42. Long Live Messes

42

LONG LIVE MESSES

Maeve

It’s open studio night at Upside Down, so we’re all working on our own moves, some basic, some advanced, getting one-on-one instruction as we go. I’ve been flirting with inverts, but I’m not there yet. Mostly since, well, I don’t want to break my hands. Or my neck. I like both body parts.

The studio is lit with soft, ambient light that highlights the sleek poles, mirrors lining one side of the room.

As the class winds down, I glance at Everly in the mirror. She’s so determined, and now she’s working on her Ayesha—a move I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to master. The level of strength required is beyond me. I look over to Kyla, the main instructor and manager, who’s a few feet away. I grip my pole, trying to prep for my basic climb, something I love to work on all the time since it’s good for my hands and my hands are my life .

“Good job today,” Kyla says. “You’ll be working on your Ayesha in no time.”

I laugh, nodding to my friend. “The thing about me is I think I can do stuff like that, and then I can’t even invert well.”

“Yes, you can, Maeve,” she replies as she steps closer. “I’ve seen you do it.”

“You know what I mean—without looking like a limp, wet pool noodle.”

“You look like one of my badass students working on her skills, just like Everly. And you’re fearless.”

I glance around the studio again. The air feels different now, quieter, with only a few of us left working. “Speaking of fearless,” I say, lowering my voice, “can you help me with some floorwork?”

Kyla raises a brow. “What are you thinking?”

“Pin-up girl, leg sweep, maybe a backslide.”

She grins. “Someone’s planning a fun evening.”

I smile, a little secretive. Like a cat about to catch the canary—or, in my case, the hockey player. And honestly, I can’t wait.

After class, we head to Sticks and Stones, a lively bar with pool, games, and excellent cocktails. The five of us squeeze into a booth where the music isn’t playing too loud. When Gage, the tattooed owner, swings by to take our orders, things seem normal with my friends. But the second he’s gone, all eyes turn to me.

Josie huffs.

Fable taps her fingers on the table.

Everly’s gaze sharpens .

And Leighton points to an imaginary watch. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s been almost four weeks since you married your husband, and you only told us a few days ago about the great banging. We’re going to need every detail, plus the biggest apology for keeping this from us.”

Her voice carries that mix of playful annoyance and genuine fury that only friends can muster.

Josie crosses her arms. “Exactly. What the hell? I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from us.”

“I told you the other morning!” I protest. “Hello! I texted about the great banging.”

They all roll their eyes, perfectly synchronized like they’ve been rehearsing for some eye-rolling contest.

“You gave me hell about my boss having a crush on me for over a year,” Fable chimes in, leaning closer, her hazel eyes searing. “You didn’t let up. And now, you went off and did this in secret. I think you’re going to need to serve some time in friendship jail for this.”

“I don’t need to go to friendship jail,” I say, half laughing. “That sounds terrible.”

“Then explain yourself,” Everly presses. “How could you not tell us about Asher?”

My instinct is to defend myself. “How do you even know it’s been going on since we got married?”

Everly rolls her eyes again. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Maeve.”

“Maybe it’s the way you blushed when we gave him marriage tips a few weeks ago,” Leighton adds.

And he didn’t follow them. He left the door unlocked when he showered, and I’ve never been happier. Still, denial is fun. “That proves nothing.”

Josie shakes her head, mock disbelief written all over her face. “I know you, Maeve. That proves everything. ”

“And the fact that you were getting special tips for a certain dance in pole class tonight?” Everly teases, her eyes sparkling. “Kind of hard to deny it’s been going on for a while when you’re asking for moves like the backslide. You weren’t exactly subtle. And I don’t think you’d dance for a guy you’ve only boned for one night.”

Damn. Sherlock has nothing on my friend.

“I’m triggered,” I joke, but they’re right. I didn’t tell them the details. I kept everything close. But where to start? Do I take them back to Vegas? Do I tell them about that night when we said I do —about how I was so hot for him I could barely control myself? It all feels too personal, too private. It’s ours , and I’m not sure I want to share it.

But then again, they’re my best friends. Each of them owns a little piece of my heart. As much as I like to tease, it’s been hard keeping this from them.

“Fine,” I admit with a smile, “it started in Vegas. We kept trying not to give in, kept saying it couldn’t happen again, that it would be a one-time thing, and then…”

Everly and Josie exchange knowing looks, like they’ve been there before, done that.

“And then you couldn’t resist,” Josie says gently, her voice soft with understanding. That’s kind of what happened with her and Wesley.

Fable squeezes my arm. “Friend, I really get it. So…is that what it’s like for you? You kind of can’t get enough of him?”

