“Bradley,” he repeats. “As in the Chicago Bradleys?”
I nod. “One and the same.”
“What are you doing as a publicist when you shouldn't have to work a day in your life?”
I force myself to school in my reaction to his question, though honestly, I'm quite affronted by it. “I suppose it's just my overly ambitious nature.”
He raises both brows as if he's rather unimpressed by that, but I have little care regarding whether or not the man is impressed with my life choices. The only thing I care about is helping Maverick get through this day unscathed, and so far, it feels an awful lot like I'm failing.
“Excuse us,” Maverick says, and he yanks me away from his father and through the atrium toward the doors that open to the church.
He nods his hellos at some of the others already seated for the service, and we take a seat in the front row.
We listen as the minister talks about life, trying to give some comfort to those here suffering at the loss. I wonder if his words are helping anybody. I wonder if Maverick feels any sense of comfort. I wonder if he’ll ever talk about it or if it’s something he’ll just keep locked up inside like so much of the suffering he does in silence.
When the service is over, the minister invites guests to come up to the altar to say their final goodbyes. We walk up to the front toward the altar where her casket lies, and she’s surrounded by gorgeous bouquets of white flowers. A photo of her smiling sits on a small table beside the casket, and I stop to study her there for a beat. I see the similarities he has with her as well. The kindness behind her eyes is evident in the photo that was chosen, and it's the same kindness I saw emerge from Maverick at a charity event as he spoke with a little girl who experienced trauma at some point in her life.
He draws in a deep breath as he clearly does his best to put that altercation with his father behind him, and I stand to the side to give him a moment of privacy. My eyes flick toone of the largest bouquets, and I see a little card attached to it.
Our deepest condolences. -Jack Dalton and family
Tears pinch behind my eyes as I think about how he’s really not so alone. He’s with a team now who cares about him as a person rather than just his successes on the field. Hiring me was never supposed to be a punishment. It was meant to help him, and if I do say so myself, I think it has.
He reaches for my hand to pull me up next to him, clearly indicating that even if this is a private moment, he still wants me to be a part of it.
“Mom,” he whispers softly. “I'm so sorry. I wasn't there for you in your final hours, and I'm so sorry you never got to meet the woman who's done so much for me. Who has given me so much. Who has made me believe in love again.”
Tears pinch behind my eyes as I listen to his sweet words.
“I'm sorry he's here today. I wish I could have done my part to keep him away because I know how much he hurt you and how much you hate him, but despite all that, everyone deserves the chance to say goodbye to the people they love. Even though I know he didn't treat you the way you deserved, he still loved you in his own way. I'll be forever grateful to you for all you did for me. I know this isn't goodbye, it's just another see ya later.”
His voice breaks at the end, and the way he says the words leads me to think that that's the way they must have always ended their conversations. It’s sweet and touching.
He avoids his dad at the burial, but a few people walk up to him and offer their condolences. At the luncheon, he sticks by my side as more people offer condolences. People seem to respect that he’s a man of few words, and very few people try to make conversation with him. The longest conversation I witness is between him and Susan, the nurse who cared mostoften for his mother at the memory care facility where she lived for the last several years of her life.
And just like that, it’s all over. We head out without a goodbye to his father, and we get on a plane to return to life in Vegas as if everything is normal.
It’s not. There’s a hole in Maverick’s life with his mother gone. He just confronted his father. We grew closer, as nothing quite bonds you to another person the way being there for them at a close family member’s funeral does.
And now we have to resume living in secrecy as we continue growing closer and falling harder.
CHAPTER 33: Everleigh Bradley
Close the Door
It’s back to business on Wednesday. It’s so weird how life just goes on.
One minute his mom was here on this earth, breathing and laughing andliving, and the next, she was gone. But the world keeps turning. He has a game to play, and he’s called bright and early on Wednesday into the quarterbacks coach’s office—along with me, whom the coach requested to see as well.
We arrive together, and Maverick knocks lightly on the doorframe.
“Come on in,” Coach Richards says. “And close the door.”
Maverick’s eyes meet mine, and his brow is a little furrowed as he closes the door. We each take a seat in the chairs opposite the coach’s desk.
“I’m sorry to be so blunt, in particular after the funeral you attended together yesterday. My condolences, by the way.”He pauses, and then he says, “I got a message this morning telling me that the relationship between the two of you may have crossed over a line. Is there something I should be concerned about?” he asks.
We exchange a glance, and in doing so, it’s basically an admission.
