Chapter 42
WILDER
I reread the text from my landlord again, feeling no less confused than I did the first time.
Mr. Hawthorne..
Ed here. Just wanted to let you know that there were some complaints from tenants this past weekend about a woman loitering around in the hallway outside your apartment. Not sure if you know who that could be, or what they would want, but thought I’d give you a heads up.
I have no fucking clue who that could be. Outside of Camila and Maisie, no one else knows where I live, so whoever it was must have had the wrong place.
I type a quick thank-you to the landlord and find myself checking yet again to see if Maisie responded to my text, but there’s nothing. No email either.
I spent the entire bus ride home half-ass watching game tape and attempting to make notes, but not being able to truly focus because, like most times as of late, my thoughts are on her.
I can’t get her out of my head.
And at this point, I’m not sure that I want to.
I think the only good thing in my life is Maisie.
I look forward to her sunshine smile, and Christ, those eyes, so blue, so damn bright that I’ve come to crave.
The last time I saw her was only three damn days ago, right before I left with the team to head to Arkansas for a three-day conference, yet there’s something in me that’s aching to see her again like it’s been far longer than a weekend.
It scares the fuck out of me, knowing the power she’s got over me, and she has no idea.
And after days away, trying my best at this coaching thing, I think I could use a hit of her warm and calming presence. Funny, since when I was playing pro, after an away game, all I wanted to do was be alone.
I thought about stopping by her apartment with dinner, but since she hasn’t responded, I’m not going to be the dick that shows up unannounced.
So I decided on getting some takeout for myself. Get a workout in with the bag.
I’m long overdue exhausting myself until I can get a solid five hours of sleep anyway, especially since it seems I won’t be seeing Maisie to get in my other favorite form of exercise. It feels like it’s been days since I’ve slept. Especially after being on the road, traveling with the team.
I pull open the door to Jack’s Pizza and step inside. It’s been over a decade since I’ve been in here, back when I was a student at OU, and it looks exactly the same.
The same vintage checkered floor, red leather booths that are peeling and cracked in more places than not, the same neon sign on the wall that’s been there since it opened in 1950. New awards line the walls that weren’t there when I attended OU, but there are a few familiar ones remaining.
My gaze catches on the framed front-page article that ran in the newspaper after we won the Frozen Four my sophomore year. I’m in the middle, surrounded by my teammates celebrating, holding a trophy we fought our asses off for.
I’m struck with a strange feeling of nostalgia and pride.
Sometimes those days feel like yesterday, and then times like this, it feels like they were a lifetime ago.
I hear her before I see her.
The soft, familiar sound of laughter that I would recognize anywhere.
My gaze sweeps around the packed restaurant, barely registering the sea of students filling nearly every seat, in search of the source.
I find her tucked into a booth at the back of the building with her friends. Her cheeks are flushed pink from laughter, her eyes shining with happiness.
My skin prickles beneath the surface, a rush of hot, fiery jealousy running through me when I notice who’s beside her.
Fucking Bennett Legros has his arm slung casually over the back of the booth behind her, his eyes glued on Maisie.
Looking far too fucking comfortable.
But as badly as I want to rip his arms off and beat him with them for getting so close to her, it pales in comparison to the way my heart stumbles in my chest at how… happy she looks.
Her entire face is lit up, her smile warm and bright, her demeanor unguarded like she’s completely at ease, giggling at whatever the redheaded girl who I recognize as her best friend, Lennon, is saying.
Maisie tosses her head back, and the sweetest fucking sound imaginable vibrates out of her again. Laughter that I can feel even from across the restaurant that’s packed with people.
I watch as she joins in on the conversation, animatedly adding to whatever story they’re telling, when a heart-stopping realization slams into me, the weight of it nearly knocking me over.
I’m not just a jealous asshole because of how Legros is around her. It’s not just the touching, the flirting, how fucking comfortable he is around her.
