Chapter twenty-five
Maverick
I don’t do families.
Never have. Not since my mom died when I was three.
That’s gotta be why, walking up the path to Sadie’s childhood home, my palms are sweaty and my heart’s racing.
But I’m not the only nervous one.
Sadie hasn’t stopped fidgeting since we left my apartment. She’d been worrying at her lower lip until I finally kissed her at a stoplight. Then she switched to twisting her hands in her lap until I covered them with mine.
Focusing on her nerves surprisingly helped me to ignore my own until right now.
Her parents’ house is well-kept, fitting right in the suburban neighborhood that’s a far cry from the ones I grew up in, in Northern British Columbia. Bouncing around from foster home to foster home, a couple of them were decent, but most of them were not.
Just then, the front door opens, and an older woman who is most definitely Sadie’s mom, judging by the red hair and wide smile, steps out, her arms already open.
Sadie drops my hand and picks up her pace, walking up the steps to the front porch and straight into her mother’s arms.
By the time I reach them, they’ve broken apart, and Sadie looks back at me with a nervous expression. “Mom, this is Maverick. Maverick, this is my mother Doreen.”
I’m reaching my hand out to shake her mother’s when I’m caught off guard by her stepping forward, ignoring my outstretched hand, and wrapping her arms around my waist instead.
“Save the handshake for Henry, I’m a hugger.”
“Mom! You could at least make sure he’s okay with that first,” Sadie protests, but as her mom steps back, she simply arches a brow at her daughter.
“Listen. If he’s your new beau, then he’ll have to get used to me hugging him hello.”
“What about consent,” Sadie grumbles, flashing me an apologetic look as she takes my hand. “Sorry,” she whispers, but I just give her a tight smile.
“It’s fine,” I whisper back. And it is. Am I used to strangers hugging me? Fuck, no. But did it feel kind of nice, for just a moment, to be greeted warmly by someone with no expectations of me? Yeah.
We walk into the house, and it’s just as homey on the inside as I suspected it would be. The entry hall is lined with family photos, and as it opens into the living room, you can tell it’s a much-used space. The couch is draped in what looks like hand-knitted blankets and a dozen throw pillows. More photos adorn the walls here, most of them of two younger kids, I’m guessing Sadie’s siblings. It’s strange there aren’t more of mySpecs, and I file that away as something to ask her about. There’s a recliner pointed toward the television, and the entire space screamsa happy family lives here.
I let Sadie lead me into the kitchen, her mom still going on about something to do with her sister, I think. Honestly, this all feels like an out-of-body experience. Like I’m a spectator, watching a show from the sidelines, praying I’m not called on to perform.
Then the sliding door that leads to the backyard opens and Sadie’s dad walks in. He heads my way, and I feel my spine stiffen. My experience with father figures can be described as mixed, at best.
“Maverick King. Can’t say I ever thought I’d have you for dinner,” he says, and I relax slightly at his seemingly welcome tone. We shake hands, his grip firm. “Henry LeDuc. Can I get you a beer?”
“No thanks, I don’t drink, actually.”
That earns me a raised eyebrow. “Ah. Athlete diet rules or something? Hope you can eat some potato salad. Doreen makes it taste so good, you’ll want seconds.”
“Nah, not a diet thing, just a personal choice,” I answer, and his expression morphs to one of respect.
“Got it. How about a sparkling water? We keep them for when the girls visit.”
“Sounds great.”
He hands me a can from the fridge before turning to Sadie. “Where’s my hug, young lady?”
I watch her face stretch into a wide smile. “Hi, Daddy.”
It’s obvious Sadie grew up very differently from me. I watch her move around the kitchen with her parents, the three of them so comfortable and at ease with each other.
