14. 14 Mae
14: Mae
“ S till hate shellfish?” Cam asks me, peeking over his menu to wiggle his eyebrows.
I deadpan him. “With a passion.”
“Yep, I was right. Moving to Colorado didn’t magically give you taste.”
Ignoring him, I sip my ice-cold water and order a chicken curry. “So,” I ask, shooting him a wry smile, “how’s the love life going?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
Cam’s been single for a while. He swore off relationships altogether after discovering his girlfriend of four years was cheating on him. I know it hurt him—more than he let on.
Charlotte and I were friendly, but I knew she walked all over my brother, and because he was in love, he allowed it to happen. There was nothing I could say or do to change his mind. It wasn’t until afterwards he admitted to me just how toxic their situation had been.
She was training to be a professional dancer, though, and my mother obviously loved her. Hearing about their breakup had sent her into a moody spiral, and she wanted nothing more than for them to rekindle things.
It isn’t going to happen, though. Cam has made that very clear.
I shrug. “Just wondering if you’ve met anybody. You know I want you to be happy.”
“Mae-Mae, I am happy. I don’t need a woman for that.”
“You mean you don’t need to be in a relationship with a woman for that,” I correct him. I’m well aware he sleeps around now, but after what Cam’s been through, he deserves to have a little fun—Charlotte was while he was ring shopping for the woman he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with.
“You want to talk about the women I fuck ?” Cam chuckles, and I fake a gag, waving my hands to stop him from talking.
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
“Don’t ask, then.” He sips his bubbling beer. “How’s Nathan?”
Lately, it seems all people want to do is ask me about Nathan Slater. Frankly, I don’t know how he is because he’s almost impossible to read. Just when I think he’s dropping those heavy, rock-hard walls of his, he says something that makes it clear they’re very much still up—impenetrable and unyielding.
He wears his icy exterior like armour, his defences pushing anyone within a two-metre radius back.
And then he has the nerve to call me princess.
And act jealous when Riley Donovan is flirting with me.
He looked fucking hot doing it, though.
I knew I was never going to call Riley. He isn’t my type, but when Nathan stormed over to embarrass him in front of all of us, I wanted to fall out of the booth with laughter.
Because there’s one thing I hate, and it’s cocky, egotistical men.
“Still looks at the world like he wants to punch every person in sight, but other than that, I think he’s fine.”
“I mean, he has a reason to look at the world like he does. Have you met his father?” Cam laughs.
I shake my head. “Thankfully, no, but I haven’t heard great things.”
My brother shuffles his chair forward, pressing his elbows into the table. “He barges into the team’s locker room almost every game and speaks to the guys as if he’s their coach.”
“Why doesn’t Nathan just tell him to fuck off?”
Cam raises his shoulders and drops them in a shrug. “I don’t ask. But that’s something you and Nathan have in common if that’ll make this whole partner thing a little easier.”
A laugh of disbelief bubbles up my throat. “Okay, I’m not going to bond with Nathan over our mutual dislike for our parents.”
Cam’s fishing. He’s leaning in closer, the casual remark he’s just made laced with intent. He’s well aware of the bait he just cast—wanting me to bite and tell him that Nathan and I are actually getting on better than I thought we would.
It’s a strange situation.
I no longer feel like Nathan wants to stick forks into his eyes when he’s around me, but there’s still a strange, charged energy in the air when we’re around each other.
I feel uncertain.
Uncertain because I definitely check him out like a friend shouldn't.
Uncertain because I want to learn more about his father and his struggles. Not because I’m being nosy, but because I actually want to understand him.
Uncertain because whenever I see him shirtless, I imagine myself running my hands down his chiselled abs with his lips latched onto my neck.
My body begins to pulse, and my mouth goes dry. I need to change the subject, but Cam beats me to it.
“It was Dad’s birthday the other day.” He says it as if I’d forgotten.
I wonder what he did to celebrate. Stay in and order himself takeout? Hit the club and party with a bunch of strangers? Or maybe he spent it with his new family… the new family I sometimes convince myself he’s found.
“Cam… are you happy without dad?”
My brother immediately tenses up. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows, but I can practically see the frog stuck in his throat, refusing to move.
Our father leaving isn’t a topic we tip-toe around like our mother, but it’s not something we speak about often either. There’s no need—not when neither of us knows where he is or how he’s doing. We mention him casually, but I haven’t flat-out asked Cam how he’s coping with it for years.
“I think there’ll always be a part of me that could be happier with him around.”
I scowl. “You say that like we’re never going to see him again.”
