“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 meanheis 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 shecan’tsay 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 Iamthat 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.
