Chapter 20 Maverick #2
The night air feels cool through the cracked window, carrying a faint scent of hay and manure as I drive down the long gravel road to Blue Moon Ranch. Headlights sweep across the pastures, illuminating the silhouettes of horses lazily shifting in the field, their breath fogging under the moonlight.
Carter’s place comes into view, his porch light casting a warm glow that cuts through the Tennessee night. I kill the engine, pocket my keys, and step out, gravel crunching under my sneakers.
My hand touches the cool brass of the front door handle, the wood solid beneath my palm. I grab my key, unlock the door, push it open, and step inside.
Intertwining smells of whiskey, honey, and the twang of bar-b-q sauce, Carter’s famous smoked ribs flood my senses, making my mouth water instantly.
Fuck yeah, he made ribsssss.
I take a breath and let the door swing shut behind me.
It’s boys’ night. Or at least, it was supposed to be. Just as I reach for a cold one from the cooler, I freeze.
Sitting cross-legged on the damn couch, like she owns the place—which she does—is Catalina.
She’s wearing lavender fuzzy socks, an oversized tee that says ‘my husband is hot,’ with her hair pulled into a high, aggressive ponytail, and murder in her eyes.
I point at her dramatically. “You are not a boy.”
She doesn’t even flinch as she pops a grape into her mouth and says, “And you’re not very bright. Yet here we both are.”
Carter’s already snorting from the other side of the room, sprawled in his recliner like the grumpy old man he is, sipping his beer like he didn’t just let his wife invade our sacred night of testosterone and trauma bonding.
“Can someone explain why your beautiful wife is here on boys’ night?” I ask, turning to Carter.
“She lives here, dipshit,” he mutters.
“Yeah, well, leave somewhere else,” I grumble, grabbing a beer anyway.
Reed is sprawled on the couch, hunched over his phone as his thumbs swipe across the screen, texting. His face is lit up with this rare, soft grin.
So naturally, I make it my mission to ruin his life.
I flop down beside him. “Who are you texting, lover boy?”
His shoulders stiffen. “No one.”
I lunge for the phone. “Bullshit, gimmeeeeee.”
Reed shoves it in his pocket so fast he nearly stabs himself. “Let it go, Mav.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re no fun, who is ittt.” I whine.
He blinks once, his regular quiet expression coming back.
I gasp, clutching at my chest. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”
“I’m gonna kill you,” he mutters.
Catalina smirks over the rim of her glass, sipping her iced matcha, as usual. “He’s softer than you are, and you literally cried watching Toy Story, Maverick.”
“That movie is art, and I will not be shamed.” I raise my beer to no one in particular and pound half of it in a single chug.
Hours pass, and I’m sprawled on Carter’s living room floor, halfway under his coffee table, talking to myself.
“I fucking hate this career,” I slur, voice muffled against the rug, “I should just retire now, and bring myself peace.”
The truth tumbles out of me, something I haven’t said out loud, not even to my brothers.
Catalina leans over the armrest, her eyes glazing with softness. “Why don’t you quit if you’re unhappy, Mav?”
I scream into the rug, the sound muffled.
Carter groans from his recliner, running a hand down his face. “Baby, call Amelia. This fool’s not driving anywhere.”
Catalina grins, pulling her phone out from between the couch cushions. “Okay, baby.”
I lift my head. “Don’t call her. She’ll kill me. She’ll hate me. She’ll—”
She taps her screen and puts the call on speaker. “Maverick, you’re wasted and emotional.”
See, every time I open up, drunk or not, it’s dismissed.
The line rings once before Amelia picks up.
“What?” Her voice crackles through the speaker, dry and short-tempered like always.
“Heyyyy, bestie,” Catalina grins, dragging the syllables out. “Maverick is emotional and drunk. Can you come pick him up?”
I smirk, ready to make some smartass comment, until I hear Amelia’s voice again.
“I don’t have a car, and even if I did, I can’t.”
It’s barely above a whisper. Shaky. Off. Not her.
Everyone stills.
“I can’t leave the house even if I wanted to,” she adds, her tone brittle. “There’s a lot of paparazzi outside. I don’t even know how they got the address. They’re yelling stuff, trying to get pictures of me through the gate. I-I don’t know what to do.”
Her voice breaks on that last word, barely audible, but enough to knock the air from my lungs.
And just like that, my buzz dies.
I shoot up so fast the room spins, grabbing my keys from the coffee table, and stumble toward the front door.
“I’m coming,” I manage to say between breaths. “Stay inside, don’t open the door, don’t—fuck, I’m coming right now.”
Carter intercepts me. “You’re not driving.”
“Move!” I shove his shoulder. “I’m fine. I have to go—she’s scared, Carter!”
“You’re drunk,” he growls.
“I don’t give a shit!” I snap. “She’s there alone! What if they try to break in? What if—what if she’s crying and I’m not fucking there—”
“Maverick,” Reed says calmly, stepping in from the side. “We got you. You’re not getting behind the wheel.”
“Reed, get out of my way, man. Please,” my voice cracks. “I need to get to her.”
Reed meets my eyes, and something softens in his expression. He nods slowly, pulling his hoodie on. “I’ll drive your Bronco and follow Carter.”
“I’ll take you,” Carter says, already reaching for his truck keys. “Catalina, stay here.”
Catalina immediately protests. “No, I’m not staying! Amelia needs some—”
Carter cuts her off as he steps closer and cups her face. “Darlin’, I don’t want my girl anywhere near that mess. Let me handle it.”
She exhales hard through her nose with her arms folded tightly. But after a second, she nods. “Fine.”
Carter leans down and kisses her, as she grips his hoodie, whispering something against his lips before pulling away.
I’m already halfway to the door.
As soon as it opens, the Tennessee air hits me with a cold, sharp sensation full of pine. I hear the gravel crunch under my boots as I walk over to Carter’s truck, with Reed trailing behind, holding my keys.
Silver stars above blur behind my burning eyes, my chest so tight I can barely breathe.
I’ve been telling myself this is fake, it’s for my image, but the line between real and fake is starting to blur, and the second I heard her voice, trembling and scared, I knew it was real.