CHAPTER 22 Everleigh Bradley
I Need to Forget
Something’s off with Maverick, but I can’t put my finger on what.
I’ve studied him enough to know that he’s not himself right now. It’s in the way he’s sort of hunched over where he usually stands straight. Maybe his rib is bothering him.
He’s sitting with a group of teammates at dinner, yet it seems like he’s sitting alone. He stares at his plate, barely picking at his food. He doesn’t interact with anyone. I’m not even sure why he bothered to show up.
I need to know where he went. Or maybe I’m just curious to know. Curious as to why he left by himself to take care of something. What was he taking care of?
I’m supposed to be shadowing his every move, but this felt…confidential. And I’m not sure why.
Once dinner ends, players are dismissed for the evening. They can’t really go anywhere since they have a curfew, and most players congregate to watch film together or head up to their rooms to get into their game mindset for tomorrow.
Maverick stays at the table picking at his plate until the tables have been mostly cleared.
I’ve been getting to know two of the females on staff—Stephanie, who manages the team’s social media accounts, and Allie, who’s part of the public relations staff—and they both just headed up to their rooms for the night.
I walk over to Maverick, who finally glances up at me. His eyes are positively tormented. What the hell happened?
“Is now a good time for our meeting?” I ask tentatively.
He clenches his jaw for a beat, and then he grinds his teeth. “Fine.”
I sit across from him despite the waitstaff in here furiously picking up the room from the team who just gathered in here.
“Just a quick debrief. The day seemed to go well. I saw you talking with Brandon on the plane. I’d venture to guess he’d be on the bitter side that you’ll be starting over him since he’s been waiting for his moment for the last decade, but any bonds are worthwhile.
See what you can do with your O-line. Did you see the quarterback from San Francisco got his offensive linemen trucks?
Others have done gift cards, YETI coolers, Rolexes, you name it. ”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I purse my lips.
“Look, I’m not saying you have to win them over with gifts. But theoretically, these guys will be saving your life each week when you’re out there, and it wouldn’t hurt to at least befriend them. Hell, share some of the sports drinks or apparel with them for all I care.”
He raises his brows and returns his eyes to the table.
“Anyway, one day at a time. We have the game tomorrow and the Hope Gala Monday. That’s as far as I’m taking your agenda for now, but keep those sponsorships on your short-term radar.” I open my phone and go over the stats on today’s socials, and he barely grunts in reply to anything I say.
I stop talking and openly stare at him for a full ten seconds, and he doesn’t remove his eyes from his staring contest with the table. “Dude, what’s going on with you?” I ask.
His eyes lift to mine. “Did you just call me dude?” Those six words are the most he’s strung together during this conversation.
“I did. Sidestep it. What’s up with you?”
He blows out a breath. “Nothing. It’s been a long day. I need to head up to my room.”
“You’re not playing tomorrow,” I remind him.
He glares at me.
“Fine. I’ll walk up with you.”
He presses his lips together, but it buys me a little more time.
We wait together for the elevator, and we step on with a few other people.
We get off together on the eighth floor, just the two of us, and as we walk down the floor to our rooms, I finally get up the nerve to ask. “Where’d you go earlier?”
He doesn’t answer as he pulls his room key out of his pocket. He taps it to his door, which we arrive at first. I move to stand in front of my door, digging through my crossbody for my own key.
He opens his door. “I went to see my mom,” he finally says softly. He doesn’t look at me.
I freeze as I recall his words that she wasn’t doing well. My head whips over toward him. “How is she?”
He sighs as he steps into his room and turns back so his door is resting against his backside. He avoids eye contact with me, but even from here, I can see how affected he is by this. “Worse than the last time I saw her.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He presses his lips together, and his face seems to flush a little as if he’s fighting back emotion. I’ve never seen him like this. Eventually he shakes his head, and then he heads into his room without another word.
For the very first time, I realize that Maverick Jennings actually has a heart somewhere in there.
And right now, I think it might be broken. But I need to make him see that just because his heart is broken doesn’t mean he is broken.
I just have no clue how to do that.
