Chapter 1
maverick
. . .
My skull’s splitting open like a busted watermelon.
I groan into my pillow, face buried deep enough to smother myself, which, honestly?
It might be the best thing going for me right now, instead of living through this hangover.
My mouth tastes like shit and melonballs, my eyes feel like they’ve been rolled in sand, and my head’s pounding so hard, I swear it’s going to fall off.
Cupcake, my doberman, chooses this moment to jump onto the bed, her tongue slapping across my cheek like a damn sponge.
“Jesus, girl,” I croak, shoving her off half-heartedly. “Give me a second, will you?”
She pants harder, tail wagging, and barks at me.
Get a puppy, they said.
Dragging myself out of bed feels like a fucking chore. Every joint pops, my back cracks, and my shoulders ache as I shuffle into the kitchen like a hobbit.
My house is quiet, still shrouded in early morning fog. I built it right here in Ruby Ridge after my first pro-season bonus. I could’ve bought a place in Nashville or maybe somewhere flashy in Los Angeles, but I couldn’t bear the idea of leaving this town behind, so I stayed and made it mine.
It’s a blend of sleek wood and dark iron accents, with large windows that allow just enough light to soften the edges. The open floor plan extends from the kitchen to the living room, where my brown leather couch looks like it’s never been sat on, mostly because I usually crash wherever I fall.
I turn on the espresso machine, the satisfying click echoing through the quiet kitchen. Aroma of freshly ground beans rises, dark, rich, and nearly convincing enough to make me believe this morning might be survivable.
I run a hand through my messy hair, still groggy as shit, and grab my phone from the counter. The screen lights up with countless texts, phone calls, and notifications that makes me wish I could crawl back into bed and pretend I’m someone else.
Thirty-seven missed calls from Maggie, and one god-awful, blurry paparazzi shot of me getting kissed on the neck by some girl whose name I couldn’t tell you, even if you offered me a million-dollar signing bonus.
Fucking awesome.
I groan, choosing to ignore Maggie, scrolling until I find Carter’s number, choosing to text him before I can talk myself out of it.
Maverick
Bro, let’s get breakfast, or I’ll throw myself off the nearest porch swing.
Carter
It’s 7 a.m.
Maverick
Wow, look at you, counting.
Carter
I’m not getting up for your dumbass unless Catalina makes me.
Maverick
Bring her, she likes me.
Carter
No.
Maverick
That’s so valid. Pick me up?
Carter
Get your own damn truck, you’re a billionaire.
Maverick
You’re married now. That makes you contractually obligated to love me more.
Carter
It makes me contractually obligated not to kill you. That’s it.
Maverick
You’re so grumpy, it must be all the love in your system.
Carter
We’re leaving in 20. Don’t be naked.
Maverick
No promises.
I toss the phone on the counter and sip the bitter espresso, praying it’ll bring me back to life. Cupcake lets out a bark from the mudroom, her leash jingling against the hook. She wants a walk, and I want to scream into the fucking void.
Carter’s truck screeches to a stop in front of my house, like he’s trying to piss off my neighbors.
Not that I blame him; they hate him anyway.
Catalina leans halfway out the passenger side window, her bedazzled lavender sunglasses catching the morning sun.
“Get in, loser, we’re getting breakfast,” she sings, holding a half-eaten croissant.
Gotta love her.
I open the door, holding Cupcake, who leaps in before I can sit down, tail wagging like she hasn’t seen them in years.
Traitor.
I settle into the worn leather seats, watching Cupcake wiggle on the center console as Catalina gives her kisses.
Carter glances at me through the rearview mirror. “You look like shit.”
“Good morning to you, too, Daddy Grump.”
Catalina twists around in her seat, smacking my knee playfully. “Are you hungover or just dying slowly from loneliness?”
“Little bit of both,” I mutter, slumping into the seat. “Also, you two reek of sex, and it’s barely seven thirty in the morning, Jesus.”
Carter smirks and reaches over to tug one of Catalina’s hands across his lap.
