Page 28 of Dear Future Husband (The Dearly Written #1)

Trey

It was late Thursday night. I should’ve been exhausted, especially since practice ended about an hour ago and it was well past my bedtime, but I was wide awake.

Soon, I’d be Face Timing my Maybelle.

We texted whenever I had free time. We had that one call the guys interrupted, but that was the only contact we’d had over the last few days.

Tonight, we were calling because I finally convinced her to open the backpack I packed for her that night in the Mason home.

But she only agreed to it if I opened it with her.

I changed myself into a pair of comfortable black gym shorts and a faded, gray, dry-fit tee I knew did my body justice.

I had to dress to impress for my girl. I’d taken notice that when I wore clothing that painted to my sculpted build, Miss Maybelle had a hard time keeping her eyes off me.

That was the goal of all this, to make this girl want me.

To make her long for me almost as much as I longed for her.

It blew my mind just how easy it was for us—now that she couldn’t remember. I wanted her to remember, of course, for the sake of remembering her family.

But I also selfishly loved that she couldn’t remember her life, the things that made her quiet, and the nightmares that made her muscles and joints lock up.

I suddenly felt a little sick with the heavy knowledge and secrets I alone held.

I got up into my bed, trying to focus and remind myself that I would be seeing her face. Laying my back against the headboard of my bed, I pulled out my phone, feeling it vibrate. Maybelle’s name scrolled across the top of the screen.

She was calling ten minutes early.

I smiled as I answered the call. Maybelle and her massive mane of messy curls filled the small screen, stealing the breath from my lungs. She was wearing a black sports bra with an open, gray zip-up across her shoulders. The look would have been simple, maybe lazy on anyone else, but on Maybelle…

Jesus, this girl was a type of beautiful that had me believing angels did walk among us, and I was lucky enough to be a personal witness of one.

“Hey, how was therapy?” I asked, trying and failing to get my focus off the little of her body that was showing and back on her face.

She beamed. “Better. It still kicked my butt, but I don’t feel half as exhausted as I usually do. And I can walk across the house without using the wall. Given—I’m slow, but at least I can do it on my own.”

Her toothy grin was contagious. I smiled proudly back at her. “I’m proud of you, May. You’re doing extremely well in such a short amount of time. I’m impressed.”

She tipped an imaginary hat to me.

I chuckled, sitting myself up higher on the bed. “Alright, are you ready to open the bag?” I asked, a thrill expanding in my chest.

I wasn’t hopeful the things I got for her would suddenly fix her memories. I was content with allowing her to heal and remember with time. But I felt a few of the items could connect her to herself, to her family and the things she loved.

As I watched her, I felt the exposed emptiness in my back pocket. The space that was once filled by a little, black journal I held tightly to over the last year.

Maybelle’s smile wavered a split second before she recovered and bobbed her head up and down.

“Yeah, let me grab that.”

She put the phone down, facing me toward the ceiling.

Then she was back, propping me up on the bed so I could see her while she sat on the other side of the mattress, hands busy with the backpack.

She was biting into the inside of her cheek, staring off to the side, like she was mentally running away.

“May.”

Her eyes slowly panned back to the phone.

“You don’t have to do this, you know? The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable.”

My stomach tightened with the anxiety that she would back out, but I meant it. I would never pressure her if she wasn’t ready.

“I want to look at it. I’m curious to know what you packed, but I’m nervous…

” She paused for a moment, eyes darting away then back.

“I’m nervous you’re expecting me to remember, and I’ll disappoint you when I don’t.

” She squeezed the bag tighter to her chest, like a lifeline as she waited for my response and my heart cracked at the sight.

“May, I’m not expecting this to be some kind of cure. I just wanted to get you some things I thought might help you learn about who you are, where you come from.”

Her grip on the bag loosened, and I felt like I could breathe a little easier.

“Promise?” she asked as her mouth quirked to the side.

“Promise.”

“Fine,” she breathed. “I’m ready. ”

Unzipping the bag, Maybelle went in for the first item, which was a white novel with a little upside-down chick on the front. “ Flipped ?” she asked, opening the book cover to read the author’s name. “ Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen.”

My smile grew wide as I watched her study the book. “Yeah, that one was your favorite,” I explained, remembering how I’d seen her read and re-read the short novel through the years.

