Chapter 2 Maverick
maverick
The warm lake water laps across my fingers as I drape my arms over the side of my float.
Noah lies sprawled out on his inner tube beside me with his eyes closed, soaking up the final days of summer.
Technically, we still have a few weeks left, but with practice officially back, it’s the end of our summer.
The last two months have been nothing but days spent on the lake, nights spent at Rowdy’s, and weekends spent camping.
None of the boys have outright said this is our last summer together, but there’s been a silent understanding, and in response to that, we’ve upped our usual antics the last few weeks.
Between Silas going off to work for his family after graduation, Gabe and Parker still having another year left, Noah and I are the only two staying together… so long as I don’t fuck anything up.
A woodpecker is going crazy somewhere nearby, but I can still make out Silas coming down the dock without needing to look.
The wood creaks beneath him as he sits on the ledge—black swim trunks, backward hat, tattoos covering his chest, arms, and one leg.
The non-inked leg hangs over the water, and his sunglasses hide any expression he might have.
“Beer?” his monotone voice calls out.
I shake my head, and he tosses the can over my head to Noah, who catches it without so much as cracking an eye open.
“Alright, boys. I’m out.” I slide off the float. Noah bounces in my waves, and I slice through the water, pulling myself onto the dock.
“You going to pick up the kegs?” Silas asks, taking a sip of his beer. “I’ll come with you.”
“Nah. I gotta shower and get that paperwork dropped off for those volunteer hours.”
“Ten bucks says he just doesn’t want to help us set up for tonight,” Noah chimes in, finally sitting up and opening his eyes.
“You boys should take some of the blame for this. I told you last semester to come up with a reason to get me out of this class.” I dry my chest with the beach towel before wrapping it around my waist.
“Was that before or after you claimed weekends at Rowdy’s should be considered community service?” Silas asks around the lip of his beer.
“Before. After was when you told us you put your dick into a Letty Ortiz look-a-like in the bathroom.”
He holds his can with his thumb and middle finger, flipping me off as he takes another drink. Noah barks out a laugh, and I flash them both a toothy grin before turning on my heel and heading up to the house.
Creekside Care Home looks more like the set from those soap operas my mom used to watch than what I assumed a senior living center to look like.
A round wooden table sits in the middle of the entryway with blue flowers in a vase the size of the Stanley Cup on it.
After all the volunteer spots at the animal shelter got picked, it was either the library or Creekside, and I don’t think I was made for quietly shelving dusty books all day, so Creekside won out.
I wouldn’t say I spent a lot of time imagining what this place would look like, but in the quick minute and a half I did put images in my head, they were gloomy and sad.
They didn’t have a very nice smell either.
But this place is bright, sunny, and clean. It even smells good.
“Can I help you?”
I turn toward the front desk, where a brunette who can’t be much older than me sits. “Hi.” I stroll over to her. “I’m here for my tour. I’ve been emailing with Monica. She said to come in at three to turn in my paperwork so I could get started.”
“You must be Maverick, I’m Monica.” She hops from the stool, rounds the desk, and extends her hand.
“Nice to officially meet you, Monica.” I take her hand, flashing the grin I’m known for, and her tan cheeks tinge pink in response.
“Did you plan on starting your hours today? I have a little time now; I could do you—” She chokes. “Do your tour. I could do your tour now,” she clarifies.
“Will it count toward my twenty-five hours?”
“Yes.”
I hold an arm out in front of her. “Then lead the way.”
Monica guides us past a room labeled the Common Room and out the back doors to a massive grassy area that’s surrounded by what appear to be apartments.
“Most of our residents live here,” she says, pointing to the building along the sidewalk. “Through that archway there are some of our shops.”
“Shops?”
“We have our own on-site hair and nail salon,” she explains. “There’s a café and a Mexican restaurant available as well. If you keep going down this path, you’ll find the tennis court and the outdoor pool.”
“I’m sorry, is this a town or a nursing home?”
“Neither.” She smiles. “We’re an independent senior living center.
We offer a community, organized activities, housekeeping, and other things to make our residents' lives better and easier at this stage. All guests have access to the media room and library. We have a common room where most of them just spend time together and socialize.”
Two women in velour jogging suits smile and wave to Monica as they power walk past us.
“Along with the restaurant, we have a dining room where they can choose to eat meals together or they’re always welcome to take it back to their own rooms. We also have an assisted living and memory care center, but that’s on the other side of the property, and your volunteering won’t cross paths,” Monica continues.
