Chapter Maverick #2
No silent apology in my mother’s every glance.
Just me.
And the choice to show up as myself.
I took a deep breath. The air smelled like sun-warmed brick, grass, and cheap cologne. New air. New rules. New name on my lips, even if it was still mine.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself, “Let’s be brave.”
I hoisted my bag higher and walked through the building doors.
My apartment-like dorm was still empty when I arrived—a living area, a kitchen, and two rooms. My room held a full-size bed, a desk, and smelled of pine cleaner clinging to every surface.
Dropping my bag on the floor near my bed, and sitting down, palms pressed to my thighs, a smile eased onto my face—FREEDOM.
I pulled out the photo strip from my wallet.
Not of family. But of myself, at different stages in life, the one thing always evident in the pictures is that my smile never reached my eyes.
“Maverick?”
I turned at the sound of my name, startled, finding myself face-to-face with the other half of the dorm.
Knox Fairfax.
At first glance, he’s strikingly handsome and effortlessly charismatic, just from the way he said my name, exuding a quiet confidence that draws people in.
His smooth, deep brown skin housed a close-shaven beard that framed a strong, symmetrical face.
His eyes are warm and expressive, with a sharp, steady gaze that suggests depth, intelligence, and empathy.
A neatly trimmed fade, polished and intentional, complemented his well-defined jawline and high cheekbones. Dressed in Ralph Lauren from head to toe minus the Jordan 1s on his feet, he’s clean-cut but still rugged.
“You must be my roommate,” he said, stepping inside. “I’m Knox. I run track, hoping to make the team, Nutritional Sciences major, but trying not to flunk Algebra in the first two weeks.”
Everything about Knox suggested a ladies’ man, especially in how he presented himself and how he moved. There's a quiet strength in his expression, the kind of man who speaks volumes even before he says a word.
Blinking as I took in his casual confidence.
“Yep, Maverick Carter, but everyone calls me Blue. Football player, kicker. Nursing program. I’m also gay, so if that’s going to be an issue, we should talk to housing now and get our room assignments changed,” I blurted out, tearing the band-aid off.
He chuckled, the smile remaining on his face, and before he could stop himself, he said, “You brought a plant.”
I grinned. “He’s emotional support. I call him Quincy. Don’t judge me.”
“No judgment here,” Knox assured me as he glanced at Quincy, “I dig it, it’s got good vibes.”
We both laughed, and something inside me eased. The knot I hadn’t realized formed in my chest immediately dissipated.
Knox set his things down, then glanced at the mirror. “That you?”
I stiffened for a second, but nodded, “Yeah, me over the years, and the last pic was from graduation, before I stopped pretending to be someone I wasn’t.”
Knox looked at the photo, then back at me. “You look like you were waiting for this place.”
My heart stuttered.
“I was.”
Knox didn’t push. Just gave me a soft smile and said, “Well, you made it.”
And somehow, those three words hit harder than any “welcome to campus” sign ever could.
Later, we unpacked, rode to the grocery store to grab some food, and headed to the campus dining hall, where we met other athletes and hung out.
Back at our dorm, we talked music, sports, movies, queerness, and what it meant to rebuild yourself from scratch.
Knox opened up and told me he was bisexual, and how his parents, while not queer, were staunch allies and accepted Knox completely and unconditionally.
He was raised on protests and poetry and most of all, LOVE, and for the first time, I would tell someone the truth about home without choking on shame.
Maverick Carter knew he’d made the right choice to leave home and never look back.
It was a rainy day on campus, and water drops tapped gently on the window, slow and steady like a pulse.
The room was dim, lit only by the muted glow of the lamp on our end table.
We made it to the end of our first semester as college students, and life was extraordinary.
I’d found a balance between my studies, football, and my campus job at the library.
Knox and I had built an amazing friendship, and we just worked as roommates.
He was clean, didn’t touch my things without asking, and always checked with me before having company over.
We worked out together, attended study groups, partied, and I even met his parents when they popped in for homecoming weekend.
Finals week was upon us, and Knox planned to go home for the holidays while I opted to stay on campus, work out, and volunteer at the free clinic and homeless shelter.
Knox made his way in from class and slipped off his shoes as I pulled off my hoodie, making my way in from work, both of us sitting on the couch pretending to scroll through our phones like there wasn’t a charged energy in the room between us.
