Chapter 18 Maverick
maverick
The clouds rolled in early last night and never left this morning. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my freshly buzzed head as I make my way across the parking lot to Creekside.
“Good morning, Mr. Hall. You’re here early today,” Monica greets me.
I look at my watch. “It’s nine-thirty. Don’t old—elderly people,” I correct myself, “wake up with the birds?”
“I meant early for you.” She lifts a teasing brow.
“I’ve got a heavy practice later. I wasn’t sure how long it would run, and if it’s as brutal as I imagine it will be, I didn’t want to risk choosing my bed over my volunteer hours.”
“Good man.” She smiles, nodding her head approvingly, and I pause, because that’s not something I hear often.
It’s not that I don’t think I’m a good guy; it’s just that aside from the people that know me, it’s not usually their first impression of me.
Not that I give them anything to go off of, really.
Most people know me as the hockey guy, the aggressive hockey guy, or the good fuck.
Beyond that, no one really attempts to know me any deeper.
I rap my knuckles on the desk, pasting a tight-lipped grin on my face then head toward the common room.
The bold scent of coffee hits me first, followed by the crowdedness of the room.
I scan over all the heads—which isn’t difficult considering I tower over everyone in here—eyes searching for my favorite blonde.
People are shuffling left and right, hands filled with coffee and pastries.
By the time I make it to the table in the back featuring the breakfast spread, I realize to my disappointment, that she’s nowhere to be found.
“Try the raspberry tart,” William says, coming to stand beside me.
“Oh. I don’t really like desserts that have fruit in them.” I pick up the chocolate croissant instead.
“Oh, grow up,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns, heading to the back door.
I snort a laugh and follow behind him. “You heading out for a walk?” I jog over, holding the door open for him. “I’ll join you.”
Outside, the clouds hang low, like rain is on the horizon but it might hold off long enough for us to walk.
William leads the way, and I’m surprised when he heads off the path, around the building, and leads us down the same path I took with Chloe not too long ago.
For a moment, I wonder who told who about this secret spot.
“I heard you play hockey.”
“Checking up on me, Willie?”
“Hardly. Your girl was telling Rosie about you. They were gossiping for over an hour. I think they both forget sometimes that Rosie is creeping up on a hundred.”
I stop in my tracks, ignoring how my neck heats when he calls Chloe my girl again, and instead, focus on how old Rosie is. “She is not turning one hundred.”
“Well, alright, not a hundred, but eighty-five. I like to give her a hard time about her age.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighty-four.” He lifts his chin proudly.
I give him a once over with one eye brow raised. “You don’t look a day over eighty-three.”
We share a small laugh and his head shake calls me a smart ass before he speaks up again. “I was a boxer.”
“Get out.” I turn to face William, and now that I know this information, it seems crazy that I didn’t guess this about him before. “Were you any good?”
He smiles, mostly to himself, and then nods his head. “I was an undisputed champion.”
“No shit? You used to give guys the old south paw? Pow pow.” I shadow box the air in front of me.
“Oh lord.” He rolls his eyes and reaches his hand out to the fence, stopping for a break.
“Does anyone else here know?” I ask, leaning an elbow on the fence beside him.
“No. And I’d appreciate it if you kept it that way.”
“What? Willie, an undisputed champion whether for one year or fifteen, makes you a legend. They probably have Wikipedia pages about you.”
“The problem is, once people label you a fighter, they don’t bother learning the rest.”
Thankfully, there’s a fence here to keep me from falling over. William’s words hit me like a punch to the gut. One from an undisputed heavy weight champion.
“I can relate,” I murmur, turning to face the rolling hills.
The hills are still out there, the trees and the blades of grass sway the same way they did last week, only none of it is basked in the warm glow they had then.
“Well, go on. I’m old, I don’t get to hear many stories anymore, and I can’t wait forever to hear them,” he says with a straight face, but I hear the humor tucked in there and I shake my head.
“When I was in fifth grade, some punk kid was picking on Noah.”
“Your friend?” he asks.
I pick at the little wood splinters in the fence and shake my head.
“I didn’t really even know him then. I think I might have known his name, but we weren’t friends.
We were never in the same class. I don’t even remember ever playing with him on the playground.
