[PART ONE]

I don't know if Everleigh told you, Maverick wrote, breaking the Guinness world record for most pathetic text message written to a not-girlfriend's father, but New York didn't really go to plan. And I know it's been a couple weeks and you're probably as mad at me as she is, but I'm flying to London. Gatwick, to be exact. I just... I have to see her. I own that I messed up. But, if there's any chance you still actually like me as a person, could you at least tell me where she might be when I land? I at least want to apologize. Properly.

Roman hadn't replied to the only slightly less pathetic message he'd sent his way—still long and convoluted, still begging for forgiveness. Every other text message Maverick had sent him before New York simply said delivered. He was pretty sure Roman had turned on his read receipts just for that occasion. Show which side he was on—as if he would be on anyone other than Everleigh's.

The reply that surprised him was a thousand times more drop your phone in the toilet out of pure shock-worthy of a response. (He'd done it once when he found out how well his debut album had done.) (Made enough money to buy him a new, non-toilet-bowl phone, that was for certain.)

U want a ride?

Are you kidding?

No.

I'd love one. Do you know where she is?

Obvi.

Maverick scoffed out a nervous laugh. Obviously.

*

Troy was outside the car when Maverick walked out of London Gatwick. Leaning against it, arms crossed. Staring at him like he was challenging him to continue walking forward. Piercing look—of which Everleigh had clearly inherited from him—trying to turn him away.

Maverick was terrible at following instructions. Always had been. When his mother used to tell him not to eat dessert before dinner, he'd sneak ice cream sandwiches into his room and wonder how, every garbage day, she magically knew that he'd been eating his body weight in not-so sneaky dessert. This was no different.

"Hi."

Maverick gulped. "You know—Actually, I can take a taxi."

"You recognize they'll think you're American with that accent, right?"

Maverick stepped forward, albeit warily. "Thank you for picking me up."

Troy stuck his arm out to block Maverick's path to the passenger seat. "You ever been on one of the many ghost tours we have in London, Kingston? Europe's got a rich paranormal history, if you didn't know. Can't go around a corner without running into one of those tours. Got a lot to do with the Plague, you know? Everleigh used to love those tours when she was a weein, always loved hearing the stories. I don't know if that made her more medically inclined or horror movie inclined as she grew up, but it worked out either way."

"I... didn't know that."

"Upset my kid again," Troy said, "and you'll be part of those tours. Capiche?"

"Understood."

"I'm helping you because I know she's stubborn as a mule," Troy said. "But that doesn't mean I'm not taking her side time and time again."

"Can I still call you Troy?"

"For now? You can call me sir."

"Yes, sir." It was going to be a long car ride.

"Maverick."

"Yes?"

"I'm kidding."

"Oh."

"If this goes poorly, though," Troy said, opening his door for him, "you can call me sir."

Maverick got in the car before Troy changed his mind. Had his seatbelt buckled before the other man got into the car. It wasn't long until they left the airport parking lot that Maverick considered pretending he'd gone fully deaf.

"So," Troy said. "What happened?"

He asked it casually. Like it wasn't the one thing Maverick had been dreading since he'd boarded his stupid ass onto a plane headed to London trying to figure out what the hell he was going to say to Everleigh that wouldn't make him sound more like a jackass than he already was.

"Everleigh didn't tell you?"

"Everleigh hasn't spoken to any of us since she came home. There's one of you who should start talking, but I don't have her in my car."

Maverick swallowed hard.

"We can take the quick route or the scenic route," Troy said. "All depends on you."

"An ex of mine visited," Maverick answered, trying to figure out how fast they were going. If jumping out of the vehicle was going to be less painful. (If jumping out of the vehicle would've landed him in the hospital, potentially where Everleigh was.) (Was that better or worse?)

Troy stayed quiet. Let the silence loom like a fog in a terrible horror movie.

"Well. A sort-of ex."

If there was a god, Maverick wanted to beg them to strike him dead before he had to talk about his sex life with the man of the woman he was—

"I don't need the details," Troy said. A saving grace. "I just want to know how you upset Leigh."

"Can I say something else instead?"

Troy looked hesitant but Maverick didn't blame him for that. Instead of words, he waved his hand and invited whatever Maverick wanted to say.

"So—um, Everleigh left. That night. Before I got to explain myself," Maverick said. "And—and I don't blame her. Believe me. But watching that happen—I mean, the way I know she wanted to cry and didn't cry because she hates crying especially in front of people—"

"I don't mean to interrupt," Troy said, "but you recognize that I know she hates showing any emotion that's not unbridled rage, right?"

"Respectfully, I think I'm in love with your daughter—my Ev—Everleigh. Just Everleigh. Jesus shit." Maverick's eyes widened slightly. "Um. That's what I wanted to say. Just that. The rambling before was... dumb."

It took some getting used to. Saying that word in front of people again. It had been a while. Hell, it had been a lifetime ago. Then, he'd said it in New York. Blurted it out in front of the one person he maybe shouldn't have blurted it out in front of. She took it better than he took it when he'd come to that conclusion.

