Chapter 27 Maverick
maverick
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear, Rosie, happy birthday to you.”
I lift the cake from the coffee table, holding it out to the birthday girl. Chloe leans back from where she’s sitting on the floor, angling her Polaroid at us with a big smile on her face.
“Make a wish,” she says.
Rosie steadies the paper crown on her head, and her painted pink nails catch my attention.
I glance over at the woman I know is responsible for them and the sunlight is pouring through the window of the common room, dousing her in its glow.
She smiles, lifting her camera again, and I look back at Rosie just in time to see her lean toward the deep pink frosting piled high on her chocolate cake.
A flash goes off as she blows out the candles and another one just as soon as she looks up at me with all the joy in the world in her eyes.
The soft claps aren’t nearly enough applause for what Rosie deserves for turning eighty-five years old today, but I fear this crowd wouldn’t respond well to my hootin’ and hollerin’.
I carry the cake over to the table Chloe had set up with plates, napkins, and pointy pom-pom hats.
As I search the table for a knife, I realize the table cloth isn’t the usual solid color cloth ones that Creekside typically has out.
The flowers printed on the fabric are deep shades of purple, pink, and red, and they just so happen to match the ones filling the three vases along the table as well.
Along with painting Rosie’s nails, and now that I’m looking at her, curling her hair as well, Chloe has gone out of her way to set up this party for her friend, knowing that if she didn't, no one else would have.
Sometimes, it actually takes my breath away when I think about how fucking good she is.
“Where you headed, handsome?”
“I’m just going to go ask Monica for a knife,” I say, putting a hand on Rosie’s shoulder as I walk past.
“Wait!” Chloe holds her hand up from where she’s still sitting on the floor. “That’s a great picture. William, lean in a little bit.”
I bend down so I have one arm over the back of each of their chairs as Chloe snaps the camera.
“Okay, now turn it around and take a selfie,” I tell her.
Her eyes light up and her smile grows as she spins around, props herself up onto her knees, and holds out her camera. “Say, fuzzy pickles.”
“Fuzzy what?” William grumbles.
“These are going to be so good.” Chloe sets the pictures on the coffee table before standing. “I need to check with Monica about something anyway. I’ll go grab the knife while I’m there.”
I watch the natural sway of her hips as she makes her way out of the room.
She’s wearing a jersey from some Irish rugby team, and I try to ignore the fit of rage the little green monster in me feels at the sight of another man’s name on her back.
Instead, I focus on the little sliver of skin, peaking out below her shirt and just above her jeans that are hugging her hips like a second layer of skin.
“You ready to admit that’s your girl, yet?” William’s voice pulls me from my wandering thoughts.
I look down at the man who I’m pretty sure is only pretending to read his book now and sit down beside him.
“We know you like her. Everyone in the room, even with their terrible eyesight, can see it.”
Of course I like her. Everyone likes her.
You’d have to be a complete idiot not to like her.
Chloe is…fuck, she’s everything. Down to the marrow in her bones, everything about her is incredible.
She’s funny without trying. She’s loyal—even if it’s to a fault.
She’s a goddamn smoke show. She stops at nothing, bending over backward for the people she cares about, and she never complains.
Even when she has every right to. Every time I think about all the things she’s taking on, I’m exhausted.
When she walks into a room, I swear it gets brighter.
Her laugh feels like pure gold. And she’s the only person who has never looked at me like Maverick Hall the fuck up.
She’s always just seen me. Wholly, purely, me. Just Mav. So, yeah, I fucking like her.
But she likes him. And I would be better off remembering that.
“It’s just easier this way,” I finally say.
“Sure. But is it better?” William sets his book down and looks at me from over the rim of his glasses. “You can’t wait for things to be perfect, kid. You gotta fight hard to get to the good stuff.”
“I’m not a world champion boxer, Willie.” I look down at my hands in my lap.
“You are. Just not in the ring.” He leans over and pats my knee. His thick gold wedding band catches my eye as it glints in the sunlight.
“Ooo, don’t move.” Chloe rushes to the coffee table, sets down the knife she’s carrying, and grabs her camera, pointing it at us. I lean in closer to my friend, draping my arm over his chair, and smile as the flash goes off.
“I’m sorry, beef?”
Chloe drops her head back, and her sweet giggle hits me right in the chest.
“They’re playing Bingo…for beef?” I ask again.
“Just watch out, kid. Two women nearly came to blows last time over a cut of ribeye,” William informs me.
“You’re lying.”
His lips thin, and he shakes his head once. “I wish I were.”
I’m dumbfounded looking at everyone settling in, elbows out, ready to win their cut—literally. “Who would get in a fight over beef?”
