CHAPTER 28 Maverick Jennings
Burning Too Hard, Too Fast, Too Soon
What I said about her last name was out of line. There’s no denying that.
She rushed out of here and slammed the door behind her, and that’s fine. Everything inevitably ends anyway. It’s just a fact of life. I’m saving myself worse pain later by letting this come to a screeching halt now.
I could’ve kept my mouth shut, but like I told her, I was just being honest. It didn’t feel out of line in the moment. I was simply sharing my experience.
I get why she’s mad, though. She’s not wrong.
She’ll have a mess to clean up. She’ll have to issue a statement about it.
She’ll have to talk to my sponsors and talk them down to keep my paychecks coming.
But that’s her job. Well, hers and Ellie’s, I guess.
If it weren’t for idiots like me, they wouldn’t continue to be gainfully employed. Right?
Probably wrong, but I can spin just about anything into a justification if I try hard enough.
I manage to avoid her all day at practice, during which she spends the majority of the day on the phone—presumably fixing the mistakes I made earlier.
I decide to head out for an early evening run outside after I get home. The weather is starting to cool, and even though I pushed hard at practice, my legs feel the need to move.
When I walk out of my condo, she’s heading toward the elevator, too—but with a stroller holding a kid.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
She glares at me. “Jack. My nephew.”
Oh, right. Dex’s kid. I press my lips together and nod.
We’re both quiet on the elevator, and I think of how many times we’ve ridden this same elevator together and the varying amounts of tension we experience together on it. Sometimes sexual tension. Other times it’s hatred. This time, she’s angry. And rightfully so.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is quiet.
She looks surprised as she turns in my direction, but the surprise shifts into a bit of annoyance as she presses her lips together. “You should be. I spent all damn day cleaning up your mess, and I still have more work to do.”
“But your nephew interrupted it?” I guess.
“Ainsley had to run some errands and asked if I’d watch Jack for a few hours, so I’m taking a break to get some fresh air with him.” She purses her lips at the end.
“Mind if I join you?” I ask. It’s a huge step for me. I don’t ask people for things—most especially their company. But something tells me that I need to right this ship with Everleigh. She can help me or hurt me, and I would much rather stay in her good graces than continue to offend her.
I blow out a breath. Goddammit. None of this was ever supposed to be in the cards. I was supposed to come to Vegas, quietly play my ass off, win some games, and eventually get them to pay me what I’m worth.
Instead, I’m all fucked up over some chick.
She glares at me again, but eventually she relents. “Fine.”
“Where are you heading?” I ask.
“There’s a park a few blocks away. I figured I’d take Jack there, maybe push him in the baby swing or let him crawl around in the grass. Come to think of it, it wouldn’t hurt you to touch grass once in a while.”
I shoot her a smirk, and she shoots one right back.
We step off the elevator, and she waves to Milton as we exit the building. She immediately takes off. Like sprinting takes off. I wasn’t expecting it, and I find myself chasing after her.
I’ve never chased a woman in my entire existence. Ever.
Even Christina chased me before we finally got together.
But I am physically chasing Everleigh right now, and it feels like a big, flashing, neon symbol of what’s happening between us right now.
She doesn’t need to play hard to get, and I want her to know that.
And by the same token, I don’t need to play games, either.
I don’t need to give my brutal honesty on a podcast just because it means she’ll have to spend a few more hours thinking of me.
I don’t know whether that was my true motivation during that call, but I’m also not sure I can honestly say it wasn’t.
Fuck. This is all so goddamn confusing.
I miss the days before she was sitting in Jack Dalton’s office waiting to take my ruined life—I mean my reputation—over.
But I’ve learned the hard way that it’s easier to live in the present than to be wistful over the past.
And so we push on.
I catch up to her fairly easily. “Trying to lose me?”
“If only that were an option,” she says, panting.
“You could quit,” I suggest.
“So could you.”
“Fair enough. I won’t,” I say, my breathing still even.
“Neither will I.” She pants a little and slows to a jog before she asks, “What are you, some superhuman? Why aren’t you out of breath after chasing me?”
“I run harder and faster than that on a daily basis,” I point out. “I was just letting you think you were getting away from me.”
“Said every stalker ever.”
“I’m not a stalker. You said I could come with.”
