Chapter 30 Maverick/Amelia
maverick/amelia
. . .
maverick
I’m up before the sun, and the house is still quiet enough that the air feels heavy with it. The clock on the nightstand blinks five-twelve in faint red numbers. I glance over at Amelia, sprawled across my side of the bed, her hair spilling over the pillow, lips parted in soft, even breaths.
I grab a sticky note from the dresser, tearing a sheet out. My handwriting’s messy as hell, but I scrawl anyway.
Thank you for being there for me. It means a lot, more than you realize.
I prop the note against the bathroom mirror, where I know she’ll see it.
My reflection stares back at me in the corner of my eye, and I stop.
Dark circles drag my face down, the bruised shadows under my eyes almost matching the stubble dusting my jaw. I lean closer, palms braced on the counter.
I’ve never had a problem with my head, at least not one I couldn’t brush off, but lately, it’s been creeping in. Like, no matter how many games I win or how hard I work, I’m slipping.
I breathe through my nose, shake it off, strip down, and step into the hot shower. The steam clings to my skin, loosening muscles that feel permanently wound tight. By the time I towel off, I’ve sealed the cracks, at least for now.
Heading back into the bedroom, I lean down and press my lips to the curve of Amelia’s bare shoulder. She stirs, but doesn’t wake. “See you later, dollface,” I whisper against her skin before pulling on my jacket and heading out.
The drive to the stadium is beneath a dull gray sky, with only the hum of the Broncos’ engine breaking the silence. As I arrive and pull into the parking lot, I see Maggie standing near the entrance with a clipboard in her hand.
Fuck me, I mumble under my breath as I make my way to the stadium’s glass doors.
“I need a word,” Maggie snaps.
I drag a hand down my face, jaw tightening. “What now?”
“Your sponsors haven’t pulled out,” she says sharply, holding her clipboard close to her chest.
I let out a humorless chuckle. “Fantastic. Because clearly that’s what really keeps me awake at night, whether some energy drink company still wants my face on their billboard.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t get smart with me, Hayes. Those deals are the only reason the team hasn’t—”
I cut her off. “The only reason? You think I’m still here because of a fucking contract logo? I’m here because I win games. Period. And if that’s not enough for them, then maybe I should’ve retired two seasons ago.”
She blinks, caught off guard, but quickly recovers, lips tightening. “You’re reckless. That temper of yours is going to cost you everything if you don’t start—”
“Cost me what?” I snap, stepping closer, my voice dropping. “The fans who don’t give a shit about me past Sunday? The reporters waiting for me to slip so they can eat me alive? Or the sponsors who only ever cared about the smile, never the man behind it?”
Maggie’s mouth opens, but I don’t give her the chance.
I shake my head, already done. “Save the lecture. I’ve got nothing left to give them but football. If that’s not good enough, tell them to find another pretty face.”
Her lips press into a tight line, eyes narrowing, but she just gives a curt nod and steps aside.
I shoulder past her without breaking stride, the door banging open against the wall.
The locker room smells like sweat, detergent, and the faint tang of turf.
I change quickly, lacing my cleats tight, and step out onto the field.
Reporters are already crowding the rail, voices cutting through the morning air.
“Maverick! Any comment on the gala incident?”
“Are you and your wife really—”
I block them out, eyes forward, jaw locked.
Practice begins immediately. The sound of the ball hitting my hands, the thud of cleats on turf, the slap of shoulder pads during controlled hits, all of it keeps my head busy.
Halfway through, Coach pulls me aside. His voice is calm but firm. “Georgia Blackhawks. This game’s important, your ass be ready.”
I wipe my forearm across my forehead. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
But as I jog back into formation, my mind’s already racing ahead — Georgia means her ring’s almost ready, and I’ve booked the aquarium.
Everything’s falling into place.
If I can just hold it together until then.
Coach blows his whistle, practice wrapping up for the day. My jersey’s clinging to me, heavy with sweat, and my calves ache in a way that’s going to make me regret stairs later.
I peel off my pads and toss them into my cubby when my phone buzzes against the bench.
Amelia
I missed you this morning. Try not to hurt yourself at practice Beach later today?
I can’t stop smiling. It’s stupid how her text can make me feel this way. She has no idea, or maybe she does, how much she’s shifted my entire world.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, grinning at my screen.
I start gathering my shit, shoving my cleats into my duffel when my phone lights up again, a call this time.
“Yeah?” I answer, tucking it between my ear and shoulder while I zip my bag.
“Maverick Hayes?” The voice on the other end is deep, steady. “Joe Larson. Larson’s Jewelers.”