She smiled at the book before putting it off to the side. “I’ll start it tonight.”

The next item she removed was a small pair of wireless ear buds. “Oh, these will be nice. I’ve been wanting to listen to more music.”

“I bet. You’re a music and singing prodigy.”

Maybelle dropped the earbuds and her jaw. “No way. For real?”

I nodded back fervently.

“Hmm,” she hummed. “How cool. I’ll have to give that a try. Maybe I’ll serenade you soon.” She gifted me a sideways smirk, and it took everything in me not to burst at the seams with laughter.

“Okay, last thing,” she announced, and I tensed, knowing exactly what was sitting at the bottom of that bag.

She tugged out that small, black, leather-bound notebook.

The journal that was full of the sweetest words, gentlest thoughts, aggressive goals, dark nightmares, and beautifully written dreams. She opened to the first page of the book, her eyes skimming the words scribbled across it.

That same page I read at her bedside a year ago.

A small gasp escaped her. “Is this mine? This whole thing?” Her hand covered her mouth as she continued to study the first few pages.

“Yeah, you’ve been recording your life since middle school. I thought it would be a good thing if you’re ever curious or have questions about your past. You can ask the person who was there for all of it. You.”

I was sweating, hoping she would cherish that little, bound book of pages like I did. The book that got me through the last year in one piece.

“Wow,” Maybelle whispered as she flipped to the next page.

Her soft, stunned look suddenly turned astounded.

“Oh, my—I dedicated this whole thing to my future husband,” she said, eyes still searching.

A beat of silence passed before she gingerly placed the book on her lap.

“This is a lot. Thank you, Trey. For all of this.”

I sighed with relief. “I’m so glad you like it. I hope you can—” Maybelle cut me off with a targeted stare that made me snap my mouth shut.

She held up my journal, accusatory eyes still tracking me. “Now, Mr. Turner, how did you know this was my journal and that it dates back to middle school?”

Shit. I didn’t think that one through.

I didn’t think that through at all.

“Uh.” I fumbled for words. I could totally fib… Bend the truth, spare my pride and her opinion of me this round.

“I read it.”

Nope, guess the strategy was all honesty tonight.

Maybelle’s eyes widened. “Trey Turner,” she gasped. “You are so obsessed with me. It might be creepy if you weren’t so cute about it.” Her laughter howled over the phone.

I couldn’t argue with that. I was so obsessed with her that it probably should be considered a little stalker-like. But I had all the best intentions, which had to count for something.

Right?

“I cannot believe you read my journal. The journal I wrote for my husband,” she hiccupped through her belly laughs.

I stared after her, intensely watching the way her smile revealed the ghost of a hidden dimple on the right side of her mouth.

When Maybelle smiled, it wasn’t just with her lips, but with her whole being. Her eyes, her face, her body exuded a light I wanted to immerse myself in every time she deemed me worthy of witnessing it.

The Maybelle I knew before the accident hardly revealed a smile of this caliber to me.

Life hadn’t given her the chance to experience the tender joy of smiling so bright and it had me craving to pull her close.

To hold on to her. To shield her from every evil and never let her go, so nothing in this world could take that light from her—or me, ever again.

“Oh, Mayhem. You and I both know that book belongs to me. I’m just letting you borrow it.”

Her face contorted, silently asking me where I found the audacity to claim such a thing.

Yeah, that popped out a little presumptuous, I’ll admit it, but that book was mine .

I just needed to be patient for the day she knew it, too.

***

Friday night finally rolled around. I was supposed to leave early Saturday morning for home, but I couldn’t wait.

I got to my apartment from training, showered, dressed in sweats and a long sleeve tee.

My packed bag was in hand as I made my way out, hair still damp, before the small party of people gathered in my living room stopped me.

Larson and Bear had a couple of girls sitting with them on the beanbag and couch.

A kid from the team named Sam was holding one girl hostage in conversation.

She looked bored to tears. I almost felt bad for her, but the poor, awkward kid needed the practice socializing.

The girl would be fine to listen to his ramblings a little while longer .

Two people sat at the kitchen countertop. The guy turned in his stool, seeing me approach with my bags. “Hey, Turner. How are you, man?”

I smiled at my old friend. “Hey, Williams.”