Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MAVERICK
I t was always quiet after a loss. The whole team was in a shit mood.
Or maybe that was just me.
I’d been irritable and grumpy for a week, and my mood only worsened with every worried or wary glance. Everyone was tiptoeing around me; they had been for months. And it was pissing me right the fuck off.
It wasn’t a secret Mom had cancer. One of the guys had asked me a few days ago in the locker room how she was doing. It was none of their business, and instead of telling him to fuck off, I’d made the mistake of answering, “Not great.”
The guy in the bus seat ahead of mine, a sophomore who played defensive end, would give me a pitiful smile each time he made eye contact. One more, and I might lose my damn mind.
“Maverick.” Rush touched his elbow to mine.
“What?” I snapped.
“I can hear your molars grinding.” He was the only one who didn’t shy away from my shit mood. Even Stevie backed off when I was being an asshole.
I unclenched my jaw. “I hate losing.”
“So do I. But it’s nonconference and a money game.”
We’d traveled to Oregon to get beat by an FBS school so they could have a win on their record and Treasure State could score a payday for athletics. Rationally, I knew it was a win-win. But tonight, I didn’t feel all that rational.
I’d been on edge since Sunday, since I’d overheard Mom tell Dad she was ready to die.
Deep down, I understood how hard and draining it had to be for her to fight. But it felt a lot like giving up. She might be ready, but I sure as hell wasn’t.
I needed her to make it to Christmas so I could buy her a fuzzy blanket and Mabel could get us all matching socks. I needed Mom to live until I had kids of my own so they could know their grandmother was a living, breathing angel on this earth.
Where the fuck was our miracle?
I couldn’t lose her yet. I couldn’t do this.
My molars started grinding again, radiating pain into my skull and making the headache I’d been nursing on the trip home worse.
Rush sighed, probably feeling the tension rolling off my body, but he let it go as we pulled into the fieldhouse parking lot.
The moment the bus’s wheels stopped, I was out of my seat, blowing past everyone in the rows ahead to get out. I collected my bag from the storage compartment, and without stopping by my locker inside, I headed for my truck.
Tomorrow, I’d deal with my gear, but tonight, I needed to be done with football .
Not something I’d expected to feel, but it wasn’t the distraction it had been weeks ago.
School had only started ten days ago, and it hadn’t been enough to keep my mind off Mom either. The only time when it truly faded away was when I was with Stevie.
So I threw my shit in the back seat and made my way to her place. Parking in her driveway, I breathed a sigh of relief as, before I’d even shut off the truck, her front door opened.
Stevie stood on the threshold, her face clean and her hair pulled up into a messy knot. She had on a pair of sleep shorts and a long-sleeved thermal. For the first time in hours, my shoulders crept away from my ears. My jaw relaxed and I filled my lungs.
“Hi,” she said when I made it to the door.
“Hey.”
“Sorry.”
I shrugged. “It was a nonconference game.”
“So?” she huffed, moving to the side so I could come in. “Still sucks to lose.”
This was why she was perfect. Because she knew exactly how I felt. With sports. With Mom.
I didn’t have to explain anything. She already knew.
“Yeah, it does.” I hauled her into my arms, breathing in that sweet scent of orange blossom and flowers and Stevie.
She held on to me for a few moments, her cheek resting over my heart. “Did you talk to your mom?”
“Yeah. I called her after the game.”
She’d made light of the loss, saying it didn’t matter. But if the last game she watched was us losing, I’d be angry for decades.
At least they’d let me stay as placekicker. I’d scored our only points. Two field goals. We’d lost six to thirty-five.
“Are you okay?” Stevie leaned away.
Not even a little bit. “Fine.”
She saw right through the lie and gave me one of those sad smiles that made me want to scream. “Maverick.”
“Don’t start, okay? Not tonight,” I snapped, regretting it instantly when her hands fell away from my waist.
She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Sorry.” I hooked a finger under her chin, then bent to give her a kiss on the lips. Except before I could take her mouth, she turned away. My lips landed on her cheek.
“I’m trying to talk to you, not just jump into bed.”
“And I don’t want to fucking talk, Stevie.” I backed away, dragging a hand over my face. “I want to go to your bed and fuck until we both pass out. So do you want an orgasm tonight or not?”
The words came out of my mouth automatically, this bad mood seeping from me like poison. It was paired with a punishing regret that only made it all worse. What the fuck was wrong with me?
Stevie’s nostrils flared, something I hadn’t seen much lately. I didn’t miss it. But she kept her cool, unlike me, even though I’d gone too far tonight.
She was going to make me pay for it. Rightly so. “You don’t get to be an asshole to me. Not when I’m only worried about you. We don’t have to talk. But you don’t get to say shit that I know you’ll regret.”
Fuck . She was right. We both knew she was right.
I rubbed both hands over my face, wishing I could take it all back. Wishing I didn’t feel like there was this gaping, raw wound inside my chest. Wishing it didn’t hurt so bad all the damn time. Wishing I didn’t feel like I was coming out of my skin .