I freeze mid-motion, knuckles tightening on the zipper pull.
“What’s up?”
Your order is ready. Emerald cut, four carats, silver band, no halo, no pave, just as you requested. It’s in the safe waiting for you. Congratulations.
For a moment, all I can hear is the faint hum of the phone line and the background noise of showers running in the locker room.
“I’ll be there this afternoon,” I say.
“Take your time. It’s not going anywhere.”
We hang up, and I remain standing there, phone in hand, gazing into space.
My thoughts drift to her reaction when she sees it. To the aquarium, where I plan to tell her I don’t want this to be fake anymore.
Not for another day.
Not ever.
“Four-carat emerald cut on a silver band. Clean lines with no halo or pave, just as you wanted.”
I flip the lid open.
There it is.
The deep green stone gleams as if it’s illuminated from inside, complemented by a sleek, unbroken silver band. It’s both subtle and eye-catching, just like Amelia. My throat tightens with emotion. She’ll see this and realize I didn’t just listen; she’ll realize I remembered and truly cared.
Joe’s watching me. “No diamond, you sure?”
“Positive,” I say, eyes still on the ring. “Diamonds aren’t her. This… this is her.”
From there, I don’t even think. My SUV’s engine growls to life, and I’m steering straight toward Carter and Catalina’s place.
Arriving at their rustic home, I slam the door shut, lock the car, and walk toward the porch.
Catalina answers the door before I can knock, her hair pulled up, gold hoops swinging as she moves. “Maverickkk,” she says, “If you don’t have matcha, you can’t come in.”
I grin, pushing past her anyway. “I have something way better than your shit ass matcha, Carter home?”
She scoffs, glaring at me. “Yeah, he’s—”
“In here,” Carter calls from the kitchen.
We walk in, and he’s leaning against the counter, sweet tea in hand. “This better be worth interrupting my afternoon, Mav.”
I pull the box from my pocket and flip it open right there on the counter.
Catalina gasps so loud that Carter jerks upright. She presses both hands to her mouth, eyes going wide and shiny. “Oh my God…”
Carter’s gaze shifts from her to the ring, then to me. “Holy shit.”
Catalina squeals, tears spilling down her cheeks. “It’s beautiful. She’s going to—” Her voice cracks, and she laughs through it. “She’s going to lose her fucking mind.”
I feel Carter’s hand clap my back. “Didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”
“Little?” I shoot back. “I’m literally taller than you.”
“Yeah, but I’m still the oldest,” he says with a smirk.
Catalina sniffles, wiping her cheeks. “You’re such an idiot. And also, this is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t screw it up.”
I shake my head, smiling down at the box before snapping it shut. “No chance in hell.”
Carter leans against the counter again, smirk turning into something softer. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”
Catalina swoons, glaring daggers at Carter. “Where’s my present?”
Carter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your present is me not losin’ my mind every time you run that mouth.”
Catalina gasps. “That’s not romantic!”
“It’s honest, darlin’,” he deadpans.
Catalina pokes Carter in the chest, eyes narrowing. “Say something sweet. Right now.”
He stares at her for a beat, then he leans down, voice dropping low enough I shouldn’t hear it, except I do.
“I’ll be sweet later, darlin’. When I’ve got you on your knees beggin’ for it.”
Catalina’s smile goes smug and satisfied, biting her lower lip.
I choke on my own spit.
“OH, WHAT THE FUCK!” I yell, stumbling back with a hand clapped over my ears. “Are you kidding me?”
Carter smirks as Catalina giggles into his chest.
“I’m serious,” I groan, gagging dramatically. “I need bleach for my brain.
Catalina shoos me away. “Go, I need to get pregnant like right now.”
I gag again, walking toward the front door as Catalina calls after me. “Tell Amelia I love her!”
amelia
Salty air surrounds me as the warm sun beats down on my shoulders, while the Pacific crashes in lazy, foamy curls beside us.
Moss Cove smells exactly how it did the first time we came here together: salt, seaweed, and that faint sweetness of drying kelp baking in the sun.
My bare feet sink into the damp sand with each step, the grit cool between my toes as I bend down to sift through shells half-buried in the shoreline. Maverick’s a few feet away, crouched low, one big hand brushing sand aside.
He glances over his shoulder at me, grinning like an idiot, then turns back to carve ‘Mav loves Amelia’ in big, messy letters. Afterwards, he adds a crooked heart underneath, and when I catch him, he sticks his tongue out at me.
“Really?” I call out.
“Don’t act like you’re not taking a picture of this in your head right now,” he shoots back, smug.
“I’m not,” I lie.