my veins. Shudders work their way down my spine, my legs suddenly feel weak. Hot white flashes of light sprout behind my closed lids when he thrusts his tongue into my mouth.
A desperate moan escapes me as I reach into his hair to grab his soft strands. I know every dip and curve of his body from memory alone, and I can't wait to explore it all again. Discover any new muscles he's worked on, growing with the new season.
Despite everything we've been through, I smile at the fight for control. It's a losing battle, but he did say he loves my fight. So I give him the best fight I have as I bite his lip, tugging his bottom fuller one into my mouth.
His fingers—so long and thick—dig into the small of my back as he spreads his palm. Pulling me closer into him, I feel the bulge of his crotch against my lower stomach. His other hand moves down to my ass, where his fingers burrow into my flesh which can be felt through my jeans. I gasp, giving him more opportunity to explore the inside of my mouth.
I pay no heed to the people walking around us as his intoxicating scent and tantalizing lips consume me.
I reach up to the tips of my toes, stretching as far as I can to get more, needing more. A coil in the pit of my stomach intensifies, and I'm left feeling nothing but the pure unadulterated desire for him. I moan, whimper, and cry against him while his hand inches back up my body, and I cup his jaw that prickles my palms.
He pulls back gently, and I almost let out a whine at the loss of contact. Peeling my eyes open, I blink at his swollen, red lips, admiring the curve of them, how they spread wide with a growing smile. I mimic the grin as my gaze flits up to meet his significantly dark eyes.
"I love you," he mutters, "All of you, every bit of who you are. And I never want to let go, ever again. I want all of you."
Blood pools under the surface of my skin, warming my cheeks. He leans forward, placing a kiss, but not before whispering, "Six."
Giddiness consumes me as I tighten my grip around his neck, fitting my body against his as he lifts me up. My toes dangle a few inches above the ground.
"I love you, Maverick," I whisper into his ear as I burrow my face into the curve of his neck, "And it'll be me who's never letting you go. You're stuck with me now."
"We'll see about that," he chuckles, his grip tightening impossible. But I relish in his arms, not caring for any pain it might cause.
How could I feel anything but bliss when I'm finally free to hold him and love him as I please?
A/N - Hey! First, I want to thank you for all your well wishes. I tried to respond to everyone, but unfortunately, I couldn't respond to a few. It is truly amazing to hear all your comments, and I may have teared up at the number of responses. I love you all.
Second, they are back together!! Yay! I know it was a bit of a wait, but I hope it was worth it (lol). As you may have guessed, we are nearing the end of WTD (a super bittersweet moment). I have about 6 chapters and 2 epilogues to post (and I only finished writing 2 of those chapters 😬). But I have already started planning Worth the Fight, Carter's story, which is why the end of WTD is so bittersweet.
I hope to finish writing WTD soon and hopefully post double updates, but no promises. I only finished writing chapter 45 this past weekend.
Anyway, that's kinda my rant of the week. Hope you have a great weekend. I will see you next week.
Maddie