"And if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know?"
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Maya Beaulieu, born and raised in Montreal, has heard the stories about Lance Stroll, the boy who grew up down the street of where she lived. All the reason to stay...
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A/N: I promised a friend I'd post another chapter. So here you go :)
Trigger warning: (slight/hidden) mention of sexual assault
𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚊'𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚟
August 8th, Montreal, Canada
"Little Beaulieu," One of the firefighters of station 119 gives me a high five. "Cap's in his office."
"Thanks, Simon." I smile shortly and quickly walk to my dads office.
Just when I am about to knock, his door flies open and my dad appears in the door opening.
"Maya, darling," He opens his arms for a hug and I wrap my arms around him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit."
"The house was too quiet, and my publisher gave me a deadline two days ago. So, I really needed a change of environment, and a change of strategy."
"You're always welcome here, mija," He lets go of me and presses a kiss on my forehead. "Just go sit in the kitchen."
"Thanks, dad."
He walks with me to the kitchen and makes a cup of coffee.
"Here. I think you can use some caffeine," He sits down in front of me. "A deadline, you said?"
"Yes," I sigh and grab my notebook from my bag. "My debut is ready, but the publishers won't continue the process if there's no proof of a sequel, and just one chapter is not enough."
"And what have you tried already?"
"Alexandra called me on the 6th. I went to the treehouse, but it wasn't that much of a help."
Before my dad is able to respond, the alarm goes off, explaining the emergency and which vehicle is requested.
"I'm sorry, darling. I need to go. Good luck with the writing. If you're not here anymore when I come back, I'll see you at home." My dad jumps off and leaves me alone.
"Good luck, dad!"
The quiet here is even worse than the quiet at home. And today, I plan not to go to the treehouse. The last few encounters with Lance haven't been pretty ones and for once, I want an evening without having to face him and his self-righteousness, and arrogance.
"Maya Beaulieu," My heart skips a few beats hearing that voice, blood rises to my ears, and immediately I am frozen in my seat. I prefer the silence over the sound of their voice.
"Caps pride and joy," He continues, my eyes are staring at my notebook, my body refuses to move.
The chair next to me moves, and I see a figure sitting down next to me, "What is that, Beaulieu? Cat lost your tongue?"