Sleep evades me mostly because I can’t stop thinking about Maverick and the haunted, hollow look in his eyes as he told me where he went.
I can’t help but wonder what’s going on with his mom, and I can’t help but want to confess to him about my fears when it comes to whatever might be going on with my mom.
A little after one in the morning, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I pick it up, and a soft breath escapes me when I see who it’s from.
Maverick: Are you awake?
I realize I’m wearing the same outfit I wore when he hate fucked me the other night, and I have no idea what I’m walking into. If he’s ready to talk, I’m ready to listen. If he wants more naked time, well, let’s be honest. I think I’m up for the promise he made about tasting my cunt next time.
I’m up for being whatever he needs me to be, and that’s a really scary thought as I grab my room key and my flip-flops and quietly make my way next door. I knock lightly, and he opens the door a moment later.
His hair is mussed like he was trying to sleep but was just tossing and turning, and he’s just wearing a pair of basketball shorts. No shirt. God, he’s hot, from the ink on his skin to the abdomen he clearly works hard to maintain.
I try not to drool as I think about what a fright I must look like—no makeup, hair piled on top of my head, teeny-tiny shorts that keep me cool while I sleep barely covering my ass.
But the way he’s looking at me makes me think I’m not frightening at all.
In fact, the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like the sexiest creature who ever walked the planet.
He hooks an arm around my waist to pull me into his room, and the door closes behind us as I set my palms on his warm chest to balance myself.
His mouth doesn’t slam to mine the way I expect it to, but he’s full of intensity as his eyes bore down into mine.
He’s panting just slightly as he moves us further into his room.
The lamp by the window is on, casting a glow around what amounts to a standard hotel room, a carbon mirror copy of the room next door.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, still no words coming from him.
He shudders a little, and I move my hands from his chest to hook them around his waist. I lean into him, resting my head where my hands just were, and I simply hug him.
I hold him, and my God, I have no clue what this man is going through, but it’s clearly something.
“You don’t have to suffer alone,” I say quietly. I run my hands up and down his back. “I’m right here.”
He doesn’t say a word, but I feel him cling onto me as he exhales shakily. It makes me wonder if he’s ever had someone say those words to him. I’m right here. Maybe his mom, and maybe she’s in a position where she can’t say that to him anymore, so now he feels well and truly alone.
I still wonder about his wife. What happened to her?
I could’ve dug more into it. I haven’t. Maybe out of respect for him. Maybe because I want to find out from him.
A choked sound slips out, and I think he might be crying.
I don’t dare move a muscle.
He’s finally letting me in—but on his terms. For whatever reason, whatever he’s going through…he didn’t want to be alone.
He trusted me enough to text me at one in the morning, and I showed up seconds later.
Maybe that’s all this man has needed all along.
To feel like there’s someone on his side fighting alongside him rather than against him.
To be on his personal team instead of someone who might come or go at any time—like his teammates who retire or are traded or who walk away from the game at the end of a season.
It’s only now I realize he doesn’t have a constant, and suddenly…
I want to be that for him. Maybe I am that for him.
I’ve become that in the five short weeks we’ve been working together.
Somehow. Through the negative energy, through the hatred, through the feelings of wanting to be anywhere else, we’ve transitioned into this place where we only want to be with each other.
I don’t know how. I’m still quite sure I hate him.
But intense feelings are intense feelings, and maybe they’re starting to give way to something else as I learn more about him.
He shudders again, and I tighten my hold on him.
We stand embracing like that for several minutes before I pull back.
I walk him over to the bed, and I make him sit first. Then I sit beside him, spacing us so I can pull him down and allow his head to rest on my lap while I rub soothing circles on his back.
“You don’t have to say a word, Maverick,” I croon softly. “But if you want to, I’m right here to listen.”
He doesn’t talk, but he does draw in a deep breath as he seems to pull himself together, as if he’s drawing strength from being here with me in this way.
He does some more deep breathing before he lifts his hand and sets it on my thigh next to his head. It’s warm. Hot. It pulses tingles that seem to radiate from the place he’s touching and skip right up toward my pussy.