Chapter 34 Maverick
maverick
. . .
The aquarium is empty. It’s silent except for the faint hum of the large tank pumps and the occasional whoosh of water against the glass.
I’d been very clear earlier with the manager and told him I wanted it to be just us.
No cameras.
Total privacy.
Now it’s exactly how I imagined—just her and me, bathed in the soft glow of string lights I had hung earlier, with ocean shadows gently moving across her skin from the tank in front of us.
We sit cross-legged on a blanket I spread out in front of the largest window in the building, towering above us and framing the slow, unhurried drift of the whale shark behind the glass.
Dinner is already here—two perfectly cooked filets, mashed potatoes so creamy they’re almost butter, roasted vegetables, and a small ramekin of molten chocolate cake waiting on the side.
I eat, sure. But mostly, I watch her.
She’s leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees, fork in one hand, humming softly after each bite. The light highlights her face, her lashes brushing her cheek with each blink, her lips curling around the rim of her water glass.
Fuck, she looks so beautiful.
The glow from the tank casts ripples of soft blue and silver across her skin. Her features appear sharper from some angles and softer from others.
I swear, even the fucking ocean’s got nothing on her.
She’s mid-bite when she notices me.
“Still staring, Hayes?” she teases with a raised brow.
I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees, as I speak softly. “I can’t help but look at my wife.”
A hue of pink blush blooms across her cheeks. She bites back a smile, turning to watch the slow, gliding movement of the whale shark as it drifts by the glass.
I let her have that moment before clearing my throat. It’s barely louder than the whirr of the tank’s filters, but she hears it, and her head tilts, those green eyes catching mine.
Fuck, I’m nervous.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this,” I start, shifting until I’m kneeling in front of her. My hand rests on her knee, my thumb sweeping over the seam of her leggings. “But I realized nothing I say is ever gonna be big enough, perfect enough… for you.”
Her lips part, and her eyes dart between mine, searching for where I’m heading with this.
I look up at the tall wall of water behind her, with the whale shark drifting, and I think—yep, this is exactly where I wanted it to happen.
“Amelia,” I say, my voice catching slightly.
“When I met you, you were this—” I huff out a short laugh, “—defensive, stubborn, impossible-to-read woman who looked at me like I was either trouble or the punchline to a joke, and I couldn’t stop looking back.
Every time you told me to back off, every time you rolled your eyes at me…
I just knew. I knew you were it for me.”
She swallows hard, and I catch her fingers in mine, holding on and giving them a quick squeeze.
“You make me feel like a better man just by standing next to me. You keep me in check, but you also make me believe I can do anything other than football. I don’t care where we go, what we face, or how many times we piss each other off; there’s no one else I’d rather do life with.”
Her hand comes up to her mouth, stifling her gasp.
“And I don’t want another day to go by without you knowing that I’m yours. Completely. Forever.”
I pull the ring box out of my back pocket and flip it open to show the emerald-cut emerald. The deep green reflects the tank light—shades of forest and fire flickering across its facets as if made for her, because it was.
She gasps as her hand shoots to her chest, while the other trembles as she reaches for the box.
“Maverick…”
“I don’t want to fake this with you anymore, Amelia,” I say, my voice rougher now, the words coming straight from my chest. “This was never fake for me.”
Her eyes shimmer in the low light, tears gathering beneath her lower lashes and reflecting the shifting blue and silver from the tank behind her. She looks at me as if she’s about to say something, but her throat tightens.
“Maverick, I—”
I shake my head and squeeze her hand just enough to make her stop. “Don’t say anything, dollface. Just… let me get this out.”
Her lips press together, trembling.
“I wanted you to have your dream ring,” I tell her, glancing at the emerald before looking back into those green eyes.
“And I wanted you to know exactly how I feel. Even if you don’t love me—” my voice catches, but I push through it, “—I’ll wait for you.
In every lifetime, Amelia, I’ll wait until you’re ready to open yourself up.
Until you’re ready to be loved by someone who’s worthy of loving you. ”
She releases a broken, muffled sob before shifting, wrapping her arms around me so tightly we nearly lose balance. I catch her, holding her close with one arm around her back and my other hand cupping the back of her head.
Her face is pressed against my neck, her trembling, warm breath on my skin. She doesn’t say a word, and I don’t need her to, not tonight.
Because something settles in my chest, as I hold her there with the glow of the whale shark tank wrapping us in blue light.
I love this woman, even if she never says it back or allows herself to believe it.
I’ll love her anyway.
Back in this shit training facility, can’t I just go back to being with her without any fucking worries?
The mask straps press into my skin, airtight, with heavy tubing trailing back to the metabolic cart. Every breath I take hisses through the regulator, numbers flashing across the monitor Coach Mike is watching—oxygen consumption, carbon dioxide output, my heart rate climbing higher and higher.
The treadmill vibrates beneath my feet as the belt smoothly moves at the first stage.
“Alright, Hayes,” Coach snaps with his clipboard in hand. “We’re running a structured graded exercise protocol. Speed and incline increase every two minutes until you reach your target. I want your max heart rate, oxygen uptake, respiratory exchange ratio—the works. Got it?”