My heart was beating so hard against my chest, I wondered if he could feel it.
Knox scooted to the edge of the couch, barefoot and quiet. I stepped near the window, arms crossed over my chest like a shield.
“You okay?” Knox asked, and I could feel his eyes on me.
I turned halfway, then nodded, “Yeah. Just… thinking, shit maybe overthinking.”
Knox chuckled, “You? Never.”
I smiled, the first real one all night.
“Can I ask you something?” My voice lowered now, “And I need you to tell me the truth.”
“Always.”
I crossed the space between us, stopping just a foot away. “Have you ever wanted something so bad it scared you?”
Knox looked up at him slowly, his gaze steady.
“Yeah,” he said, “He’s standing right in front of me.”
The silence between them folded inward, warm and electric.
My breath caught in my throat.
“I keep trying to talk myself out of this, out of you. Convincing myself that the chemistry is imagined, you know? To stay in my head. But I can’t stop thinking about you. The way you laugh. The way you look at me like you see me—even the messy parts.”
“I do,” Knox said, standing up and coming close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, “You don’t have to explain yourself, Mav.
Not to me. I’ve been watching you carry armor that doesn’t belong to you.
You don’t have to wear it here,” my body reacting hearing him call me Mav.
Everyone else on campus called me Blue, but Knox settled with Mav, and I never stopped him.
My throat worked around something unspoken, eyes glossy with unshed tension, “I don’t know how to do this, I mean I know how to love, but I don’t know how to show it because it’s never been shown to me,” I whispered.
“You don’t have to know,” Knox said, “Just let me show you I mean it.”
Our foreheads touched first, softly, my body trembling from the contact. Closing the last inch between us, I pressed my lips to Knox’s. It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t uncertain. It was careful, reverent, knowing. We knew we were walking across something sacred and had no intention of turning back.
Sliding my hands up to Knox’s jaw, he gripped the hem of my shirt, fingers brushing my skin as he pulled it up, and I let him—let myself be seen for the first time without apology.
Our clothes were shed in the quiet moments between kisses and breathless laughter. Our bodies meeting like puzzle pieces, like home, like an answer to a question we hadn’t dared ask aloud.
Knox’s touch was patient, exploratory, without pressure, sensual without demand. He was tuned into my every movement, pausing when my breathing changed.
“You good?” Knox asked, voice low, warm.
I nodded, then, holding his face in my hands, “Yeah. I’ve never felt this safe before, and that scares the hell out of me.”
Knox kissed my lips. “Then we’ll take our time. We don’t have to rush anything.”
Shaking my head slowly, eyes locked on his, “No. I want this. I want you, all of you, all you have to give me.”
The rest unfolded slowly, our bodies wrapped in sheets and whispers, the rain still tapping the window like a lullaby. Moving together like music, like trust, like a promise kept.
Knox hovered beside me, one hand resting on my chest—not pushing, not taking, just there, grounding me.
“We can stop anytime. Just say the word.”
I shook my head. “No. I trust you.”
The words landed heavy with meaning because I’d never said them like this before. Not to anyone. I’d never been able to trust freely.
Leaning down, he kissed me torturously slow. We didn’t need to rush because of hiding; we were open and vulnerable in this moment. His hands moved with patience, mapping the curve of my jaw, the slope of my shoulders, tracing adoring paths over skin that had only known restraint.
My body shivers as his lips kiss along my neck, moving to my chest as his hands explore me in tandem.
“You’re beautiful,” Knox whispered, like a confession, “Don’t ever hide from me.”
No one had ever said that to me. Blinking back the burn in my eyes and exhaling, letting the weight of years of hiding melt away under every gentle touch.
He read every signal in my eyes and body, always waiting for the yes in his gaze.
Knox kissed lower, hand guiding my fingers to his chest, inviting me to touch him back, to claim space in our intimacy. I moved slowly, unsure at first, but the warmth in Knox’s eyes made me brave. When we were finally skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, my fear had softened into wonder.
“It’s not about doing it right,” Knox said gently, “It’s about being here. With me. Letting yourself feel.”
Taking a deep breath, I let go of the tension I’d been taught to carry. “Then I’m here.”
Our bodies moved like a conversation, slow, open, devoted. I gasped as Knox moved down my body, sliding my boxers over my muscular, taut thighs, pleasure sparking like static in my spine, overwhelming and sacred all at once.