Chapter 12
Twelve
Maggie stares at the wall of ceramic plates—all created by Stella—while I try to conceal that I’m looking at her.
Her hands are clasped together behind her back, and her eyes focus on the glossed black plate with gold cracks spread throughout.
She sips on her Diet Coke, reminding me that I’m on a time constraint.
“So, where did you play?” Am I really using my limited time to ask questions I already know the answer to?
Her eyes drag from the plates on the wall to me. “You don’t know?”
I swallow. But I refuse to be caught. I give her a charming half-grin and a one-shoulder shrug.
“How do you know I played after college at all? Maybe I just like the game and officiating was for me.”
“But your—”
“Right. The rainbow flick. That’s just a trick. You know?”
“And you know it’s more than that.”
She drags a long sip from her cola.
“That isn’t exactly fair. I bought the Diet Coke. You said you’d talk. You’ve told me nothing.”
Maggie pulls in a breath before audibly exhaling. “Fine. I played in college. My senior year, I moved up to the U.S. U-23 team.”
“Impressive,” I say, as if I didn’t already know. “And your position?” Another question I already have an answer for.
The girl was an attacking forward. She can run like the wind and kick a ball more than half the length of the field. I know all these answers. Half that coke is gone, and I haven’t asked my real question yet.
She stares at me—like maybe she can read my mind. But she simply says, “Forward.”
Finally, I break. “Why’d you quit?”
“How do you know that I quit, Cruz? Maybe I tore my ACL. Maybe I got lazy. Maybe I couldn’t hack it and they cut me.”
My eyes lock on hers, but I don’t say anything. We both know none of those things happened.
After a solid sixty seconds of no one speaking up, I cave. “Fine. I googled you.”
Maggie laughs—but she doesn’t sound amused. No, once again, I am testing her patience.
“I was curious after our Little League practice.”
“So?” she says.
“So.” I drag out the word. “So, what?”
“What do you really want to know, Lucca?” Her pink lips wrap around that straw one more time, and she takes another long drink as she walks to the next display.
My head spins. I can’t look away from her lips. I can’t blink. This maddening woman takes control wherever she is, no field or uniform required.
Trying to play it cool, I shove my hands into my slack pockets and look at the display of vases in front of us. “You seemed to have a bright future. Just wondering what made you leave and take up refereeing.”
“Ah. You want to know how I ended up ruining your fun every other game?”
I grunt. Sure, she can think that. “Exactly. How’d you end up holding the flag?”
“You realize I run just as much as you do every game, right?”
“Believe me when I tell you that I respect the job. How did it become yours?”
Her cheeks go pink, and the overconfident smirk on her face fades away. “My little sister got pregnant,” she says. Her tone is soft, her words blunt. This is the most honest moment McCrae and I have ever had.
“And that was your responsibility?”
“Yes. There’s nothing more important than Wyatt,” she says, all the playful banter gone from her tone.
“But he has a mother, right?” Wyatt mentioned his mom. He also mentioned never having met his father.
Maggie’s lips are back on her cola. She drinks until air slurps and sputters through her straw.
Then, shaking the ice in her empty cup, she tells me my time is up.
Tilting her head, she smiles at me, but I don’t believe those upturned lips for a moment.
I saw her joy when she smiled at Wyatt. This isn’t it. “Bye, Lucca.”
I nod. I’m lucky she gave me as much time as she did. “Yeah. Bye, Maggie.”
I continue to stroll through the art show, but Maggie McCrae is on my radar. I can’t help but see where she navigates. After a moment, Fran leads Stella over to her, and I watch from the corner of my eye as she makes introductions between the two. Callum greets her, too. So does Roman.
They all get a smile more sincere than the one she left me with.