"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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𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚊'𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚟
As the sun settles, Lance glances at me one more time. The salty lines on my cheeks are still quite visible. They sting, but I refuse to rub them away any longer.
"Maya," Lance whispers, his heart in his throat from the painful sight next to him. "You need to go home."
"No," I whisper back, my voice hoarse from not speaking the last few days. "I don't want to go back there."
"Your mom is worried."
"That's a first."
I don't move a muscle, letting my head rest on Lance's shoulder. What is the use of returning to a house in which I don't feel home anymore? With my dad being gone, and my mom barking everyone around like she owns the place, it is not much more than a house.
"Please, Maya," Lance tries to tilt my head to face him. "You need to go home, I will go with you."
"The word 'no' really doesn't exist in your vocabulary, huh?"
"There's no need to be this snarky at me, Maya."
I let out a scoff, lifting my head from his shoulder to look at him. But his eyes aren't the first thing I notice this time, neither are his lips or the way the stubble from his beard accentuates his jawline perfectly. Not the sparkle in his eyes when he looks at me or the fluffiness of his hair.
The first thing I notice is the bruising.
The color palette of blue, purple, green, and yellow on his right cheek, and around his eye. The redness mixed with the same purple color on his swollen temple and cheekbone.
"My God– Lance!"
"It is nothi–"
"It is not nothing, look at you," I reach my hand towards his cheek, but not quite reaching it. I am afraid it will hurt him. "What happened?"
Lance lays his cheek in my hand, "I crashed."
"Crashed?"
My heart rate is up immediately, the two words are like hands around my throat. He crashed. He crashed on Sunday during the race. I feel new tears tingling in my eyes, but Lance is quick to wipe them away gently.
"It was a racing incident," He whispers. "But I am fine. I am here, and I am with you, so I am fine."
I nod slowly, letting his words reach through me, "Are you sure?"
"Maya," He gives me a small smile, raising his eyebrows. "We're not here to check up on me. We are here to check up on you."
I sigh, and nod slowly, "I'll come with you to the house."
"Your home."
"The house."
Lance nods in agreement, probably to avoid an argument, so in silence we climb down the ladder and begin walking towards the house.