“Out of common courtesy. Not because I wanted you here.” She slows to an even slower jog, and I have to wonder why she spent all that energy sprinting at the start. Some people never learn, I guess.
So I ask. “Why’d you really take off?”
“I don’t know. I’m angry.”
“I know you are. But just so you know, burning your energy too hard too fast will just wear you out too soon, and then there won’t be anything left in the tank when you need it.”
She frowns a little as she glances at me. “Interesting metaphor, don’t you think?”
My brows draw down as I try to get her meaning.
She clears her throat. “Like us. Are we burning too hard and fast too soon?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. Something to think about, anyway.
We get to the park, and we leave those thoughts behind us even though they don’t stray too far.
She unbuckles Jack from his stroller, and she sets him in the baby swing.
I stand in the back and push the swing to her, and she pushes it from the front so she can watch the baby and take pictures of him while he flies through the air with his baby giggles.
It’s sweet, really—and I don’t do sweet. But he’s happy, and she seems happy, so I’m trying to push away the cloud that has hung over me for a decade.
“Any word on your mom?” I ask quietly.
She presses her lips together. “Nothing new. It’s so weird, like they expect us to be patient with this stuff when we don’t know how long we have. I don’t want to be so patient that I run out of time, you know?”
“Yeah. I do know. My mom has gone downhill faster than we were expecting, and half of me feels like I should be by her side, while the other half of me knows she wouldn’t want me to be.”
“How do you know that?” she asks softly—almost fearfully. Like she’s been considering leaving here to be with her mother.
I don’t want her to leave. At the same time, I’d understand if she did.
“She told me.”
She’s wearing sunglasses, but I still feel her eyes as they whip toward me. “She did?”
“When she was first diagnosed, she wrote me a note. I keep it behind the photo I have of her and me on my wedding day.”
“What did it say?” she whispers.
I recite it from memory. “You come first. Always. Never allow my illness to take away from your own life.”
“She sounds like she’s a good mom.”
“The best,” I agree.
“Have you spoken to her since the visit?”
I shake my head.
“Have you called her?”
I shake my head again. “Have you thought about calling your mom?”
She shakes her head, too.
“What if we call them right now?” I suggest.
“Like…together?”
“Sure. Why not? We don’t have to be involved with the other’s call. Just to be here for each other. For moral support or whatever.”
“Moral support,” she repeats, murmuring. She nods. “Okay. Let’s do it. You first.”
I blow out a breath. We’re both dreading these calls for our own reasons, but I’ll go first if it means she’ll go eventually.
She needs to talk to her mother. That much I know.
Whether they get along or not, or however close they are, I can tell that she needs this.
But she also needs someone to push her into actually making the call.
Maybe I’m getting to know her better than I realized.
I dial the number to the nurse’s station at my mom’s care facility.
“Floor unit, this is Susan,” the nurse who cares for my mother answers.
“Hi Susan. This is Maverick Jennings. How’s my mother today?”
“She’s in good spirits today. Would you like to talk to her?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“I’ll put you through. One minute.” She puts the call on hold, and a minute later, I hear my mom’s voice.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mom. It’s Maverick.”
“Maverick! Hi! How are you?”
“I’m good, Mom,” I say, and I feel myself getting choked up at how normal she sounds today. She’s not accusing me of being someone else, not angry with me, not confrontational. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know. Busy watching my shows, that’s all. When are you going to come visit me?”
I can’t exactly tell her that I was there just a few days ago, so I don’t. “As soon as I can, Mom. What shows are you watching?”
“I’m really into these Real Housewives. Have you seen them?”
I can’t help a small chuckle at that. “No, I haven’t.”
She launches into the latest scandal—something of which she recites every detail. It gives me hope that maybe she’s turning a corner, that maybe I can have her back, that maybe she’ll get better. But the hard truth is that she won’t. That’s just what this illness does.
If I can get moments like this, though…well, that has to be enough. And so I cling to every word she speaks as she recounts her show.
“Susan is telling me it’s nearly dinner time, so I better go,” she says.
“I love you, Mom. And just so you know, you’re the very best mother I ever could’ve asked for.”
“Oh, Mav. That’s such a sweet thing to say. I love you, too, honey.”
We end the call, and I feel good about the words I just said to her.
I just had no idea as I said them that they would be the last I ever spoke to her.