Page 51 of Dear Future Husband (The Dearly Written #1)

Maybelle

“You really haven’t talked to him in over a week?” Penny asked, sitting atop her bed, strung out on her stomach.

“Yeah. He’s been avoiding me since the banquet,” I said as I pulled my shirt over my head. Trey somehow managed to dodge me at the apartment and school. He did answer my texts with super basic replies but when I asked to see him, he left me on read.

At first, I was annoyed. Then I was hurt, confused, and frustrated—then I missed him. Trey’s absence in my life was carving out a cavity I couldn’t bear to leave hollow anymore.

And it had only been a week.

I hadn’t realized just how much of my day-to-day Trey had integrated himself into and I into his. The random calls most nights to talk about our days, his hard practices or my most recent find in the school library.

Each morning walk was quieter, lonelier, not finding a smiling Trey waiting on the other side of my door for me. Which didn’t help with my already paranoid feeling of being watched as I walked alone.

Trey Turner had woven his way into my heart and soul, and I was finally ready to accept it .

“But that all changes today,” I said, sliding my sneakers on over my socks. “Bear is on lookout at the apartment. He said he’ll text me when Trey gets home.”

The cinematically timed ping of my phone had Penny grinning at me. “Game time.”

In less than five minutes, I was at the apartment, powering over the stairs. I didn’t knock when I reached the front door. I burst right in. Trey was in the kitchen, his bag in hand, as he looked at me with wide eyes.

Realization quickly donned, and he slanted a betrayed look at Bear. The big man was smirking on the couch, with Gracie by his side.

“Really?” Trey groaned.

Bear only shrugged his large shoulders.

Trey turned back to me. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I’ve failed my last two math exams. I need you and your brain to teach me.”

He watched me for a moment and in that moment, I genuinely feared he might turn me away. But to my sheer relief, he pivoted for the hall and huffed over his shoulder at me, “Fine. Come on.”

I started down the hall after him but not before shooting Bear and Gracie a quick wink and thumbs up. I knew Trey wouldn’t be able to turn me away when I needed help. It may have been a little manipulative of me, but desperate times.

I shut the bedroom door behind me, which earned me a sidelong glance from Trey, but he didn’t argue. He dropped his bag on the floor while I kicked my shoes off. I jumped onto his bed with my bag, notebook, calculator, and pen in hand.

He didn’t say much more than the bare minimum as he walked me through each problem. Which was fine. It was a good first step.

“Who thought it was a good idea to combine numbers and letters?” I grumbled while writing out the wrong answer to a problem we’d been working through together.

He sighed, leaning close to scratch out my wrong answer and replace it with the correct one.

“How?” I demanded, and his lips sealed together as his eyes darted from me.

“The Father of Math, Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi. You forgot to solve the equation in the parentheses first. Screwed up the entire process.”

I tilted away, dropping a harsh cough into the crook of my elbow, then a barked “nerd” disguised as another cough.

Trey saw right through the charade. Again, his lips went tight, and I realized he was trying to hide his smile from me.

“Stop stalling and try again,” he urged, and I obeyed. Not before I slid him one last dubious smirk.

Only an hour passed before we got through each math equation I claimed to struggle with. Even the few various questions I may have added to draw out the time. When we finished with the last one, Trey retreated from the bed.

“Good luck on your test. Close the door on your way out,” he said by way of farewell before locking his bathroom door and turning on the shower.

Instead of leaving, I put my school supplies back into my bag then pulled out my little, black, leather-bound journal. I opened to a random page and began to read, because I refused to let one more day pass of wasted time between us.

I messed up not communicating the Sam misunderstanding with him earlier. I should’ve told him everything that night on the dance floor, but I didn’t know how.

More like, I was scared to. When it came down to it, Sam was the last little hurtle between me giving myself to Trey fully. He was the last obstacle and I let it sit there, carving out more space between us.

It wasn’t fair.

When I was upset about the Juliette situation, cornered by mistrust, Trey hadn’t let it rot between us. He wasn’t afraid. He didn’t allow me to continue believing he ever cared for her or would hurt me in that way.

He never ran from us or what could be.

Trey was always clear, honest about his feelings and intentions with me. While I… I ran away, pretended and locked my heart up.

He emerged from the bathroom. Steam wafted out with him on his exit and good god almighty, he was only wearing a towel.

