Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MAVERICK
M y breath billowed around me in white puffs as I shifted from foot to foot. It was cold as fuck today, and all I could do was keep moving to stay warm. Or maybe it was just my nerves making me bounce around.
There was no reason to be nervous. I checked the scoreboard, stared at it for a few moments longer than necessary to make sure I wasn’t imagining the numbers.
Treasure State Wildcats, forty-five.
University of Montana Grizzlies, three.
The rivalry between our schools was legendary. We hated the Griz, and I didn’t give a shit if that sentiment was returned.
This football game was always the pinnacle of the season. It was usually our last regular-season game, and while everyone on the team loved making the playoffs, as long as we beat the Griz, the year was a win.
We weren’t just beating them today.
It was a goddamn slaughter.
The defense was on the field, absolutely punishing their quarterback. He’d been sacked four times, and they’d all been hard hits—slamming into the frozen turf had to hurt like hell. I almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.
“This is getting embarrassing.” Rush came to stand at my side, cupping his hands in front of his mouth and blowing hot air into his palms.
“Think Coach will put in second string?”
“Not against the Griz. Not after that interview.”
I grinned. “Good.”
Earlier this week, the arrogant head coach for the Griz had gone on a radio show and absolutely raked the Wildcats, calling us lucky and lacking true talent. Then he’d gone on a rant about Coach Ellis, saying that Coach was unqualified and his success in the NFL had been a fluke.
If the dickhead had intended to piss off everyone in a Wildcats uniform, it had definitely worked.
Maybe next year, he’d think twice before running his damn mouth.
Maybe next year, I’d be on this sideline not as a player, but as a coach.
The original plan for my fifth year at Treasure State had been to mail it in. To go light on credits, enough to maintain eligibility to play football, but coast through my class load. That plan had gone up in flames.
On the last possible day to add or drop classes, the Monday after Mom had died, I’d piled on two extra courses, both geared toward sports administration and management. After sitting down and talking about my future with Coach Ellis and Coach Greely, they’d both encouraged me to graduate. Not to change my major this late in the game, but to supplement my business classes with a couple that would give me a lift into the world of coaching .
I had six classes, twenty credits, and it was more than I’d taken on in all my years as a college student. If I wasn’t at practice, I was studying. If I wasn’t studying, I was coaching.
I’d spent the fall as the assistant coach for Bodhi’s flag football team. Their games were on Saturdays, so I’d missed all of those, but I’d been there for every practice. Their season was over now, and he’d immediately started basketball.
I was the assistant coach for that team too so that three nights a week—Monday, Wednesday and Friday—I could spend time with my nephew and his friends.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I spent my evenings at the Oaks, helping one of my former teachers with a new winter soccer program. We ran conditioning and footwork drills. I wasn’t great at soccer, but I was pretty good at kicking a ball. Plus the kids were mostly little, kindergarteners through third grade. Uncoordinated and adorable and if they weren’t laughing, then I was doing something wrong.
My grief counselor said that burying myself in tasks wasn’t a long-term solution. That eventually I’d have to stop and face my feelings. She wasn’t wrong.
But if I stopped, it hurt.
So I didn’t stop.
I packed every single day with an activity, filling each spare moment.
On Sundays, I studied. I’d visit Dad and we’d pretend that the house didn’t feel empty without Mom. We’d have lunch together; sometimes Mabel would join us. Then I’d go home to hang with Rush, Faye and Rally in the afternoons before my weekly appointment with my grief counselor.
And on Saturdays, I missed Stevie .
Even with the distraction of a football game, I missed her so much it hurt.
Not just Saturdays. Every day. But Saturdays were the worst.
I’d had seven without her. Seven weeks of wondering if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.
Yes. Without question.
But I’d said some shit over the past seven weeks I regretted, and all I could be thankful for was that it hadn’t been aimed at her. Those first few weeks, before I’d started counseling, I’d been the worst version of myself.
I’d called my sister a fucking bitch when she’d told me she was going to help Dad clean out Mom’s closet. I’d told Dad he was a fucking coward when he’d sold Mom’s car. I’d told Rush to fuck off whenever he asked if I was okay. And when Faye had marched into my bedroom to tell me I needed help, I’d told her to go back to her precious diner and wash dishes.
