Rolling his eyes, Dare nailed him with a pointed stare. “When you gonna fight for what you want?”
Like it was that easy. “Come on, D.” Maverick looked away, not wanting his cousin to see the resentment he probably wore for even bringing it up. For making Maverick confront yet again the fact that he’d given his heart to someone who didn’t want it. And he couldn’t seem to get it back.
Dare heaved a belabored breath. “Fine. I’m just saying.”
“Well, don’t. Let’s move on to religion or politics or something.” Because hell if he wanted to keep pricking at all the sore places inside himself.
“All right,” Dare said, and the concern and resignation in his voice was a total kick in the ass. But whatever. Mav’s life was what it fucking was. And for the most part, it was good. Damnit, before Alexa had shown up the week before last, he probably would’ve said it was great. This place, these men, Bunny and Rodeo and Doc and Dare—this was Maverick’s home, his family. He didn’t need a woman to give him a sense of belonging.
He really didn’t.
And it made him resent her for stirring up all this shit for him again after so long. For reminding him of the feeling he’d battled five years before that a part of him had died and been put in the ground right alongside Tyler. Because he’d lost his friend. And then he’d lost his woman. And his love for her had been killing him ever since.
That resentment? That was good. He clutched onto it. Because it was a helluva lot easier to be angry than to be hurt. It was that anger that had him making a resolution, one that self-preservation meant he was gonna have to stick to once and for fucking all.
He’d do right by Tyler’s memory and the history he shared with Alexa and keep an eye out for her as much as he could. Just in case his gut was reading things right. But in thirteen days, she’d be walking down an aisle and into another man’s arms.
Which meant Maverick had just under two weeks to let Alexa Harmon go. For good. Because he couldn’t keep wanting something he could never have.
CHAPTER 11
The gown was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Alexa had ever seen. Standing on the raised step in front of the angled mirrors, Alexa couldn’t stop admiring her wedding dress. It had a voluminous A-line skirt made of tulle, a long chapel train, a satin bodice with a flattering sweetheart neckline, and a wide champagne-colored ribbon at the waist. Classic. Romantic. Ungodly expensive, but Grant wanted to spare no expense on their wedding.
Pick something beautiful. Something that will make me proud.
That’s what he’d told her as she’d set out to shop for a dress, a personal shopper he’d hired at her side. The woman had steered Alexa away from what she’d deemed the pedestrian dresses to more exclusive, one-of-a-kind designer gowns—following instructions Grant had apparently given her. He wanted their wedding to be the swankiest social event Western Maryland had ever seen. And since so many business associates would be there, she understood why, even though all of it was so much more than what she needed to be happy. Alexa had dreamed of having a beautiful wedding as much as any other woman, but it was the marriage that came after and the joy of building a life together that was most important to her. Because she wanted what her own parents never seemed to have had.
The seamstress inspected each alteration she’d made and frowned as she examined the hidden back zipper. “It is a little snug here,” she said, running her fingers down Alexa’s spine.
The French fries Alexa had gotten at the drive-thru on the way to the fitting sat like a rock in her stomach. Snug . . . because she’d been eating junk food nonstop the past three days. Ever since having sex with Grant in the bathroom at the inn had left her feeling so strange. So unsettled. So . . . unsure.
Even more than she’d already been. She just wasn’t sure if she was making something out of nothing. Or allowing Grant to walk all over me, a little voice whispered.
The older woman met Alexa’s eyes in the mirror. “Hmm. Maybe I should—”
“Don’t worry,” Alexa said, shaking her head and putting on a smile despite the tendril of panic snaking through her veins. “We just did some celebrating this past weekend. I overindulged a little. But it’ll be fine by the wedding.” Alexa would make sure of it. Grant wanted everything to be perfect—including her. Maybe even especially her. And she certainly wouldn’t make him proud if she was busting out the seams of her six-thousand-dollar gown.
So stupid. Why hadn’t she thought more about the fitting today?
“Okay, then. If you’re sure,” the seamstress said with a smile. “Let’s get this off of you. You’re all set.”
An hour later, Alexa was back at the office, that rock still heavy in her stomach.
“Hey, sweetie,” Christina Lee said from behind the ornate reception desk as Alexa entered the building. Alexa and Christina had started working at Slater Enterprises at nearly the same time—about a month before Tyler’s death, and they’d been friendly ever since. Friendly enough that Alexa had asked her to be her maid of honor, and Christina had agreed. They might’ve even become much closer, but Grant’s pursuit of Alexa back then seemed to have scared some people off of befriending her, like they were afraid Alexa might report back on them to the big boss. But that was better than the people who resented her for their relationship. “How’d the fitting go?”
Alexa leaned against the high desk. “Good. It’s so gorgeous I can barely stand it.”
“Of course it is,” Christina said, grinning. “Less than two weeks now.”
Something which should’ve unleashed excitement inside of her, but . . . didn’t. “I can hardly believe it,” she said, forcing a smile of her own.
“What’s left on the list that I can help with?” she asked.
“Honestly, not too much. I visited the venue yesterday and confirmed the menu and did a little shopping last night. So things are on track, but let me check with Grant about his schedule. We should get together for dinner one night this week.” Assuming he had a late meeting so she wasn’t taking time away from him.
“You know I’d love that,” Christina said. A phone call came in through the switchboard. “Oh, duty beckons.”