Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MAVERICK
B odhi was drooling on his sleeping bag as I zipped the tent’s door flap closed, trying my best to sneak away quietly so I didn’t wake him up.
Once the tent was shut, I stood, stretching my arms above my head, wincing at the ache in my back. Fuck, I was tired.
It had been a long week with spring practice and a few extra workouts, plus running some errands to help out Dad. Mabel had needed someone to take Bodhi to baseball practice Tuesday, so I’d volunteered. Rush and Faye had wanted to go on a date Thursday, so I’d spent an evening babysitting Rally, letting him spit up on my shirt after a bottle. It was the first time they’d left the house together, and Faye had only called six times in the hour they’d been gone.
I’d planned to relax last night, to catch up on laundry at home, but then my parents had asked Mabel and me over for dinner.
While we’d had burgers and hot dogs, Bodhi had begged to do a campout, and since I couldn’t say no to him, I’d hauled out the tent from the garage and set it up in my parents’ backyard. Normally, I didn’t mind camping out. I’d burrow into a sleeping bag and be dead to the world as soon as my head hit the pillow.
But I’d tossed and turned instead, struggling to shut my brain off. I’d had a hard time sleeping anywhere lately, tent or bed.
I couldn’t stop worrying about Mom. In the late hours, with nothing to act as a distraction, my mind would wander toward the future. Toward life without Meredith Houston.
We needed a miracle.
And we probably weren’t going to get one.
The cancer was slowly taking over her body, despite the drugs the doctors had her on to prolong her life. So she was making her time count. Spending as much time with us as she could.
Fucking cancer.
It had changed this house. It had changed our lives. And it wasn’t done wreaking havoc on my family yet.
The lights were on in the kitchen as I padded, barefoot, across the dewy lawn. When I slipped through the back door, I was greeted with the scents of coffee and eggs.
Dad was at the stove, pushing a spatula across a frying pan. “Morning,” he said, his voice low.
“Hey, Dad.”
“How was the campout?”
I shrugged, shuffling to the coffeepot and taking a mug out from the cupboard. “Not bad. A little chilly.”
“Thanks for staying out there with him.”
“Any time.”
Dad had done his fair share of campouts, each of us filling the role of father for Bodhi. But Dad stayed close to Mom these days, always at the ready to help if she needed something. Since she’d been diagnosed, he’d taken over laundry, cooking and cleaning.
He made sure that any meal she wanted was fresh, taking daily trips to the grocery store. Any leftovers from last night’s dinner would be going home with Mabel or me. Leftovers had too big of a risk for foodborne illness.
Their friends from around town would send flowers over with their well wishes. Dad would snap a picture, then take the bouquets to Elle and Declan’s house. Elle had also adopted every one of Mom’s houseplants. Flowers and soil and plants meant mold. We couldn’t have mold in this house.
Hands were washed often. If Bodhi had even a hint of a stuffy nose, Mabel would stay away. And the Adairs were really the only people Dad would let through the front door.
We were all doing what we could to keep Mom from germs, but Dad had taken his role as protector to a whole new level. Not that I’d ever doubted his love for her, but I sure as hell wouldn’t question it now. His entire world revolved around her.
He was desperate for a miracle too.
While we prayed and hoped and waited for one, he made sure she stayed as strong as possible.
“Hungry?” Dad asked, nodding to the scrambled eggs.
“Not quite.”
He opened the spice cabinet, fishing out three different jars, shaking them into his eggs. “Oregano, some sea salt and garlic. It’s my new favorite seasoning mix.”
“I’ll have to try it.”
“I’ve found that since your mom wants no seasonings, I’m doubling up to compensate.” He chuckled, shutting off the burner and taking out a plate and fork. He dished his eggs and took them to the table.
I sat in the chair across from his, watching as steam floated off his meal. “I’m sorry you’re having to do all of this, Dad.”
“I’m not.” He steepled his fingers in front of his chin as his eggs cooled. “Your mom did everything for a long time. I took it for granted. But the truth is, I like cooking for her, even if she doesn’t eat much. We’re both trying to find the good things through all this. Turns out, I’m a decent cook. And there’s something special about making a meal for the people you love. Besides, she told me it was time to learn.”
Not just so he could help while she was sick. But so that he could cook for himself, after she...
“This is hard, Dad.”
“Yeah, son. It is.” He kept his eyes on his plate as he nodded, blinking too fast while he vanished tears. “But we will be okay.”
Would we?
“How’s it going with Stevie?” he asked, taking a bite.
“Good.”
“That’s great.” His relief was palpable.
Every person in this family, including the Adairs, seemed to have hung all of their hopes on my relationship with Stevie.
Dad had to know we were doing this for Mom, but he hadn’t said anything about it. I doubted he would. Neither had Declan or Elle. Mabel had delivered that one warning, but otherwise, she hadn’t brought it up again.
If me dating Stevie meant there was something other than cancer to discuss over meals, so be it.
“We’ve got a date tonight,” I told him. “Every Saturday. ”
“What are you guys going to do?”
I shrugged. “Not sure yet. Probably go out to dinner or something.”
Though every time I’d attempted that, it had turned into a mess. The picnic had been good, even if we’d just scarfed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the truck. Last weekend, after the make-out session, I’d bought her a Happy Meal at McDonald’s. But that was another meal eaten in my vehicle. And the moment we’d returned to her Jeep, she’d hopped out and gone home.
Maybe it was time to try something else again.
“Hey, Dad?”
“Yeah,” he said, his mouth full.
“Got any recipes I could try?”
Standing in the spice section of the grocery store, I searched for paprika. The recipe called for paprika. Stevie would probably have that at her house, right? I snagged a bottle anyway, adding it to my cart.
