Chapter 29 Maverick
maverick
The Pinevalley Gales have been pushing it all night. One of their guys has already been ejected before the second period and that still wasn’t enough to cool them off.
I should be focused on the game and avoiding all the extra contact along the boards, but even the sneaky slashes after the whistle blows isn’t enough to stop me from thinking about Chloe tonight.
When she left my room last night, I didn’t follow, and I never returned to the party.
I showered off the paint, replaying the way her breath caught when I touched her neck and the way she looked at me after.
I climbed into my bed and the image only burned brighter.
The way she looked at me was all the confirmation I needed that she’s been feeling the same way I have.
I could have kissed her. Every part of my body was begging me to.
When her hand snaked up my chest, cupped the back of my head, and pulled me close, I almost folded.
But I meant what I said. I’ve been thinking about her lips on mine for far too long, and when I kiss her again, I want to know with every fiber of my being that not only is it what she wants, but that I’m the only one she wants.
Coach gives me a pat on the shoulder, and I swing my legs over the bench, focusing on the game ahead. Just forty minutes. Forty more minutes of clean hockey then I can go see her.
Twelve drives Noah into the boards so hard the plexiglass bends.
My grip tightens around my stick, and it’s as if I can see the fight coming before the first hit.
Silas is already flying down the ice but one of the Gales cuts him off, dropping a shoulder into him hard enough to send him sideways.
It’s a dirty ass move that should have gotten both of their players ejected, but one second, Silas is on the ground, and the next, he’s on top of one of their players, helmet and gloves thrown to the side, as a fight six guys deep explodes around them.
I move down the ice, stopping once I hit the blue line.
The refs are already there, whistles blowing, voices barking, but it’s chaos.
A linesman has both of his arms wrapped around the wrong guy, hauling him backward while two more try to break through at the edge of the pile.
My heart hammers to the beat of the crowd banging the walls behind me, and I see them trying, but it’s not enough.
My legs twitch, every cell in my body is screaming at me to get in there, and rip these guys limb from limb.
That bone-deep instinct in me to protect my family hums so loud it drowns out everything else.
Noah is holding his own, of course, he hasn’t let anyone get a hand on his pretty face since elementary school, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to tear someone up on his behalf.
Parker slides up beside me at the edge of the dog pile, giving me the ‘don’t you fucking dare’ eyes.
I grip my stick tighter and my jaw trembles from the force of my bite around my mouth guard, but I take a breath and stay still, not because I’m tired of being the guy they believe I am, but because I know exactly what this costs me if I move.
I don’t just risk my career, I risk the way Chloe sees me, and the guy she thinks I am.
The guy I don’t get to be if I step in there.
So, I grip my stick again and force myself to stay back, because just getting this close is already so fucking stupid. All it would take is one wrong move…one wrong look, and every camera phone in this place would catch it.
After what feels like minutes but is likely only seconds, Silas shoves a guy off him and gets his feet under him. Parker reaches out a hand, helping to steady him, and before Silas has caught his breath, some asshole gets a hold of Parker, and slams him down on the ice.
The Gale looks up at me with a grin pulling slow and stupid on his face. It’s both pride and a taunt. It’s a smile that says, “Watch me hurt your family because you can’t do shit about it.”
This is a guy who assumes my reputation is stronger than my backbone, and that’s a bold move, considering I was just going to break his nose, but now I’m going to knock every fucking tooth out of that mouth of his.
I grab a fist full of his jersey, yanking him up to my eye level.
Somewhere, someone is yelling my name, but it’s drowned out by the roar between my ears and followed by the wet crack of bone.
I register the blood dripping over the Gales’s lips and down his chin, but it doesn’t stop me from drawing my arm back again. Before I can swing, Noah crashes into my side, driving us back toward the boards as the refs finally wedge themselves between the chaos.
“Mav! Chill. Hey—Mav!”
Noah’s hand is on my head, trying to catch my attention, and it’s only when I see Parker get to his knees and realize he’s okay, that I come back down.
“We’re good, buddy,” Noah pants. “We’re good. Come on.”
A trail of blood follows me as I skate back to the bench and clench my fist tighter. I’ve never fought out of anger before. But right now, when my skates leave the ice for potentially the last time, I’ve never wanted to beat myself up more.
My knuckles are red and swollen, but other than a cut down the middle one, there’s nothing else to show for potentially having just thrown my entire life away.
I knock on Chloe’s apartment door with my left hand, not wanting to look at the reminder of my fuck up any longer.
Truthfully, I wanted to pull a Noah Kingston after that debacle and spend the rest of the night hiding in the showers, but after the way I left things with Chloe last night, there wasn’t a chance in hell I could blow her off today.
Chloe opens the door in an oversized black SAMCRO T-shirt with blue plaid pajama shorts peaking out of the bottom, and her signature sweet smile.
“Hi,” she says a notch above a whisper. She leans against the front door, holding it out of the way for me, and her soft lavender scent calms me down when I walk past her. “How was the game?”
My back goes rigid. Thank God, she can’t see my face as I clear the small kitchen and make my way to the living room.
“Good. How’s the prep going?” I ask, turning the attention back on her.
“My tutoring session ran a little late, and I just got home.” She nods toward her laptop propped on a stack of coffee table books, then tucks one leg under herself as she settles on the couch beside me. “I was just about to check the highlights from the game.”
I try to swallow, but it’s too dry, and panic begins clawing at my throat.
“Did you win?”