“Me.” Rosie scowls from beside me.
I’ve faced some tough people on the ice. I’ve even had to endure hockey practices with Noah’s brutal asshole of a dad. But when I look down at Rosie’s five-foot-nothing frame, it might be the first time I've actually been scared of someone.
“Come on.” Chloe wraps her fingers around my bicep, still giggling to herself. “We’ll sit back here.”
Three rounds later, the back ribs, the flank steak, and the roast have all been claimed.
Monica has been running the microphone, and after watching the way Rosie shouts every time she’s close—only for someone else to yell, “Bingo”—I thank the universe it’s not me up there.
“Is this how you thought you would be spending your Friday nights?”
I drape an arm around the back of her chair, leaning in. I’d take a Friday night with the marinating smell of raw meat over anything if it meant doing it with her.
“Bingo!”
“Bullshit!”
Chloe’s jaw drops as we look over to the foul-mouthed Rosie. Everyone is talking over each other in low, drawn-out voices. Chloe covers her laugh with her hand, and I sit forward with a smile.
“Oh, I’m never missing a Bingo night.”
One round later, players are whipping and making deals to trade cards, but it’s William who catches my eye when he stands from his seat and makes his way back to mine and Chloe’s table.
“How’s it going, William?” Chloe asks.
He hands his Bingo card to Chloe, dropping his marker in the basket in front of her. “Halfway through the last game, I remembered that I prefer my steaks cooked for me. Figured I’ll see if I can make an escape to a restaurant sometime next week and get back to my book now.”
Creekside isn’t a prison. Everyone is allowed to come and go as they please, so long as they can do it themselves or someone else can take them. William can do one of those things, the other just requires an invitation.
Chloe stands and wraps him in a hug, and when he hesitantly embraces her, I’m reminded that the people here are all he has left.
“Hey, Willie!” I call when he turns toward the door. “I’ve got an away game and a packed schedule next week, but the week after, let’s go out. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good steak.”
He pauses with his hand on the door frame before a smile crosses his face and he nods. “Sounds good, kid. I’ll hold you to it.”
I run my thumb along the edge of the table, feeling Chloe’s growing smile as she leans in closer to me.
“That was very nice of you.” There’s no surprise in her voice.
She says it like she’s trying to remind me of something I’ve forgotten, and maybe I have.
I don’t know the right way to respond, or if there even is one, but it doesn't feel like a big deal. So, I give her a small smile and a nod, hoping we’ll move on.
“I mean it,” she continues. “Why do you let people think anything different of you, Mav? You’re such a good guy.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”
“Have you?” She twists in her chair so her knees are pointing at me, and I turn to mirror her.
“Well, twice.”
She huffs a laugh, and before I can think better of it, I place my hands on her knees.
“Well, if you’ve heard it twice now, then it must be true.”
Her laugh fades, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of her warmth beneath my palms. My brain knows I should pull my hands away and put some space between us. Instead, I leave them and ask, “You’re coming to the house tomorrow, right?”
Her eyes instantly light up before she remembers herself and bites down on whatever excitement was trying to bubble.
“It’s Silas’s birthday party,” I add, unsure if that’s helping to sell my case.
“I thought you didn’t do parties at the house during the season?” She leans in close enough now that her knees press firmly into my hands, and my grip tightens without thinking. I shouldn’t be this turned out in a room full of beef and the elderly.
“It’s the one exception to the rule.”
“You seem to have a lot of exceptions.”
I wonder how she would react if she knew she’s become my exception to everything, too.
I’ve been flirting with Chloe since the day I met her.
Pretending to be her boyfriend hasn’t changed anything.
Except now, when I flirt with her, it’s because I can’t stop myself.
Every touch feels like stepping over a line even when I’m standing still.
This wasn’t supposed to be anything more than helping her get another guy to notice her.
I could live with catching feelings. Hell, I think subconsciously I’d already made peace with that, but watching the way her face lights up feels dangerous.
If Chloe starts feeling something real it's only a matter of time before she realizes she wants something else. Someone else.
The best thing I can do—the only thing I can do is help her get what she really wants. Even if it destroys me in the process.
I lean back, forcing my hands away from her legs, tucking them across my chest. I clear my throat, sitting back in my chair. “It’s an open invitation,” I say, keeping my voice even. “So, I wouldn’t be surprised if Nathan showed up.”
The change in her is immediate. Her smile fades, and her shoulders fall in a way that almost feels like she was expecting that. “Right.”
One word shouldn’t hurt the way that one does, but for the look I just put on her face right now, I deserve it.