Wishing I wasn’t so angry.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. And there wasn’t a thing I could do to fix it. So that fury simmered, boiling hotter and hotter. It was too close to the surface tonight, making me jittery and tense.
“I’m going home,” I told her.
“Good idea.” The way she said it, like she would have kicked me out herself, like I’d been dismissed, only made it worse.
“Want to come?” I asked even though I knew the answer. Even though I knew it would start a fight.
But I couldn’t seem to stop that poison from spewing. I needed an outlet for this anger. Normally it was football or fucking. Without either, I was searching for a fight.
When she looked up, her forehead was furrowed. “What?”
“You never sleep at my place.”
“And you know why,” she gritted out. “Hard pass.”
If she’d had as many men in her bed as I’d had women in mine, I’d have a damn hard time staying here too.
“Glad to see you’ve gotten over your jealousy,” I deadpanned.
“Unbelievable.” She scoffed. “You’re seriously trying to pick a fight tonight, aren’t you?”
I guess so. “Night, Steve.”
Fire flashed in her hazel eyes as I stormed for the door.
But for once, I had the last word. It tasted bitter, like ash on my tongue.
It took a moment behind the wheel for me to start the truck. I knew the right thing to do was apologize. To go inside and sleep on the couch and wake up tomorrow to start over .
We couldn’t break up until after Mom . . .
We couldn’t break up.
But I didn’t trust myself not to say more bullshit I’d immediately regret. So I drove away, winding through the lonely, dark streets of Mission until I was home.
Faye and Rush were on the couch when I walked through the door, Rally asleep on Rush’s shoulder.
“Hey.” I jerked up my chin.
“Thought you’d be at Stevie’s,” Rush said.
“Just left.”
Faye and Rush shared a look as I passed the living room.
“It’s so fucking annoying when you two have your silent conversations.”
“Maverick,” Rush warned.
Well, if I was picking fights, I might as well add my best friend along with my girlfriend. If Stevie was still my girlfriend after tonight.
Would Mom fight harder to stick around if Stevie and I broke up? Would she stop telling Dad she was ready to die?
God, I wanted to scream. Except if I screamed, it would piss off Rush and wake up Rally, which would piss off Faye. And with every step toward my bedroom, the anger was fading.
Bone-deep sorrow was taking its place.
“Mav.” Faye’s voice was soft. Gentle.
When I slowed and turned, she was in the hallway.
With Rally.
Before I could tell her it wasn’t a good time, that I was in no mood to talk, she thrust her son into my arms and took a step away so I couldn’t just hand him back.
I adjusted my hold, cradling him in my arms.
And when I exhaled, some of the pain faded away .
“You know I understand what you’re going through,” she said.
Her mother had died last year. They hadn’t been close, not like me and my mom. But it had still been her mother. Faye had watched her die from cancer too.
“Yeah,” I said, dropping my gaze to Rally.
He had Faye’s red hair, but otherwise, I thought he looked like a mini version of Rush. His dark eyelashes were perfect crescents against his smooth cheeks.
Another exhale. Another bit of that sorrow blowing away.
“He’s a good listener,” she said. “Especially when he’s asleep. Think you could watch him while Rush and I take a shower?”
I nodded, swaying side to side as I kept my eyes on this baby boy. “Yeah. I’d be happy to.”
“Thanks.” She touched her son’s chubby hand, then disappeared down the hallway.
By the time I trudged to the couch and kicked off my shoes, settling Rally into the crook of my arm, the water turned on upstairs.
His crib would have been just fine for him if they wanted a little alone time. But tomorrow, I’d owe Faye a thanks. The pressure in my chest loosened with every minute this kid was in my arms.
“You have a good mom, bud. I have a good mom too.” A tear dripped down my cheek before I could catch it.
I blinked the others away, sniffling through the sting in my nose. Then I shifted to dig my phone from my pocket and hit Stevie’s name.
“Hi,” she answered on the first ring.
“I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.”
“Good thing I’m used to it.”
I blew out a long breath. “Yeah.”
“You’re not the only one losing her, Mav,” Stevie whispered.
No, I wasn’t. “I’m sorry, Nadine.”
“It’s okay.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah. Are you coming back?”
I should go back to her place. I should tell her I was sorry in person and ask how she was holding up. Instead, I shifted my hold on Rally, keeping him close.
He didn’t ask hard questions. He didn’t give me sad looks. He had no idea that I was coming apart at the seams and fought tears with every breath, every heartbeat.
“I think I’ll just crash here. See you tomorrow?”
“Sure.” There was disappointment in Stevie’s voice.
“Stevie?”
“Yeah?”
I love you. It was there, on the tip of my tongue. But I couldn’t say it, not like this. Not after a fight. Not over the phone. “Good night.”
“Bye.”
The silence was heavy when she hung up. It settled on my shoulders, almost as heavy as the dread resting on my heart.
I was pushing her away. I was putting everyone at arm’s length. If I wasn’t careful, I’d lose more than just my mother through this.
“How do I stop?” I asked Rally.
His only answer was a drop of drool on my shirt.