There wasn’t an aisle at the grocery store I hadn’t gone up or down. I was on my second pass, getting the last of the ingredients on the list Dad had made me this morning.
The list Mom had reviewed and approved.
She thought the idea of me cooking dinner for Stevie was absolutely adorable. She’d smiled more this morning than I’d seen her smile in weeks.
If there was a reason not to screw this up with Stevie, it was Mom’s smile. So I was going to do everything in my power not to screw this up, one paprika bottle at a time.
“Maverick?” My name came from behind, from where I’d passed the boxed cake mixes, and when I turned, a familiar brunette sauntered my way, a finger twirling the end of her shoulder-length hair.
Megan. Oh, hell.
I’d made a lot of stupid decisions in my life with women. But Megan? She ranked close to the top of the list.
She was on the volleyball team, a year younger than Stevie. Over the better part of last fall and winter, she’d flirted with me mercilessly.
And I’d flirted back. Had I strung her along for months? Yeah. I wasn’t proud of it. But I hadn’t let it go any further than flirting. I’d always made a point to hook up with girls who weren’t in the athletics program. It got too complicated otherwise.
It wasn’t like the volleyball and football teams had joint practices or training sessions, but we all shared a weight room at the fieldhouse. And though there were times when it was reserved for each individual team, it was mostly free for any student athlete to use. Coaches too.
Megan had been working out one day when I’d gone in to lift. It had been quiet, most everyone gone on winter break. We’d picked up that flirting we’d been doing for months, and when she’d asked if I wanted to hang out at her place, I’d broken my own damn rule and spent the night in her bed.
The next morning, when she’d asked if I wanted to go out again, I’d known I was fucked. I’d told her I had some family stuff going on that I needed to focus on. That I wasn’t great at relationships. But what I hadn’t done was give her a firm no.
Any other woman, I would have made it crystal clear. But any other woman, I didn’t have to worry about crossing paths in the fieldhouse hallways.
I was trying to keep it from getting awkward.
But it was getting awkward.
“Hey, Megan.”
“What are you doing here?” She batted her eyelashes.
“Shopping.” Obviously.
“Right. Dumb question.” She giggled. “I haven’t seen you lately.”
“Been busy.”
“How’s everything going with your family?” she asked.
“Not great.” I shuffled backward, trying to position the cart so it was between us, but she just sidestepped it and came into my personal bubble.
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s your mom, right? I overheard someone talking.”
Of course people were talking. Was it too much to ask that people minded their own goddamn business? “Yeah, it’s my mom. She’s got cancer.”
“Maverick.” Instant pity filled her eyes. It was genuine, I’d give her that. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
She reached for my arm, placing her hand on my elbow. “Is there anything I can do?”
Not unless she had a miracle in her pocket. “Nope.”
“Are you sure?” Her hand slid up my arm, fingers trailing under the sleeve of my T-shirt.
“Yeah.” I forced a smile and jerked my chin over my shoulder. “I’d better get through checkout.”
“Sure.” She dropped her hand, giving me a warm smile. Then her gaze flicked past me, down the aisle. Her smile changed. It widened and sharpened. “Hey. Apparently the store is the place to be today.”
“Apparently.” That was a voice I’d know anywhere.
Shit . I twisted, following Megan’s gaze, to find Stevie ten feet away.
Her face was pale, her smile tight. She was dressed in a pair of biker shorts and a baggy sweater that draped off a shoulder. Her hair was loose, hanging to her waist in sleek panels like she’d spent time straightening it today.
Probably for our date.
“How’s it going, Megan?” she asked.
“Good.” Megan shrugged. “Just ran into Mav. How’s life postgraduation?”
“Can’t complain,” Stevie said, her gaze locked on her former teammate.
I might as well have been invisible for the way she stared through me. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Her voice sounded small. Hurt. “Well, I’d better get my shopping done. See ya.”
“Later,” Megan said.
With a basket looped over her arm, Stevie spun and headed in the opposite direction.
“Me too.” I turned and followed, not sparing Megan another glance.
By the time I reached the end of the aisle, Stevie was gone. But she didn’t seem to be in line at the checkout registers, so I took a chance, turning right and starting down the rows, scanning each until I found the swish of her chocolate hair.
“Stevie,” I called.
She kept walking, three steps, then four. I was sure she’d keep going, that she’d make me chase her through this entire store. But she must have realized I’d do exactly that so she stopped and faced me.
The wheels on my cart rattled as I closed the distance between us. Then I pushed it to the side so it wasn’t between us.
Given the angry look on her face, I didn’t trust Stevie not to shove it at me. A cart handle slamming into my dick was not something I needed today.
“What?” she snapped.
“You’re pissed at me.”
“Yep.”
“Because of Megan? Did you really not know?”
I wasn’t sure what happened in the women’s locker room, but if it was anything like the men’s, then the entire volleyball team would know Megan and I had hooked up.
“I did. I just...” She cringed, and I felt it sting through every fiber of my being. “I guess I forgot these past few weeks that you’re a manwhore.”
I took the hat I’d worn today off my head to rake a hand through my hair. “Nice, Steve.”
Her nostrils flared. “Am I wrong?”
It was a petty insult, using the nickname she hated, but I was kind of feeling petty. “No, you’re not. I can’t change the past. What do you want from me? Other than my cock?”
When she flinched, I felt that too.
Too far. I usually took it too far.
“Fuck. I didn’t mean that.” I was being an asshole, my specialty. I scrubbed both hands over my face. When was I going to learn to not say every mean comment that came to mind? “I’m sorry.”
My apology came too late.
When I dropped my hands, Stevie was already gone.