11. 11 Mae
11: Mae
I have a newfound dislike for the media. I’d watched the Missarali Storks press conference on TV and was dumbfounded to discover that these reporters weren’t there to get the juice on football after all.
They treated the guys like caged animals, attempting to back them into corners. They showed no respect, and I breathed a sigh of relief once Darrell cut the conference short. Evan looked particularly pissed off, and rightfully so.
The mother of his son is nobody’s business but his own.
Nathan was calm and collected—like usual. He showed little emotion besides the odd flicker of frustration whenever a reporter asked an out-of-pocket question. Although I tried to watch everyone, my eyes gravitated to him, even when he wasn’t talking.
He looked good in a cap.
Okay, maybe good is an understatement.
My mom is on the phone when she walks into the kitchen where I’m eating. A part of me wants to shy away from her—cover my food so she can’t see—but then I remind myself that I don’t give a fuck.
“Alright, Cam, put it in the diary, and I’ll book it.” My mom is smiling. It’s not something I see often, but then again, she doesn’t have much reason to smile around someone she dislikes. She cuts off the call, her eyes dropping to my plate before she sighs and pours herself a cup of coffee.
She sits opposite me. The tension is thick in the air, and I meet her eyes, raising my eyebrows. The only reason she’d willingly be sitting here with me is because she has something to talk to me about.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m more than okay.” She flicks her perfectly blown-out hair behind her shoulder. “Cam’s taking me out for dinner for a catch-up, so I’m going to need to leave practice a little early on Saturday. Can I trust you to hold the fort down?”
I resist snorting. It sounded to me like she’d been the one to ask Cam to dinner, but I resist voicing that opinion.
“Sophia’s the captain. Isn’t she in charge?”
My mom rolls her eyes. “Obviously, but the football players will be there at the same time, so I need you to let me know if there are any strange interactions between anyone.”
“Why does it sound like you’re just waiting for someone to mess up? I don’t want to be your spy.” I’m trying to make friends, and snitching on people is not the way to do it—not that there’s anything to snitch about. As far as I’ve seen, everyone’s been professional.
Even if I had bent down in front of Nathan in a shed with my ass hovering over his dick.
Concern flourishes on my mother’s face, the creases her makeup has settled into deepening. “Is there a reason for that, Mae? Is something going on with you and any of the—”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” I hold up my palm. “I don’t want to hear what you’re about to ask.”
“You were a little angel when you were younger, Mae. What happened? I don’t know if you have hormonal issues or some deep-rooted trauma because of your father, but he’s not—”
“Don’t bring up Dad,” I bite out, standing from my chair, blanching. “Our relationship issues have nothing to do with him.”
My mother stares at me, cocking her head before finally saying, “Have you considered therapy?”
That’s enough to drive me out of the kitchen, memories of my father surfacing.
His smile.
His laugh.
His compassion.
I miss him.
And I need to get the heck out of here.
Flo’s travelling for work, but Poppy’s always asking me to grab coffee or lunch with her. I call her, and she picks up after a few seconds.
“Mae?”
“Hi, Poppy. I know this is really random, but is there any chance you’re free tonight? I’m going over one of our routines, but I’m just not getting it.”
Lie.
I know the routines like the back of my hand now, but I don’t want to have to explain to her that my mom is impossible to be around. It doesn’t feel like an appropriate thing to say.
“I was waiting for you to want to hang out.” She laughs. “Sure, come over. I’ll text you my address.”
I feel a little cowardly running away from my mom, but she’s the one person I can never get through to, and leaving the house and giving myself a little time to cool off is the best thing I can do so I don’t fall into the trap of arguing with her.
I quickly reach Poppy’s apartment. It’s in a nice area, with large oak trees crowding over it, sheltering it from the precipitation falling from the sky.
The entrance is framed by lush greenery, carefully manicured plants lining the gravel pathway. I admire the large windows stretching from floor to ceiling, giving me a good view of the sleek and sophisticated interior.
I’m sure I look flustered and riled up, but I can’t bring myself to care. Poppy’s seen me looking worse.
I buzz number three, and the loud hum from the heavy glass door indicates I’ve been granted access. I realise I should have brought something as a thank-you for letting me visit, and I make a mental note to offer to pay for her lunch sometime—I’ll briefly be getting a part-time job here so I have some disposable income.
The stairs are steep and glossed, and I can see the faint outline of my footprints on each one behind me, the rain making the mud outside claggy.
Rattling my fist against Poppy’s door, I nervously shift my weight from foot to foot. I’d forgotten to change into training attire to back up my lie that I want to practice a routine, and it’s going to look awfully strange showing up in a pair of denim shorts.
But hopefully, she’ll look past that.
The door is pulled open, and I open my mouth to greet Poppy, but my eyes land on a very confused Nathan instead. A very confused—shirtless—Nathan.
Oh my God.
I feel the colour drain from my face, and my stomach spins, along with my head.