Cam sighs, nervously fiddling with his flannel shirt. “Mae-Mae, he was sick. It wasn’t safe for us. I think we need to accept that sometimes, you can’t help everybody.”
My nose stings, and I rub at it in discomfort. “He’s helping himself. That’s why he left. He has to come back at some point.”
I’m not an idiot, though. I know I’m living in denial, but it hurts less.
My phone interrupts our moment by ringing in my lap, seeming to snap Cam out of his gloomy trance. He clears his throat, gesturing for me to answer it.
I groan at my mom’s name.
She never calls me, so it must be important.
“Hello?”
I immediately pick up on the thick and bitter aura she emits from her end. “Sophia isn’t going to make it to the next game because of her honeymoon, so you’re on.” She releases a grumpy huff. “Don’t mess this up for me, Mae.”
I clutch the phone in my clammy hand.
For some reason, I’m perfectly calm and collected when performing CPR on a dying dog or watching a very risky surgery that could cause a cat to bleed out in seconds. But the thought of getting out and dancing in front of millions of people for a stupid football game frightens the fuck out of me.
Especially because my mom’s making me feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.
“Have you ever walked a dog before?” I ask Nathan with a frown as he clutches the dog leash in hand—as if it’s utterly foreign to him—by the door of the animal shelter, the mud-covered fabric staining his palms. I imagine having something other than a football in his hands is strange.
He deadpans me. “I don’t live under a rock.”
“You play football. It’s practically the same thing.”
He releases some strange mix of a chuckle and a huff, and I snap my head to him, thinking he was choking for a second. It looks as if he doesn’t quite know how to react to my playful comment.
One could mistake it for flirting, but that’s not what I’m trying to do here.
Okay… maybe a little.
But I enjoy seeing the cogs turning in his head when I do. It always looks like he’s trying to conjure up some appropriate response, sifting through many that are a little risky before settling on a more safe-for-work one.
Boring.
We’re taking Mr No Name for a walk today now that his leg is pretty much healed. It’s obvious he’s been on walks before, as he lifted his paws for us to put on his harness, and that only makes me feel even sadder for him.
He was once someone’s baby—someone’s beloved pet—and they abandoned him. Yet, he’s so forgiving. He looks at humans as if they stand on a pedestal before him. As if they’re superior to him.
If only he knew.
The grass of the field behind the shelter sways gently in the breeze, the mucky green strands crisping up under the warm glow. Wildflowers dot the landscape, their floral fragrance mingling with the earthy scent of the soil beneath our feet. Large trees surround us, too, their leaves vibrant, birds balancing on their branches and chirping as Mr No Name runs beneath them.
It warms my heart. This place is a refuge for the dog, away from the confinement of the cold kennel he currently calls home. He looks so happy, and it immediately brings a smile to my face.
He deserves a home. And a name.
Nathan’s stomach growls beside me, and I whip my head to him. “You didn’t eat before we came out?”
“I was running laps. Didn’t have time.” There’s a brief pause before Nathan asks, “What’s your favourite food?”
I arch my eyebrows. It makes my lips curl upwards because I know he’s trying to make casual conversation, and this is his version of it. I appreciate the effort.
It’s actually kind of cute.
“My friend, Flo, makes these incredible turkey-club sandwiches. I don’t know what she does to them because she refuses to tell me, but I could eat them every day.”
“Maybe she wipes her armpits with the bread.”
My eyes widen, and I snicker, covering my lips.
Nathan’s comment sounded like it was supposed to be a joke, but he said it so casually that it made it funnier.
“Do you know what? Even if she does do that, it tastes damn good, so I wouldn’t even mind.”
Nathan rolls his eyes above me, his mouth turning down disgustingly.
“What’s yours?”
“My what?”
“Do you have a football inside there instead of a brain?” I point to his head. “Your favourite food. What is it?”
He sighs, tapping his fingers against the dog leash he has wrapped around his large hand while he thinks. I’m unsure if it’s a nervous twitch. “I’m not sure. Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”
The media and fans ask him questions all the time, and I assume at least someone would be interested enough to know what his favourite food is.
But then I’m reminded that the news reporters want to sell a story, and unfortunately, an article about Nathan Slater’s favourite food wouldn’t be a hit.
“Probably peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I don’t really care for fancy food,” he says after a few minutes—I thought he wasn’t going to answer.
I’m surprised. He has enough money to eat at the most expensive and prestigious restaurants, and I was expecting the words ‘caviar’ or ‘lobster’ to be his response.
But it seems you can’t go wrong with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich no matter who you are—unless you’re me.
