What started as a publicity stunt has become something very, very real. And very wonderful.
I dress in one of his shirts and a pair of shorts and go to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers from last night. How he pulled it off, I still don’t know, he wouldn’t explain anything. But the entire evening was magical.
Once I’m settled on the couch with reheated macaroni and cheese in hand, I turn on the television. Maverick’s at the game tonight, and while he said it was doubtful he’d play, I’m eager to see if I can catch a glimpse of him in the dugout. Thanks to his lessons, I now know enough about the sport to follow along, cheering when his teammate Rhett makes it around the bases to home. The camera follows him off the field, and there’s Mav, leaning against the railing, looking every bit the superstar athlete.
And then he looks to the camera and winks, and I let out a little squeak.Was that seriously for me?I giggle and eat my dinner, my eyes glued to the screen, watching for any more peeks at my tattooed hottie.
A couple of hours later, the game has been over for a while and I’m trying to keep myself distracted while waiting for Maverick to come home. I want to ask him about that wink… I want to tell him his butt looks good in those baseball pants… I want to do all kinds of things to him and with him.
When a knock on the door comes, I hurry over to it with a wide smile, expecting it to be Maverick. Although, why hewouldn’t use his key makes that assumption a silly one, which I realize the second I swing the door open.
My smile falls as I take in the man before me. His hair is unkempt, his clothes too big for his thin frame. A fuzzy, scraggly beard covers half his face, and his eyes are wild, pupils dilated.
“Where’s Mav?” he demands, lifting one hand up to chew on very dirty nails.
Before I joined the hospital foundation, I spent several years working various jobs at a homeless shelter. Starting as frontline staff to get through university, I eventually moved into an administrative role, managing their budget and writing grants for funding. My years spent there, along with the extensive training I went through, has given me an awareness for when I’m facing someone with an addiction problem.
And looking at this man, it’s clear he’s a substance user in need of a fix. I start to slowly edge back into the apartment, preparing to close the door. He doesn’t seem overly agitated or violent, but I’m alert, nonetheless. And I definitely don’t want to tell him I’m alone.
Unfortunately for me, he figures it out.
“Fuck, he had a game. Fuck!Fuck.” He mumbles the last bit under his breath, raking his hand through his hair as he shakes his head. “Fine. I’ll wait.” He starts to pace up and down the hallway. Part of me is glad he’s not forcing his way in, but I also can’t help but worry about Maverick’s neighbours if any of them were to come out of their apartments.
My gaze darts over to my phone, still sitting on the couch. If there was only a way to get it and text Maverick without escalating anything.
“How do you know Maverick?” I ask instead, hoping to find out who he is. Maybe I should be more focused on closing the door and staying safe, but something’s niggling at me, driving my need to know who this man is.
“Brothers,” he mumbles.
That brings me up short.Maverick has another brother?I rack my brain, quickly trying to think if I’ve ever heard mention of this. But the only thing I can think of is the name Eli.
Just then, the elevator doors open, and Maverick walks out. He looks at me, then at the man who is now standing quite close. Rushing forward, he places himself between me and the man, his fists clenched.
“What are you doing here, Eli,” he growls, confirming that this man, who calls himself Maverick's brother, and the mysterious Eli are one and the same.
“You weren’t answering my texts.” Eli’s eyes bounce all around, looking anywhere but at his brother. “I need —”
“I know what you need. But I’m done giving it to you. I ended up in the fucking hospital last time I helped you.”
Pieces of the puzzle start to click into place but I know I’m still missing a lot. And judging by Eli’s expression, he can’t hear the obvious pain lacing Maverick’s words. Then again, I’m not sure Maverick catches the flash of hurt on Eli’s face, either.
“Mav. Brother. C’mon. Don’t do this.” His voice turns pleading, desperate. But Maverick is a wall of stone.
“Get out.”
Eli stares at him for another minute. His devastation is plain to me. Which makes me wonder, is this the first time Maverick has said no to him? My heart breaks for both of them in thatmoment. Eli storms over to the door to the stairwell, opens it, and slams it shut behind him without another word.
Maverick whirls around and grabs me, his eyes scanning my body, looking for something. “Are you okay? Did he touch you? Fuck. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. Shit, Specs. Tell me you’re okay.”
He sounds panicked, more than I’ve ever heard in his voice, and I grab his wrists, bringing his hands to my heart as I step toward him. “I’m fine. Maverick, breathe. I’m okay, he didn’t do anything.”
Slowly, I see Maverick calm, but there’s still an edge of tension thrumming through him. I lead him to the couch, and when he’s sat down, I lower myself next to him. When he immediately gathers me into his arms, pulling me into his lap, I let him. He needs this right now.
But he also needs to hear something.
“Eli said he was your brother?” I start, and after a few seconds, Maverick exhales and nods. “And he wanted money from you, for drugs, I’m guessing?”
Maverick’s head falls forward to rest on my shoulder. “Yeah.”
