“Hello, Pink baby.” I could picture him in his hotel room. Dressed in one of my Boston shirts, his green hair spread out on the pillow. My cock stirred in my dress pants, and I suddenly wished I was with him. That I was retired and could be with Dean any time I wanted. But that was crazy, wasn’t it?
Dean sighed happily into the phone. “I know it’s late there, so I won’t keep you. I just wanted to hear your voice. Congratulations, by the way. You were amazing tonight.”
“I can’t believe you watched the game.”
“I’ve been watching all of them.”
And for some reason, that made my eyes burn with tears. I coughed softly as I tried to gather my thoughts together. “You think you might want to come to a game next season?” It was the only thing I could think of to say in that moment.
“I’d love nothing more,” Dean whispered.
And that made my heart sore.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dean
Isat cross legged on the bed as I watched Maverick pace the hotel room floor. He had his hands buried in his hair as he chewed on his bottom teeth. He was struggling on this tour, and even though we only had two weeks left, being away from Jackson was taking a toll on him. Suddenly, Mav stopped to stare at me with wide, emerald eyes.
“I can’t do this.” His voice shook. “I have to go home, Dean. I can’t... I want Jackson.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“No, you don’t understand. I. Can’t. Do. This.” He slapped his hand over his heart. “I’m losing my mind right now.”
This was bad. “Maverick.” I shot to my feet and wrapped my arms around him, expecting him to push me away. Instead, he clung to me like I might disappear. “It’s okay. I’m here with you. I’ve got your back, big brother.”
“I’m supposed to have yours.” Maverick sniffed softly. “I should be protecting you,” he whispered.
I only held him tighter. “And you did. But now it’s my turn to take care of you for once.” I thought of all those times that Maverick stepped in to make sure that asshole of a father didn’t hurt me. “Let me protect you this one time.”
A loud sob ripped from Maverick’s throat as he clung to me, his fingers twisted into the back of my shirt. He made a choked sound before he pushed away from me and shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t let you see me like this.” He shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans to pull out hisphone. “I need Jackson.” His fingers trembled as he tried to unlock it, and he shouted when he couldn’t do it.
“Do you want help?”
“No!”
But when Maverick dropped his phone, his entire face crumpled, and he burst into tears again. “I can’t do this, Dean. I just can’t. I need to go home. I hate being on the road and all this hustle and bustle bullshit. It’s not normal. I need normalcy in my life. I hate... I want... Please.” He dropped onto the floor and buried his face in his hands.
“Okay.” I sank to the floor next to him. I reached for my own phone and quickly called Jackson as I wrapped an arm around my brother.
“Dean.” Jackson was already on high alert. “What’s wrong? Is everything all right? Is he okay?”
“Say hello to Maverick for me, Jax.” I put the phone up to Maverick’s ear and watched as my brother’s entire body relaxed. His eyes lit up at the sound of his fiancé’s voice. His lips curved into a smile, and he nodded his head as cheeks tinted pink. That was all he needed.
Maverick looked at me. “I miss you, Goose. I hate being away from you,” he whispered. I couldn’t hear what Jackson said, but whatever it was caused Maverick’s cheek to burn cherry red. “Yes,” he answered. “Yes,” he said again and giggled softly. “Okay.” He stood up and moved away from me to get a little privacy.
I smiled and turned away to give my brother a little privacy. This was all our shitty parents’ fault. If they hadn’t tried to force Maverick to be someone he wasn’t; if they had just let him love Jackson the way he wanted, none of this would be happening. Jax was his soulmate. The one person he was meant to be with. Watching the way he calmed Maverick just by talking to him on the phone was proof of that.
“Dean.” Maverick was holding the phone out to me. “Jax wants to speak with you.”
And just like that, his panic attack seemed to be over.
“I should have called you right away,” I said when I put the phone to my ear.
“This tour is killing him,” Jackson answered back. “Tell me he’s taking his medication and talking to his therapist. He skirted around the topic when I asked. He doesn’t seem well.”
I watched as Maverick moved over to the window to stare outside. “I think so.” Was this something I should have been paying more attention to? Did I need to watch him more closely? We had two weeks left on this tour before we could go home.