” My memory sucks on a good day, but I remember that afternoon so clearly.
From the Detroit Saints shirt Noah was wearing to the rainbow chalk drawings on the four square court.
“Anyway, I forgot my lunch that day; my brothers were probably rushing me out of the house or something. Either way, I didn’t want to tell anyone that I forgot it, so I grabbed some ketchup packets from the cafeteria, thinking those would suffice. ”
“A boy your size tells me you didn’t grow up eating ketchup packets.”
“No. I didn’t,” I laugh. “Noah saw me, didn’t say anything about why I didn’t have food.
He just pulled stuff from his lunch and asked me if I would eat it for him because he didn’t really like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but told me his dad got mad when he didn’t eat all his food.
I knew it was bullshit, but I was hungry, and grateful. "
William turns to face me, but I shove my hands in the pocket of my sweater and keep my focus on the tall blades of grass blowing on the other side of the fence.
“The next day, I remembered my lunch, and it was like it never happened. We might never have spoken again after that, if I hadn’t seen some kid crowding him against the equipment shed.
I started walking over to them, trying to get a read on the situation, but when I saw him shove Noah to the ground, it was the first time I can remember instinct taking over my body.
I ran the rest of the distance and didn’t stop when I got to the kid.
I charged him straight into that metal box, and when he fell beside Noah with blood dripping down his nose, I didn’t feel an ounce of regret. ”
“Good.” William's voice pulls me from whatever place I just wandered off to and I breathe out a sigh of relief, resting my forearms on the fence. “What happened next?”
“I got suspended.” I look over my shoulder at him, but his face doesn’t change, so I continue. “I was eleven but I wasn’t delusional. I wasn’t expecting to be some hero or anything, but I also wasn’t quite prepared to be the villain they painted me as.”
“You spent a lot of time trying to prove to them you weren’t just fists, I bet.”
“I probably should have,” I say with a laugh.
“But no. I let that reputation stick with me. Noah knew why I did what I did and he’s been my best friend ever since.
” To this day, when someone thinks they can body him, I go right back to that day.
We met Silas on the first day of freshman year, and without so many words, he became like another brother to us.
I’d do anything for either of them. And as long as my friends and my family know me, my intentions and my heart, I’m good with whatever anyone else thinks about me.
“You’re loyal,” Willie says. “Kind of like another little blonde kid I know.”
Chloe and I might have our loyalty in common—no matter how differently we show it—but our comparisons end there.
She’s all soft light to my hard edges. No one ever has to question or make assumptions about her because her kindness and toothachingly sweet nature just constantly radiates around her.
She also has a world of options laid out for her future.
A hundred to my one. One that hangs by a delicate thread.
One that rides on me keeping a clear head and clean hands.
“So, what about you?” I ask.
William glances over at me with one brow lifting like he’s trying to decide if he wants to tell me his story. “What about me?”
“Come on.” I tap my toe against a beam in the fence. “A world famous boxer? You’ve got to have some stories.”
He cups his hands together, eyes focused on the hill ahead, and I imagine he looks not much different than I did only minutes ago.
“I worked every day from the age of seven with the sole goal to be an undisputed boxing champion, and I made that goal a reality. And I did it twice.”
I wait for more, hanging on to his every word.
“My wife was by my side in the early days, when I was working for that goal,” he continues. “She was by my side when I achieved it, and then all I wanted was to be by her side. She wanted to travel the world, and that’s what we did.”
“What does she do?”
His mouth curves, but it’s so slight that when I blink, it’s gone. “She was an artist. A beautiful, incredible artist.”
My stomach drops at the past tense verbiage.
“She painted every city we went to, I coached in a few of them, and we laughed along the way.”
It sounds so simple, but it makes me wonder if that’s the whole point.
“Did you ever have kids of your own?”
He shakes his head, eyes still focused in front of him.
“No. It was just my Anne and me.” He swallows, and a beat passes. “She passed away three years ago.”
William's hand trembles lightly, and I look up to the gray clouds that have darkened over our walk. We stand here, sharing the quiet space for another minute.
A shiver runs down my arms, and I push off the fence. “Ready to head back?” I ask.
He buttons the top button of his jacket and carefully steps back on the dirt path.