Chapter 29
THE SWEETEST SECRET
Maverick
Irarely sleep in my own bed in the weeks that follow. Most nights I wait until darkness falls and make the short trek to Clover’s house. It’s not hard to evade my siblings, or Kody and BJ, since we’re all focused on studies and extracurriculars.
I’ve gotten good at staying in the shadows when I reach her driveway, and until the weather warmed, we always kept the walkway clear so I didn’t leave footprints in the snow on the off chance her ex—who is less present lately but still holding Clover hostage with paperwork—should do a drive-by.
The threat of an order of protection seems to have been enough for him to back off, but not enough to persuade him to sign the fucking paperwork and set her free.
We’ve made the trip to her cabin in Pearl Bay a couple of times.
Other times, we’ll stay the night at a hotel in Richmond or Elgin and sometimes even Rockford, so we can get dressed up and go for nice dinners.
When I’m wearing a suit and tie, polished dress shoes and clean-shaven, and Clover wears her hair down and leaves her glasses at home, the age difference doesn’t seem quite so glaring.
On nights like those, everything feels much more real. And it’s hard to return to Chicago and go back to hiding.
A couple weeks before the end of the semester, the hockey team is heading into playoffs.
We’re currently in second place. The next game is home advantage, but it’s against the team in first place, and we’ve struggled to beat them this season.
It doesn’t help that this is also Russo’s team, the guy who constantly needles me when we’re on the ice.
I have an early skate tomorrow morning, but it doesn’t stop me from going over to Clover’s once the sun has gone down.
The days have started to get longer again, which means it’s been impossible to avoid dinners at home.
It’s not a bad thing, though, because my presence in the house keeps my family from asking too many questions.
It isn’t until everyone else disappears for the evening that I do too, and I’m always home first thing in the morning, before anyone else is up.
Besides, Lavender is busy with the play she’s making costumes for, and Kody is busy studying and spending time with my sister. BJ is finally putting some time in with his courses, so even he’s been scarce lately, and River spends most of his nights at Josiah’s.
Tonight, I escape the house without running into anyone in the kitchen. I walk the three blocks to Clover’s and slip inside the back door. I take off my shoes and carry them to the mat at the front door, so I don’t leave dirty shoe prints on the floor.
Clover’s already in the kitchen, making her famous pasta Bolognese. The blinds are always closed in there now, giving us the privacy we need.
“Hey, can you grab me the parmesan? It’s on the second shelf, right-hand side,” Clover asks, her back to me, an apron tied around her waist, hair pulled up in a ponytail.
“Yeah, for sure. Do you need anything else?” I find it exactly where she said it would be and come to where she’s standing in front of the stove, setting it on the counter next to her.
“That’s it for now. Thanks.”
I wrap an arm around her waist, kissing up the side of her neck. “How was your day?”
“It was okay.”
“Just okay?” The tightness in her voice sets me on edge. “Did something happen?”
“Just Gabriel making things difficult.”
“Did he stop by here or something?”
“No. I think he enjoys making this divorce cost more than it needs to.” She sets the wooden spoon on the counter and turns around, sliding her hands up my chest and hooking them behind my neck.
“But I don’t want to talk about that. It puts me in a mood.
” She tugs, and I drop my head so she can reach my lips.
After a few minutes, she pulls back. “How hungry are you? Can you wait on dinner for a bit?”
“Sure, why?”
“I want you to take me to bed, make me feel good.”
“I can do that.” I reach behind her and turn the burner off, then grab her ass and hoist her up. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I carry her down the hall to the bedroom.
We spend the rest of the night not talking about Gabriel and whatever happened. We eat a late dinner, and I study for my exams—my grades are a lot better this semester, thanks to all the time I spend with Clover—while she grades papers.
We might spend a lot of our time together naked, but we spend just as much time talking.
We make meals, hang out, watch TV, read, play Scrabble, and I teach Clover how to make origami cranes.
I’ve made so many this year that I’ve filled an entire tote bin.
It’s the first time I’ve ever felt like I’m in a real relationship.
And the closer we get to the end of the semester, the more I struggle with what’s likely the inevitable end.
I don’t know how I’d deal with being halfway across the country and in a relationship.
And she’s still fighting her way out of a bad marriage.
I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on her.
Clover is sitting between my legs, the most recent issue of Psychology Today open to an article on the psychology of deepfake. I’m only half paying attention, my mind wandering to tomorrow’s game.
“Mav?” She pats my cheek. “You still with me?”
“Huh?”
“Are you done with this page?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
She gives me a doubtful look. “What’s up? What’s going on in your head?”
“We have a big game tomorrow night, exams are coming up—just a lot on my mind.” I take her hand in mine and kiss each knuckle.