The next day, when I’d realized just how much of a fucking asshole I was being, I’d made my apologies, then looked up a counselor and made the call.
There was a long road ahead. There’d always be this missing piece in my heart, but I was learning to accept it. Live with it.
To be the man my mother had raised me to be.
I tipped my head to the blue sky, to the sunshine that streamed through the guard on my helmet.
“How about this game, Mom?” I whispered. It helped to talk to her. To think that she was watching. Listening.
“What did you say?” Rush asked.
“Nothing.” I waved it off, then turned toward the stands at my back. My family was sitting about ten rows up from the railing on the thirty-yard line.
Dad was wearing a pair of Carhartt bibs and his ski coat. Mabel had a fleece scarf wrapped around her face and a stocking hat with a blue-and-silver pom-pom on top. She’d brought Kai along, and each time I turned, his arm was around her shoulders, keeping her close.
That day I’d called her a fucking bitch? He’d been at the house too. And he’d told me that if I ever spoke to her like that again, we were going to have a big problem.
I liked Kai. For Mabel. For Bodhi. For our family. I liked him a lot.
Bodhi was bundled up in a thousand layers, the outermost an old jersey of mine. And beside him, Elle and Declan were dressed for winter too.
None of them had missed a game since Mom had died.
I hadn’t expected them to want to return here, not so soon. But if I was here, so were they, cheering and clapping like the rest of the Wildcats fans.
The only person who hadn’t come was Stevie.
A cheer rose up from the crowd, forcing my attention to the field. The defense had just sacked the Griz quarterback again for a loss of six yards.
“Yes.” I laughed, grinning at Rush.
“If the season ended right here, if this was my last game, I’d be happy.”
“Same.” It wasn’t my last game. We’d have the playoffs. But no matter what happened, I would have no regrets when it came time to walk away from football.
Whether I became a coach or not, I’d given my all to this team. To the Wildcats.
I was ready to let it go when it was time .
Rush rubbed his hands together, stealing a glance toward where Faye was standing with his parents. She had Rally strapped to her chest in a carrier, and he looked like a baby marshmallow in his snowsuit. There were headphones over his ears to quiet the noise, and clearly, they’d worked. He was fast asleep, his head lulled to the side.
“I guess this game is boring your son,” I teased. “Try to do something exciting on this possession, will you?”
Rush chuckled as special teams players swapped out with the defense for a punt return. “Fuckwad.”
I shrugged, taking another look toward my family.
A woman with long, dark hair in a loose braid walked along the railing, and for a moment, my heart skipped, hoping it was Stevie. But then she turned and started up a staircase, showing her face.
“She didn’t come today,” Rush said.
“No.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“No.”
“Wow. Normally when I ask you that, you tell me to fuck off.”
I wished he were joking, but I’d been a shithead for weeks. “Caught me in a good mood.”
Rush took a step forward, ready to get on the field after we called for a fair catch. But before he could leave, he paused, turning back. “I didn’t want to say this, not after your mom. But, Maverick?”
Definitely wasn’t going to like this. “Yeah?”
“Pull your head out of your ass.”
“Fuck off,” I said, but he was already jogging onto the field with the rest of the offense.
I knew he was right. I’d screwed up. I’d known that since the moment I’d walked out of her house. But right or wrong, I’d needed some time to myself. To figure myself out.
A part of me had feared that our relationship was too centered on Mom’s dying wish. That only the pressure of our families had been keeping us together.
I wanted Stevie to love me on my own merit.
Because I loved her. I was in love with Stevie Adair and had been my entire life.
Maybe I was afraid to go back because she wouldn’t feel the same. Maybe I was terrified that she’d break my already-broken heart.
All doubts I’d played and replayed for seven weeks.
How ironic that I’d become a chronic overthinker? Stevie had rubbed off, in more ways than one.
The center snapped the ball into Rush’s waiting hands. He dropped back in the pocket, searching for an open receiver. Everyone was covered, so he tucked the ball into his arm and took off running, darting through a slit between the other players. Then he was gone, legs pumping as he sprinted for the end zone.
“Yes!” I threw a fist in the air, laughing when he scored a touchdown, turned to face me and pointed the tip of the football at my face.
I tilted my face to the sky as the stadium roared. “Okay, Mom. Message received.”
It was time to make the most of it.