“I—I’m here to see…” Without thinking, my gaze drops to Nathan’s toned, tanned chest, and after hearing him clear his throat, I snap my eyes back up. His eyebrows are hiked up, asking me what I’m doing here.
I could ask him the same question.
“Nathan! Let Mae in!” Poppy calls from another room.
“You knew she was coming?” he asks her, but I can tell he’s trying to keep his voice hushed. I’m not sure why.
He steps aside, his fingers clutching the door tightly, and I’m surprised it doesn’t crack the wood.
It feels like sweat is dripping down the back of my neck, and I instinctively graze my fingers against it to check. Once I realise it’s only slightly damp, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I move past Nathan into the apartment, my bare shoulder brushing against his chest, goosebumps dancing across my skin from the contact. It’s clear he notices, too, because he takes a sudden step back, bringing his hand to rub at the spot, the veins in his hand pronounced.
Poppy rounds the corner, dressed in a pair of pyjamas, her blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun.
“Sorry, I had a couple of unexpected visitors, but we can still go over the routine.” She laughs, gesturing to Nathan.
I arch an eyebrow. “A couple?”
“Yeah, Leo’s here. Evan’s son.”
“Oh,” I mutter, confusion wrapping around me and strangling me like a python. I crane my neck to look at Nathan, trying very hard to ignore how good he looks. His hair is wet, and it appears he just got out of the shower, water droplets dripping down his neck and catching the light from the bright lamp beside him.
I’ve seen him shirtless from a distance… but close up, he looks other-worldly.
My abdomen tightens.
“Look at her face!” Poppy suddenly bursts out into a fit of laughter, causing me to cross my arms over my chest defensively.
“My face is fine.”
“Unless you consider being the shade of a tomato as fine.” Nathan lifts his eyebrows—the rest of his face sullen—and I shoot a scowl at him.
“I thought you knew,” Poppy tells me, tilting her head and tapping her chin with her finger.
“If you two are fucking, please just don’t tell me. I can’t defend you if you admit it.” I dig my teeth into my bottom lip, hearing Nathan scoff from behind me.
“Mae, Nathan’s my brother.”
Shock hits me hard in the chest, and relief spreads through my veins. My reaction causes Poppy to giggle before gesturing for me to follow her into the living room.
It exudes a warm and inviting ambience, with a muted couch in the middle and an array of colourful throw pillows covering it, adding a splash of colour.
She settles down on the couch, places her feet on the wooden coffee table in front of her, and turns down the volume of the TV.
Nathan grimaces from the doorway to the living room. “Why is Mae here, Poppy? Leo’s sleeping in the next room.”
“Hello? Right here,” I grumble.
“Why don’t you go and put on a shirt and stop making my guest uncomfortable before you start asking me questions in my apartment?” Poppy remarks, gaining a glare from her brother before he trudges down the corridor, only to return a moment later with a navy T-shirt covering his chest.
I’m disappointed.
I was enjoying the show.
“Much better.”
My eyes flicker between the pair. They’re so different. Nathan’s tanned with green eyes. He has dark features. Poppy has fair skin. Her hair is a dirty blonde colour, and her eyes are icy blue. She’s sunny and bright, whereas Nathan is dark and sombre.
“Same dad, different moms,” Poppy clarifies after spotting me analysing them both, and I nod, blinking to clear my head. “Not that I would even consider our dad family.”
“We don’t need to talk about Dad.”
She rolls her eye at her brother, turning to me. “Nathan’s just grumpy because he and our father hate each other, but they have to pretend they’re the best father-son-duo in the NFL. In fact,” she nods at him, “when are you not grumpy?”
Exactly what I said.
“I’ll perk up once I can retire,” Nathan mutters, though I can’t tell if he’s serious or not. I was under the impression that football was his whole life, so hearing that he’s actually looking forward to retiring catches me off guard.
“Well, I suppose you’re not getting any younger,” I say, and Poppy erupts in fits of laughter, choking on the water she just took a sip of.
“I get enough old man jokes from my team. I don’t need them from you, too.” I can tell he’s trying to put on a crabby tone, but it’s not quite reaching the baseline of his voice, and he watches me before sighing, running his hand down his face. His broad shoulders lean against the doorframe, body swaying slightly.
“Nathan, go to sleep. If Leo wakes up, I’ll handle it.” Poppy’s eyes soften.
“I told Evan I’d look after him. I only needed your help getting him settled. It’s not your responsibility, Pops.”
His nickname for her loosens my chest up.
She waves away his concern. “I doubt he’ll even wake up. The white noise should keep him knocked out.”
But Nathan doesn’t listen. Instead, he shuffles over to the cream-coloured armchair beside me and sits down. His fingers are inches away from mine. “I’ll wait and head to bed when I’m sure he’s sound asleep.”
“So stubborn,” Poppy murmurs, flicking the volume to the TV up a little and pulling a blanket over herself. “Did you really want to run through a routine, Mae?” She shoots me a perplexed look. “You seemed to have them all down in practice the other day. In fact, Sophia congratulated you for being so on point.”