("I think I'm in love with Everleigh." The second smack to the face he'd received that night nearly knocked the name right out of his brain—though he imagined that was probably impossible. The giver of said smack looked at him like he'd grown another head. "Then what the hell are you still doing here, Kingston? Go after her.") (Maverick had been too late to realize it, Stevie, Brendon, and Everleigh had already left and he didn't blame them for not returning his calls or texts. Maybe he was a little desperate—seeing the headlines when he found out she'd talked to the paparazzi that night certainly made him feel so.) (Maybe this love was meant to feel desperate. To feel drunk. He wanted all her summers kind of love. Would she tell him to go fuck himself kind of love. Difficult and real. Baby just fuckin' say yes kind of love.)

Troy didn't look like he was contemplating this time, though his eyes stayed forward to look at the road. Instead, he looked like he wanted to laugh and was terrible at fighting the smile.

"That was a lot," Maverick said. "Sorry."

"No," Troy said. The smile ultimately won over neutrality. "Not a lot."

"And..." Maverick trailed off. Let out a weak laugh and stared at his twiddling thumbs. "And now you're laughing at me."

"I'm not laughing, Kingston."

"You—" Maverick looked over at him. "No, I guess you're not."

"I'm just glad one of you's figured it the fuck out." Now he was laughing. Not at. With. "Crikey."

Maverick's heart skipped a beat in kind of the worst way possible. Too hopeful when thinking about the ultimately unknown. "Does that mean I shouldn't be as nervous as I feel right now?"

"No, you should still be nervous." Troy laughed again. "She's my kid, and I love her. But... she's Everleigh."

"... Yay."

"To be fair," Troy said, "I'm in for it too. Driving the enemy and all."

"The enemy?"

"I'm assuming Roman didn't reply to you."

"That's... true."

"Enemy."

"Oh, God."

"Maverick."

"Mhmm?"

"For what it's worth," Troy said, "I have quite literally never seen her look at someone the way she looks at you. And I've known her since her first breath. You make her better, whether she's ready to admit it or not."

"Is she likely to... not admit it?" Maverick wanted to be reassured that Everleigh would admit all her stupid feelings like he was planning on doing and he wanted to hold her hand as they walked toward the sunset and the credits played. The Last Crusade, Everleigh Meadowlark's version. Their credit song would be Abstract Blue, if Stevie gave them the rights to it—Maverick would pay an arm and a leg. (Men didn't get into her concerts for free. God forbid they request a credit song.) "Even after I tell her... everything?"

"Oh, my boy," Troy said, "You're willingly walking to the front lines of the human embodiment of World War III. I hope you know that."

"I wanted to be wrong." Unfortunately, he knew all too well. His brain was full of 101 facts about Everleigh Meadowlark and there was a chance he would never need them if meeting up with her went poorly.

"She might try not to be," Troy said. "But she is one of the most predictable people on this Earth. You can always count on her temper."

"That temper scares me."

"Hey, she could be in her first good mood. But between you and me?" Troy nudged him with his elbow as he pulled into a parking stall outside a walk-in clinic. "You're in for it either way, you lucky duck."

[TWO]

"Hey, you fucker."

Maverick stopped in his tracks. Nearly shat himself in the 10 minute pickup area at London Gatwick. Like a bozo. "We're good, right?"

"Would I be here if I was mad at you?" Roman laughed. Like some cartoon fucking villain. He was dressed like a Bond villain—or, Maverick supposed, James Bond. A white shirt and slacks, dress shoes. Not unlike the outfit he'd worn to his own wedding, spare the blazer he had rented for the previous occasion. Graduation ceremonies didn't really need jackets, he guessed. It had been a while since Maverick had been to one. "Not me you need to be scared of. But you are late."

"It's..." Maverick shook his head and laughed. "It's been known. Sorry."

"So," Roman said, "I know I heard Everleigh's drunk ass screaming at you in the bathroom when she thought she was being quiet. What's your take on all this?"

"How long is the car ride?"

"Quarter of your flight time."

Maverick groaned.

"Come on, then—" Roman laughed and threw an arm around Maverick's shoulders. Like Maverick imagined an older brother would. If he had one. But he had Esmé. (Did that make him the imagined good older brother?) (It couldn't be.) (Ha ha.) He took the suitcase from him. If all went well, Maverick had only bought a one-way ticket. If it didn't, Maverick was going to pay one of the border security guards to kill him. "—I can't wait to hear this one."

Maverick opened the car door and got in after Roman let him go. Felt his chest build up with panic. Why? Who knew? It was only Roman. The car ride with Troy months before had been infinitely scarier. Roman wasn't threatening his life; he was even dealing with his suitcase. The trunk closed.

"How much did you hear from Everleigh?" Maverick asked when Roman had got in the car.