She giggles and presses a kiss to his jaw.
I gag.
“Oh my God,” I groan, “I’m sitting two feet from a live-action porno. I’m gonna throw myself out the window.”
“Shut the fuck up and let me kiss my wife.” Carter barks at me.
“Ughhhhh.”
The whole drive is a blur of them talking in sexual innuendos, and I literally almost puked in their back seat; they’re so in love, it’s sick.
A part of me craves a deeper connection with a woman.
I’ve only ever had one-night stands and never experienced a real connection with someone.
I desperately long for that, especially with one woman.
We finally get to Maple and Magnolia, and it’s a nightmare. Catalina is sitting in Carter’s lap, as if the booth isn’t big enough for all of us. She’s feeding him bites of pancake while he keeps his hand suspiciously low on her thigh.
I flag down the waitress.
“Can I get an iced coffee, two aspirins, and a taser? Preferably in that order.”
She laughs like I’m joking.
I’m not.
“Get a fucking room,” I mutter, stabbing my fork into my stack of pancakes.
Catalina beams at me, all fake sweetness. “Aw, what’s wrong, Hayes? Feeling lonely?”
“Feeling violated, actually.”
She leans forward, propping her chin on her hand. “No, seriously, what’s up with you?”
I sigh and rake a hand through my hair. Cupcake nudges my foot under the table like she knows I’m about to confess something stupid.
“My PR agent called me last night,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face as I lean back in the booth, my eyes squinting against the morning light. “Didn’t even say hi; just launched into a meltdown about how I’m single-handedly tanking my career.”
I grab my iced coffee, taking a long sip before continuing with a grimace. “She said if I don’t clean up my image immediately, I’ll lose three major sponsorships, my Gatorade deal, and maybe even my shot at the docuseries.”
Carter snorts. “Who tells you to be stupid.”
“Thanks for the support, asshole.”
“So what are you going to do?” Catalina asks, raising a brow.
I stare at her, twirling my straw in my cup. “I need Amelia’s new number.”
Both of them blink.
Carter frowns as he looks at Catalina, who’s already narrowing her eyes.
“Why?”
“No reason.”
She blinks again. “You’re fucking weird.”
“But honest,” I shoot back.
She sighs as she pulls out her phone and texts me. “If you get her arrested or give her an STD, I’m legally required to kill you.”
“Okayyy.” I grin, trying not to look like I’m spiraling internally.
Carter takes a long sip of his coffee as he holds on to Catalina. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, looking at the number like it’s either going to save my life or end it. “But maybe I’m a genius too.”
Catalina snorts. “Yeah, okay, pretty boy.”
Cupcake lets out a huff and lays her head back down, giving me a long, pitying look.
Carter throws a piece of his bacon under the table. “She’s got better judgment than you.”
“Debatable.”
I sit back in my chair, sunlight spilling across the table, everything too calm for the unraveling happening inside my head.
“I didn’t know she changed her number,” I murmur.
“Well,” Catalina chirps, “be lucky she hasn’t blocked you on this one.”
“Love that for me, Miss Cat.”
She shrugs, sipping her disgusting iced matcha. “Whatever, I want front-row seats if she decides to kill you.”
Carter raises an eyebrow.
“I’ll hold the camera, darlin’”
“Thanks, baby,” Catalina says, kissing Carter on the lips.
I groan, glancing down at Cupcake. “Y’all are so supportive and fucking disgusting.”
Catalina leans forward, dead serious now. “Maverick, I’m not kidding, she’s been through a lot. You don’t get to play games with her.”
“I’m not trying to,” I say, quieter this time.
“Then don’t,” she says, her chestnut eyes piercing into mine. “Because if she cries, I cry. And if I cry, Carter ends up in jail.”
Carter smirks, gripping Catalina’s leg.
Cupcake licks my ankle.
And I, staring at Amelia’s name on my screen, the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about since I saw her last.
Like the absolute idiot I am.
I send the text.