We reach the main building again, and Monica looks down at her Apple Watch. “You still have about thirty minutes left before I can sign off on a full hour. You should head on in and introduce yourself to some people.” She nods to the first door we passed on our tour.
I take a peek in through the windows, noting the heads of either gray hair or no hair over all the chairs before looking back at her. “You do this every day?”
“You’d be surprised with some of the people you’ll meet, Mr. Hall. I bet you might even make a new friend by the time you’re done.”
Fat chance.
At first, I don’t move, but rather watch—and enjoy—her walk back to the desk. After another moment, I resign myself to the next thirty minutes of what will likely be the world’s most boring small talk.
Two men play a game of cards—rummy, from the looks of it.
I could easily sit in, but I should probably clock a few more hours before I start hustling some old guys.
I continue through the room, walking by a handful of people who are gathered around a television watching what looks like a wartime movie.
Pass. Two women stop their quiet chatter as I glance at them, and I deem them the gossip girls.
I spot a man with a pair of thin gold-rimmed glasses and a gold chain much like the one that I wear, peaking out the back of his sweater.
He’s holding a book, angled so that it’s getting more sunlight from the window.
I’m not much of a reader, so he’s probably out of the running for being my new buddy that Monica was talking about.
Across the coffee table sits a woman working on something with a needle and thread, and at her feet, sitting on the floor, is hopefully my new best friend.
“If I had known you were going to be here, I would’ve combed my hair,” I say, running a flat palm over my freshly buzzed head.
Wide round emerald eyes look up at me as Chloe Cooper’s full lips mutter something that sounds like oh my god.
“Hey, handsome, pull up a seat.” The sewing woman smiles up at me, and I do as she says, pulling a chair from a nearby table.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Handsome, apparently.” I smile at her, pulling my gaze from Chloe. “And you are?”
“Rosie. With an R.”
As opposed to?
“This here is William.” She points to the man with the glasses, and he offers little more than a nod. “And this little firecracker here—” She smiles fondly, placing her hand on the little blonde’s shoulder, but Chloe speaks up first.
“What are you doing here, Hall?”
“Same as you.” I point to her. “I’m volunteering.”
She closes the back of her Polaroid camera that I hadn’t noticed was in her lap, and sets it on the coffee table in front of her.
Since her best friend started dating my best friend, you would think we would run into each other more often than we do.
It’s a shame we don’t, because even though she has yet to give me the time of day, I still have fun trying.
Her jean shorts are frayed at the edges, showing off her legs that look like she spent every day outside this summer, and her tight little pink tank top sticks to her body like a second skin.
Her blonde hair that somehow never looks brushed yet always looks good, falls over her shoulders and down her back, and her green eyes shine up at me with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.
“What class are you here for?” I ask.
Her brows pinch together, and I lean my elbows forward on my knees. “Any chance I’m lucky enough that it’s humanities with Professor Geller?”
“Oh, this one’s a charmer.” Rosie laughs from beside me. “He’s the kind of guy they write in those romance books of yours, Willie.”
“Jesus Christ, woman. For the hundredth time, they’re mystery thrillers, not romance.”
The corners of her lips lift along with one of her shoulders. Spit fire of a woman.
I look back at Chloe who is watching this exchange, and even though I’ve only had a handful of short interactions with her, I’ve never seen her look this stunned. “Well?”
“I’m not here for a class.”
“What do you mean?” I tilt my head in genuine confusion.
“She shows up three times a week because believe it or not…” Rosie cups my shoulder with her delicate hand. “She likes us.”
Both Chloe and William shake their heads while laughing, and for once, I’m not in on the joke.
“I’m going to get the game room set up for later.” Chloe stands, grabs her camera from the table, and then bends down to hug the woman. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”
“Goodbye, sweets,” Rosie says.
Chloe gives me a once-over but says nothing before leaving me with William and Rosie with an R.
“Well.” The older man drops his book to his lap, looking at me over the rim of his glasses. “You gonna go help your girl?”
“Well, she’s not…” I glance toward the door, catching Chloe peeking over her shoulder at me. She quickly turns away and I look back at William. “She’s not my girl.”
“Oh, so you just look like a little puppy around all the girls, then. I see.”
My lips twitch, fighting back a grin. “You’d better call your eye doctor and ask for a new prescription, my guy, because you’re reading this all wrong.” I smile, pointing a finger at him, and he waves me off with a chuckle as I leave to do exactly what he just assumed I would.