Page 25 of Dear Future Husband (The Dearly Written #1)

Maybelle

I was on a beach, and I was running. My joints didn’t buckle, my muscles didn’t give out, and my heart raced with the beat of each stride.

I was alive.

I sprinted, ready to continue my chase with no end in sight until my path forked. Two roads laid before me. I glanced to the right, curious about the emptiness it offered. Something inside me, something forgotten, reached toward it.

Ignoring the internal pull, I turned to the left. The road was long, built with dips and turns, but not too far down; near the middle, there stood a man. I couldn’t make out his features. He seemed more ghost than man, an illusion waving to me.

As I stood between both paths, I had a sinking feeling that I was forgetting something. Something—or someone. Stepping forward, I decided on my path, but as I moved, my legs collapsed, and I fell.

***

Morning sun struck through my window, setting my small bedroom alight. It made those messy caramel waves and green eyes glow as he knelt against the bed and brushed the sleep-crazed curls from my face.

“Morning, Mayhem.”

Trey had followed through with his promise.

I blinked the world around me into focus. My attention fell down his torso… He was shirtless.

Where did his shirt go—actually, I didn’t quite care.

I reached toward him and placed a hand against his cheek. “You, my friend, are so pretty; it hurts.”

His head rocked back as he guffawed. “Excuse me?” he chopped out through his raspy, sleepy chuckles.

Half of my face beamed at him, while the other half remained plastered into my pillows.

“You heard me.”

I gave his cheek a quick pat, then curled back in on myself. He was still crouched next to my bed, eye level with me, watching me with a smile tugging at his lips.

“So,” I started as I yawned, sat up and stretched my arms up into the air. “That do we have planned today?”

Still watching me with that slight smirk, Trey shrugged. “I have a couple of ideas. I have a date at noon. After that, I’m all yours,” he said as he draped his upper body across the bed next to me.

A date… Cool, cool—perfect timing because around noon I was going to be throwing myself off the Golden Gate Bridge. Yeah, we barely knew each other—or I barely knew him—but come on. A date? What was he doing going on dates with other girls during the little time I had with him?

To mask whatever was happening in my head and the tightness in my chest, I went with what I knew best: childish teasing and fake confidence.

“Oh, a date, hmm? Is she cute?” I waggled my brows down at the muscled, tanned boy that had the audacity to lay himself across my bed like he owned it.

Well—I guess he did.

Trey quirked a brow. “Yeah, she’s way cute. Known her forever. I think you’d like her.” He rolled up onto the bed, his back against the wall, his arm lazily propped behind my back against the pillows.

“Well, you have fun with that,” I said as I scrambled away, putting distance between me and what I wished was breakfast.

My legs felt strong under me today, even after all the work I put them through the last couple of days. I wobbled but successfully made it to my door and opened it.

“Thank you for keeping me company last night, but I better get dressed and ready for the day.” I forced an overly wide grin as I held the door open and gestured for him to leave.

Trey stared, a sly smile now teasing his enticing lips. This defiance was a large contrast from the paranoid boy that treated me like a fragile, glass doll last night and I liked it.

“I mean, unless you’re wanting to stay for the show?” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “I don’t think your date would quite appreciate it, but I don’t mind the company.”

His face burned bright red.

Check mate.

He stood from the bed in all his shirtless glory. I would’ve shamelessly swooned if not for my bitter pride. He strolled confidently up to me, but I refused to retreat. Stopping only inches from me, he dipped his head in close.

“You’re right,” he said in a hushed tone that had me instinctively and stupidly leaning toward him. “She wouldn’t appreciate that.”

And I was left alone, on the threshold of my bedroom door. He sauntered away while I held my breath, worried that if I exhaled, it’d be a loud curse that escaped my mouth.

I skipped breakfast to avoid Trey and the odd jealousy that now racked me. Instead, I entered the bathroom, showered, and washed my matted curls.

Wrapped in a luxurious, fluffy white towel, I exited the shower, my wet hair falling down my shoulders and back, past my butt.

Turning to face the mirror, I took another towel and scrunched it in my sopping curls. Over the last week or so, I did what I could to avoid the mirror, never taking time to study the reflection in front of me. That first day I looked in the mirror, I was genuinely scared of what I saw.

The being before me was pale, frail, and stale looking.