It’s not entirely that anymore.
No. It’s the fact that I’ll never get to have Maisie this way.
Until this moment, watching her laughing with her friends, eating dinner together on campus, I didn’t know that was something I wanted. How much I want to be sitting in that booth with her, not just sneaking around.
But that shit can’t happen. How could it?
She’s a fucking student, and I’m a coach at the college she attends.
She’s thirteen years younger than I am.
She’s got her whole damn life ahead of her, figuring out who she is, experiencing everything the world has to offer outside of this shit city that sucks the life out of you.
I’m leaving when my contract is up. The second my obligation here is done, I’m on a plane out of here, and I’m not looking back.
New Orleans is temporary, a necessary stop to get back to where I’m supposed to be. It always has been.
Improve my image. Get back to the ice.
That’s the fucking plan.
But looking at her, there’s a pull in my chest, a tightening beneath my ribs that doesn’t seem to agree.
I’m going to blame the fire-hot jealousy knotted inside of me as the reason that I’m stalking toward the bathroom.
Which conveniently will take me right past their table.
Blame the fact that Legros touching her in front of everyone, laughing with her, reminiscing over stories together, getting to have Maisie in ways that I will never be able to, has driven me to the point of being this reckless.
The jarring realization that all we’ll ever have are stolen moments, cloaked in shadows that only darkness can afford us.
And I fucking hate it that this is all we’ll ever have.
I shove my phone into the pockets of my gym shorts and force my attention straight ahead, fixated on the hallway as I walk by, pretending like I haven’t seen the table with my players, or the girl who’s beneath my skin in ways I’ve never experienced.
“Coach?”
I stop walking and glance over at Devereaux, his brow pinched in a mixture of surprise and confusion.
“Devereaux,” I say, fully turning toward the table, nodding at him. “Legros.” Finally, I glance at Maisie, swallowing down the possessiveness threatening to split me in two. “Ladies.”
The greetings are clipped. Without emotion.
Just like I’ve always operated.
“What’s up, Coach?” Legros quips, his lips curved into a cocky smirk. “I’ve never seen you in Jack’s before. First time?”
I swear to Christ the motherfucker is toying with me, his fingers brushing along the ends of Maisie’s silky, honey-colored hair as he says it.
Might break his fingers. Jury’s out.
I lift a brow. “Half that wall is of articles from when I played, Legros. So, obviously not.”
Devereaux snickers, and his friend changes the subject. “Jack’s is the perfect place for a little date night. Yeah, Mais?” Legros says, tearing his attention from me and looking down at her.
“What?” she mutters. “What ar—”
“Have a good night,” I cut her off, giving them another nod before I turn and walk toward the bathroom.
I’m a fucking ticking time bomb, and I feel the fuse shortening with each step, each breath, as I push through the door and slam it shut behind me.
Fucking hell, it feels like I’m going to burst out of my goddamn skin.
I’m glad I walked away when I did because I feel unstable.
Like so many times before when it comes to… this, I don’t feel in control of the battle raging on inside of me, my temper flaring to the point of doing something entirely fucking reckless.
Something inherently stupid.
I turn to the mirror, the reflection of the man staring back at me both familiar and foreign at the same time.
Maybe I’m actually losing my damn mind.
The doorknob of the bathroom jiggles, and I bark out a rough “Occupied.”
Immediately, it stops, and I sigh.
I have to get my shit together before I walk back out there. Or at least enough that I don’t stop and throw her over my shoulder and carry her the fuck out of here.
Not giving a single fuck who witnesses it.
Blowing out a breath, I curve my fingers around the porcelain sink, my eyes dropping shut.
Five more seconds.
That’s all I’m giving myself to let all these stupid fucking emotions knot me up the way they are.
That’s it.
Then I’ll bury them down with everything else.
The doorknob jiggles again, and I’m about to tell them to fuck off when the door flies open and Maisie steps inside.
Fuck me.