My phone buzzes again, and I don’t look this time.
maverick
. . .
Four days.
It’s been four fucking days since she vanished. No calls, no texts, nothing but silence that’s eating me alive. I’ve sent everything—stupid jokes, soft words, even begged like a damn fool—but she’s gone.
I’m sitting in the corner of Reed’s bar, knuckles white around a glass of whiskey. The place is dim and nearly empty, with the smell of wood polish and old beer hanging heavy in the air. Reed’s behind the counter, towel over his shoulder, giving me that steady, quiet look he always does.
I tip back the glass, the burn clawing down my throat, but it doesn’t touch the fire in my chest. “You know what fuckin’ kills me, Reed?” My voice is rough, frayed. “When I’m Maverick Hayes, the quarterback, everybody stays. Coaches, sponsors, women who don’t give a damn about me but love the jersey. They’re all there, lined up.”
I slam the glass down, shaking my head. My throat’s tight, eyes burning. “But when I’m just me? Just Mav? Nobody ever fucking stays. Not one fucking person.”
Reed stays still, unmoving. He leans on the bar, eyes calm and steady, green like a forest at night.
I let out a harsh laugh, raking a hand through my hair. “I finally opened up, man. I told her shit I don’t tell anyone. About Mama. About how scared I am without football, about how she makes me feel like, like maybe I’m worth more than what I do on the field.” My chest sinks, voice breaking. “And she still left. Four days, and she’s just… gone.”
The silence lingers. Reed finally pours another drink, slides it across the bar, but he doesn’t let go of it until I meet his eyes.
His voice is low and steady. “Maybe she’s scared, Mav. Maybe it ain’t about you not being enough. Maybe it’s about her not knowing how to believe she deserves it.”
I blink at him, my throat tight, as that one goddamn tear slips free before I can stop it. I swipe at it with the heel of my hand, scowling. “Then why does it always feel like the second I’m me, just me, it’s never fucking enough?”
Reed doesn’t have an answer. He squeezes my shoulder once, firm, like he’s anchoring me to the stool so I don’t drown completely.
I swirl the amber in my glass, watching how it clings to the sides before sliding back down. My chest feels the same—sticky, heavy, overwhelming.
“I swear to God,” I rasp, shaking my head, “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. I gave her everything. The ring. My heart. Shit I don’t even say out loud. And she still walked away like it was nothing.”
The words scrape out of me, ragged. My throat’s raw, like every time I breathe her name, it cuts me open.
Reed remains quiet as he continues wiping down the bar.
I slam my palm against the wood, the sound cracking through the room. “What the fuck is so wrong with me, huh? I can throw forty-yard passes, I can smile for cameras, I can play the all-star quarterback every damn day, but the second I take all that off, the second I’m justme—nobody stays. Not Mama. Not her. Nobody.”
My chest caves, the words spilling before I can stop them. “I’m so tired of not being enough.”
The whiskey blurs at the edges, and the room spins just a little. I run a hand down my face, jaw clenched, fighting back the tear that escapes anyway.
It burns more than the alcohol.
Reed doesn’t say anything. He simply lets me bleed it out, his silence steady while mine is jagged.
And perhaps that’s worse—because without his words filling the air, all I can hear is the truth pounding in my chest.
She’s gone.
Practice feels like fucking hell.
The sun beats down hard enough to scorch the turf, my cleats grinding against it as I drop back for another throw. My shoulder aches, sweat stings my eyes, and the ball slips from my grip like it’s got a vendetta.
“Hayes!” Coach Mike’s voice cuts sharply from the sideline. “What the fuck was that? Reset!”
I grit my teeth, my jaw aching. “I am resetting,” I snap, throwing another pass so hard my receiver stumbles backward, catching it.
The atmosphere tightens as guys trade looks. They’re used to me grinning, trash-talking, and boosting energy when practice drags.