Like the life had been sucked clean from me, down to the bones.

Now the figure that stared back smiled, cheeks pink, hair bouncy, body filling out in certain previously caved in areas.

I felt pretty and finally could recognize bits and pieces of the girl pictured in those three frames above my bed.

I was awake. I was alive.

I dressed myself in a simple, cotton, heather-gray, capped sleeve shirt, and straight leg whitewash jeans. After getting dressed, I tossed my mass of drenched curls around, trying to decide what to do with them. A minute of contemplating passed before I left it alone to dry freely.

Exiting the bathroom, steam rolling out with me, I found Trey leaning against the door frame. His eyes went wide as they fell on the damp curls that coiled around me.

“What?” I asked, resting against the opposite side of the frame.

He wore a plain black shirt that hung tight to his chest and shoulders with well-fitting dark jeans. His brown hair was wet, like he too just got done with a shower.

Trey pulled his gaze from my hair, giving me a full once over before landing right back on my curls. His hand lifted to grab a long lock of my hair, twirling the strands around his finger as he held them up between us.

“This,” he started, “is my favorite thing in the whole world.”

I slanted him a curious look. “My hair?”

He nodded, not breaking eye contact.

Chelsea came around the corner of the hall, then, wearing a darling modest, light blue sundress, her hair in loose waves and a cream-colored purse on her arm.

Smiling, she stopped in front of us. “Oh, hey you two!”

I smiled broadly while Trey slowly untangled his finger from my hair.

“Hi, Chelsea,” I said as I felt him then continue to pull and play with the curls dangling against my back.

Her grin only grew as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Trey, are you ready for our date? We need to leave in the next twenty minutes if we want to make it to our regular place by noon.”

I spun back to Trey, whose smirk was smug as he slid me a wink. “Told you she was cute.”

Trey one, Maybelle zero.

He turned back to his mom. “Yeah, Mom. I’m ready for our date.” He brushed by me, breezed a quick kiss to the side of Chelsea’s head and continued on to his room; that was only a couple doors down from mine.

“Sorry Maybelle, I forgot to ask you, are you comfortable spending a couple of hours alone? Trey and I always try to fit in a quick lunch date when he’s in town, but we won’t if that makes you uncomfortable.” She bridged the distance by placing a hand on my upper arm.

“Of course,” I replied. “Don’t stress about me. I started a book last night that I’ve been wanting to finish. You two have fun.”

“Okay, thank you, and I put my number in your phone in case you need anything. Do not hesitate to call.”

Not long later, Chelsea and Trey left on their mother-son date, leaving me to my own devices .

For the first time since waking up, I was alone. No one was in the next room, no one to hear if I called out. I shook away the eerie feeling the silence brought. I retreated to my room, retrieved the book I started. Instead of staying in my room, I ventured into the backyard.

The yard was quaint, with beautiful plush grass, but what caught my eye was in the far corner between two trees. A net hammock hung up, ready and waiting for me and my book.

***

“Mayhem,” a baritone voice called out a couple of hours later, pulling me from my story.

“Hi,” I answered, my nose still between the pages of my book. I hadn’t realized Trey’s quick approach until he was in front of me and plucking the novel from my hands. I tried to snatch it back, but he halted me with one held up finger.

“You can read later. Right now, we’re leaving,” he said as he grasped one of my hands and pulled me to my feet.

The last couple of days of pushing my physical limits were catching up with me. Instead of letting him go and walking on my own, I looped my arm in his and held to his massive arm as we walked the stretch of the yard.

“Where are we going?” I asked, with my eyes focused on the ground in front of me.

“I was thinking ice cream, but the rest is a surprise.”

He helped me up into his black Jeep that was parked out on the road and buckled me in before hopping into the driver’s seat. He threw the car in drive, and we were on the road.

As we drove, I plastered my face to the window, watching the passing roads, buildings, and people. I knew I’d been a member of the world that bustled past the glass, but I couldn’t recall any specific memories, moments, or personal experiences—which drove me absolutely insane.

It was the feeling of remembering the tune of a song, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t recall the name or specific lyrics.

Or when you remember someone’s face, but their name just sits on the tip of your tongue and never leaves spoken.

The incessant lack of recollection only dries your tongue out and makes your head hurt with frustration.