“I’m allergic to nuts, which sucks. I’ve only tried a peanut and jelly sandwich once, and it was when I was three. My face was so swollen I looked like a floating balloon on a stick.” I wish my parents had taken a photo so I could laugh at it today, but I understand they were far more concerned with the fact that their child was struggling to breathe than getting the camera out.
“Really?” Nathan releases a husky laugh, his eyes darting to Mr No Name, who is still rustling around near the trees, pawing at rocks and barking at mice who race away from him. “I’ll remember not to eat them around you, then.”
I offer him a smile. “Thanks. Do you think you’re prepared for the next game?”
His shoulders drop at the mention of football, that twinkle from his eyes now completely gone.
I realise I’ve never seen a football player so deflated at the mention of a game. I’d expect him to be excited, full of energy, but instead, he seems weighed down by it, like it’s a burden he can’t shake off.
I scan the field before Nathan can respond, my eyebrows collapsing. “Wait, where’s Mr No Name?”
His eyes dart from side to side. “I don’t know.”
I do a full three-sixty and still can't see him. There’s no sound or movement, either. We pick up the pace, weaving around trees and scanning the shrubs as we call out for him, searching through the tall grass. We find nothing but large boulders and rabbit holes, though, and I start to panic.
“We lost the shelter’s dog. My mom is going to fucking love this. What if he’s found his way onto a road and has been hit? Oh, shit.” I pick at my lip, and Nathan takes my hand away from my mouth and sets it back down by my side, fingers skating against mine.
The contact has my entire body tingling, eyes round.
He crouches down so we’re at the same level. “Mae, don’t panic. We’ll find him, okay? He’s probably just off exploring.”
I allow my lungs to expand as I breathe. “Okay.”
“Take a deep breath for me. We can’t look for him when you’re not calm.”
I do as I’m told, giving him a sharp nod, and I inhale, placing my hands on my lower belly.
“Good. Okay, so we’re going to—”
“Whose dog is this? What the fuck! Get off!”
The shrill makes Nathan and me push through the thick cluster of trees to see Mr No Name prancing through a small fenced field. His snout is coated in thick dirt as he dips into a greenhouse, exiting a few seconds later with a purple vegetable hanging from his mouth.
A farmer is stomping his feet, and once he spots us, he storms over to the wooden fence and wiggles his finger. “Your dog’s dug up my radishes inside of my greenhouse!” His sagging skin has mud splattered into the creases, his greying hair dishevelled from—what I imagine was— chasing Mr No Name.
“We’re so sorry,” I tell him with a frown, waving to try and gain the dog’s attention, but I see him rip another radish from a pot through the open doors of the greenhouse, throwing it up into the air as if it’s a rope toy.
“Sorry doesn’t grow me back my radishes.” The farmer gestures to the mess of dirt and deceased veggies.
“I know.” Nathan pulls a spare receipt from his wallet and scribbles on it using a pen from behind his ear. He hands it to the irritated farmer. “Here’s my number. Call me later, and I’ll sort out some form of payment for the inconvenience.”
Mr No Name spots us, and although he appears to be having a blast digging up the farmer’s livelihood, he trots over without a care in the world, allowing me to grab him through the fence and fasten the leash back onto his harness.
The elderly farmer doesn't seem convinced, but he grunts in agreement as he pockets Nathan’s number.
“We’ll get someone down here to clean up the mess, too.” Nathan speaks so calmly, and I honestly don't think you could put him in a situation that would cause him to freak out. “Don’t do it yourself. Again, we’re so sorry, but I promise you we’ll pay you more than double what you would have received for the radishes.”
The farmer’s face twists at the dog panting by my booted feet, his dirt-covered tongue lolling out as he releases a loud bark of pride. “Keep your dog on a leash,” he says as he shakes his head and waves us away.
I try to keep a straight face as we trudge back through the trees, but before I know it, Nathan and I have locked eyes, and a laugh is bursting from my mouth—with a huskier, calmer one coming from Nathan’s.
It’s not funny. It’s really not. But the sight of Mr No Name with a limp radish swinging side to side from his slobbery lips while he bounced around the field like a lamb is burned into my memory
He was having a blast.
I don’t have it in me to burst his bubble.
I’ve never seen Nathan laugh like this before. It goes beyond a chuckle—more like a throaty laugh that’s husky and deep. It’s filled with pure, intense amusement.
Mr No name barks, and I stop to crouch down to his level, scratching at his head. “Well, I think I have the perfect name for you.”
“You do?”
I shoot Nathan a smile. “Yep, Radish.”