Trey approached the dresser in the corner of his room, obviously missing me still strewn out on his bed.

I gawked at the sight of his glistening skin, and his rippling muscles under bronze skin.

I witnessed him in only a towel that day he was sick, but I hadn’t gotten the opportunity to admire the way I could now.

I don’t know why I was so startled when his towel suddenly fell from his hips, revealing every inch of his backside to me. But I yelped, dropping my face into the covers.

“Holy shit. Damnit, Maybelle!”

“Sorry!” The fabric muffled my hollered apology.

I could hear Trey’s snorts of frustration. He rummaged through his drawers, then left with the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut.

I didn’t move from my position of suffocation in the blankets. Even after he reemerged from the bathroom, I kept my face smothered.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked, not at all trying to hide his irritation.

“Are you modest?” I asked into the mattress.

“Maybelle.” Trey’s snipped tone had me lifting my eyes to him. He cladded himself in armor meant only for me as his opponent. A skintight, black athletic shirt and black sweats that hung loose on his hips, revealing the band of his black boxer briefs.

“Why are you still here?” he asked again.

Despite all odds, I managed to breathe. “I’m not leaving until we’re friends again.”

His brows furrowed. “We are friends—I just don’t want to talk right now.”

I held up the journal. “That’s fine. I have some reading to catch up on.”

We were definitely going to talk, but I didn’t want to push him just yet.

He studied me for a long moment. His green eyes narrowed at me before he plopped onto the bed. “Why don’t you go hangout with your boyfriend?”

If I weren’t trying to get on his good side, I would tease him for sounding jealous.

“I don’t want to hang out with him,” I said instead.

“Why?”

His eyes speared straight through my chest, making my lungs cave in as I breathed.

“Because I want to be with you.” My heart hiccupped on the admission, but Trey didn’t see it for the profession it was.

Instead, he tore his eyes from me and drove his hands through his wet waves. “Fine.”

I returned to my journal while he pulled out his homework. I watched him from the corner of my eye, palms clammy with how easily that declaration had leapt from my lips. My heart rampaged against its cage like it could break out and run back to him, where it belonged.

The fan above us, the occasional creak of the bed from adjusting and the turning of pages filled the still moments. I peered up, catching him staring at me from the corner of my eye. When I faced him fully, he looked away. So, I stole glances, only turning away when he twisted to me.

Soon it became a game of quick stolen looks that turned into longing stares. I’d look at him over my book, and he’d peer back.

“What?” I asked, brows raised.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, and we both went back to our tasks. But minutes later, Trey peeked over at me, and I met his green stare.

“What?” he asked softly.

“Nothing.”

Both of us smiled as we returned to our homework and book.

I let the silence, our silence, carry for a few more moments before I finally whispered, “Trey.”

He looked right at me, focus stripping. “Yeah, May?”

“Can we talk now?”

“I have nothing to say,” he said, fast enough I felt the progress we made in the quiet fall apart.

“Yes, you do. We both do.”

Groaning, he set his homework to the side. “Stop it, Maybelle.”

“Stop what?” I demanded.

He sighed deeply, shoving his hands through his hair and gripping at the roots.

I waited a second, then two before adding, “I’m not leaving until we talk.”

Turning from me, he slumped back into the pillows of his bed. “I’m not sure there’s much left for either of us to say.”

My heart sank. “What do you mean? I thought—"

I didn’t get to explain, as he cut me off.

“I know—I know I said a lot at the banquet. I just—I get it. You chose Sam, and I thought I could keep being your friend despite it, but damn it, May.” He swallowed hard, his eyes darting from me as he stood.

“I told you everything. I opened myself up to you and you—left. You ran away. You keep running away. You did it to me then and you’re doing it to me now.

I could handle it then, but now, with everything I know and everything between us.

.. I want to wait for you. Hell, I will wait , but I can’t be as close to you as I do.

“Date Sam. See where that goes. When you’re done running, I’ll be here. But if I’m going to survive until then, I can’t handle just having pretend with you. I can’t talk—or sacrifice more of myself until I have you.”

He stared at me pleadingly. A begging look in his eye that asked me to stop the torture. To put him out of his misery.

I let the journal fall close on my lap, the wind in my determined sails sucked away.