I shrug. I’ve never been a great liar. My emotions are easily readable on my face, so I don’t usually bother being dishonest about my thoughts and feelings. “I know, I just—”
“Wanted to get away from your mom?”
I look at her, feeling like a deer in the headlights. “What makes you say that?”
The last thing I want to do is turn the cheerleaders against my mother. She’s built up a relationship with them, and I don’t want to be the one to shatter it. I’m coming into her space, and it seems wrong to shed light on how she treats me when it doesn’t concern or affect anyone else. It’s not like I’m staying anyway, and I don’t want to create any more issues between us.
I’d rather just forget about her.
“The way she looks at you,” Nathan suddenly says, and I whip my head in his direction. “It’s the same way she looks at me. Well, very similar.” His eyes are still glued to the television, but he’s looking through it. Not at it.
My mother tries to stay out of my way during practice. She doesn’t speak to me much, but when she does, she uses a tone that could cut ice. I’m always the first person she’ll point out during a bad run of a routine.
I’m out of line. My limbs are floppy. I’m off-beat. It’s always me.
Most of the time, I’ve performed the routine perfectly. She just loves to try to destroy my confidence.
I wasn’t aware that the cheerleaders had noticed—let alone the football players. Let alone Nathan.
“What’s her problem?” Poppy tucks her knees to her chest. “You’re her daughter, and it’s clear that—”
“You can’t just expect people to unpack their family drama with you, Poppy,” Nathan grumbles, but a sliver of interest is lingering in his eyes.
“I’m studying psychology. This is excellent research.”
“She’s not a project.” His tone is frosty, and my stomach twists at how he defends me.
Poppy’s not trying to intrude. She’s just an open book, and she probably doesn’t understand why others aren’t the same. In a way, it’s kind of refreshing. I’ve been surrounded by people who brush things under the carpet growing up, and it’s a habit I’ve picked up—an unhealthy one.
“It’s fine,” I say to them both, shrugging. “There’s not much to tell when it comes to my mom, though. She wanted her daughter to be a carbon copy of her, but I’m not, so she despises me. I got on with my dad much better than her, and she didn't like that because she’s a control freak.” I mentally wince at the final few words. It’s not something I should be saying openly to one of her cheerleaders, but I now consider Poppy a friend.
“Yeah, I gathered that. She’s a good cheerleading coach. I can’t fault her for that, but honestly, she doesn’t seem like the greatest mother. I’ve asked her about her family in the past, and she’s always shown no interest in talking about you.”
“Jesus Christ. You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nathan mumbles as he pinches the bridge of his nose at Poppy’s wording.
Her comment stings, but it’s not something I wasn’t expecting. I know my mother doesn’t brag about me.
I don’t go around singing her praises for being mother of the year, either.
Poppy pauses, biting down on the inside of her cheek. “Sorry. I think I analyse people a little too much. It comes with the degree. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry. It’s actually kind of nice to have someone ask me about it. Nobody ever does, so I don’t mind. Don’t apologise, Poppy. I trust you not to run and tell my mom. I know you mean well.”
That makes her grin. “So what about your dad?”
My breath hitches as my father is dragged into the conversation. A rush of emotion hits me, and I feel myself begin to shut down as I clear my throat, the words jammed.
Not much gets to me. I have a pretty strong backbone, but when it comes to my father—it’s a very different story.
I was a daddy’s girl. We got on like a house on fire. I still remember the times we’d laugh at stupid cat videos until our sides hurt. The times he’d help me build a fort in the living room and we’d camp there all night with Chump beside us. The times we’d visit the stables near our house and beg the owners to let us ride their horses for an hour, promising to brush them down and muck them out as repayment.
But all those times are just distant memories now—memories I latch onto because I don’t want to forget them. I refuse to forget them. I refuse to give up on him.
He’s out there somewhere.
Nathan quickly notices my dissociation, and he glares at his little sister, his jaw ticking before he stands up to grab the TV remote, raising the volume to drown out her voice. “Poppy, I’m trying to watch TV. Can you quieten down? This is a good show.”
He hasn’t been paying attention to it at all, though. I know that because I’ve been paying attention to him.
I swallow, my lungs expanding as I breathe in oxygen, allowing the happy memories to drift to the back of my mind.
Nobody speaks, and I try my best to focus on the crappy scripted TV show playing on the television before us.
“Nathan, I thought you were tired. Leo’s settled now. You can go to bed.”
At his sister’s voice, he shakes his head, gesturing to the TV. “No, I like this show.”
It makes me cock my head because I seriously can’t imagine Nathan Slater enjoying a cheesy reality show marketed towards young females.
In fact, I know he’s definitely not enjoying it because his eyebrows pinch together, and his mouth purses when someone on screen starts an argument with another over a drunken kiss.
I shift myself to be more comfortable on the couch, and I swear I see him raise his eyebrows at me—as if he’s asking if I’m going to be okay—but I convince myself it was just my imagination as Leo’s shrill cry rockets through the apartment.