Fly With Me | ✓

00.1 | bonus chapter

[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."