“Uhh—yeah.” I clear my throat and slide my bruised hand under my legs. “Yeah we won. Two to one.”
I can feel Chloe’s gaze on the side of my face.
The side of my neck heats, and I run my other hand along the skin there, playing it off as muscle fatigue.
I keep my eyes on anything and everything that’s not her.
The fuzzy pink rug, the mirrored mushroom on top of her vintage TV console, even the plant hanging from the bay window that is in desperate need of some water holds my attention.
“Do you want to practice your interview on me?” I ask at the same time she says, “About last night—”
I genuinely offered to help with her interview, but I can’t lie and say last night hasn’t consumed every waking moment until about an hour ago.
Silence stretches between us. Normally, the quiet moments don’t bother me, but tonight, it’s crawling across my skin as she sits there trying to read the thing I’m desperately attempting to hide from her.
I can’t take it anymore. I open my mouth to say something but her phone chimes, and I practically jump out of my skin at the sound.
She glances toward the sound, then back to me. One eye brow lifts as a small crease forms between her brows. I drag in a breath and tear my gaze away from her. Her hand lifts before she sets it back down in her lap.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say a little too quickly.
“I can tell something’s bothering you.”
“How?”
“You’re acting different.”
Fuck. “I always act different around you.” I try to smirk, or at least cock my head the way I normally would, but it feels so forced now.
“Mav. If this is about last night, I’m sorry for running out.” Her voice comes out as a plea, but I hear the hint of nervousness in there and it only makes my heart race more that she thinks I’m upset about that. “I was confused after Bingo, but I’ve thought about what you said, and honestly, I—”
“I got in a fight.”
Her head rears back with a pinch between her brows.
“You…”
“I proved them right, Chloe,” I blurt out, immediately wishing I could take it back.
On the ice, everything was noise, but it wasn’t instinct.
I waited, holding back and counting breaths, and knowing what it could cost me.
Now, sitting beside her is just the quiet and the fallout of the choice I made anyway.
Yes, I’m terrified of what this means for my career.
I know that my entire future in the NHL is now hanging on by a thread, but that fear takes a backseat to the one filling my chest now.
I don’t look at her right away. I already know what I’m afraid of.
I’m just bracing myself to see it reflected back at me.
Her hand lands on my back, light but grounding enough that I continue, “I’ve let people assume the worst of me, and I’ve always thought I was better than them because I knew the truth, but tonight,” I swallow, leaning forward at the edge of the couch, “I was the guy they all say I am.”
I hear her exhale deep and steady. “First of all, are you okay?”
Am I okay? I would laugh if I wasn't scared it would turn into a scream. I threw my fist into someone's face and the first thing she wants to know is if I’m okay.
“I…hit someone.” I scrub a hand across my jaw, elbows braced on my knees. “Even if I wasn’t fine, I don’t get to complain about it. I swung on a guy even after being told that if I so much as looked at someone aggressively this year, my life would be over. I—fuck, I risked everything tonight.”
Chloe doesn’t react. She just waits. Listens. “What happened?” she asks, quietly.
I stare at the carpet between my feet. “A fight broke out tonight, and I stood at the edge of it, thinking that I was in control.” I huff a breath. “All it took was one of their guys slamming Parker to the ice, and I lost it.”
“What did Mr. Alvarez say?”
“Nothing, really.” I shake my head. “He just said we have to wait to see what the school says, and whatever they say, Toronto will likely agree.”
“Well, okay. So, there’s hope. It’s not over now.”
I gave her a hard time about it in the beginning, but I’ve come to love Chloe’s optimistic look on life.
She thinks life is a movie, and if something bad happens, it’s okay, because that must mean it’s not over yet.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that bad shit happens sometimes and we don’t always win.
When I don’t say anything, she scoots closer and continues to run comforting circles across my back. “I know it seems like deep shit right now, but I’ve seen things like this happen before.” She shrugs. “And I have to believe that it will all work out.”
I shake my head, emotion clogging my throat.
“Maverick. Talk to me. What are you thinking?”
“I’m scared, Chlo.” I lift my head, hands flexing uselessly in front of me before I plant them on my knees, fingers splaying like I need something solid to keep me from tipping over.
“All my eggs are in this one fucking basket.” I pause, not recognizing myself or my outburst, but Chloe remains steady at my side.
“I’m also worried about what you're thinking now,” I admit.
“Me?”
I tilt my head, looking over at her. After everything I’ve already admitted, I should be able to say it.
I should be able to tell her that I’m scared she’ll never really choose me, that she’ll always be bracing for my next fuck up.
The words sit heavy in my chest, confirming that I’m not quite ready to expose all of myself like that.
So, instead, I say, “If people weren't already judging you for dating me, they're definitely going to have something to say about it now.”
She drops her head into her hand and her elbow to the back of the couch. “Yeah well…” Her free hand finds my thigh, and her eyes lock on mine so wholly when she shrugs a shoulder and says, “Fuck ‘em.”
Something in my chest eases, and even though I’m barely staying afloat, a small unwanted smile tugs at my lips. I feel like I’m drowning, begging for a life vest right now, but she’s still able to make me smile.
“And as for having all your eggs in one basket, I envy you for having one thing you're passionate about and not being scared to go after it,” she admits.
There's a subtlety there that reminds me to encourage her to pursue her writing. I take a breath, sinking back into the couch. Her knees rest in my lap and I cover them with the palm of my hand, painfully aware that hockey isn’t the only thing that makes me happy.