I nod, tugging the mask tighter against my face. Can’t really talk with this shit on, not with the tube pulling at my jaw.
Maggie’s standing just behind him with her arms crossed, her eyes already dissecting me. “And stand taller, Maverick. Your posture looks lazy. Cameras see that? They’ll think you don’t take this seriously.”
I roll my eyes and begin jogging, my chest relaxing as my legs find a steady rhythm. JP whistles softly from the bench. “Look at him, hooked up like Frankenstein.”
Pierce grins, tossing a stress ball up and down. “Bet he keels over before stage four.”
Coach shoots them both a glare. “Shut it. Hayes—focus.”
The belt ticks faster.
Two minutes have already passed. Speed increases. My quads burn hotter, and my lungs work harder behind the hiss of the mask. Every few strides, a tech pricks my finger for blood lactate, wipes it clean, and logs the results. My heart rate flashes on the monitor.
One hundred and sixty-five, one hundred and seventy-two, one hundred and eighty.
Coach leans in, shouting over the belt. “Stay locked in, Hayes! This test shows me how efficient your damn heart and lungs are. You want to burn out in the fourth quarter against Kentucky? No? Then keep going!”
I grit my teeth and push my knees higher as the incline grows steeper. Sweat streams into my eyes, burning, but I refuse to slow down. The mask intensifies everything—every ragged inhale, every desperate exhale, the sound of me falling apart.
“Push it, Mav,” JP calls out, mocking. “Smile for the cameras!”
Maggie jumps in more sharply. “Exactly. Keep your jaw relaxed, Maverick. You look angry. That’s not your image. You’re supposed to be approachable, charming, the golden boy, remember? No brooding.”
Her words make my chest tighten more than the treadmill ever could—my heart rate spikes. Oxygen consumption nears its peak. The tech nods at Coach, whispering something about VO? nearing a plateau.
I push harder, legs pumping. My lungs burn, my vision narrows, and the mask suffocates me.
And all I can think about is Amelia.
Georgia, her dream ring, and how I opened my feelings up to her.
And now, she’s pulling away. Her kisses are shorter, her texts are clipped, and her warmth slips through my fingers no matter how tightly I try to hold on.
“Final stage!” Coach roars. “C’mon, Hayes, I want max effort! Show me you’re still the goddamn QB we built this team around!”
I dig until my calves scream, until my chest feels like it’s splitting open, until my oxygen numbers plateau on the screen. VO? max hit. They’ve got the data.
I can’t take another second.
Slamming the stop clip, I stumble to the side rails and rip the mask off with trembling hands. Air rushes in raw and unfiltered, burning my throat. I’m drenched, every muscle trembling, sweat dripping down my arms onto the treadmill belt.
Coach scribbles numbers while barking at the intern. “Peak VO?, sixty-four milliliters per kilogram per minute. Not bad. It could be better. He’s got room to improve before Kentucky.”
JP claps slowly. “Congrats, Hayes. You didn’t die.”
Pierce smirks. “Barely.”
I flip both of them off, gulping water. My chest still heaves, lungs aching.
Maggie’s voice hits harder than the treadmill ever could. “You look like hell. Fix your hair; it’s media day in a couple of hours, so don’t let them see you like this. Sweaty, red-faced, miserable—that’s not what we’re selling.”
I’m still gulping air like I’ve been drowning when Maggie steps closer, voice sharp enough to cut through the ringing in my ears.
“You need to wipe your face now, Maverick! God, you’re dripping everywhere!”
I slam the towel down on the bench, stand up so quickly the water bottle tips over, and glare at her, chest still heaving.
“You think I give a fuck about a haircut right now?” My voice rips through the room, hoarse but loud enough to echo. “I just ran until my lungs were bleeding, and you’re worried about how I look?”
JP and Pierce go completely silent, and even Coach Mike pauses mid-scribble.
Maggie blinks, stiffening. “This is your job, Maverick. You don’t get to decide when you care about optics. Sponsors want perfection, and if you want to keep every dollar you’ve got rolling in—”
“Fuck the sponsors!” I cut her off, voice booming.
My pulse is a roar in my ears. “I don’t play for them.
I don’t run until I puke for some commercial deal.
I play football because it’s the only thing I’ve got left that makes sense.
And I’ll be damned if you keep trying to turn me into something I’m not. ”
She stares at me, mouth tight, color rising in her cheeks. “You’re out of line.”
“No, Maggie, you are.” I jab a finger at her, sweat still dripping down my temple. “I’m done smiling on cue, I’m done pretending I have my shit together, because no one has their shit together. Nobody is fucking perfect! And if the world doesn’t like it? They can go fuck themselves.”
The silence after is suffocating.
JP lets out a low whistle, muttering under his breath, “Holy shit.”
Pierce shakes his head, wide-eyed.
Coach Mike clears his throat, shuffling his clipboard. “Alright, break it up. Hayes, hit the showers. Everyone else, out.”
Maggie looks like she’s swallowed glass. She hisses, low enough that only I can hear, “You’re going to regret this.”
I meet her stare dead on, jaw tight. “No, what I regret is fucking hiring you and letting you make me think I had to be something I’m not.”