That’s exactly what it’s like. But if I admit that, am I just like them? Not that that’d be a bad thing—Everly, Josie, and Fable are all in happy, stable, committed relationships. But I’m in a fake one with an expiration date. As much as I adore Asher, I can’t pretend I’m where they are. It’s different. Messier .

Plus, I don’t want to fall back into my old patterns, clinging to things that aren’t meant to last. Lord knows I hold on too hard, like I do to that book of my mom’s I brought to Asher’s home. The idea makes me feel exposed, vulnerable, more than I want to be, more than I’m naturally prone to be.

“It’s just an arrangement,” I say, trying to mask the uncertainty creeping into my voice. “Friends with benefits, but we’re married…technically.”

Josie snorts. “You’re living with him, sleeping with him, hanging out with him…How are you not going to fall in real love with your fake husband?”

I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. I don’t have an answer to that because it’s terrifyingly possible. But it can’t happen. It can’t because my fake husband is my real best friend. And if I hold on too tight as his wife, I might lose him as my friend. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

“Because I’m too much of a mess!” I blurt out, half joking but half serious. “I have so much going on—there’s no room for new emotions. Besides, I don’t even know how to act with him, much less feel with him.”

Everly gives me a sympathetic look. “You’re not a mess.”

I side-eye her. “But I am. I promise you, I am.”

Josie shakes her head. “We all think we’re a mess. We’re just working through things, trying to be the best versions of ourselves. That’s what you’re doing too. Maybe there is room for new emotions.”

Leighton leans in, her gaze soft but intent. “But it sounds like that’s what you’re already feeling with him, isn’t it?”

I pause, her words sinking in. Sure, maybe there are new emotions slipping in, but they can’t be love. Not yet. How could I handle that on top of everything else? My life is already chaotic—between the Sea Dogs mural commission, and the new projects my agent mentioned (including a plant-based café that begged me to come in this week and draw a painting of a tree with hummingbirds on the wall and I could not resist, because…hello, dream job!), and me trying to finally, after years of trying, carve out a meaningful career, and now Asher…it’s too much.

Especially when I think of my mother and her final wishes for me. Follow your dreams . The last piece of advice she ever gave me. What if I get distracted from my dreams? What if I end up like Dad, losing sight of everything else because I got too caught up in a romance?

I can’t let that happen. Not now, not when everything is finally falling into place.

“Feelings,” I say, sidestepping the topic. “I’m feeling too many of those damn things. That’s sometimes the problem.”

The bartender arrives with our drinks.

I lift my mojito, trying to quell the rising panic in my chest with a toast to, well, to this thing I deeply need—friendship. “To The Padlockers. And your uncanny ability to get anything out of me.”

Josie clinks first, peering at me through those glasses. “I’m surprised, Maeve. You’re usually an open book. It took you long enough.”

Everly lifts her glass. “For the record, I confessed early about Max.”

“And I told you all practically the morning after things happened with Wesley,” Josie adds, and out of the corner of my eye I catch Leighton fiddling with her napkin, then her earrings. The flower ones specifically. Hmm. That’s some nervous energy right there.

I clear my throat. “Does anyone else have anything she needs to get off her, ahem, bosom ?”

The table’s quiet for a long beat, and slowly, we all turn to Leighton. “What?” she asks, with wide blue eyes.

“Spill,” I demand, stabbing the table.

She lets out a long, anguished sigh. “Fine, I had a thing with Miles Falcon late last summer before I knew who he was and that he works for my dad, and it won’t happen again, and it can’t happen again. And you really can’t say a word.”

“Last summer?” Everly’s voice shoots up. “Before the start of the season.”

Leighton nods guiltily. “It was pre-season. One night. Well, one day too. One amazing day together,” she says wistfully.

“Like a perfect date one day?” Josie asks, voice both sad and hopeful.

“Pretty much,” she says.

“Wow. That was before I saw you again in your dad’s office in the fall. Before you took pictures of the community center gardening event,” Everly says. That was one of the promo shoots Everly arranged when she was rehabbing Max’s image a few months ago.

“Yep,” Leighton says, a heavy admission. “It hasn’t been easy running into him those times. He drove me home too after that gardening event.”

“Where is my popcorn?” I pull my chair closer. “The coach’s daughter and one of the star players. This is going to be good.”

And it is very, very good when she tells us about her one perfect day and night with him. About the earrings too. When she’s done, I lift my glass once more. “To wonderful, fantastic, knee-weakening messes.”

“And finding our way through them,” Leighton finishes.

We all clink glasses once again, and in that small gesture, I make a silent promise to my parents that I’ll try to find the way through mine.