He'd listened to Everleigh's voicemail twice a day, everyday since he'd realized it was on his phone. If Roman asked him to play it for him, Maverick could recite every word. Every shaking gasp. Hell, he could probably look himself in the mirror and hate himself from Everleigh's point of view because he felt like he understood from how often he'd heard her yelling. Some part of him had psychoanalyzed every word. Had she mentioned mistletoe because of the Christmas tradition or because it was poisonous and she wanted to kill him? She probably knew the amount it would take, right down to how much he weighed versus how much mistletoe to put in a steeped tea and murder him.

It was even more fucked up that he'd probably let her. And he didn't even like tea that much. Blasphemous.

"I think she said she wanted to drown you," Roman said, pulling out of the parking spot. "Sounded pretty romantic as far as she's concerned."

"She said we would drown," Maverick said. "Both of us."

"Oh, even better," Roman said, quickly tapping his credit card to get them out of the gate. Maverick started to try and pull his wallet out and Roman swatted him in the shoulder, hardly breaking his sentence. "She drunkenly proposed joint suicide."

"Kind of?" Maverick hadn't thought of it like that. He'd still been trying to process every other thing she'd yelled at him in that voicemail.

"In her world, that's probably how she says I love you. If that makes you feel any better."

"It... doesn't."

"Fair enough."

"Sorry."

"Save that for the girlfriend you're trying to see," Roman said. "I've got a thicker skin than her. As much as she'll try and deny it."

"That so?"

Roman tilted his head and laughed softly. "Sometimes."

Maverick looked out the window. London was gorgeous, that was for certain. Made him realize how often, even when he wasn't driving, that he wasn't paying attention to the scenery. He was paying attention to Everleigh. He might've missed Big Ben or the London Eye as they drove past, but he'd never miss one of her smiles. Or her eye rolls. Maverick selectively chose what he would miss out in life. A Vegas residency where he'd get to do what he loved most in life night after night? Sure. A university graduation where the woman he was in love with was giving a valedictorian speech? Never.

Roman had offered him a spot on his and Florence's couch when he'd first started texting him about flying over for the ceremony. He neglected to think about the fact that Maverick was, at surface level, the world's biggest disaster. Where had he ended up finding his passport? Oh, just the microwave. So that when he was sad and heating up shitty leftovers for breakfast, he would be faced with the idea that he should go see Everleigh. All that had managed to do was make him avoid the microwave until he forgot why he was avoiding it, he just knew he was.

Maverick was never good with timing.

"What else did she say?"

"I'm here," Maverick said. "Does it matter?"

"Guess not."

"Would you have done the same for Florence," Maverick started slowly, "or am I just insane?"

"I would do anything for Florence," Roman said, "But that doesn't make me not insane."

"Sometimes I feel like Everleigh wants to push things away. That this..." Maverick trailed off. "Don't get me wrong. I want to spend my life with her if she'll have me, but... she just..."

Roman fought a laugh. "She knows what buttons to press? Pisses everyone off whether she means to or not? Leaves a trail of burnt trees and wreckage like she's a runaway dragon in a medieval story?"

"Yeah."

"Mav," Roman said, "I've known Everleigh for a long time. When I say that's how she loves you, I'm not saying it because I feel bad for you. I mean... I'm not in love with Everleigh but I love her like she's my annoying little sister. And she'll tell you she hates you and that you're an idiot until she's blue in the face. But, she'll also laugh with you about stupid shit and she'll break your finger by mistake and drive you to emergency when she's sober enough to do so—and she'll never be drunk enough to not be able to make a splint out of anything found in any given kitchen drawer."

"I thought Troy was kidding when he said she'd broken your finger."

Roman laughed. "It was kind of both our faults. But, yeah. She closed it in a drawer by mistake. That was... ages ago. And it's still one of my favourite memories."

"Favourite?"

"Everleigh's the kind of person who'll smack you in the back of the head when you say something she doesn't like," Roman said, "but she was questioning everything in each room we were in when we went to the ER. Asking about nerve damage and healing time, about whether I needed to have a follow up in case the break was worse than they thought. I was good with an ice pack, and a splint, but she wanted to know everything. That's how Everleigh cares about people. That's how, you know, that's how she exists. She's bound to piss you off for... well, you said your whole life. That's a lot of Everleigh to put up with. But the way she'll show you she cares about you is enough to make you forget about every single time she's ever annoyed you being her. That's worth it."

"I don't think it's putting up with."

Roman smiled softly. "Yeah? What is it?"

"Guess that's how to love her, huh?"

"Now you're getting it."

"How fucking annoying."

Roman laughed. "Hey. You're the one who chose her."

"Technically, I think she chose me," Maverick said. "I think I met her and it was like I was only alive to be with her."

"Should write a song about that," Roman said, "Friggin' hoser."

"How dare you." Maverick laughed.

"Did I use it right?"

"You did."

"Good."

"Did you look it up?"

"Like I said, kid," Roman said, laughing, "You were late. I had time."

"Is she going to be mad if we're not in the seats?" Maverick picked at the nail polish on his thumb, already chipped from his panic on the plane. Any thought of rejection meant that the nail polish became a victim to his anxiety.

"Dad said he'd video call us if we can't get in."

"He knows how to do that?"

Roman laughed. "Not really."