“What are you worried most about?”
“In the immediate future? Losing the game. After that? Exam stress, which I’m not as worried about because I have this professor girlfriend who keeps me on the straight and narrow, and I’ve been way more diligent about my studies this semester.”
She smiles up at me. “You have proven to be very studious. It’s impressive. But is there anything besides the game and exams? Is this related to the nightmares you’ve been having lately?”
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been waking up from dreams that leave me with cold sweats and the shakes.
I’m locked in a small room that smells like gasoline, and all I have with me is a dead cell phone.
I can hear someone calling for help, but I can’t find a way out of the room.
I also have one where I’m trying to skate, but I can’t get my feet to move on the ice, and I end up missing all the important shots.
Then I end up on camera for an interview and everyone keeps telling me how I let my team down.
“I’m just thinking about contract talks, and convocation,” I tell her. “Not necessarily in that order.”
Clover shifts so she can look at my face. “Are you worried about not getting called up?” Over the past couple of months, I’ve taught Clover a lot about hockey—what the stats mean, how Nashville has my rights, that Vancouver picked up Kody, but there are other teams who have eyes on him.
“I don’t know. The closer I get to contract talks, the worse the anxiety gets.”
“The anxiety about what, exactly?”
“A lot of things. This thing between us ending, having to pick up and move across the country, starting a career with guys I’ve never played with before.
Or worse, they could release my rights and I could end up in Europe if they don’t see me as NHL ready.
What if I’m not good enough? What if I can’t keep up with my teammates? ”
“Well, logically speaking, you wouldn’t get called up if you weren’t good enough.”
“Sometimes I think the only reason I got drafted when I did was because of my last name. I’m never going to be as good as my dad was.”
“You’ve said that before. Why do you feel that way?”
“I have to work my ass off and run extra drills, work out harder, watch more videos, and practice a ton more to be even a fraction as good as he is. It doesn’t help that my best friend is basically a hockey savant.
Kody works hard, but he’s a natural on the ice.
He skates circles around me. And I’m not jealous of how good he is.
He lives and breathes the sport, and he loves it.
It’s more that he’s so certain of his future, and I’m not. ”
“But you’re at practice and on the ice every day,” she says gently.
“Yeah, but if someone told me I couldn’t play hockey again?
I’d be sad, but I wouldn’t be devastated the way Kody and a lot of my teammates would.
Honestly, the reason I’m worried about contract talks not going well isn’t because of me; it’s because I don’t want to disappoint my dad.
I’ve trained my entire life for this, and if I don’t make it .
. . I don’t want to see that disappointment on his face.
But the possibility of having to spend the next half decade or more being compared to him?
” I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger and watch it unfurl, trying to find the words.
“I don’t know . . . Half of me almost hopes I won’t get called up, even if I do have to face his disappointment.
In some ways, that would be better than never being able to live up to his legacy. ”
“Does he know that you feel like this?”
I shake my head. “Of course not.”
“Do you think it’s something you should talk to him about? I can’t imagine he would want you to feel this kind of pressure.”
“It’s not his fault I feel this way.”
“But keeping it to yourself isn’t helping you either. I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to think about it before you answer. I want you to be honest with yourself and with me.”
“I’m always honest with you.”
“You are, but this is a tough question, and you’re going to want to knee-jerk respond. Which is why I need you to take a minute to sort out your thoughts before you answer.”
“Okay.” I lace my fingers with hers. This is what I need, a real conversation with someone whose input I value, and whose focus isn’t on the glamour of an NHL career.
“How much of an impact does our current relationship have on you not wanting to sign a contract?”
I sigh. And I force myself to wait a beat before I open my mouth.
“I’ve thought about this a lot, and I’ve tried to logic out my feelings, but I can’t.
I don’t know what’s going to happen with us, but I do know that I’ve been a better version of myself in a lot of ways this semester.
” I meet her eyes. “Even if you weren’t part of my life, I would still feel the way I do about my future as a hockey player. ”
“And if you weren’t a hockey player, what would you want to do? Work in sports rehab?”
“I don’t know. My whole life has been focused on this one goal, and the closer I get to it, the less appealing it looks.
I don’t want to spend the next decade floundering in a career I don’t love.
” I wrap my arms around her. “And I don’t want to walk away from you.
Can you have a midlife crisis at twenty-one? ”
“There’s a lot happening in your life, and I’m an added layer of complication.”
“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, not a complication.” I press a soft kiss to her lips. “I know it’s a big ask, but would you come to my game tomorrow? It would be good to have you there.”
She settles her hand on my cheek, expression pensive. For a moment I think she’s going to say no, but a small smile forms on her perfect lips. “I can be there. I want to be there for you.”